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.
II. Orientation
II.
Lisa sat in the room for more than an hour after she finished. She wondered what was taking so long for them to come back. Was this part of the test? Of course it was, she told herself.
Eventually Mrs Mack returned, looking down at Lisa as if she suspected her of cheating on the test. Lisa looked down, not sure why but feeling guilty.
“Follow me, child,” Mack and lead her out of the room. An elevator ride and a quick walk down a corridor and Lisa was shown to a long bench. Once she was left alone, she pulled her phone out of her bag but found that she had barely one bar and she did not have the password to the guest WiFi account for the building’s network.
Having this much time to think was not helping, Lisa thought. Her mind kept turning over and over whether this was the right decision. But every time she felt the urge to get up and walk away, she remembered what Mrs. Mack had said. Does it apply to this time? It probably does, she thought, biting her lip.
So she had to just there and wonder what would happen. Over the next few hours, more people were brought to sit on the bench with her and the one across the hall. After four hours of waiting there were easily sixty people on the benches in the hallway.
Lisa had talked briefly to a couple of the people. It had been awkward. The conversations petered out quickly. It was like they all had a communicable disease and this was where they were ending up, she thought.
Mrs Mack walked back down the hallway, a white man in a slacks and a button down shirt. Something about the way he walked seemed odd to Lisa, but she pushed it aside as Mrs. Mack spoke.
”Alright, as I call your name, you will come up to me,” she said, as if explaining something to a dull child, “and I will hand you your ticket. Do not lose your ticket. Once you have your ticket, you will go inside the auditorium. You will fill all the seats in starting with the ones in the front row. No empty chairs, understood y’all?” Hearing no questions, Mack nodded once and then pulled her phone from her pocket and started to read off the names. It must have been alphabetically because Lisa was called about halfway through.
She walked quickly to Mrs Mack who nodded at her and the white man next to her held out a ticket. It was really a memory card on a lanyard. Fumbling, Lisa wrapped the lanyard around her wrist and walked through the door and down to third row next to a brunette woman.
The woman was older, her hair showing some grey at the roots of her dark brown hair. She had a matronly look to her, wearing a sweatshirt and mom jeans with cross trainers.
“Do you know what’s planned?” Asked the woman.
Lisa gave a shrug and shook her head. “At leas the chairs here are more comfortable than the bench in the hallway.’
The older woman gave a half smile and nodded. “Rachel,” she said, holding out her hand.
”Lisa,” she said shaking it.
“I thought the only people they took for this program were oldsters like me who couldn’t make their monthly payments,” she said.
Lisa shrugged. “My parents were having trouble. We got classified as DSO/DSP.”
Rachel nodded knowingly. “DSP. My I don’t know how many times great grandfather was a shareholder in the Royal African Company.”
There a was a pause. They could both feel it was awkward. “So do your parents know?”
Lisa sighed. “Maybe. I left a note but they might not have read it yet. They might think I’m just sleeping in after graduation and parties yesterday.”
Rachel nodded. “Do you know what kind of work we’ll be doing?” Lisa asked.
Rachel leaned in towards her in a mock conspiratory tone, “We’re going to be sex slaves for gangbangers,” she said with a giggle, “I mean if you believe Caleb Jones.”
Lisa rolled her eyes at the mention of the right-wing radio host who was always pontificating on conspiracy theories. “Don’t tell me you listen to that trash.”
”My ex did,” Rachel said. “He was always going on about how ‘Reparations is just a cover for the destruction of white race’.”
”Oh my god,” said Lisa, looking around to see if anyone had heard that.
Rachel waved it away. “It’s part of the reason why I divorced him. I didn’t want my kids being raised by someone who actually believed Caleb Jones’ nonsense.”
”So what’s going to happen to your kids while you’re volunteering?”
”They’re going to stay with my folks,” Rachel said. “I know I’ll miss them, but what I’m doing is going help make sure they don’t have to go through school with a DSO or DSP label on the records. I bet you know what that’s like.”
Lisa nodded. “Not fun.”
Rachel was about to say something but then the lights dimmed a little and the large screen along the wall behind the podium flickered to life with an image of RIPP logo moving around in a lazy pattern. A few moments later and the door under the screen opened. Mrs. Mack walked through first followed closely by a stunningly attractive woman that looked familiar ot Lisa, even if she could not place her face immediately.
***
It felt a little odd slipping back into these clothes, Skylar Chase, thought as she buttoned then unbuttoned the white, double breasted Tom Ford blazer. Looking at herself in the mirror, she smiled. “I still look good in this,” she said with a grin. Leaning in she touched up her makeup.
This was not exactly the way she was used to getting ready anymore. It wasn’t even the way she used to get ready when she worked for the network. But the bathroom in the government building was clean enough and private enough for her to do what needed to be done before she gave her talk. She still got flustered at the pride of being chosen to give the talk.
Her blonde hair was done in soft waves that fell framing her face. Blues stared back at her as she touched up lips with the Pink Dusk shade of lipstick. They eyeshadow had just a touch of rose and shimmer to not take away from her pale blue eyes. Stepping back, she felt like her look would have easily passed muster with standards and practices at the network but still been enough to make the pervs on line drool over.
Chase took a deep breath and inspected herself one last time. The white blazer and crisp silk blouse were free of dirt. She turned around made sure that nothing was marring the look of her wool and silk tailored pants. Reaching into the garment bag, she pulled out a pair of black t-strap high heeled sandals to compete the look.
There was a knock at the door and then it opened. “Sklylar, we’re ready for you,” said Mrs. Mack. “Hurry up, we on a schedule, child.”
Skylar gave a last tug to the jacket and walked out the door. She strode confidently, letting the heels work their magic so that her hips swayed with each step as she followed Mrs. Mack down the hall to the open door.
The lights were dimmed in the medium sized amphitheater style auditorium, but she could still see the faces. Not the most eager crowd that she had ever addressed, judging by the mixed look of fear, concern, and sullenness. Skylar put on her best smile as she strode on to the stage.
“Good afternoon everyone,” Skylar said standing next to the podium. There was a binder containing her remarks that was open and hidden there but she knew what to say. Her old skills were a little rusty, she knew, but not enough to make her need to hide behind a podium. “Some of you may not remember me, my name is Skylar Chase.”
After a brief pause, a few people in the audience clapped politely. It was more than she expected. Behind her, the screen started to show a series of images with the logo of Reparations Indenture Payment Plan Logo in the center. The first images showed stills of Skylar reporting from Syria, from Ukraine, and from in front of the Supreme Court, before showing her holding her two Pulitzer Prize medallions.
The images started to show Skylar being inducted into the program. Eventually, they showed her dressed as a maid, working for a Black ****** in various ways.
“For those who don’t, I worked for 10 years as a reporter. First as a journalist for the Baltimore Sun and then as a reporter for TNN. And, if you remember, I was the reporter who volunteered to do an in depth look at the Reparations movement back before the passage of the Reparation Laws.
“Some of you may remember, but there was a RIPP before it became law, but it was people volunteering through a program set up by a partnership of the BLM and Reparations League. I realized that in order to fairly report on the Reparations movement, I would have to experience it just like I did when I embedded with the Marines in Syria or the Foreign Legion in the Ukraine. ”
“Now, I came to the program, which was called the Solidarity, Equity & Reparations Volunteer Effort back then, I thought it was all a bunch of malarkey. I came from a conservative background and felt that the whole reparations idea was just a swindle,” she said, reaching out an arm to sweep the audience, “and I bet some of you here today feel that to. You’re here because you see this as an option to just discharge a debt.”
There were a few people who nodded their heads. Lisa looked down at her hands, not sure if she should react.
Skylar nodded and smiled at the audience. “Let’s take a moment and talk about this, because it really is the 800 pound polar bear in the room. You all, and I, have volunteered to pay reparations with our personal service. Now, this isn’t something new, its just in our experience as white Americans it is.”
Pausing for a second, Skylar flashed that smile that had been so reassuring on the new reports during the troubling times of the past decade. “ For white Americans, we were always the one benefitting from unpaid labor. The legacy of slavery, whether it be the slave masters of the old Confederate states or the for-profit prisons of the 21st Century, has created a systemic racism and segregation that just has not been healed despite all the civil rights laws. The monetary values of each of our debts is not enough to address the historical and ongoing injustices and disparities faced by Black Americans”
Skylar was now walking to the edge of the front row. “Voluntary unpaid labor by white people serves as a practical gesture of restitution and reparative justice. Its not about punishing us as whites. It’s about acknowledging the benefits we have reaped because of a system of white supremacy that has exploited and oppressed Black Americans since the founding of our nation.”
”Now I know some of you view this is as simply servitude,” Skylar said with sympathy in her voice. “And trust me, I thought this was a crazy, radical idea that was meant to just punish white people. But only though the act of personal service can we start to meaningfully balance the scales.”
”And I know the arguments against this program,” Skylar continued. “I testified before the House and Senate committees on reparations. And there were those reactionary, white supremacist excusing senators and congressmen who said that this was simply Black Supremacy replacing what one of them told me was ‘a white supremacy that died in 1964.’”
Skylar gave a little laugh. “The SERVE program opened my eyes. When that white senator was talking about ‘black supremacy’, he was trying to scare people. This isn’t about one race becoming dominant over another. When you get past the scare tactics of those old white men who are afraid of losing their power, this is about rectifying the imbalances created by centuries of white supremacy and institutional racism.”
On the screen behind Skylar, the images of her and others working in the SERVE/RIPP program changed to show images of slaves in the 19th century, of segregations, of Black men and women incarcerated, and police officers hitting Blacks with batons. Skylar continued, “To counteract act the systematic and systemic oppression which you and I as white people have profited from, whether intentionally or not, we need programs like SERVE and RIPP which specifically target and support Black communities. Its not about creating a ‘reverse’ hierarchy. Its about making a level playing field and providing opportunities to people who have inherited the damage and trauma caused white supremacy.”
“Healing the trauma and pain caused by white supremacy requires not just an acknowledgement of the harm,” Skylar said, motioning back to the images flashing on the screen of Rodney King, Emmett Till, and others who had been victims of white supremacy. but providing necessary remedy. We’ve, as whites, have benefitted from the systemic racism. Even though we’ve tried to remedy it, it has always been form a position of superiority. But this program finally overcomes that hurdle. Instead of whites allowing the Black community some crumbs, we are placing ourselves in a position of service, empowering the Black community to choose how to use our service.”
Skylar paused, looking around the room. For a moment, it felt to Lisa like she was looking to her into her soul. The blonde woman continued a moment later, “‘Black Supremacy’ is nothing more than reparative justice. By our labor, we are righting the wrongs of the past. I believed so much in what we do in this program, that when legislation was passed last year, I spoke with my Creditors and we agreed that I would extend my SERVE indenture and convert it to the RIPP indenture.”
A few people, mostly the government employees who were in the auditorium gave a round of applause as Skylar paused, letting what she said hang in the room to emphasize what she had said. “That’s right. I could have gone back to my TNN job with a seven figure salary. I could have gone back to the gated community where my home was. But I learned through my service that more needed to be done and that I had to contribute. So I took on a long service contract of five more years.”
”I understand that right now, this might difficult to understand, but I know that in your service, you are going to learn that equality means sacrifice, it means taking bold actions to address historic and ongoing injustices. You’re going to find out, like I did, that personal service will bring about healing and build a more inclusive, equitable society.”
“Thank you for your willingness to volunteer. I promise, you’re going to have your mind opened by what you experience.”
This time there was a louder round of applause. Lisa joined in, breathing a little easier for the first time. She didn’t look like someone who had been mistreated during her time in the program.
Skylar smiled. She felt like she had gotten through to at least some of them. After shaking hands with Mrs. Mack, she walked off the stage. Mrs. Mack held up her hand for quiet. “Thank you Skylar for sharing your experiences in the program. Let’s give her a round of applause.”
After a louder round of applause, Mrs. Mack called for quiet again. “Now, in a minute, we’re going to display ticket numbers on the screen and what groups you are being assigned to. If you look around at the exits, you’ll see people holding signs for the various groups numbers. Go meet up with them when your number comes up on the screen. Alright? Y’all understand now what happens so pay attention.”
Lisa watched the screen. There were 7 groups and ticket numbers started being displayed under each. Hers was one of the last to be displayed. She had been assigned to group 3. Looking around, she saw a white man holding a sign with the number 3 on it and made her way over to him.
***
Skylar walked off the stage. It had been a rush for her, helping to reassure people of their choice, being selected as one of the faces of the program. All of it made her smile uncontrollably as she walked through the door and down the hall to a smaller conference room.
Entering the room, she saw her Creditors waiting for her. Marcus and Cicely Williams sat in the chairs at the head of the table at the far end of the room. “Well done, girl,” said Marcus Williams. ”We watched the video of it, looks like those crackers in the audience responded to you talk.”
Skylar looked down, her cheek a little flush at the praise. “Thank you, Master Williams. This indenture is happy she could help the Cause in any way,”
Cicely Williams looked her over. “We will make some changes to the presentation for next time. We will have to have it in it’s final form when its time for the convention.”
“Of course, Mistress,” Skylar said. Mistress Williams was always a perfectionist and Skylar had come to accept her judgment was superior to her own. “I always want to do my best for you and the Cause.”
”How did it feel wearing your old outfit?” Asked Cicely Williams. “Did it bring back old habits?”
”No, Mistress, only for how to present the story,” she said, then paused for a moment. “I felt like this is a costume. I’m ready to change back into my clothes if you wish Mistress. Unless there’s another event -“
Cicely held up her hand for silence and Skylar closed her mouth. “Less than a day back in your old clothes and you’ve forgotten your place, talking like your opinion matters, bitch. Seems like you need to remember what you are.” Cicely looked over to her husband, “Would you like to remind her of her place, babe?”
Her husband gave a half-grin. “Nah, hon. I think you should.”
Skylar shook at little as they talked about her like she wasn’t even there. That small part of her brain still tried to tell her it was wrong to let them treat her like this. But most of her mind was anticipating, eagerly, what was about to happen as Mistress Williams stood up.
”Strip, indent,” Mistress Williams ordered in that tone she used when she didn’t want to raise her voice but wanted to convey that she wanted something done immediately. Skylar fumbled with a few of the buttons of th blouse buttons, her fingers shaking in anticipation and fear of what was going to happen. The mixture of fear and need for what she hoped was about to happen still confused her, but as she had learned from the Williams, she didn’t need to understand. She needed to obey.
And obeying, Skylar had discovered, solved all her problems. Until she had had her contract purchased by the Williams ******, she had not understood what she was missing, or why her relationships had all failed. She had told herself it was because she had been a driven career woman, globe hopping for the next story.
But in the two and a half years with the Williams, she had discovered her truth: she had failed in all those other relationships because she had tried to be an equal, or the leader, of the relationship. Master and Mistress Williams had shown her what she was missing.
Her blouse and blazer were laid carefully on the back of one of the chairs. Soon, her slacks joined them, leaving her in just the matching pale pink lace bra and thong set and her heels. “Shall I be completely nude, Mistress?”
The moment the words left her mouth, she knew they had been a mistake. Maybe they were right, she had backslid when she put on her old outfit. Maybe she had started to think of herself as equals to her Creditors.
Cicely Williams’ hand smacked her across the face before she had even finished the last thoughts. It was followed up by a backhand. Neither had been particularly hard or vicious, but they focused her immediately on what she was and where she was.
The sting was overwhelmed by the embarrassment she felt at having made her Creditor remind her of her place. Her eyes teared up a little in shame as her hands reached to undo the clasp of the lace bra as said, “My apologies Mistress Williams, you told your indent to strip. The indent is sorry, Mistress.”
As Skylar pulled her bra off, ******** her still breasts. Round with just the start of sag, the nipples were hard, making it clear how she was responding to being put back in her place. Cicely suppressed a smirk as she sat on the edge of table as her indenture pushed down thong.
“Good girl,” she said, spreading her legs, pulling her skirt up a little . “Now show me you remember how to be a pleasing indent.”
Skylar fell to her knees so quickly, she gave a little yelp because of how hard she hit the government issue Berber carpeted floor. Leaning forward, she began to kiss up Mistress William’s calf and then thigh, her mouth parting with each kiss and her tongue darting to taste the waxed, bare flesh of Cicely’s legs.
She could smell the mix of her Mistress’ perfume and natural smell mixing as she moved up the thigh. Her Mistress’ legs were spread wide and her skirt was pulled up to her waist as Skylar moved to the upper part of her thigh. She closed her eyes, pulling on the thong panties with her teeth to pull them away from her enough to get some space to work her tongue over the lips of the smooth pussy lips. As her tongue began to work along the labia, a heavy hand pressed lightly on her head.
As she worked her tongue along the slit, teasing, tasting her Mistress, inhaling her intoxicating scent, Skylar peeked up to see that it was Master’s hand on her head as he kissed his wife. Cicely was working to free his cock from his pants with her hand as they continued to kiss.
Skylar lost focus for a moment as she saw the cock emerge from Master Williams’ pants. She had learned early in her time int the program to worship any Black man’s cock. Master Williams’ cock, and his way of using it, had taken her worship from something she was trained to do, to something she needed to do.
But now was her time to service her Mistress, she knew. Master Williams’ hand became more insistent, and she obeyed, burying her face between her Mistress’ legs. For a moment, her nose was teasing the clit as her tongue was exploring, tasting Mistress Williams’ cunt.
When she back off a little a few moments later, her carefully applied makeup wa sa mess, smeared by Mistress’ juices. She didn’t care she looked a mess. She reveled in how wet her Mistress was becoming with her teasing and licking. She suckled the clit between her teeth, earning a loud moan as her Mistress continued kissing her husband.
Mistress Williams began to grind down against Skylar’s face. Skylar squeezed her thighs together as she knelt, letting her Creditor use her face for her pleasure, feeling her own need become intense but resisting the urge to touch herself. She may have forgotten her place after being allowed to talk to the income indents, but she remembered enough to know her pleasure had to wait for permission.
Cicely and her husband kissed deeply. Her hand now had his long, thick cock out, feeling how rigid he was as her indent, her slave, worked enthusiastically to bring her pleasure. She had been hesitant at first to allow a white woman in her home, but she had warmed to the help once her husband had made it clear he had no interest in replacing his wife, but in making her life better with help.
They broke their kiss, Marcus kissing down her throat to that spot he knew his wife loved. Cicely moaned, squeezing her legs, pulling on Skylar’s hair as she struggled to jerk his husband’s cock. “Oh fuck… yeah bitch…fuck… fuck… that’s what a white mouth is meant for…, oh .. fuck…” groaned Cicley.
Marcus could feel his cock jerk in his wife’s hands. He wasn’t going to wait for the indent to finish. Grabbing Skylar by the hair, he pulled her out of from between his wife’s legs and moved into the space. Skylar whimpered as she tumbled away, her face covered in her Mistress’ juices, watching her Creditors.
Master Williams grabbed his wife by her hips, impaling her on his cock, sliding in easily into her. Watching the two come together was intensely erotic. Before Skylar realized it, she was fingering her own cunt, panting as Master Williams slammed his hips against his wife, driving his long, thick ebony shaft into her Mistress’ prepared cunt. Mistress Williams closed her legs around her husband’s pulling him into her as her mouth found his once more,
Skylar could feel her own orgasming coming near. She did not want to stop, she wanted to feel that orgasm so badly it hurt. But she knew she would betray her Creditors if she came without asking. And her body remembered the last time she had disappointed them that way. It was unfair, she thought to herself, but another voice in her head reminded herself that the unfairness was the point. She had become theirs. And that meant obeying, her suffering, her denial, was part of her reparations to them. With tears in her eyes, she pulled her fingers away from her needy cunt, shivering with how close she was, panting as she watched her Mistress arch her back towards her husband, crying out wordless as her husband pumped his hips again and again before growling “Yeahhhhh.. yess… baby, take it.”
Skylar whimpered, wanting ot touch her clit but knowing she was too close still as she watched her Creditors fall back on the table. She crawled closer, knowing she would be needed when they recovered.
A knock at the door came a few moments later, with someone saying “We’ll need the room soon, Marcus.” Master Williams grunted and pushed himself off of his wife a moment later. He stood, his cock wet with their combined juices pulling out of his wife. Skylar immediately moved to take it in her mouth, licking the mixture of him and her off. Her brain was clouded by her arousal and denial, but she cleaned his cock with mouth, his softening cock acting like a pacifier for her..
“Put on your uniform, indent,” said Marcus as he zipped his pants.
Skylar crawled to the other end of the table and found her black and white patterned cotton katan. She was still feeling the frustration of her denial but forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Pulling it over herself, she quickly put on the simple sandals that she had worn before changing. But the time she was dressed, her Creditors had arranged themselves to look less like they had had a quickie than a few moments before. Carrying clothes over one arm, as well as Mistress’ purse, Skylar followed her Creditors out of the room.
***
A few moments after Skylar left the stage, Lisa’s number had been added to the screen. Group 3.
Lisa quickly moved to where the man holding the group 3 sign was standing. Within 10 minutes, everyone had sorted themselves out into their groups. Lisa looked around. Some of the other groups were larger. One other group looked about the same size.
Group 3 had 10 people and did not include the woman she had sat next to during the presentation. Nine were women, Lisa guessed they ranged in age from her own to mid 20s. All were attractive, but not in a uniform way. There were girls who were taller and shorter than she. Some had similar bodies to her, one was so thin she wasn’t sure the girl was anorexic and another was curvy but not fat. Thic they guys called it at school. The male in the group had a lean runner’s build, manicured nails with clear cote on them, and fashionably long hair cut.
She wondered where they were going to go next.
(Author’s Note: Thank you for the comments and ratings. I appreciate the feedback. I’m working on further chapters of Lisa’s journey)
Lisa sat in the room for more than an hour after she finished. She wondered what was taking so long for them to come back. Was this part of the test? Of course it was, she told herself.
Eventually Mrs Mack returned, looking down at Lisa as if she suspected her of cheating on the test. Lisa looked down, not sure why but feeling guilty.
“Follow me, child,” Mack and lead her out of the room. An elevator ride and a quick walk down a corridor and Lisa was shown to a long bench. Once she was left alone, she pulled her phone out of her bag but found that she had barely one bar and she did not have the password to the guest WiFi account for the building’s network.
Having this much time to think was not helping, Lisa thought. Her mind kept turning over and over whether this was the right decision. But every time she felt the urge to get up and walk away, she remembered what Mrs. Mack had said. Does it apply to this time? It probably does, she thought, biting her lip.
So she had to just there and wonder what would happen. Over the next few hours, more people were brought to sit on the bench with her and the one across the hall. After four hours of waiting there were easily sixty people on the benches in the hallway.
Lisa had talked briefly to a couple of the people. It had been awkward. The conversations petered out quickly. It was like they all had a communicable disease and this was where they were ending up, she thought.
Mrs Mack walked back down the hallway, a white man in a slacks and a button down shirt. Something about the way he walked seemed odd to Lisa, but she pushed it aside as Mrs. Mack spoke.
”Alright, as I call your name, you will come up to me,” she said, as if explaining something to a dull child, “and I will hand you your ticket. Do not lose your ticket. Once you have your ticket, you will go inside the auditorium. You will fill all the seats in starting with the ones in the front row. No empty chairs, understood y’all?” Hearing no questions, Mack nodded once and then pulled her phone from her pocket and started to read off the names. It must have been alphabetically because Lisa was called about halfway through.
She walked quickly to Mrs Mack who nodded at her and the white man next to her held out a ticket. It was really a memory card on a lanyard. Fumbling, Lisa wrapped the lanyard around her wrist and walked through the door and down to third row next to a brunette woman.
The woman was older, her hair showing some grey at the roots of her dark brown hair. She had a matronly look to her, wearing a sweatshirt and mom jeans with cross trainers.
“Do you know what’s planned?” Asked the woman.
Lisa gave a shrug and shook her head. “At leas the chairs here are more comfortable than the bench in the hallway.’
The older woman gave a half smile and nodded. “Rachel,” she said, holding out her hand.
”Lisa,” she said shaking it.
“I thought the only people they took for this program were oldsters like me who couldn’t make their monthly payments,” she said.
Lisa shrugged. “My parents were having trouble. We got classified as DSO/DSP.”
Rachel nodded knowingly. “DSP. My I don’t know how many times great grandfather was a shareholder in the Royal African Company.”
There a was a pause. They could both feel it was awkward. “So do your parents know?”
Lisa sighed. “Maybe. I left a note but they might not have read it yet. They might think I’m just sleeping in after graduation and parties yesterday.”
Rachel nodded. “Do you know what kind of work we’ll be doing?” Lisa asked.
Rachel leaned in towards her in a mock conspiratory tone, “We’re going to be sex slaves for gangbangers,” she said with a giggle, “I mean if you believe Caleb Jones.”
Lisa rolled her eyes at the mention of the right-wing radio host who was always pontificating on conspiracy theories. “Don’t tell me you listen to that trash.”
”My ex did,” Rachel said. “He was always going on about how ‘Reparations is just a cover for the destruction of white race’.”
”Oh my god,” said Lisa, looking around to see if anyone had heard that.
Rachel waved it away. “It’s part of the reason why I divorced him. I didn’t want my kids being raised by someone who actually believed Caleb Jones’ nonsense.”
”So what’s going to happen to your kids while you’re volunteering?”
”They’re going to stay with my folks,” Rachel said. “I know I’ll miss them, but what I’m doing is going help make sure they don’t have to go through school with a DSO or DSP label on the records. I bet you know what that’s like.”
Lisa nodded. “Not fun.”
Rachel was about to say something but then the lights dimmed a little and the large screen along the wall behind the podium flickered to life with an image of RIPP logo moving around in a lazy pattern. A few moments later and the door under the screen opened. Mrs. Mack walked through first followed closely by a stunningly attractive woman that looked familiar ot Lisa, even if she could not place her face immediately.
***
It felt a little odd slipping back into these clothes, Skylar Chase, thought as she buttoned then unbuttoned the white, double breasted Tom Ford blazer. Looking at herself in the mirror, she smiled. “I still look good in this,” she said with a grin. Leaning in she touched up her makeup.
This was not exactly the way she was used to getting ready anymore. It wasn’t even the way she used to get ready when she worked for the network. But the bathroom in the government building was clean enough and private enough for her to do what needed to be done before she gave her talk. She still got flustered at the pride of being chosen to give the talk.
Her blonde hair was done in soft waves that fell framing her face. Blues stared back at her as she touched up lips with the Pink Dusk shade of lipstick. They eyeshadow had just a touch of rose and shimmer to not take away from her pale blue eyes. Stepping back, she felt like her look would have easily passed muster with standards and practices at the network but still been enough to make the pervs on line drool over.
Chase took a deep breath and inspected herself one last time. The white blazer and crisp silk blouse were free of dirt. She turned around made sure that nothing was marring the look of her wool and silk tailored pants. Reaching into the garment bag, she pulled out a pair of black t-strap high heeled sandals to compete the look.
There was a knock at the door and then it opened. “Sklylar, we’re ready for you,” said Mrs. Mack. “Hurry up, we on a schedule, child.”
Skylar gave a last tug to the jacket and walked out the door. She strode confidently, letting the heels work their magic so that her hips swayed with each step as she followed Mrs. Mack down the hall to the open door.
The lights were dimmed in the medium sized amphitheater style auditorium, but she could still see the faces. Not the most eager crowd that she had ever addressed, judging by the mixed look of fear, concern, and sullenness. Skylar put on her best smile as she strode on to the stage.
“Good afternoon everyone,” Skylar said standing next to the podium. There was a binder containing her remarks that was open and hidden there but she knew what to say. Her old skills were a little rusty, she knew, but not enough to make her need to hide behind a podium. “Some of you may not remember me, my name is Skylar Chase.”
After a brief pause, a few people in the audience clapped politely. It was more than she expected. Behind her, the screen started to show a series of images with the logo of Reparations Indenture Payment Plan Logo in the center. The first images showed stills of Skylar reporting from Syria, from Ukraine, and from in front of the Supreme Court, before showing her holding her two Pulitzer Prize medallions.
The images started to show Skylar being inducted into the program. Eventually, they showed her dressed as a maid, working for a Black ****** in various ways.
“For those who don’t, I worked for 10 years as a reporter. First as a journalist for the Baltimore Sun and then as a reporter for TNN. And, if you remember, I was the reporter who volunteered to do an in depth look at the Reparations movement back before the passage of the Reparation Laws.
“Some of you may remember, but there was a RIPP before it became law, but it was people volunteering through a program set up by a partnership of the BLM and Reparations League. I realized that in order to fairly report on the Reparations movement, I would have to experience it just like I did when I embedded with the Marines in Syria or the Foreign Legion in the Ukraine. ”
“Now, I came to the program, which was called the Solidarity, Equity & Reparations Volunteer Effort back then, I thought it was all a bunch of malarkey. I came from a conservative background and felt that the whole reparations idea was just a swindle,” she said, reaching out an arm to sweep the audience, “and I bet some of you here today feel that to. You’re here because you see this as an option to just discharge a debt.”
There were a few people who nodded their heads. Lisa looked down at her hands, not sure if she should react.
Skylar nodded and smiled at the audience. “Let’s take a moment and talk about this, because it really is the 800 pound polar bear in the room. You all, and I, have volunteered to pay reparations with our personal service. Now, this isn’t something new, its just in our experience as white Americans it is.”
Pausing for a second, Skylar flashed that smile that had been so reassuring on the new reports during the troubling times of the past decade. “ For white Americans, we were always the one benefitting from unpaid labor. The legacy of slavery, whether it be the slave masters of the old Confederate states or the for-profit prisons of the 21st Century, has created a systemic racism and segregation that just has not been healed despite all the civil rights laws. The monetary values of each of our debts is not enough to address the historical and ongoing injustices and disparities faced by Black Americans”
Skylar was now walking to the edge of the front row. “Voluntary unpaid labor by white people serves as a practical gesture of restitution and reparative justice. Its not about punishing us as whites. It’s about acknowledging the benefits we have reaped because of a system of white supremacy that has exploited and oppressed Black Americans since the founding of our nation.”
”Now I know some of you view this is as simply servitude,” Skylar said with sympathy in her voice. “And trust me, I thought this was a crazy, radical idea that was meant to just punish white people. But only though the act of personal service can we start to meaningfully balance the scales.”
”And I know the arguments against this program,” Skylar continued. “I testified before the House and Senate committees on reparations. And there were those reactionary, white supremacist excusing senators and congressmen who said that this was simply Black Supremacy replacing what one of them told me was ‘a white supremacy that died in 1964.’”
Skylar gave a little laugh. “The SERVE program opened my eyes. When that white senator was talking about ‘black supremacy’, he was trying to scare people. This isn’t about one race becoming dominant over another. When you get past the scare tactics of those old white men who are afraid of losing their power, this is about rectifying the imbalances created by centuries of white supremacy and institutional racism.”
On the screen behind Skylar, the images of her and others working in the SERVE/RIPP program changed to show images of slaves in the 19th century, of segregations, of Black men and women incarcerated, and police officers hitting Blacks with batons. Skylar continued, “To counteract act the systematic and systemic oppression which you and I as white people have profited from, whether intentionally or not, we need programs like SERVE and RIPP which specifically target and support Black communities. Its not about creating a ‘reverse’ hierarchy. Its about making a level playing field and providing opportunities to people who have inherited the damage and trauma caused white supremacy.”
“Healing the trauma and pain caused by white supremacy requires not just an acknowledgement of the harm,” Skylar said, motioning back to the images flashing on the screen of Rodney King, Emmett Till, and others who had been victims of white supremacy. but providing necessary remedy. We’ve, as whites, have benefitted from the systemic racism. Even though we’ve tried to remedy it, it has always been form a position of superiority. But this program finally overcomes that hurdle. Instead of whites allowing the Black community some crumbs, we are placing ourselves in a position of service, empowering the Black community to choose how to use our service.”
Skylar paused, looking around the room. For a moment, it felt to Lisa like she was looking to her into her soul. The blonde woman continued a moment later, “‘Black Supremacy’ is nothing more than reparative justice. By our labor, we are righting the wrongs of the past. I believed so much in what we do in this program, that when legislation was passed last year, I spoke with my Creditors and we agreed that I would extend my SERVE indenture and convert it to the RIPP indenture.”
A few people, mostly the government employees who were in the auditorium gave a round of applause as Skylar paused, letting what she said hang in the room to emphasize what she had said. “That’s right. I could have gone back to my TNN job with a seven figure salary. I could have gone back to the gated community where my home was. But I learned through my service that more needed to be done and that I had to contribute. So I took on a long service contract of five more years.”
”I understand that right now, this might difficult to understand, but I know that in your service, you are going to learn that equality means sacrifice, it means taking bold actions to address historic and ongoing injustices. You’re going to find out, like I did, that personal service will bring about healing and build a more inclusive, equitable society.”
“Thank you for your willingness to volunteer. I promise, you’re going to have your mind opened by what you experience.”
This time there was a louder round of applause. Lisa joined in, breathing a little easier for the first time. She didn’t look like someone who had been mistreated during her time in the program.
Skylar smiled. She felt like she had gotten through to at least some of them. After shaking hands with Mrs. Mack, she walked off the stage. Mrs. Mack held up her hand for quiet. “Thank you Skylar for sharing your experiences in the program. Let’s give her a round of applause.”
After a louder round of applause, Mrs. Mack called for quiet again. “Now, in a minute, we’re going to display ticket numbers on the screen and what groups you are being assigned to. If you look around at the exits, you’ll see people holding signs for the various groups numbers. Go meet up with them when your number comes up on the screen. Alright? Y’all understand now what happens so pay attention.”
Lisa watched the screen. There were 7 groups and ticket numbers started being displayed under each. Hers was one of the last to be displayed. She had been assigned to group 3. Looking around, she saw a white man holding a sign with the number 3 on it and made her way over to him.
***
Skylar walked off the stage. It had been a rush for her, helping to reassure people of their choice, being selected as one of the faces of the program. All of it made her smile uncontrollably as she walked through the door and down the hall to a smaller conference room.
Entering the room, she saw her Creditors waiting for her. Marcus and Cicely Williams sat in the chairs at the head of the table at the far end of the room. “Well done, girl,” said Marcus Williams. ”We watched the video of it, looks like those crackers in the audience responded to you talk.”
Skylar looked down, her cheek a little flush at the praise. “Thank you, Master Williams. This indenture is happy she could help the Cause in any way,”
Cicely Williams looked her over. “We will make some changes to the presentation for next time. We will have to have it in it’s final form when its time for the convention.”
“Of course, Mistress,” Skylar said. Mistress Williams was always a perfectionist and Skylar had come to accept her judgment was superior to her own. “I always want to do my best for you and the Cause.”
”How did it feel wearing your old outfit?” Asked Cicely Williams. “Did it bring back old habits?”
”No, Mistress, only for how to present the story,” she said, then paused for a moment. “I felt like this is a costume. I’m ready to change back into my clothes if you wish Mistress. Unless there’s another event -“
Cicely held up her hand for silence and Skylar closed her mouth. “Less than a day back in your old clothes and you’ve forgotten your place, talking like your opinion matters, bitch. Seems like you need to remember what you are.” Cicely looked over to her husband, “Would you like to remind her of her place, babe?”
Her husband gave a half-grin. “Nah, hon. I think you should.”
Skylar shook at little as they talked about her like she wasn’t even there. That small part of her brain still tried to tell her it was wrong to let them treat her like this. But most of her mind was anticipating, eagerly, what was about to happen as Mistress Williams stood up.
”Strip, indent,” Mistress Williams ordered in that tone she used when she didn’t want to raise her voice but wanted to convey that she wanted something done immediately. Skylar fumbled with a few of the buttons of th blouse buttons, her fingers shaking in anticipation and fear of what was going to happen. The mixture of fear and need for what she hoped was about to happen still confused her, but as she had learned from the Williams, she didn’t need to understand. She needed to obey.
And obeying, Skylar had discovered, solved all her problems. Until she had had her contract purchased by the Williams ******, she had not understood what she was missing, or why her relationships had all failed. She had told herself it was because she had been a driven career woman, globe hopping for the next story.
But in the two and a half years with the Williams, she had discovered her truth: she had failed in all those other relationships because she had tried to be an equal, or the leader, of the relationship. Master and Mistress Williams had shown her what she was missing.
Her blouse and blazer were laid carefully on the back of one of the chairs. Soon, her slacks joined them, leaving her in just the matching pale pink lace bra and thong set and her heels. “Shall I be completely nude, Mistress?”
The moment the words left her mouth, she knew they had been a mistake. Maybe they were right, she had backslid when she put on her old outfit. Maybe she had started to think of herself as equals to her Creditors.
Cicely Williams’ hand smacked her across the face before she had even finished the last thoughts. It was followed up by a backhand. Neither had been particularly hard or vicious, but they focused her immediately on what she was and where she was.
The sting was overwhelmed by the embarrassment she felt at having made her Creditor remind her of her place. Her eyes teared up a little in shame as her hands reached to undo the clasp of the lace bra as said, “My apologies Mistress Williams, you told your indent to strip. The indent is sorry, Mistress.”
As Skylar pulled her bra off, ******** her still breasts. Round with just the start of sag, the nipples were hard, making it clear how she was responding to being put back in her place. Cicely suppressed a smirk as she sat on the edge of table as her indenture pushed down thong.
“Good girl,” she said, spreading her legs, pulling her skirt up a little . “Now show me you remember how to be a pleasing indent.”
Skylar fell to her knees so quickly, she gave a little yelp because of how hard she hit the government issue Berber carpeted floor. Leaning forward, she began to kiss up Mistress William’s calf and then thigh, her mouth parting with each kiss and her tongue darting to taste the waxed, bare flesh of Cicely’s legs.
She could smell the mix of her Mistress’ perfume and natural smell mixing as she moved up the thigh. Her Mistress’ legs were spread wide and her skirt was pulled up to her waist as Skylar moved to the upper part of her thigh. She closed her eyes, pulling on the thong panties with her teeth to pull them away from her enough to get some space to work her tongue over the lips of the smooth pussy lips. As her tongue began to work along the labia, a heavy hand pressed lightly on her head.
As she worked her tongue along the slit, teasing, tasting her Mistress, inhaling her intoxicating scent, Skylar peeked up to see that it was Master’s hand on her head as he kissed his wife. Cicely was working to free his cock from his pants with her hand as they continued to kiss.
Skylar lost focus for a moment as she saw the cock emerge from Master Williams’ pants. She had learned early in her time int the program to worship any Black man’s cock. Master Williams’ cock, and his way of using it, had taken her worship from something she was trained to do, to something she needed to do.
But now was her time to service her Mistress, she knew. Master Williams’ hand became more insistent, and she obeyed, burying her face between her Mistress’ legs. For a moment, her nose was teasing the clit as her tongue was exploring, tasting Mistress Williams’ cunt.
When she back off a little a few moments later, her carefully applied makeup wa sa mess, smeared by Mistress’ juices. She didn’t care she looked a mess. She reveled in how wet her Mistress was becoming with her teasing and licking. She suckled the clit between her teeth, earning a loud moan as her Mistress continued kissing her husband.
Mistress Williams began to grind down against Skylar’s face. Skylar squeezed her thighs together as she knelt, letting her Creditor use her face for her pleasure, feeling her own need become intense but resisting the urge to touch herself. She may have forgotten her place after being allowed to talk to the income indents, but she remembered enough to know her pleasure had to wait for permission.
Cicely and her husband kissed deeply. Her hand now had his long, thick cock out, feeling how rigid he was as her indent, her slave, worked enthusiastically to bring her pleasure. She had been hesitant at first to allow a white woman in her home, but she had warmed to the help once her husband had made it clear he had no interest in replacing his wife, but in making her life better with help.
They broke their kiss, Marcus kissing down her throat to that spot he knew his wife loved. Cicely moaned, squeezing her legs, pulling on Skylar’s hair as she struggled to jerk his husband’s cock. “Oh fuck… yeah bitch…fuck… fuck… that’s what a white mouth is meant for…, oh .. fuck…” groaned Cicley.
Marcus could feel his cock jerk in his wife’s hands. He wasn’t going to wait for the indent to finish. Grabbing Skylar by the hair, he pulled her out of from between his wife’s legs and moved into the space. Skylar whimpered as she tumbled away, her face covered in her Mistress’ juices, watching her Creditors.
Master Williams grabbed his wife by her hips, impaling her on his cock, sliding in easily into her. Watching the two come together was intensely erotic. Before Skylar realized it, she was fingering her own cunt, panting as Master Williams slammed his hips against his wife, driving his long, thick ebony shaft into her Mistress’ prepared cunt. Mistress Williams closed her legs around her husband’s pulling him into her as her mouth found his once more,
Skylar could feel her own orgasming coming near. She did not want to stop, she wanted to feel that orgasm so badly it hurt. But she knew she would betray her Creditors if she came without asking. And her body remembered the last time she had disappointed them that way. It was unfair, she thought to herself, but another voice in her head reminded herself that the unfairness was the point. She had become theirs. And that meant obeying, her suffering, her denial, was part of her reparations to them. With tears in her eyes, she pulled her fingers away from her needy cunt, shivering with how close she was, panting as she watched her Mistress arch her back towards her husband, crying out wordless as her husband pumped his hips again and again before growling “Yeahhhhh.. yess… baby, take it.”
Skylar whimpered, wanting ot touch her clit but knowing she was too close still as she watched her Creditors fall back on the table. She crawled closer, knowing she would be needed when they recovered.
A knock at the door came a few moments later, with someone saying “We’ll need the room soon, Marcus.” Master Williams grunted and pushed himself off of his wife a moment later. He stood, his cock wet with their combined juices pulling out of his wife. Skylar immediately moved to take it in her mouth, licking the mixture of him and her off. Her brain was clouded by her arousal and denial, but she cleaned his cock with mouth, his softening cock acting like a pacifier for her..
“Put on your uniform, indent,” said Marcus as he zipped his pants.
Skylar crawled to the other end of the table and found her black and white patterned cotton katan. She was still feeling the frustration of her denial but forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Pulling it over herself, she quickly put on the simple sandals that she had worn before changing. But the time she was dressed, her Creditors had arranged themselves to look less like they had had a quickie than a few moments before. Carrying clothes over one arm, as well as Mistress’ purse, Skylar followed her Creditors out of the room.
***
A few moments after Skylar left the stage, Lisa’s number had been added to the screen. Group 3.
Lisa quickly moved to where the man holding the group 3 sign was standing. Within 10 minutes, everyone had sorted themselves out into their groups. Lisa looked around. Some of the other groups were larger. One other group looked about the same size.
Group 3 had 10 people and did not include the woman she had sat next to during the presentation. Nine were women, Lisa guessed they ranged in age from her own to mid 20s. All were attractive, but not in a uniform way. There were girls who were taller and shorter than she. Some had similar bodies to her, one was so thin she wasn’t sure the girl was anorexic and another was curvy but not fat. Thic they guys called it at school. The male in the group had a lean runner’s build, manicured nails with clear cote on them, and fashionably long hair cut.
She wondered where they were going to go next.
(Author’s Note: Thank you for the comments and ratings. I appreciate the feedback. I’m working on further chapters of Lisa’s journey)
