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)
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