The Cause
Chapter One: Reparation Productions
(Taylor's Story)
Being a production assistant was great, and I loved it. My work was advancing the Cause, be it in a small way. It was part of absolution for my ancestors' many sins. This penance is all about knowing my place and acknowledging my insignificance. It made me recognize the wisdom and authority held by the one true mother of all people.
Submission to my Nubian superiors acknowledges my inferiority, showing obedience and reverence. This subservience acknowledges that the Nubians, the mother of all, possess knowledge and righteousness and are the only ones worthy of the honor.
As my prior white geek boyfriend would always quote from one of his brainless sci-fi flicks, "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one." It's the only worthwhile thing that a useless white boy ever gave me. It was in this spirit that I begrudgingly accepted my new position.
Recognizing that the greater good outweighs my inconsequentiality, I dutifully follow and obey my Nubian Master. I moved from serving behind the scenes to taking center stage in front of the camera. This shift allows me to contribute more actively towards the Nubian goal of world domination, using my humble place to bring about this change. My wish and dream are that my servitude and determination will speed the devil's, the evil white man's downfall.
The night shoot is set in the town of Newberry. The scene is in the heart of the little town, with an old Confederate monument representing the town's racist and bigoted past as the backdrop. Weathered by time, the statue stands in silence to dishonest glory. Carved from stone and frozen in time, some old white Confederate general atop his horse, his face etched in false pride.
The monument's details are supposed to tell a story of valor and sacrifice; instead, I feel nothing but loathing and disgust. I can barely bring myself to look upon the obscene piece of rock. Narrow-minded redneck white boys view it as a symbol of heritage and honor. At the same time, right-minded individuals see it as a reminder of oppression. Regardless, tonight, the monument represents change, a link to an era that was and will no longer be. Tonight, the profane monument falls.
Heidi, my replacement as a production assistant, enters the makeup trailer. She is a beautiful buxom blonde, a recent college graduate, and full of vigor for the Cause.
"Hi, Taylor, here are the script changes," she beams.
"Anything major, Hedi?" I ask.
"No, just a few minor revisions."
"Great, we should be all set then. I see the crane is here." As I peer out the window.
"It's huge. They could move a ship with it. Looks way too big for the job."
"Are you worried?"
"You are joking, right?" Hedi grins, and we both laugh.
"Fuck the monument. After all, the redneck hicks in this town have it insured. Besides, the production company is paying them a huge amount for this shoot. They will have enough meth money to keep them high for months, or until their teeth fall out, whichever comes first; by then, they will have forgotten all about their sorry ass pigfucker statue."
"That reminds me, I almost forgot the Newberry mayor is here for his 'autograph.' Trent promised him you would sign a pair of panties for him."
Trent Washington is the second unit director who is also in charge of onsite production. A very handsome, tall, mocha-skinned god who I would much prefer to spend my time with than some short, fat, and balding white small-town mayor. I constantly remind myself this is all for the Cause, so I do my duty willingly. However, this is a task I loathe.
I stall in small talk with Hedi for as long as I can. Finally, knowing that time is running short before the shoot, I face the inevitable.
"I can't avoid this, can I?" I say discouragingly.
"Afraid not," Hedi says with a frown.
"Let's get this over with; send him in."
Hedi gives me a look of support as she exits the trailer. A few moments after she leaves, there is a tepid knock on the trailer door. I wait and make him knock again, then once more for good measure. Finally, another knock and a high-pitched voice squeakly asks, "Miss Forrest, this is Mayor Dillard. May I come in?"
I let the poor mayor fret a few more moments. "Come in," I say in my sternest voice.
As predicted, the door opens, and a small, pale, pot-bellied, sad excuse for a man creeps into the trailer.
"Hello, Mayor," I greet him in a steely voice.
My nakedness causes him to pause as he drinks in my body. "Miss Forrest, it is an honor to meet you." he stutters.
"I am sure it must be for you," I replied coldly, ignoring the use of 'Miss' for now.
Undeterred by my icy response, he smiles. "I am a huge fan, one of your biggest."
"No doubt you are." My pun goes over the top of his bald head.
"I loved you, in 'Undercover Southern Belle Defiled.' That was steampunk porn at its best."
That was my very first film for Reparation Productions. It is an alternate steampunk history set during the Civil War. The story of a northern spy who marries a wealthy Confederate widower and helps bring down the Confederacy and quite a bit more. It is now considered a cult classic.
"Do the good people of Newberry know of your cinematic taste, Mayor?"
"Oh heavens, no! I would lose my mayorship in a heartbeat. Most likely, they would run me out of town. Have you seen how they look at all the …" The Mayor stopped short, eyeing my disdain for the term he was about to use. "I mean all the people of color in your cast and crew that have taken over the town."
I had noticed the town's loathing and savored every minute of it. Racist bastards, every one of them, the Mayor included. However, he is a tartuffe, the French term for a hypocrite. In addition to being cast in General Jackson's downfall, my other duty is turning the Mayor into a valuable pawn for the Cause. At this point, the assignment is only a rumor Hedi passed on to me.
"This big production takes a large crew to stage." I sneer.
'Yes, no doubt I am sure, they could still be a little more subdued. All that attitude and such."
"I am sure the red-neck towns folk don't refuse the green of money when it is doled out for all the goods and services. This little two-bit backwoods shit hole of a town could use all the help it can get. Proud people have no reason to be subdued, as you put it, or make excuses for the respect they are due."
No doubt the Mayor wants to reply and defend his town. He begins to part his lips to speak, then stops. The little tent in the front of his trousers tells me he might not want to upset me.
He gathers some courage and then changes the subject, asking, "Trent, I mean, Mr. Washington said you would autograph some, well some, that you would sign …"
His shyness would be adorable if not coming from a sorry-ass white boy. "Yes?" I scoff.
"That you would autograph a pair of panties."
"Did he?”
"Yes, I mean, yes, he said you would. Didn't he tell you?"
"No, he didn't mention a thing about it."
The look of disappointment on the Mayor's face is like that of a little boy who has just lost his new bike. It's priceless, and I can't help but laugh.
"I am fucking with you, Mayor," I smirk.
A look of relief sweeps across his face. Followed by a huge smile from ear to ear, replacing the look of defeat.
"Oh, thank goodness,"
"Top drawer, you can pick any pair you want," I say, pointing to my left.
"I have my own," The Mayor replies, pulling a pink pair of panties from the breast pocket of his suit coat.
My eyes widen.
"From the Reparation Production website. You wore these in Teacher Gets Schooled in Black History. Deven pounded you hard, and he came in gallons. See, they still have the stain." the Mayor says, pointing to the ample dried and crusted white area surrounding the crotch of the pink satin panties.
So I did; that was my third feature about a white junior college teacher and an over eighteen Black student who showed her the errors in her ways and introduced her to some much-needed discipline. Reparation Production makes a considerable income from both its videos and the merchandising that goes along with it. Soiled panties are one of its best and most profitable sellers.
Times have changed, and in the studio's early days, items like panties, costumes, and props were either reused or discarded. It has become big business to market these items and other production materials such as t-shirts, cups, and other products. All the profits go to supporting the Cause, of course.
"I am hoping for a Wet Pack in the future. Who knows, maybe one from this film."
"Don't get your hopes up, Mayor," I say. The 'Wet Pack' is marketed as recently soiled panties from a sex scene in one of Reparation Production videos that is still sodden with the actor's passions. Removed, bagged, and hermetically sealed right after the director calls "Cut" after a scene.
"I know, now that the company does online bidding, the prices have skyrocketed. The last pair of your panties at auction went for thousands of dollars." the Mayor says with sadness.
The things that creepy little white boys will spend their ill-begotten money on. No Black man would ever dream of paying for soiled panties. If he wants your panties, he takes them as his right. The idea that white boys are using their money to support the Cause fills me with joy that every penny of those thousands of dollars is going to their downfall and subjugation. Whether they know its purpose or not makes no difference to me.
"You are the Mayor; can't you just siphon off some town funds?
For a moment, he ponders, not with a look like this was a new idea but more like he was doing a risk/benefit analysis. Taking note of his dilemma, I set this to memory for future use.
"No, no, I can't. As much as I want to."
"Pity, think of all the ways you could jerk off with them. Wacking your little thingy while holding them up to your nose and taking in the smell of a real man and well fucked white pussy."
He sighs with sad puppy eyes.
"Well, I have a scene to shoot," I say, holding my upturned hand.
A brief look of confusion on the Mayor's face gives way to acknowledgment. "Oh yes, here you go," he says, holding out the panties and placing them in my hand as if holding some precious work of art. Taking them, I find the fabric marker Hedi has thoughtfully left behind.
"Anything special or just my signature?"
"Whatever you deem appropriate, Miss Forrest."
'"It's Ms. Forrest, not Miss Forrest."
"What? Oh, sorry, Ms. Forrest."
I usually am not such a bitch, even to white boys. But, it is part of the act. Since my second video, White Couple Owned, in which a newly married couple submits to Black rule, white boys expect me to dominate them. You know the Black man dominates the white wife; she, in turn, dominates her pansy white husband. Naturally, the Black man dominates the couple. Finding a perfect location on the back of the panties, I sign the pair with a personal message just for effect. I toss them back at the Mayor as they land on his face. The Mayor smiles with glee when he sees my signature and message. Once again, he holds them deftly, placing them carefully back in his suit pocket. Nervously, he shifts from one foot to the other, watching me as I finish with my makeup.
"Is there something else?" I know there is, and I dread it. Trent's promise of an 'autograph' to the Mayor carries more than just a simple signature on a piece of cloth. Any type of sex with a white boy is disgusting. It is also not allowed once given to the Cause. Unfortunately, there are exceptions, and this is one of them. In commitment to the Cause, certain exceptions are allowed if pleasuring a white boy advances the goal. Specific rules are still strictly followed no pussy, ass, or blow job; those are reserved for a Black man. Handjobs or any pleasure not involving an orifice is mostly acceptable.
"I was told, Trent, I mean Mr. Washington said…"
"Mr. Washington said what?" the demanding tone of my voice caused the Mayor to shrivel.
"He said you would, you know."
"I do know and want to hear you say it."
"That you would get me off. No penetration, of course."
"In your dreams," The Mayor's lack of specifics is my opening. No doubt he expects a hand job. His lack of focus costs him.
"You can hump my feet."
"Ahh, well, I was hoping."
"Hope all you want; it's now or never. It's your lucky day, and I haven't had time to put on my heels. You get skin-to-skin. Get to it; you have minutes."
The Mayor wastes no time removing his suit coat and unbuckling his trousers. Pulling down his trousers and then his tighty whities before kneeling before me. Turning my makeup chair to face him, I stick out my bare left foot.
He looks up at me as if asking for permission.
'Well, what are you waiting for?" I growl.
"It would be easier if I could use both your feet."
"You are demanding for a wimpy white boi." Still taking pity on him, I extend my right foot.
The Mayor wastes no time pressing his tiny penis between my feet and begins humping wildly.
I finish applying my lipstick, taking no interest in the Mayor's wild gyrations against the bottom of my feet. His hips thrust back and forth as he gasps and moans.
"How long has it been since you have seen that pink little worm over your pale fat belly?" I tease.
His only response between gasps for breath is, "Agh, oh."
Finally, his body stiffens and cries in pleasure as his little penis shoots a white trickle onto my feet and toes.
"Yuck, disscusting." I coo
"Oh gawd, thank you, thank you. Ms. Forrest."
"Get to it. I don't have time to wait for you."
"What, oh! You want me to …"
"That worthless goo is not going to lick itself clean."
He licks my feet quickly with a determination that tells me he has done this before. I also take note of this for future reference.
There is a knock on the trailer door, and Hedi's voice announces, "The Director is on set, ten minutes until filming begins."
"Got it, thanks, Hedi,"
"I better get going." the spent and rumpled Mayor says.
'Yes, you better,"
Hurriedly, he dresses, giving me a look of lustful appreciation.
"Will I see you again before you are done filming?"
"Maybe if you play your cards right," I say, dreading the prospect, knowing it is my duty if told to do so. In a flurry of hast, the Mayor dashes out the door, his shirttail peeking out from beneath his suit coat.
The crane outside roars to life as I finish my makeup and put on the impossibly red high heels the costume director selected for the scene. They are to match the Daisy Duke outfit I will be wearing or, more correctly, not be wearing. The items will be scattered about the set: extremely tiny jean shorts ripped naturally, a bright red thong, and a plaid top. The articles are the backdrop showing the young debutant being willfully defiled. I slip on a cotton robe before making my way out.
Exiting the trailer, I hear excited voices yelling warnings and a massive crashing sound echoing through the town square. More swearing ensues as I pass the trailers to the tents surrounding the set.
It is early evening, and the last grey clouds have disappeared into the late fall sky. The little town square is alive with the bright lights of the production set. The trees are now bare with a few remaining leaves clinging to their branches. The ground below is carpeted with fallen leaves that crunch underfoot. As darkness descends upon the square, streetlights flicked to life beyond the park. A chill is in the air, and I shiver underneath my robe as a light mist falls.
Looking at the scene before me, I am in awe of the well-executed plan. The General's statue is in pieces at the center of the square. Of course, when I say the plan, I mean the Cause's intention. The rednecks present, including the mayor, are rushing about in a frenzy, screaming as if a baby had been kidnapped. How could this have happened? The idea was to remove the statue from its pedestal and place it on the side at the base (the actions of an angry crowd that takes revenge on their oppressor, at least as far as the script went).
Now, a little perspective is needed here. The Cause is not confined to a single company, corporation, or group. It thrives in the open and shadows. It can claim a massive community of supporters, members, and dedicated chattel fueling its growth, reach, and impact. Its influence extends far beyond borders, being both global and local with its reach. Its vast network includes individuals from all walks of life participating in its goals, from ordinary people leading everyday lives to influential figures holding power positions in government and industry. The Cause transcends boundaries, finding its place in every field imaginable, from academia to the highest echelons of world leadership.
One such entity is Reparations Productions, a company that develops and produces interracial films promoting acceptance of a Black-empowered world. Its ownership, executives, and primary staff are naturally Black in keeping with its goals. This order is valid for the Cause in general.
So, in the chaos that ensues after the General's downfall and destruction, the executive producer and senior studio vice-president Jackson Reynolds takes over. Watching this man work his magic is nothing short of miraculous.
Jackson Reynolds stands over six and a half feet tall and commands attention. The man possesses an air of mystery and intrigue. His ebony features are chiseled, with a strong jawline and dark, piercing eyes that promise untold stories. His dark hair, cropped close, frames a face that exudes confidence. With a physique sculpted by strength and grace, he moves with an effortless elegance that draws admiring looks from both men and women alike. As always he is dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, highlighting his sculpted form and magnetic presence.
Most of the shooting was done secretly; townspeople only knew that some large Hollywood studio was in town to shoot a movie for some streaming service, or so they were told. All the town, with a few exceptions, believed several A-list celebrities were involved in the production. Reparation Production did nothing to discourage this belief.
This assumption would prove valuable in the Cause's plan. Only a very few locals had actual access to the film's shootings. This was one such example; except for the mayor, only three other locals were at the General's ruin. The three riggers were hired to move the statue. The trio who came with their crane and ignorance were now responsible for the disaster.
The hillbilly movers are arguing among themselves about the origin of the catastrophe, pushing and shoving each other as their anger increases by the second. Into this maelstrom steps Jackson Reynolds. Clearing his throat, the three redneck hillbillies freeze. He first calms the group and the mayor, who is a sobbing mess by now. With perfect serenity, he explains that the event was an unfortunate and unexpected accident, that blame is useless, and that what is done cannot be undone. Issues such as this always arise when shooting. It is what we can do now that is important.
After a few minutes of discussion, of which I am just out of earshot, the group shakes hands, and both the mayor and the three redneck riggers are much appeased if not quite all smiles.
As a side note, the town square will now have one less old white Confederate General darkened its center by spring. In its place, visitors will be greeted by a beautiful garden. Children will play on a splash pad in a colorful water area, their laughter mingling with the sounds of cascading fountains. Nearby, swings will sway gently in the breeze as part of a large play area. On the opposite corner is a quiet park. Trees and flowers bordering benches that shade those enjoying its peacefulness. The mayor will be assured reelection, and the riggers will be appeased with new teeth and a crane, all courtesy of Reparation Productions. It is a beautiful thing when a plan comes to fruition.
By now, I am freezing and shivering in the cold. My thin cotton robe is no match for the chill descending on the square as the sun sets. At that very moment, a large hand firmly slaps my bum.
"Where have you been, snowflake?" a deep baritone voice asks.
I turn to see Mason's big, beautiful grin.
Mason Hughes is the Director of Photography on this night's scene number 42, framed 'The General's Last Stand. '
"Just watching Mr. Reynolds work his magic," I reply.
"That man is as smooth as silk. Guess you have to be to get to his position."
"Agreed,"
'Damn, look at you; those little titties of yours have nipples after all!"
Looking down, I can see my nipples standing at full attention and very prominently displayed through the meager material of my robe. The cold had working them up to torrid little peaks.
"I am freezing, it's getting colder by the second, and these nipples know that."
"Well, the sooner we get to shooting, the sooner we all get back inside where it's warm, girl."
"I will warm you up real good, "I coo.
"I am going to hold you to that snowflake. Now, though, Olivia wants to see you."
"Got it," I say as I make my way to the Director's tent, but not before Mason gives my bum a mighty slap, causing me to tingle in pleasure.
The Director's tent is right behind the set. I wait as Olivia discusses some last-minute lighting checks with the gaffer and crew. Olivia Jenkins is a senior director at Reparations Productions, along with numerous other titles at the company. She has directed several productions I have worked on. She hates me, well, not me specifically, just whites in general, especially white women.
She sees Reparations Productions as unnecessary and a distraction from the ultimate goal of the Cause. Olivia, among all things, is dutiful, so even if her personal beliefs say otherwise, she puts them aside for the greater good. Though I doubt she sees any of this filming to be the greater good.
She makes her wishes known to the lighting crew, and they disperse, leaving me outside the tent. She looks at me disdainfully before nodding, indicating I should step inside.
Moving inside, I pull my robe tight, wrapping my arms around my shoulders for warmth and comfort. This woman always scares me.
"You have read the script changes?"
"Yes, Ms. Jenkins,"
"Any questions?"
"No, Ms. Jenkins,"
"Good. We don't have time to waste. I expect you to be on top of your game tonight."
"I understand,"
"No need for unnecessary improvisation or overthinking. Just do as you're told and deliver a decent performance."
"Understood, Ms. Jenkins."
"It has been a stressful day, and tonight promises to be the same. Close the flap."
I move to close the tent door flap.
"Show me your respect for the Cause girl. You know what to do, just like before."
With utmost humility and as gracefully as possible, I kneel before her, my head slightly bowed and eyes cast down as a sign of respect and deference to my superiors. She slides back to the table behind her and hikes up her skirt, moving her panties aside.
I position myself with my knees on the floor, lean in, and gently kiss her inner thigh before moving to her outer folds. Inhaling her scent and then licking her clit playfully as she moaned.
"Good girl," she says as I fervently apply soft kisses to her moist petals. She sighs, "Such a good little cunt licker."
Nodding, I slow my kisses before gently splitting her dark pussy lips with the tip of my tongue. I feel the heat build between her legs as she sighs softly and closes her eyes. The first taste is sweet, and l wiggle my tongue slowly into her warmth.
Her moans grow lusty as her thighs move together, brushing my cheeks with her silky smoothness. My tongue pushes further between her folds, and I marvel at how soft her skin feels against my cheeks as she wraps her thighs around my head. She circles her hand roughly about my head, taking a fist full of my hair between her fingers. Soon my tongue is deep in her pussy. My nose pressed hard against her clit.
She lets out a long, slow exhale as my lips and tongue press into her. My head swirls in tiny circles around her clit, and she moans in pleasure. Her petals radiate moist heat as her juices coat my lips and tongue. At this point, I am helpless, as Olivia uses my face as her masturbation device. Not that I am complaining.
"You white sluts aren't good for much but more than a few of you are great pussy eaters. But, I guess if all you have are white bois, with their tiny little worms to please you, I can see why." I can only give muffled agreement with her powerful thighs encasing my head.
"Fuck yes, so good!" Olivia cries and grips my head. Grinding her sex hard against my face, spreading her juice all over my lips and cheeks. She groans, jerking my head faster and harder against her folds. "Oh fuck, yesss, don't stop you worthless bitch! "Her body shudders, and I can feel her juices flooding my face. Holding my head firmly, she gives into several powerful orgasms. I keep my tongue in constant motion as her body jerks, and she grunts, pressing my face into her hot, wet womanhood.
As her orgasm subsides, she releases me, catching her breath while I continue to lick her clean. She pushes me away unceremoniously before dismissing me with a "That will be all bitch; we shoot in five minutes."
I close up my robe that had fallen off my shoulders and leave the tent. Once outside the tent, I wipe my face, now glistening with juices of Olivia's passion, off on the sleeve of my robe. That damn camera picks up everything.
The set is brilliantly lit, and the crew is putting on the final touches. The general, indeed, has met his fate. The statue lay strewed about in a multitude of pieces. Surprisingly, his horse is mainly unscathed. My red thong adorns what is left of the general's head and face. The Daisy Duke shorts graced his horse's saddle, and the flannel top wrapped around one of its legs.
One crew member places a Confederate flag directly in front of the wreckage. By now, this had become a signature feature of many Reparations Productions. The white slut getting banged on the banner. Not that I mind; it just seems a bit overdone.
"There she is, my slutty costar!" an immense voice booms. Without looking, I know it is my costar Elijah Carter. Once more, I receive another massive slap to my bum so hard I almost lose my balance before I feel Elijah's strong arms circle protectively around my waist. He kisses my neck as my hands caress his face. We have worked together before, and he is a great guy.
Elijah Carter played my lover's brother in the second feature I did for Reparations Productions,' White Couple Owend.' As I said before, it is the story of a newly married couple dabbling in cuckolding only to find themselves becoming enslaved to a Black Bull and master. It was the film that solidified my position with the studio.
The film we are currently doing is called 'Southern Belle Enlightened.' It is the story of a young debutant and her coming to terms with her ******'s racist slave-owning past. How, in a few short months, she, in her minimal way, atoned for some of her ******'s sins. If, of course, that could be possible. Giving her ******'s misbegotten fortune to a Black-ruled future and destroying the racist town they had ruled for over two hundred years.
Like all the studio's productions, it is interracial porn. Unlike most porn productions, it is one hundred percent Black-owned, operated, and managed, being part of the Cause. No white person has any role above a minion. It may seem usual, but there is a method to what may seem like madness. You see, the biggest connoisseur of interracial porn is deplorable white boys. Using their kink as a means of their downfall is such poetic justice.
Today, the final scene is being filmed. The young debutant ****** millions are gone. Her father and grandfather are behind bars for fraud. Her brothers are now methheads selling their asses for some crank. Her mother works the streets for her Black master. The town is in shambles after a protest for the wrongful arrest of a young Black man the debutant has fallen in love with. She has only one way she can pay her Black lover's lawyer fee. The lawyer will accept her body as payment, not only for the cost but to atone for her ******'s past sins.
With Elijah's hand firmly grasping my ass, he pushes me onto the set. He murmurs in my ear while guiding me towards the Confederate banner, "I am going to pummel that pussy of yours, girl; you won't be walking straight for a week." With that, he disrobes me flinging the garment aside.
I whisper back, cupping his strong chin. "Promise?"
Elijah laughs and grins. With Mason by her side, Olivia is finalizing the shoot with the three camera crews used for the scene.
The sound crew attaches our tiny, almost invisible earpieces and does an audio check, to which both Elijah and I give the thumbs up. The micro earpieces allow the director and crew to communicate their instruction to us during the shot.
"There's my sis, the OG of cinema," Elijah says, warmly wrapping his arms around Olivia.
"Hello, Elijah," Olivia responds with a businesslike tone. Beneath Olivia's cold outward demeanor, she likes Elijah. What I also believe is that she sees this whole business as still about exploiting Black people and, in this case, particularly the Black man. Her devotion and dedication to the Cause allow her to overlook it no matter how distasteful.
"Snow Bunny and I here are ready for the shoot."
"Good, let's get going," Olivia says as she motions to one of the senior crew members. The crew member immediately makes a beeline towards Olivia.
"The girl here needs her skinny white ass crimson before we shoot. It should have been done by now. We are on a tight schedule; you all know that!" Olivia says her inflection carries an air of indifference and detachment as if I was not present and held no significance to her. There is as always a noticeable lack of warmth or interest in her voice concerning me.
"Yes, Ms. Jenkins, right away," He says, turning to make his way to the prop trailer.
"Hold up, I got this," Elijah says, taking me by the wrists.
Olivia and the rest of the crew turn to look at Elijah. "I'll do the chore myself."
"Are you sure?" Olivia asked in a voice that sounded like he was volunteering to do a week's worth of laundry for the entire town.
"Yeah, my pleasure," he said, pulling my wrists far above my head until I was on tip-toe. A testament to his strength that he used only one arm to hoist me that high without the slightest exertion.
"You want me to fetch a paddle, Elijah?" the crewmember asked.
"Nah, these big old Black hands should do the trick on this small ass white girl."
Olivia just shrugged with apathy.
Without ceremony, Elijah smacks my bum with firm, hard slaps that resonate over the set as the crew watches. The man is terrific; one strong arm bulging with firm, hard-toned muscle holds me aloft effortlessly. With the other arm and open-handed palm, he spanks me mercilessly. I wiggle but make little effort to avoid the painful blows as each one sends a jolt of pleasure to my sex, getting wetter with each smack. As the last firm slap ends, he lets me down and spins me around, pressing my lips to his and driving his tongue deep into my mouth. The spanking, the kiss, and Elijah's hard embrace send my head spinning. My knees grow weak, and if not for his arms wrapped around me, I would fall to the ground like the autumn leaves about us.
"Alright, everyone, the sideshow is over, places everyone!" Olivia calls out.
We make our way toward the tattered Confederate banner spread upon the ground directly in front of the general's shattered remains. Without Elijah's strong arm about my waist, I would have wobbled forward very ungracefully.
As I said, the scene is the climactic end of the film. The lawyer is taking his fee, and Rebbeca (aka Becky), the now fallen southern belle and debutant, is gleefully paying the price. Among the ruins of the day's march for justice, the two are about to consummate the final payment.
I slide down onto the stars and bars of the banner, wiggling my now bright crimson bum against the material, eliciting a roar of approval from the crew. By now, the toothless white boi riggers are so ***** on beer and drugs supplied by the crew they lay passed out behind one of the far trailers. For his part, the mayor has a look on his face that is curious, terrified, and aroused simultaneously. The Security Staff, all buff and built Black men, have terrified the locals from the first day of the production and now guard the perimeter of the night shoot. By now, the presence of these tall, imposing Black men sporting expensive suits and dark glasses has browbeaten the locals into passive submission. The residents stay away, happy that their backwoods, inbred, sorry excuse for a town was getting an outrageous amount of money for one of those artsy West Coast films those ass-loving homosexuals love so much in their words. Or so they all believed.
The lighting technicians hovering about with their light meters make final adjustments as we settle on our marks. Elijah strips down, removes his custom-tailored Lululemon tracksuit, and tosses it to a crew member. Gawd, the man exudes an aura of raw sex. Every sinew and vein rippled beneath his perfect chocolate flesh, showcasing his defined contours and chiseled body, presenting a formidable sculpted force. The light danced across the taut skin, and I could feel the sheer might contained within his impressive form.
Elijah's manhood is considerable even when semi-erect, not the largest of my many costars but impressive nonetheless. His cock is magnificent, thick, veiny, and threatening as it swings from side to side. His low-hanging testicles are the size of oranges. He grabs me just below the knees and pushes my thighs wide apart, looking down upon me with those dark eyes and a cocksure grin.
An insignificant white crewmember weaves between the lighting and sound technicians with a bottle of lube. Elijah laughs as he runs powerful fingers along the petals of my damp sex. I let out a lustful sigh at his touch.
"No need, boi, this bitch is as wet as a fish's belly." he chuckles, sending the crewmember away. The cast and crew roar their approval once more as I blush.
The scene setup was thin, like most porn. After the days of unrest and with the town in shambles, the Becky character walks along its ruined streets. Windows are smashed, and buildings are vandalized. In the distance, smoke from a fire drifts over the town. She makes her way to the town square. The statue of her fifth-generation grandfather lies broken in pieces, and the sizeable Confederate flag, torn and partially burnt, lies next to it. There waiting is the attorney, ready for his payment.
The crew makes one last sound check, then hustles away. Olivia gives Mason the thumbs up. He calls "Action!" and the cameras begin filming.
With the call of "Action!" the loader snaps the clapperboard, and the scene begins. I can not say how other erotic filming is done, but at Reparation Productions, the sex scenes are highly choreographed. That doesn't mean you can't adlib, but dialog is crucial, especially when working with Olivia. I am not too humble to admit that with a devastatingly handsome Black god towering over you, it is sometimes hard to focus and remember your lines. Luckily, Elijah had the opening line and took his queue.
"Looks like this butt-fucked Deliveranceville has met its due process."
Moving my head about and looking at the carnage, I answer, "Yes, Sir, and it's about time."
"200 years late, time to pay up, girl; first-class legal representation doesn't come cheap!"
"You came highly recommended, and I can see why. All charges dropped!"
"These locals couldn't find their asses. Much less prosecute a case with sham evidence."
"Yes, Sir"
A wide smile slowly spreads across Elijah's face as he spreads my thighs further apart before forcing my legs up and over my shoulders.
"A girl like you has much to atone for, you understand?"
"Yes, Sir, I am ready to pay for my transgressions."
He slowly runs the head of his generous manhood along my glistening folds as I purr in delight.
"Good girl. That wet pussy of yours agrees,"
I thrust my hips, trying to keep my sex in contact with his member.
"Damn, slut, you are eager to settle the bill." Elijah laughs.
"Yes, Sir,"
"I like to see willing white sluts beg for a proper fucking. I bet until you met a real man, you had never been properly fucked?"
"Never, Sir,"
"Yes, Sir, what girl?"
"Yes, Sir, I have never been properly fucked."
"Nothing but little white boi dick?"
"Yes, Sir,"
"You like that little white boi dick?"
"No, Sir, I hate it,"
“You need cock, a real man's cock.”
“Gawd, yesss …”
Elijah gives a wide grin. "You did the proper thing and helped fight a wrong. It's a start. Now beg me slut." He says, teasing my folds with his superb manhood.
"Please, please fuck me. Fuck my slutty white pussy with your beautiful Black cock."
"Mmm, now that is some sweet music to my ears," Elijah replies as he slides the head of his manhood slowly into my sex. My eyes rolled back into my head in bliss. He holds it there, taunting me. "Damn, that is one tight pussy. We are going to have to do something about that." Then, without delay, he thrusts his hips forward, holding my legs and pressing them hard against my shoulders.
"Oh, fuck yes," I gasp.
He picks up the pace and pushes my legs even further back until I feel his huge balls slap the rosebud of my ass with each savage thrust. He continues to pump, picking up his rhythm, and squeezes my pert little breasts and twisting my aching nipples until I cry out in orgasm. He relentlessly pushes me to the brink, then over the edge repeatedly.
All this time, the three camera crews move each camera in perfect controlled coordination. Camera crew one is focused on our faces, showing the pleasure and pain of Elijah's onslaught against my now well-used sex. Another crew moves behind us, taking a closeup of his massive manhood as he splits my glistening folds. The third crew pans out, taking in the whole set.
In my hidden earpiece, I can hear Mason, the Director of Photography, issue instructions to his crew: "Cam 2 closer, get closer. I wanna see that big black cock destroy that white pussy. Taylor, shift your hips up and slide to the right. Elijah pushes the sluts legs further apart."
Thinking that Manson appears to have little concern for my physical well-being, at least when getting the perfect shot, I slide sideways, twisting my torso until my back screams no more. Elijah takes Mason's instruction to heart and uses me like a human wishbone.
Elijah looks down at me with concern and whispers, "Put those arms around me and hold tight." I nod and wrap my long arms around his strong shoulders.
I hear Mason's voice in my earpiece. "That's it, Cam two. Perfect, look at that fat black cock pound that pussy. Rolling those pussy lips right back up and into themselves. Damn, that cock is slick with that white slut’s pussy juice. Good work!"
My whole body is shaking in waves of pleasure. Elijah keeps this pace until Olivia and Mason are satisfied with the shot.
Olivia's voice is now in my earpiece. "Ok, Elijah, roll the bitch over on cue, one, two, three."
Elijah, with no effort whatsoever, handily flips me over and onto all fours. With barely enough time to align myself, he slams his colossal cock deep into my welcoming, warm wet pussy. I scream out in joy as his large hand smacks my ass.
"That's it bitch, suffer for the cause!" he laughs as he grabs my hips and begins thrusting like a bull out to stud. Soon I feel another massive orgasm build as his immense balls collide with my clit on each thrust. My pussy squeezes tighter and tighter, and then there's a sudden burst and a rush through my entire body as it is filled with pleasure from head to toe. My body is overloaded with sensation, yet Elijah continues his assault.
There is a sense of determination in Elijah's eyes. With each thrust, flesh slapping flesh fills the air, echoing like a symphony of liberation. As his cock plunges deep into me, it becomes more than just a physical act; it turns into retribution. I feel his pent-up frustration and suppressed feelings set free with every lunge. The constant motion allows him to channel his anger into something real. Each fierce heave of his hips releases a sense of amends that courses through his veins. The emotional weight that once burdened him dissipates with every forceful assault of my pussy.
A rhythmic thud reverberates through our bodies like a heartbeat syncing with newfound freedom. Our muscles tense and relax with each thrust, releasing tension from deep within our souls.
“Damn girl, you are hotter than ten miles of Georgia asphalt In July,” Elijah exclaims as he slaps my bum hard.
I scream “Yes, oh yes fuck me harder.”
Sweat drips down Elijah’s brow, and our muscles ache with exertion; an overwhelming feeling of ecstasy washing over us. Each plunge deep into my sex represents breaking down and shattering white supremacy. It is an act of liberation, Elijah’s raw strength and determination; are shedding layers of repression. Nothing is more satisfying than surrender and submission to a proud, strong Black man.
Our skin glistens with perspiration as the steam of our passion rises from our bodies in the cold night air. I can feel Elijah's cock swell as his breathing becomes strained. He places his large hand around my slender neck, completely encircling it. His other hand continues to slap my reddened ass in between vicious thrusts.
"I bet your old slave-owning ancestors are rolling over in the grave. Knowing I'm pounding your white pussy with my big ole black cock. Breeding you like a worthless slut."
At this point, I am on the edge of delirium and about to pass out from the overload of continuous orgasms. I pull my last vestige of conciseness to the surface, knowing I must deliver a great performance. I began to thrust back against him, matching his motion and driving him deeper into my pussy.
"Oh yesss," I scream. "Fuck my pussy, Conquer me, and vanquish my evil ancestors. Let my body pay for their sins. Make me your bitch!
"That’s it, grind it good, work that tight little pussy and surrender to me. Mmm, girl, you were born to be a Black man's whore. "
"I am yours, all yours, forever!" I scream.
Elijah tightens his grip on my neck as I orgasm again and struggle for breath. He throws his head back and lets out a continuous roar, as his cock unleashes a torrent of thick hot African seed deep into my pussy.
'Damn, let justice be served!' he laughs between groans of pleasure.
One final wave of rapture crashes over my body feeling his hot thick, potent seed flood my womb. Then darkness. It is a joy to love your work!
I am not sure how long I remain unconscious. As I pull myself up to rest my elbow on the Confederate banner, Eljah's hand slaps my ass yet again.
"About time you get your lazy white ass up, girl; no sleeping on the job," he chuckles.
Rubbing my forehead and taking in his still nude and gorgeous body, I snuggle against his body. "How long was I out?"
"Not long, but if you did wake up soon, I was getting ready to fuck that tight sweet little ass of yours. Conscious or not."
"Thank goodness for small favors," I muse. My pussy was already sore, and taking Eljahs massive manhood up my bum would have me walking funny for a week. I decide to take matters into my own hands or, more precisely, my mouth.
Bending down, I rub Eljah's cock over my face, smearing his cum and my pussy juice all over from chin to forehead.
Grabbing my head with both hands and establishing his dominance, Elijah ruthlessly thrusts into my mouth. The crew takes little notice of the post fluff with my costar. In a short time, I am drooling as tears stream down my cheeks. He begins to thrust faster, his balls slapping against my chin as he mercilessly face fucks me. I struggle for air, to no avail. He is taking his pleasure as a Black man, and no amount of effort or whining from a worthless white bitch was going to oppose him.
He comes with a roar as I gag and choke on his cascade of potent seeds. Swallowing again and again to avoid being suffocated by his torrent of cum. He pulls my head off his massive manhood by using my hair as a handle. Slapping my face with his still-hard cock and teasing me with insults.
Olivia moves to our spot on the set and surveys the area. I have noted that all great directors like to view what the actors see before and after a shot. She pauses momentarily before announcing, "All right, everyone, this is a wrap. Good work, all."
She looks down upon both of us, still sprawled over the banner, now stained with the mingled juices of our passion. "Excellent work, Elijah, as always," she comments.
Olivia only does a cursory glance in my direction. "You white bitches are truly worthless sluts, aren't you," she says rhetorically before returning to walk toward the production trailer.
Elijah laughs, and I punch his arm. He fakes being hurt, wrapping me up in his big, strong arms, and kisses me deeply. I could linger in that kiss forever. What is about a Black man? Their strength and pride or that astounding, uncompromising arrogance making you melt?
Too soon, however, we are interrupted by an "Ahh … hmm" belonging to the new production assistant, Hedi.
Trying not to take my disappointment out on my replacement, I compose myself and, in a sweet voice, ask, "Yes, Hedi?"
"Mr. Carter, sir …" she nods to Eljah apologetically. "Taylor, I am so sorry to interrupt, but Trent said you are to go back to the trailer and meet with the Mayor."
"I already have; he doesn't get a do-over."
"Sorry, Mr. Reynold's orders,"
Elijah grinned. "Oh, the big man. You better do as you are told, girl."
"I am to fill you in on the way back to the trailer," Hedi adds.
"I have already given that wimpy, pale, flabby-assed, beer-gut white boi a foot job. What more is there to do?" I frown.
"Your duty, girl," Elijah chimed in.
"All right,' I say, rising from the banner, giving Eljah one last lingering kiss as I do.
"Damn, girl, you are fine," he said, chuckling as he slapped my bum again. My knees are still shaky from the fantastic pounding I had just received.
Sashaying my hips as I put my arm around Hedi's waist, and we move on from the set. Elijah takes note and whistles as he yells playfully, "My hotel later; that goes for you too, Hedi."
The crew is busy disassembling the set as we return to the trailer. Hedi takes the walk as an opportunity to fill me in on Mr. Reynold's request.
Arriving at the trailer, I find the Mayor kneeling on the floor before the Queening chair. The chair was strategically placed inside while I was away at the shoot. The request involving the chair was not usual. However, it typically involved some rich, high-paying old white boy who had amassed a fortune. They love to worship pussy after it has been thoroughly fucked by a real man, a Black man. As far as I could tell, the Mayor lived on a month-to-month budget. He was hardly the type that had the means to pay thousands of dollars for the privilege of worshiping my pussy and sucking out the cum of a real man. The order had been given, and I follow it as is my duty for the Cause.
"Oh, Ms… "the Mayor begins.
I cut the Mayor off with a scolding look before he could continue. "You will shut your mouth unless spoken to, do you understand?"
The Mayor nods.
"Good boi," I say, ignoring him for over fifteen minutes as I pour myself sparkling water, check my emails, and wash my face. Finally, satisfied that I had made the Mayor wait sufficiently long for his free reward, I returned to stand before him.
Usually, when a Reparation Productions fan requests a face sit with a Queening chair, it occurs very soon after the director calls cut. After all, these white boys are paying top dollar for the essence of interracial passion. They want it fresh! We female actresses are all schooled in the kegel technique. This is done to ensure the Black actor receives his due pleasure. After all, taking that much superior Black cock regularly loosens even the tightest pussy. The side benefit ensures that white bois get a whole load that is hot and fresh. The poor mayor isn't getting that treatment tonight. A fair amount of time had passed since Elijah had shagged me silly. As Hedi explained, it was part of the plan to keep the Mayor wanting more.
Luckily, a real man ejaculates in torrents, and even with the time that elapsed, I am still dripping Elijah's potent seed down my thighs in copious amounts. Once Hedi informed me of my duties, I clenched the appropriate muscles to conserve the juices of our passion. The stupid bastard of a Mayor has no idea how much he should be thanking me for that.
"Well, let's get this over with, … again," I sigh.
The Mayor looks up at me with sad puppy eyes such that I have to fight back the urge to vomit. Such was my contempt for this sorry excuse of a man. My thoughts turn to the fact that maybe he couldn't help it. Being born inferior was out of his control. It was the hand that life had dealt him as it does all of us. I push my revulsion aside and move into my role as a domme. "You may speak," I hiss.
"Ms. Forrest, do you wish me naked?" the Mayor asks timidly.
I was about to reply sternly when I reconsidered and softened my response. "Would you like to be naked when you worship me?"
"Oh yes!" the Mayor replies. The tone of his voice betrayed the fact he was on the edge of tears in joy.
"Very well, but be quick about it."
The Mayor jumps into action as he babbles about my performance in my most recent scene. "Ms. Forrest, you were fantastic tonight. Of course, you always are. I mean, the way Mr. Carter used you like a whore was hot.
The look of pleasure on your face as his Ni ... I mean the way that big Black man and his monster cock fucked you. It was a sight to behold, and I was so lucky to witness it firsthand. It was all I could do not reach into my trousers and jack off."
Noting the huge wet spot on the front of his tighty whities. I quip, "Looks like you didn't have to, Mayor,"
The Mayor looks down as he lowers his briefs over his fat thighs. "Oh ... oh, right. It was just so hot. I mean, a white woman being Blacked like that."
"Mmm hmm," I reply smugly.
The Mayor finishes laying his clothes on the chair behind him before eyeing the Queening chair to his front.
The chair is made of the finest leather and wood. It is custom contoured to my ass and hips with enough height to accommodate my long legs.
It features a large open area in the middle with ribbing along each side, so the weight of my body caused the folds of my sex to be stretched open, pushing them out beneath the chair prominently.
Below the padded seat, the underside is large enough to allow the Mayor to fit his head face up with the back resting on a thin pillow. The arrangement gives full access to my pussy and bum.
"Do you know what to do, Mayor?"
"Oh yes, I have watched Black Owned Couple hundreds of times. I even have the Director's cut." He said, referring to a film I made about a white couple submitting to a Black Master.
"Your lucky day, Mayor. This chair was used in that film."
The Mayor's little penis jumps when I mention the connection. "I am honored," he says excitedly as I giggle.
"In you go," I say, tapping my foot against the bottom of the chair.
The Mayor slides beneath the seat with the back of his head on the thin leather pillow and his chubby little face looking out between the two halves of the chair. I bend down, securely fastening the leather strap around his neck, giving me control over his head movement. I cinch it rather tight as the Mayor gasps for breath.
"Too tight, Mayor?"
He croaks out a "yes" and nods his head.
"Excellent!" I reply, satisfied that he could still breathe reasonably well.
Still naked from the shoot, I position myself over the chair, spreading apart my long, lean thighs that afford the Mayor a beautiful view of my shaved sex as I lower to the sitting position. Wiggling my bum for effect as I settle into place and rest my feet on his fat gut.
"Get to it, Mayor. I don't have all night."
With utmost reverence, the Mayor tentatively licks my pussy, like a kitten lapping milk.
"Deeper slut boi. Use that tongue. Suck up all the cum from that beautiful Black cock." I moan, rubbing my pussy across his face, and begin to buck wildly. He is struggling to lick my now throbbing clit while trying not to miss any of Eljah's pungent seed. Using my pelvic muscles well-toned from my intense daily kegel routine, I push out a very massive amount of Elijah's dominant seed into the Mayor's very eager mouth. So much so that the Mayor can not keep up; the thick cream begins to pour from between his lips, running down his cheeks and onto the floor below.
I am fast approaching orgasm as I ride his face, now wet with my pussy juice. I start to shake and scream from the beginning of an orgasm as I mash my pussy hard into the Mayor's face with a fervent intensity.
"It's the ultimate surrender, Mayor, when you lap a Black man's cum out of a well fucked white pussy." I cry, tightening my thighs around his head in a vice-like grip. The Mayor can only grunt his acknowledgment. Bearing all my weight against his face as I ride it to orgasmic bliss. After my passion has reached its height (after all, there is only so much a white bois tongue is capable of compared to a real man's cock), I slow, lengthening my plateau of pleasure. The Mayors little penis is wiggling back and forth like a worm on the end of a hook. It has changed color from pink to an angry red and looks in need of relief.
I am not a heartless bitch unless I want or have to be. Even deplorable white bois deserve relief when it is allowed. Taking pity on the Mayor and running my toes over his tiny penis caused him to instantly shoot his meager load. I skillfully move my foot away just in time to not soil my toes.
The Mayor, for his part, grunts, thrusting his hips, trying desperately to remain in contact with my feet to no avail. He continues wabbling his hips until his little penis looks like a small fish floundering on the deck of a boat. He emits one last groan, arching his back, and falls back flush with the floor.
By now, my pussy is pressed solidly against the Mayor's face, and he is, in fact, by this time, not moving. Releasing my thighs about the Mayor's head, worrying that I may have suffocated him. I lean back and rise from the chair. Looking down through the open center of the chair, the Mayor's face is a mess.
His cheeks, chin, and forehead are covered and coated with the juices of Elijah and my passions. The slimy coating on his face creates a unique visual effect, transforming it into the comic look of a gameshow contestant who had just been slimed.
"If your constituents could see you now, Mayor," I murmur.
The cum and pussy juice glistens and drips, so much so it pools in the Mayor's eye sockets, obscuring his vision. His mouth and nostrils, too, are filled to overflowing. The Mayor, who earlier in the day presented himself as ceremonial and proper, was now a canvas for slimy sex juice.
Wondering if I had killed the white boy. I bend down for a closer inspection. The Mayor has a huge grin running from ear to ear, so at the very least, I tell myself he died happy. Of course, his demise is not what my Nubian Masters desired, and if he were deceased, that would mean big trouble for me.
Reluctantly I tap his cum coated cheek with my foot and receive no response. Damn, I think, just my luck, I did kill him. Using my whole foot, I tap more firmly a second time.
The Mayor coughs up pussy juice and cum then yells "Man, oh man, woo doggie!" He hoots loud enough that the whole set can hear him. "That was fantastic, Taylor. Ahh, I mean Ms. Forrest."
Breathing a sigh of relief, I fall back in the Queening chair.
"Glad you enjoyed yourself, Mayor."
"Oh, I did; thank you so much, Ms. Forrest! That was the best orgasm of my life!"
I found the comment sad and hilarious all at once.
"Ms. Forrest, did you? Did you enjoy yourself? Did you know, did you ? ... That is, did I ... did I make you ... ?" the Mayor asked.
"Come?"
The Mayor sheepishly nodded and muttered, "Yes,"
“I did, Mayor; nice job."
Almost impossibly, the Mayors cum coated grin becomes even more expansive.
Unbuckling the Mayor from his leather neck collar that securely fastens his head to the chair, I help him to his feet. His limbs are stiff and sore from the excursion, and his balance is shaky. He continues to gush about the experience and thanks me endlessly.
I remind him of the privilege he just received. Usually, an honor that carries a price tag of thousands of dollars. Again, he gushes and blunders his gratitude. I also advised him of the rule that a Black man's seed is never wasted or allowed to remain on or touch the ground, pointing to the vast puddle of passion juice he has left on the trailer floor. He quickly drops to his knees and laps the cold, slimy, and congealed mess from the floor. Once complete, he dresses quickly and begins babbling on his gratitude. I dismiss him without a word, simply waving him off with my hand.
One item troubling me from earlier in the evening has been answered. Usually, Hedi would tell me before the shoot which one of my many patrons had bid enough to earn the right to be creampie boy after the shoot. She had not mentioned it this pre-shooting, and I had forgotten to ask. The question of who was answered, but the why was still murky. However, I had my suspicions.
Later the following morning, my phone rang as Hedi, Elijah, and I lay spent and sprawled out over his bedraggled hotel bed. True to his word, Elijah exploited Hedi and me roughly all night long, not that either of us was complaining. The caller ID shows Mr. Reynolds.
I pick up the phone from the nightstand and yawn, wiping the sleep from my eyes before answering, "Hello, Mr. Reynolds."
"Hello, girl. Good job on last night's shoot. Olivia said the shoot went well, and we got some excellent footage."
"That's great, Mr. Reynolds. The crew is fantastic, and Mr. Carter is the best. I always enjoy working with him and Ms. Jenkins." I say, untangling myself from the collective tryst of bodies. All the while trying to remain humble on the phone as I move towards the window and away from the bed. Elijah and Hedi are still in restful slumber as I traverse the room.
Mr. Reynolds laughs. "Yes, Olivia doesn't like white girls much, but you did show her the respect the all Black women deserve. On a different matter, I assume that all went well with the Mayor after the shoot?"
"Yes, Sir, he was more than happy when he left."
"Good, girl, the production crew said we have it all on video."
"That's great, Sir."
"One more thing. You are to continue to see and groom the Mayor. This means we will be arranging more rendezvouses between you and him."
I suppress a sigh, not wanting Mr. Reynolds to hear or know about my disappointment and aversion to the assignment.
After several silent moments, Mr. Reynolds speaks, "Do you understand me, girl?"
"Yes, Sir, yes, Mr. Reynolds, I understand."
"That's a good girl, you know and understand your duty to the Cause. We have big plans for the Mayor. We see him becoming a state Representative first, then a US senator, and after that, who knows? With the Cause's resources behind him, we intend to plant the seeds of the downfall from within."
"Yes, Sir"
"Again, good work, girl, and keep it up. Tell Elijah hello for me.
"Yes, Sir," I say as the phone call ends, and with that, I return to bed, snuggling up to the strong, powerful, proud black Man who lay fast asleep.
Chapter One: Reparation Productions
(Taylor's Story)
Being a production assistant was great, and I loved it. My work was advancing the Cause, be it in a small way. It was part of absolution for my ancestors' many sins. This penance is all about knowing my place and acknowledging my insignificance. It made me recognize the wisdom and authority held by the one true mother of all people.
Submission to my Nubian superiors acknowledges my inferiority, showing obedience and reverence. This subservience acknowledges that the Nubians, the mother of all, possess knowledge and righteousness and are the only ones worthy of the honor.
As my prior white geek boyfriend would always quote from one of his brainless sci-fi flicks, "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one." It's the only worthwhile thing that a useless white boy ever gave me. It was in this spirit that I begrudgingly accepted my new position.
Recognizing that the greater good outweighs my inconsequentiality, I dutifully follow and obey my Nubian Master. I moved from serving behind the scenes to taking center stage in front of the camera. This shift allows me to contribute more actively towards the Nubian goal of world domination, using my humble place to bring about this change. My wish and dream are that my servitude and determination will speed the devil's, the evil white man's downfall.
The night shoot is set in the town of Newberry. The scene is in the heart of the little town, with an old Confederate monument representing the town's racist and bigoted past as the backdrop. Weathered by time, the statue stands in silence to dishonest glory. Carved from stone and frozen in time, some old white Confederate general atop his horse, his face etched in false pride.
The monument's details are supposed to tell a story of valor and sacrifice; instead, I feel nothing but loathing and disgust. I can barely bring myself to look upon the obscene piece of rock. Narrow-minded redneck white boys view it as a symbol of heritage and honor. At the same time, right-minded individuals see it as a reminder of oppression. Regardless, tonight, the monument represents change, a link to an era that was and will no longer be. Tonight, the profane monument falls.
Heidi, my replacement as a production assistant, enters the makeup trailer. She is a beautiful buxom blonde, a recent college graduate, and full of vigor for the Cause.
"Hi, Taylor, here are the script changes," she beams.
"Anything major, Hedi?" I ask.
"No, just a few minor revisions."
"Great, we should be all set then. I see the crane is here." As I peer out the window.
"It's huge. They could move a ship with it. Looks way too big for the job."
"Are you worried?"
"You are joking, right?" Hedi grins, and we both laugh.
"Fuck the monument. After all, the redneck hicks in this town have it insured. Besides, the production company is paying them a huge amount for this shoot. They will have enough meth money to keep them high for months, or until their teeth fall out, whichever comes first; by then, they will have forgotten all about their sorry ass pigfucker statue."
"That reminds me, I almost forgot the Newberry mayor is here for his 'autograph.' Trent promised him you would sign a pair of panties for him."
Trent Washington is the second unit director who is also in charge of onsite production. A very handsome, tall, mocha-skinned god who I would much prefer to spend my time with than some short, fat, and balding white small-town mayor. I constantly remind myself this is all for the Cause, so I do my duty willingly. However, this is a task I loathe.
I stall in small talk with Hedi for as long as I can. Finally, knowing that time is running short before the shoot, I face the inevitable.
"I can't avoid this, can I?" I say discouragingly.
"Afraid not," Hedi says with a frown.
"Let's get this over with; send him in."
Hedi gives me a look of support as she exits the trailer. A few moments after she leaves, there is a tepid knock on the trailer door. I wait and make him knock again, then once more for good measure. Finally, another knock and a high-pitched voice squeakly asks, "Miss Forrest, this is Mayor Dillard. May I come in?"
I let the poor mayor fret a few more moments. "Come in," I say in my sternest voice.
As predicted, the door opens, and a small, pale, pot-bellied, sad excuse for a man creeps into the trailer.
"Hello, Mayor," I greet him in a steely voice.
My nakedness causes him to pause as he drinks in my body. "Miss Forrest, it is an honor to meet you." he stutters.
"I am sure it must be for you," I replied coldly, ignoring the use of 'Miss' for now.
Undeterred by my icy response, he smiles. "I am a huge fan, one of your biggest."
"No doubt you are." My pun goes over the top of his bald head.
"I loved you, in 'Undercover Southern Belle Defiled.' That was steampunk porn at its best."
That was my very first film for Reparation Productions. It is an alternate steampunk history set during the Civil War. The story of a northern spy who marries a wealthy Confederate widower and helps bring down the Confederacy and quite a bit more. It is now considered a cult classic.
"Do the good people of Newberry know of your cinematic taste, Mayor?"
"Oh heavens, no! I would lose my mayorship in a heartbeat. Most likely, they would run me out of town. Have you seen how they look at all the …" The Mayor stopped short, eyeing my disdain for the term he was about to use. "I mean all the people of color in your cast and crew that have taken over the town."
I had noticed the town's loathing and savored every minute of it. Racist bastards, every one of them, the Mayor included. However, he is a tartuffe, the French term for a hypocrite. In addition to being cast in General Jackson's downfall, my other duty is turning the Mayor into a valuable pawn for the Cause. At this point, the assignment is only a rumor Hedi passed on to me.
"This big production takes a large crew to stage." I sneer.
'Yes, no doubt I am sure, they could still be a little more subdued. All that attitude and such."
"I am sure the red-neck towns folk don't refuse the green of money when it is doled out for all the goods and services. This little two-bit backwoods shit hole of a town could use all the help it can get. Proud people have no reason to be subdued, as you put it, or make excuses for the respect they are due."
No doubt the Mayor wants to reply and defend his town. He begins to part his lips to speak, then stops. The little tent in the front of his trousers tells me he might not want to upset me.
He gathers some courage and then changes the subject, asking, "Trent, I mean, Mr. Washington said you would autograph some, well some, that you would sign …"
His shyness would be adorable if not coming from a sorry-ass white boy. "Yes?" I scoff.
"That you would autograph a pair of panties."
"Did he?”
"Yes, I mean, yes, he said you would. Didn't he tell you?"
"No, he didn't mention a thing about it."
The look of disappointment on the Mayor's face is like that of a little boy who has just lost his new bike. It's priceless, and I can't help but laugh.
"I am fucking with you, Mayor," I smirk.
A look of relief sweeps across his face. Followed by a huge smile from ear to ear, replacing the look of defeat.
"Oh, thank goodness,"
"Top drawer, you can pick any pair you want," I say, pointing to my left.
"I have my own," The Mayor replies, pulling a pink pair of panties from the breast pocket of his suit coat.
My eyes widen.
"From the Reparation Production website. You wore these in Teacher Gets Schooled in Black History. Deven pounded you hard, and he came in gallons. See, they still have the stain." the Mayor says, pointing to the ample dried and crusted white area surrounding the crotch of the pink satin panties.
So I did; that was my third feature about a white junior college teacher and an over eighteen Black student who showed her the errors in her ways and introduced her to some much-needed discipline. Reparation Production makes a considerable income from both its videos and the merchandising that goes along with it. Soiled panties are one of its best and most profitable sellers.
Times have changed, and in the studio's early days, items like panties, costumes, and props were either reused or discarded. It has become big business to market these items and other production materials such as t-shirts, cups, and other products. All the profits go to supporting the Cause, of course.
"I am hoping for a Wet Pack in the future. Who knows, maybe one from this film."
"Don't get your hopes up, Mayor," I say. The 'Wet Pack' is marketed as recently soiled panties from a sex scene in one of Reparation Production videos that is still sodden with the actor's passions. Removed, bagged, and hermetically sealed right after the director calls "Cut" after a scene.
"I know, now that the company does online bidding, the prices have skyrocketed. The last pair of your panties at auction went for thousands of dollars." the Mayor says with sadness.
The things that creepy little white boys will spend their ill-begotten money on. No Black man would ever dream of paying for soiled panties. If he wants your panties, he takes them as his right. The idea that white boys are using their money to support the Cause fills me with joy that every penny of those thousands of dollars is going to their downfall and subjugation. Whether they know its purpose or not makes no difference to me.
"You are the Mayor; can't you just siphon off some town funds?
For a moment, he ponders, not with a look like this was a new idea but more like he was doing a risk/benefit analysis. Taking note of his dilemma, I set this to memory for future use.
"No, no, I can't. As much as I want to."
"Pity, think of all the ways you could jerk off with them. Wacking your little thingy while holding them up to your nose and taking in the smell of a real man and well fucked white pussy."
He sighs with sad puppy eyes.
"Well, I have a scene to shoot," I say, holding my upturned hand.
A brief look of confusion on the Mayor's face gives way to acknowledgment. "Oh yes, here you go," he says, holding out the panties and placing them in my hand as if holding some precious work of art. Taking them, I find the fabric marker Hedi has thoughtfully left behind.
"Anything special or just my signature?"
"Whatever you deem appropriate, Miss Forrest."
'"It's Ms. Forrest, not Miss Forrest."
"What? Oh, sorry, Ms. Forrest."
I usually am not such a bitch, even to white boys. But, it is part of the act. Since my second video, White Couple Owned, in which a newly married couple submits to Black rule, white boys expect me to dominate them. You know the Black man dominates the white wife; she, in turn, dominates her pansy white husband. Naturally, the Black man dominates the couple. Finding a perfect location on the back of the panties, I sign the pair with a personal message just for effect. I toss them back at the Mayor as they land on his face. The Mayor smiles with glee when he sees my signature and message. Once again, he holds them deftly, placing them carefully back in his suit pocket. Nervously, he shifts from one foot to the other, watching me as I finish with my makeup.
"Is there something else?" I know there is, and I dread it. Trent's promise of an 'autograph' to the Mayor carries more than just a simple signature on a piece of cloth. Any type of sex with a white boy is disgusting. It is also not allowed once given to the Cause. Unfortunately, there are exceptions, and this is one of them. In commitment to the Cause, certain exceptions are allowed if pleasuring a white boy advances the goal. Specific rules are still strictly followed no pussy, ass, or blow job; those are reserved for a Black man. Handjobs or any pleasure not involving an orifice is mostly acceptable.
"I was told, Trent, I mean Mr. Washington said…"
"Mr. Washington said what?" the demanding tone of my voice caused the Mayor to shrivel.
"He said you would, you know."
"I do know and want to hear you say it."
"That you would get me off. No penetration, of course."
"In your dreams," The Mayor's lack of specifics is my opening. No doubt he expects a hand job. His lack of focus costs him.
"You can hump my feet."
"Ahh, well, I was hoping."
"Hope all you want; it's now or never. It's your lucky day, and I haven't had time to put on my heels. You get skin-to-skin. Get to it; you have minutes."
The Mayor wastes no time removing his suit coat and unbuckling his trousers. Pulling down his trousers and then his tighty whities before kneeling before me. Turning my makeup chair to face him, I stick out my bare left foot.
He looks up at me as if asking for permission.
'Well, what are you waiting for?" I growl.
"It would be easier if I could use both your feet."
"You are demanding for a wimpy white boi." Still taking pity on him, I extend my right foot.
The Mayor wastes no time pressing his tiny penis between my feet and begins humping wildly.
I finish applying my lipstick, taking no interest in the Mayor's wild gyrations against the bottom of my feet. His hips thrust back and forth as he gasps and moans.
"How long has it been since you have seen that pink little worm over your pale fat belly?" I tease.
His only response between gasps for breath is, "Agh, oh."
Finally, his body stiffens and cries in pleasure as his little penis shoots a white trickle onto my feet and toes.
"Yuck, disscusting." I coo
"Oh gawd, thank you, thank you. Ms. Forrest."
"Get to it. I don't have time to wait for you."
"What, oh! You want me to …"
"That worthless goo is not going to lick itself clean."
He licks my feet quickly with a determination that tells me he has done this before. I also take note of this for future reference.
There is a knock on the trailer door, and Hedi's voice announces, "The Director is on set, ten minutes until filming begins."
"Got it, thanks, Hedi,"
"I better get going." the spent and rumpled Mayor says.
'Yes, you better,"
Hurriedly, he dresses, giving me a look of lustful appreciation.
"Will I see you again before you are done filming?"
"Maybe if you play your cards right," I say, dreading the prospect, knowing it is my duty if told to do so. In a flurry of hast, the Mayor dashes out the door, his shirttail peeking out from beneath his suit coat.
The crane outside roars to life as I finish my makeup and put on the impossibly red high heels the costume director selected for the scene. They are to match the Daisy Duke outfit I will be wearing or, more correctly, not be wearing. The items will be scattered about the set: extremely tiny jean shorts ripped naturally, a bright red thong, and a plaid top. The articles are the backdrop showing the young debutant being willfully defiled. I slip on a cotton robe before making my way out.
Exiting the trailer, I hear excited voices yelling warnings and a massive crashing sound echoing through the town square. More swearing ensues as I pass the trailers to the tents surrounding the set.
It is early evening, and the last grey clouds have disappeared into the late fall sky. The little town square is alive with the bright lights of the production set. The trees are now bare with a few remaining leaves clinging to their branches. The ground below is carpeted with fallen leaves that crunch underfoot. As darkness descends upon the square, streetlights flicked to life beyond the park. A chill is in the air, and I shiver underneath my robe as a light mist falls.
Looking at the scene before me, I am in awe of the well-executed plan. The General's statue is in pieces at the center of the square. Of course, when I say the plan, I mean the Cause's intention. The rednecks present, including the mayor, are rushing about in a frenzy, screaming as if a baby had been kidnapped. How could this have happened? The idea was to remove the statue from its pedestal and place it on the side at the base (the actions of an angry crowd that takes revenge on their oppressor, at least as far as the script went).
Now, a little perspective is needed here. The Cause is not confined to a single company, corporation, or group. It thrives in the open and shadows. It can claim a massive community of supporters, members, and dedicated chattel fueling its growth, reach, and impact. Its influence extends far beyond borders, being both global and local with its reach. Its vast network includes individuals from all walks of life participating in its goals, from ordinary people leading everyday lives to influential figures holding power positions in government and industry. The Cause transcends boundaries, finding its place in every field imaginable, from academia to the highest echelons of world leadership.
One such entity is Reparations Productions, a company that develops and produces interracial films promoting acceptance of a Black-empowered world. Its ownership, executives, and primary staff are naturally Black in keeping with its goals. This order is valid for the Cause in general.
So, in the chaos that ensues after the General's downfall and destruction, the executive producer and senior studio vice-president Jackson Reynolds takes over. Watching this man work his magic is nothing short of miraculous.
Jackson Reynolds stands over six and a half feet tall and commands attention. The man possesses an air of mystery and intrigue. His ebony features are chiseled, with a strong jawline and dark, piercing eyes that promise untold stories. His dark hair, cropped close, frames a face that exudes confidence. With a physique sculpted by strength and grace, he moves with an effortless elegance that draws admiring looks from both men and women alike. As always he is dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, highlighting his sculpted form and magnetic presence.
Most of the shooting was done secretly; townspeople only knew that some large Hollywood studio was in town to shoot a movie for some streaming service, or so they were told. All the town, with a few exceptions, believed several A-list celebrities were involved in the production. Reparation Production did nothing to discourage this belief.
This assumption would prove valuable in the Cause's plan. Only a very few locals had actual access to the film's shootings. This was one such example; except for the mayor, only three other locals were at the General's ruin. The three riggers were hired to move the statue. The trio who came with their crane and ignorance were now responsible for the disaster.
The hillbilly movers are arguing among themselves about the origin of the catastrophe, pushing and shoving each other as their anger increases by the second. Into this maelstrom steps Jackson Reynolds. Clearing his throat, the three redneck hillbillies freeze. He first calms the group and the mayor, who is a sobbing mess by now. With perfect serenity, he explains that the event was an unfortunate and unexpected accident, that blame is useless, and that what is done cannot be undone. Issues such as this always arise when shooting. It is what we can do now that is important.
After a few minutes of discussion, of which I am just out of earshot, the group shakes hands, and both the mayor and the three redneck riggers are much appeased if not quite all smiles.
As a side note, the town square will now have one less old white Confederate General darkened its center by spring. In its place, visitors will be greeted by a beautiful garden. Children will play on a splash pad in a colorful water area, their laughter mingling with the sounds of cascading fountains. Nearby, swings will sway gently in the breeze as part of a large play area. On the opposite corner is a quiet park. Trees and flowers bordering benches that shade those enjoying its peacefulness. The mayor will be assured reelection, and the riggers will be appeased with new teeth and a crane, all courtesy of Reparation Productions. It is a beautiful thing when a plan comes to fruition.
By now, I am freezing and shivering in the cold. My thin cotton robe is no match for the chill descending on the square as the sun sets. At that very moment, a large hand firmly slaps my bum.
"Where have you been, snowflake?" a deep baritone voice asks.
I turn to see Mason's big, beautiful grin.
Mason Hughes is the Director of Photography on this night's scene number 42, framed 'The General's Last Stand. '
"Just watching Mr. Reynolds work his magic," I reply.
"That man is as smooth as silk. Guess you have to be to get to his position."
"Agreed,"
'Damn, look at you; those little titties of yours have nipples after all!"
Looking down, I can see my nipples standing at full attention and very prominently displayed through the meager material of my robe. The cold had working them up to torrid little peaks.
"I am freezing, it's getting colder by the second, and these nipples know that."
"Well, the sooner we get to shooting, the sooner we all get back inside where it's warm, girl."
"I will warm you up real good, "I coo.
"I am going to hold you to that snowflake. Now, though, Olivia wants to see you."
"Got it," I say as I make my way to the Director's tent, but not before Mason gives my bum a mighty slap, causing me to tingle in pleasure.
The Director's tent is right behind the set. I wait as Olivia discusses some last-minute lighting checks with the gaffer and crew. Olivia Jenkins is a senior director at Reparations Productions, along with numerous other titles at the company. She has directed several productions I have worked on. She hates me, well, not me specifically, just whites in general, especially white women.
She sees Reparations Productions as unnecessary and a distraction from the ultimate goal of the Cause. Olivia, among all things, is dutiful, so even if her personal beliefs say otherwise, she puts them aside for the greater good. Though I doubt she sees any of this filming to be the greater good.
She makes her wishes known to the lighting crew, and they disperse, leaving me outside the tent. She looks at me disdainfully before nodding, indicating I should step inside.
Moving inside, I pull my robe tight, wrapping my arms around my shoulders for warmth and comfort. This woman always scares me.
"You have read the script changes?"
"Yes, Ms. Jenkins,"
"Any questions?"
"No, Ms. Jenkins,"
"Good. We don't have time to waste. I expect you to be on top of your game tonight."
"I understand,"
"No need for unnecessary improvisation or overthinking. Just do as you're told and deliver a decent performance."
"Understood, Ms. Jenkins."
"It has been a stressful day, and tonight promises to be the same. Close the flap."
I move to close the tent door flap.
"Show me your respect for the Cause girl. You know what to do, just like before."
With utmost humility and as gracefully as possible, I kneel before her, my head slightly bowed and eyes cast down as a sign of respect and deference to my superiors. She slides back to the table behind her and hikes up her skirt, moving her panties aside.
I position myself with my knees on the floor, lean in, and gently kiss her inner thigh before moving to her outer folds. Inhaling her scent and then licking her clit playfully as she moaned.
"Good girl," she says as I fervently apply soft kisses to her moist petals. She sighs, "Such a good little cunt licker."
Nodding, I slow my kisses before gently splitting her dark pussy lips with the tip of my tongue. I feel the heat build between her legs as she sighs softly and closes her eyes. The first taste is sweet, and l wiggle my tongue slowly into her warmth.
Her moans grow lusty as her thighs move together, brushing my cheeks with her silky smoothness. My tongue pushes further between her folds, and I marvel at how soft her skin feels against my cheeks as she wraps her thighs around my head. She circles her hand roughly about my head, taking a fist full of my hair between her fingers. Soon my tongue is deep in her pussy. My nose pressed hard against her clit.
She lets out a long, slow exhale as my lips and tongue press into her. My head swirls in tiny circles around her clit, and she moans in pleasure. Her petals radiate moist heat as her juices coat my lips and tongue. At this point, I am helpless, as Olivia uses my face as her masturbation device. Not that I am complaining.
"You white sluts aren't good for much but more than a few of you are great pussy eaters. But, I guess if all you have are white bois, with their tiny little worms to please you, I can see why." I can only give muffled agreement with her powerful thighs encasing my head.
"Fuck yes, so good!" Olivia cries and grips my head. Grinding her sex hard against my face, spreading her juice all over my lips and cheeks. She groans, jerking my head faster and harder against her folds. "Oh fuck, yesss, don't stop you worthless bitch! "Her body shudders, and I can feel her juices flooding my face. Holding my head firmly, she gives into several powerful orgasms. I keep my tongue in constant motion as her body jerks, and she grunts, pressing my face into her hot, wet womanhood.
As her orgasm subsides, she releases me, catching her breath while I continue to lick her clean. She pushes me away unceremoniously before dismissing me with a "That will be all bitch; we shoot in five minutes."
I close up my robe that had fallen off my shoulders and leave the tent. Once outside the tent, I wipe my face, now glistening with juices of Olivia's passion, off on the sleeve of my robe. That damn camera picks up everything.
The set is brilliantly lit, and the crew is putting on the final touches. The general, indeed, has met his fate. The statue lay strewed about in a multitude of pieces. Surprisingly, his horse is mainly unscathed. My red thong adorns what is left of the general's head and face. The Daisy Duke shorts graced his horse's saddle, and the flannel top wrapped around one of its legs.
One crew member places a Confederate flag directly in front of the wreckage. By now, this had become a signature feature of many Reparations Productions. The white slut getting banged on the banner. Not that I mind; it just seems a bit overdone.
"There she is, my slutty costar!" an immense voice booms. Without looking, I know it is my costar Elijah Carter. Once more, I receive another massive slap to my bum so hard I almost lose my balance before I feel Elijah's strong arms circle protectively around my waist. He kisses my neck as my hands caress his face. We have worked together before, and he is a great guy.
Elijah Carter played my lover's brother in the second feature I did for Reparations Productions,' White Couple Owend.' As I said before, it is the story of a newly married couple dabbling in cuckolding only to find themselves becoming enslaved to a Black Bull and master. It was the film that solidified my position with the studio.
The film we are currently doing is called 'Southern Belle Enlightened.' It is the story of a young debutant and her coming to terms with her ******'s racist slave-owning past. How, in a few short months, she, in her minimal way, atoned for some of her ******'s sins. If, of course, that could be possible. Giving her ******'s misbegotten fortune to a Black-ruled future and destroying the racist town they had ruled for over two hundred years.
Like all the studio's productions, it is interracial porn. Unlike most porn productions, it is one hundred percent Black-owned, operated, and managed, being part of the Cause. No white person has any role above a minion. It may seem usual, but there is a method to what may seem like madness. You see, the biggest connoisseur of interracial porn is deplorable white boys. Using their kink as a means of their downfall is such poetic justice.
Today, the final scene is being filmed. The young debutant ****** millions are gone. Her father and grandfather are behind bars for fraud. Her brothers are now methheads selling their asses for some crank. Her mother works the streets for her Black master. The town is in shambles after a protest for the wrongful arrest of a young Black man the debutant has fallen in love with. She has only one way she can pay her Black lover's lawyer fee. The lawyer will accept her body as payment, not only for the cost but to atone for her ******'s past sins.
With Elijah's hand firmly grasping my ass, he pushes me onto the set. He murmurs in my ear while guiding me towards the Confederate banner, "I am going to pummel that pussy of yours, girl; you won't be walking straight for a week." With that, he disrobes me flinging the garment aside.
I whisper back, cupping his strong chin. "Promise?"
Elijah laughs and grins. With Mason by her side, Olivia is finalizing the shoot with the three camera crews used for the scene.
The sound crew attaches our tiny, almost invisible earpieces and does an audio check, to which both Elijah and I give the thumbs up. The micro earpieces allow the director and crew to communicate their instruction to us during the shot.
"There's my sis, the OG of cinema," Elijah says, warmly wrapping his arms around Olivia.
"Hello, Elijah," Olivia responds with a businesslike tone. Beneath Olivia's cold outward demeanor, she likes Elijah. What I also believe is that she sees this whole business as still about exploiting Black people and, in this case, particularly the Black man. Her devotion and dedication to the Cause allow her to overlook it no matter how distasteful.
"Snow Bunny and I here are ready for the shoot."
"Good, let's get going," Olivia says as she motions to one of the senior crew members. The crew member immediately makes a beeline towards Olivia.
"The girl here needs her skinny white ass crimson before we shoot. It should have been done by now. We are on a tight schedule; you all know that!" Olivia says her inflection carries an air of indifference and detachment as if I was not present and held no significance to her. There is as always a noticeable lack of warmth or interest in her voice concerning me.
"Yes, Ms. Jenkins, right away," He says, turning to make his way to the prop trailer.
"Hold up, I got this," Elijah says, taking me by the wrists.
Olivia and the rest of the crew turn to look at Elijah. "I'll do the chore myself."
"Are you sure?" Olivia asked in a voice that sounded like he was volunteering to do a week's worth of laundry for the entire town.
"Yeah, my pleasure," he said, pulling my wrists far above my head until I was on tip-toe. A testament to his strength that he used only one arm to hoist me that high without the slightest exertion.
"You want me to fetch a paddle, Elijah?" the crewmember asked.
"Nah, these big old Black hands should do the trick on this small ass white girl."
Olivia just shrugged with apathy.
Without ceremony, Elijah smacks my bum with firm, hard slaps that resonate over the set as the crew watches. The man is terrific; one strong arm bulging with firm, hard-toned muscle holds me aloft effortlessly. With the other arm and open-handed palm, he spanks me mercilessly. I wiggle but make little effort to avoid the painful blows as each one sends a jolt of pleasure to my sex, getting wetter with each smack. As the last firm slap ends, he lets me down and spins me around, pressing my lips to his and driving his tongue deep into my mouth. The spanking, the kiss, and Elijah's hard embrace send my head spinning. My knees grow weak, and if not for his arms wrapped around me, I would fall to the ground like the autumn leaves about us.
"Alright, everyone, the sideshow is over, places everyone!" Olivia calls out.
We make our way toward the tattered Confederate banner spread upon the ground directly in front of the general's shattered remains. Without Elijah's strong arm about my waist, I would have wobbled forward very ungracefully.
As I said, the scene is the climactic end of the film. The lawyer is taking his fee, and Rebbeca (aka Becky), the now fallen southern belle and debutant, is gleefully paying the price. Among the ruins of the day's march for justice, the two are about to consummate the final payment.
I slide down onto the stars and bars of the banner, wiggling my now bright crimson bum against the material, eliciting a roar of approval from the crew. By now, the toothless white boi riggers are so ***** on beer and drugs supplied by the crew they lay passed out behind one of the far trailers. For his part, the mayor has a look on his face that is curious, terrified, and aroused simultaneously. The Security Staff, all buff and built Black men, have terrified the locals from the first day of the production and now guard the perimeter of the night shoot. By now, the presence of these tall, imposing Black men sporting expensive suits and dark glasses has browbeaten the locals into passive submission. The residents stay away, happy that their backwoods, inbred, sorry excuse for a town was getting an outrageous amount of money for one of those artsy West Coast films those ass-loving homosexuals love so much in their words. Or so they all believed.
The lighting technicians hovering about with their light meters make final adjustments as we settle on our marks. Elijah strips down, removes his custom-tailored Lululemon tracksuit, and tosses it to a crew member. Gawd, the man exudes an aura of raw sex. Every sinew and vein rippled beneath his perfect chocolate flesh, showcasing his defined contours and chiseled body, presenting a formidable sculpted force. The light danced across the taut skin, and I could feel the sheer might contained within his impressive form.
Elijah's manhood is considerable even when semi-erect, not the largest of my many costars but impressive nonetheless. His cock is magnificent, thick, veiny, and threatening as it swings from side to side. His low-hanging testicles are the size of oranges. He grabs me just below the knees and pushes my thighs wide apart, looking down upon me with those dark eyes and a cocksure grin.
An insignificant white crewmember weaves between the lighting and sound technicians with a bottle of lube. Elijah laughs as he runs powerful fingers along the petals of my damp sex. I let out a lustful sigh at his touch.
"No need, boi, this bitch is as wet as a fish's belly." he chuckles, sending the crewmember away. The cast and crew roar their approval once more as I blush.
The scene setup was thin, like most porn. After the days of unrest and with the town in shambles, the Becky character walks along its ruined streets. Windows are smashed, and buildings are vandalized. In the distance, smoke from a fire drifts over the town. She makes her way to the town square. The statue of her fifth-generation grandfather lies broken in pieces, and the sizeable Confederate flag, torn and partially burnt, lies next to it. There waiting is the attorney, ready for his payment.
The crew makes one last sound check, then hustles away. Olivia gives Mason the thumbs up. He calls "Action!" and the cameras begin filming.
With the call of "Action!" the loader snaps the clapperboard, and the scene begins. I can not say how other erotic filming is done, but at Reparation Productions, the sex scenes are highly choreographed. That doesn't mean you can't adlib, but dialog is crucial, especially when working with Olivia. I am not too humble to admit that with a devastatingly handsome Black god towering over you, it is sometimes hard to focus and remember your lines. Luckily, Elijah had the opening line and took his queue.
"Looks like this butt-fucked Deliveranceville has met its due process."
Moving my head about and looking at the carnage, I answer, "Yes, Sir, and it's about time."
"200 years late, time to pay up, girl; first-class legal representation doesn't come cheap!"
"You came highly recommended, and I can see why. All charges dropped!"
"These locals couldn't find their asses. Much less prosecute a case with sham evidence."
"Yes, Sir"
A wide smile slowly spreads across Elijah's face as he spreads my thighs further apart before forcing my legs up and over my shoulders.
"A girl like you has much to atone for, you understand?"
"Yes, Sir, I am ready to pay for my transgressions."
He slowly runs the head of his generous manhood along my glistening folds as I purr in delight.
"Good girl. That wet pussy of yours agrees,"
I thrust my hips, trying to keep my sex in contact with his member.
"Damn, slut, you are eager to settle the bill." Elijah laughs.
"Yes, Sir,"
"I like to see willing white sluts beg for a proper fucking. I bet until you met a real man, you had never been properly fucked?"
"Never, Sir,"
"Yes, Sir, what girl?"
"Yes, Sir, I have never been properly fucked."
"Nothing but little white boi dick?"
"Yes, Sir,"
"You like that little white boi dick?"
"No, Sir, I hate it,"
“You need cock, a real man's cock.”
“Gawd, yesss …”
Elijah gives a wide grin. "You did the proper thing and helped fight a wrong. It's a start. Now beg me slut." He says, teasing my folds with his superb manhood.
"Please, please fuck me. Fuck my slutty white pussy with your beautiful Black cock."
"Mmm, now that is some sweet music to my ears," Elijah replies as he slides the head of his manhood slowly into my sex. My eyes rolled back into my head in bliss. He holds it there, taunting me. "Damn, that is one tight pussy. We are going to have to do something about that." Then, without delay, he thrusts his hips forward, holding my legs and pressing them hard against my shoulders.
"Oh, fuck yes," I gasp.
He picks up the pace and pushes my legs even further back until I feel his huge balls slap the rosebud of my ass with each savage thrust. He continues to pump, picking up his rhythm, and squeezes my pert little breasts and twisting my aching nipples until I cry out in orgasm. He relentlessly pushes me to the brink, then over the edge repeatedly.
All this time, the three camera crews move each camera in perfect controlled coordination. Camera crew one is focused on our faces, showing the pleasure and pain of Elijah's onslaught against my now well-used sex. Another crew moves behind us, taking a closeup of his massive manhood as he splits my glistening folds. The third crew pans out, taking in the whole set.
In my hidden earpiece, I can hear Mason, the Director of Photography, issue instructions to his crew: "Cam 2 closer, get closer. I wanna see that big black cock destroy that white pussy. Taylor, shift your hips up and slide to the right. Elijah pushes the sluts legs further apart."
Thinking that Manson appears to have little concern for my physical well-being, at least when getting the perfect shot, I slide sideways, twisting my torso until my back screams no more. Elijah takes Mason's instruction to heart and uses me like a human wishbone.
Elijah looks down at me with concern and whispers, "Put those arms around me and hold tight." I nod and wrap my long arms around his strong shoulders.
I hear Mason's voice in my earpiece. "That's it, Cam two. Perfect, look at that fat black cock pound that pussy. Rolling those pussy lips right back up and into themselves. Damn, that cock is slick with that white slut’s pussy juice. Good work!"
My whole body is shaking in waves of pleasure. Elijah keeps this pace until Olivia and Mason are satisfied with the shot.
Olivia's voice is now in my earpiece. "Ok, Elijah, roll the bitch over on cue, one, two, three."
Elijah, with no effort whatsoever, handily flips me over and onto all fours. With barely enough time to align myself, he slams his colossal cock deep into my welcoming, warm wet pussy. I scream out in joy as his large hand smacks my ass.
"That's it bitch, suffer for the cause!" he laughs as he grabs my hips and begins thrusting like a bull out to stud. Soon I feel another massive orgasm build as his immense balls collide with my clit on each thrust. My pussy squeezes tighter and tighter, and then there's a sudden burst and a rush through my entire body as it is filled with pleasure from head to toe. My body is overloaded with sensation, yet Elijah continues his assault.
There is a sense of determination in Elijah's eyes. With each thrust, flesh slapping flesh fills the air, echoing like a symphony of liberation. As his cock plunges deep into me, it becomes more than just a physical act; it turns into retribution. I feel his pent-up frustration and suppressed feelings set free with every lunge. The constant motion allows him to channel his anger into something real. Each fierce heave of his hips releases a sense of amends that courses through his veins. The emotional weight that once burdened him dissipates with every forceful assault of my pussy.
A rhythmic thud reverberates through our bodies like a heartbeat syncing with newfound freedom. Our muscles tense and relax with each thrust, releasing tension from deep within our souls.
“Damn girl, you are hotter than ten miles of Georgia asphalt In July,” Elijah exclaims as he slaps my bum hard.
I scream “Yes, oh yes fuck me harder.”
Sweat drips down Elijah’s brow, and our muscles ache with exertion; an overwhelming feeling of ecstasy washing over us. Each plunge deep into my sex represents breaking down and shattering white supremacy. It is an act of liberation, Elijah’s raw strength and determination; are shedding layers of repression. Nothing is more satisfying than surrender and submission to a proud, strong Black man.
Our skin glistens with perspiration as the steam of our passion rises from our bodies in the cold night air. I can feel Elijah's cock swell as his breathing becomes strained. He places his large hand around my slender neck, completely encircling it. His other hand continues to slap my reddened ass in between vicious thrusts.
"I bet your old slave-owning ancestors are rolling over in the grave. Knowing I'm pounding your white pussy with my big ole black cock. Breeding you like a worthless slut."
At this point, I am on the edge of delirium and about to pass out from the overload of continuous orgasms. I pull my last vestige of conciseness to the surface, knowing I must deliver a great performance. I began to thrust back against him, matching his motion and driving him deeper into my pussy.
"Oh yesss," I scream. "Fuck my pussy, Conquer me, and vanquish my evil ancestors. Let my body pay for their sins. Make me your bitch!
"That’s it, grind it good, work that tight little pussy and surrender to me. Mmm, girl, you were born to be a Black man's whore. "
"I am yours, all yours, forever!" I scream.
Elijah tightens his grip on my neck as I orgasm again and struggle for breath. He throws his head back and lets out a continuous roar, as his cock unleashes a torrent of thick hot African seed deep into my pussy.
'Damn, let justice be served!' he laughs between groans of pleasure.
One final wave of rapture crashes over my body feeling his hot thick, potent seed flood my womb. Then darkness. It is a joy to love your work!
I am not sure how long I remain unconscious. As I pull myself up to rest my elbow on the Confederate banner, Eljah's hand slaps my ass yet again.
"About time you get your lazy white ass up, girl; no sleeping on the job," he chuckles.
Rubbing my forehead and taking in his still nude and gorgeous body, I snuggle against his body. "How long was I out?"
"Not long, but if you did wake up soon, I was getting ready to fuck that tight sweet little ass of yours. Conscious or not."
"Thank goodness for small favors," I muse. My pussy was already sore, and taking Eljahs massive manhood up my bum would have me walking funny for a week. I decide to take matters into my own hands or, more precisely, my mouth.
Bending down, I rub Eljah's cock over my face, smearing his cum and my pussy juice all over from chin to forehead.
Grabbing my head with both hands and establishing his dominance, Elijah ruthlessly thrusts into my mouth. The crew takes little notice of the post fluff with my costar. In a short time, I am drooling as tears stream down my cheeks. He begins to thrust faster, his balls slapping against my chin as he mercilessly face fucks me. I struggle for air, to no avail. He is taking his pleasure as a Black man, and no amount of effort or whining from a worthless white bitch was going to oppose him.
He comes with a roar as I gag and choke on his cascade of potent seeds. Swallowing again and again to avoid being suffocated by his torrent of cum. He pulls my head off his massive manhood by using my hair as a handle. Slapping my face with his still-hard cock and teasing me with insults.
Olivia moves to our spot on the set and surveys the area. I have noted that all great directors like to view what the actors see before and after a shot. She pauses momentarily before announcing, "All right, everyone, this is a wrap. Good work, all."
She looks down upon both of us, still sprawled over the banner, now stained with the mingled juices of our passion. "Excellent work, Elijah, as always," she comments.
Olivia only does a cursory glance in my direction. "You white bitches are truly worthless sluts, aren't you," she says rhetorically before returning to walk toward the production trailer.
Elijah laughs, and I punch his arm. He fakes being hurt, wrapping me up in his big, strong arms, and kisses me deeply. I could linger in that kiss forever. What is about a Black man? Their strength and pride or that astounding, uncompromising arrogance making you melt?
Too soon, however, we are interrupted by an "Ahh … hmm" belonging to the new production assistant, Hedi.
Trying not to take my disappointment out on my replacement, I compose myself and, in a sweet voice, ask, "Yes, Hedi?"
"Mr. Carter, sir …" she nods to Eljah apologetically. "Taylor, I am so sorry to interrupt, but Trent said you are to go back to the trailer and meet with the Mayor."
"I already have; he doesn't get a do-over."
"Sorry, Mr. Reynold's orders,"
Elijah grinned. "Oh, the big man. You better do as you are told, girl."
"I am to fill you in on the way back to the trailer," Hedi adds.
"I have already given that wimpy, pale, flabby-assed, beer-gut white boi a foot job. What more is there to do?" I frown.
"Your duty, girl," Elijah chimed in.
"All right,' I say, rising from the banner, giving Eljah one last lingering kiss as I do.
"Damn, girl, you are fine," he said, chuckling as he slapped my bum again. My knees are still shaky from the fantastic pounding I had just received.
Sashaying my hips as I put my arm around Hedi's waist, and we move on from the set. Elijah takes note and whistles as he yells playfully, "My hotel later; that goes for you too, Hedi."
The crew is busy disassembling the set as we return to the trailer. Hedi takes the walk as an opportunity to fill me in on Mr. Reynold's request.
Arriving at the trailer, I find the Mayor kneeling on the floor before the Queening chair. The chair was strategically placed inside while I was away at the shoot. The request involving the chair was not usual. However, it typically involved some rich, high-paying old white boy who had amassed a fortune. They love to worship pussy after it has been thoroughly fucked by a real man, a Black man. As far as I could tell, the Mayor lived on a month-to-month budget. He was hardly the type that had the means to pay thousands of dollars for the privilege of worshiping my pussy and sucking out the cum of a real man. The order had been given, and I follow it as is my duty for the Cause.
"Oh, Ms… "the Mayor begins.
I cut the Mayor off with a scolding look before he could continue. "You will shut your mouth unless spoken to, do you understand?"
The Mayor nods.
"Good boi," I say, ignoring him for over fifteen minutes as I pour myself sparkling water, check my emails, and wash my face. Finally, satisfied that I had made the Mayor wait sufficiently long for his free reward, I returned to stand before him.
Usually, when a Reparation Productions fan requests a face sit with a Queening chair, it occurs very soon after the director calls cut. After all, these white boys are paying top dollar for the essence of interracial passion. They want it fresh! We female actresses are all schooled in the kegel technique. This is done to ensure the Black actor receives his due pleasure. After all, taking that much superior Black cock regularly loosens even the tightest pussy. The side benefit ensures that white bois get a whole load that is hot and fresh. The poor mayor isn't getting that treatment tonight. A fair amount of time had passed since Elijah had shagged me silly. As Hedi explained, it was part of the plan to keep the Mayor wanting more.
Luckily, a real man ejaculates in torrents, and even with the time that elapsed, I am still dripping Elijah's potent seed down my thighs in copious amounts. Once Hedi informed me of my duties, I clenched the appropriate muscles to conserve the juices of our passion. The stupid bastard of a Mayor has no idea how much he should be thanking me for that.
"Well, let's get this over with, … again," I sigh.
The Mayor looks up at me with sad puppy eyes such that I have to fight back the urge to vomit. Such was my contempt for this sorry excuse of a man. My thoughts turn to the fact that maybe he couldn't help it. Being born inferior was out of his control. It was the hand that life had dealt him as it does all of us. I push my revulsion aside and move into my role as a domme. "You may speak," I hiss.
"Ms. Forrest, do you wish me naked?" the Mayor asks timidly.
I was about to reply sternly when I reconsidered and softened my response. "Would you like to be naked when you worship me?"
"Oh yes!" the Mayor replies. The tone of his voice betrayed the fact he was on the edge of tears in joy.
"Very well, but be quick about it."
The Mayor jumps into action as he babbles about my performance in my most recent scene. "Ms. Forrest, you were fantastic tonight. Of course, you always are. I mean, the way Mr. Carter used you like a whore was hot.
The look of pleasure on your face as his Ni ... I mean the way that big Black man and his monster cock fucked you. It was a sight to behold, and I was so lucky to witness it firsthand. It was all I could do not reach into my trousers and jack off."
Noting the huge wet spot on the front of his tighty whities. I quip, "Looks like you didn't have to, Mayor,"
The Mayor looks down as he lowers his briefs over his fat thighs. "Oh ... oh, right. It was just so hot. I mean, a white woman being Blacked like that."
"Mmm hmm," I reply smugly.
The Mayor finishes laying his clothes on the chair behind him before eyeing the Queening chair to his front.
The chair is made of the finest leather and wood. It is custom contoured to my ass and hips with enough height to accommodate my long legs.
It features a large open area in the middle with ribbing along each side, so the weight of my body caused the folds of my sex to be stretched open, pushing them out beneath the chair prominently.
Below the padded seat, the underside is large enough to allow the Mayor to fit his head face up with the back resting on a thin pillow. The arrangement gives full access to my pussy and bum.
"Do you know what to do, Mayor?"
"Oh yes, I have watched Black Owned Couple hundreds of times. I even have the Director's cut." He said, referring to a film I made about a white couple submitting to a Black Master.
"Your lucky day, Mayor. This chair was used in that film."
The Mayor's little penis jumps when I mention the connection. "I am honored," he says excitedly as I giggle.
"In you go," I say, tapping my foot against the bottom of the chair.
The Mayor slides beneath the seat with the back of his head on the thin leather pillow and his chubby little face looking out between the two halves of the chair. I bend down, securely fastening the leather strap around his neck, giving me control over his head movement. I cinch it rather tight as the Mayor gasps for breath.
"Too tight, Mayor?"
He croaks out a "yes" and nods his head.
"Excellent!" I reply, satisfied that he could still breathe reasonably well.
Still naked from the shoot, I position myself over the chair, spreading apart my long, lean thighs that afford the Mayor a beautiful view of my shaved sex as I lower to the sitting position. Wiggling my bum for effect as I settle into place and rest my feet on his fat gut.
"Get to it, Mayor. I don't have all night."
With utmost reverence, the Mayor tentatively licks my pussy, like a kitten lapping milk.
"Deeper slut boi. Use that tongue. Suck up all the cum from that beautiful Black cock." I moan, rubbing my pussy across his face, and begin to buck wildly. He is struggling to lick my now throbbing clit while trying not to miss any of Eljah's pungent seed. Using my pelvic muscles well-toned from my intense daily kegel routine, I push out a very massive amount of Elijah's dominant seed into the Mayor's very eager mouth. So much so that the Mayor can not keep up; the thick cream begins to pour from between his lips, running down his cheeks and onto the floor below.
I am fast approaching orgasm as I ride his face, now wet with my pussy juice. I start to shake and scream from the beginning of an orgasm as I mash my pussy hard into the Mayor's face with a fervent intensity.
"It's the ultimate surrender, Mayor, when you lap a Black man's cum out of a well fucked white pussy." I cry, tightening my thighs around his head in a vice-like grip. The Mayor can only grunt his acknowledgment. Bearing all my weight against his face as I ride it to orgasmic bliss. After my passion has reached its height (after all, there is only so much a white bois tongue is capable of compared to a real man's cock), I slow, lengthening my plateau of pleasure. The Mayors little penis is wiggling back and forth like a worm on the end of a hook. It has changed color from pink to an angry red and looks in need of relief.
I am not a heartless bitch unless I want or have to be. Even deplorable white bois deserve relief when it is allowed. Taking pity on the Mayor and running my toes over his tiny penis caused him to instantly shoot his meager load. I skillfully move my foot away just in time to not soil my toes.
The Mayor, for his part, grunts, thrusting his hips, trying desperately to remain in contact with my feet to no avail. He continues wabbling his hips until his little penis looks like a small fish floundering on the deck of a boat. He emits one last groan, arching his back, and falls back flush with the floor.
By now, my pussy is pressed solidly against the Mayor's face, and he is, in fact, by this time, not moving. Releasing my thighs about the Mayor's head, worrying that I may have suffocated him. I lean back and rise from the chair. Looking down through the open center of the chair, the Mayor's face is a mess.
His cheeks, chin, and forehead are covered and coated with the juices of Elijah and my passions. The slimy coating on his face creates a unique visual effect, transforming it into the comic look of a gameshow contestant who had just been slimed.
"If your constituents could see you now, Mayor," I murmur.
The cum and pussy juice glistens and drips, so much so it pools in the Mayor's eye sockets, obscuring his vision. His mouth and nostrils, too, are filled to overflowing. The Mayor, who earlier in the day presented himself as ceremonial and proper, was now a canvas for slimy sex juice.
Wondering if I had killed the white boy. I bend down for a closer inspection. The Mayor has a huge grin running from ear to ear, so at the very least, I tell myself he died happy. Of course, his demise is not what my Nubian Masters desired, and if he were deceased, that would mean big trouble for me.
Reluctantly I tap his cum coated cheek with my foot and receive no response. Damn, I think, just my luck, I did kill him. Using my whole foot, I tap more firmly a second time.
The Mayor coughs up pussy juice and cum then yells "Man, oh man, woo doggie!" He hoots loud enough that the whole set can hear him. "That was fantastic, Taylor. Ahh, I mean Ms. Forrest."
Breathing a sigh of relief, I fall back in the Queening chair.
"Glad you enjoyed yourself, Mayor."
"Oh, I did; thank you so much, Ms. Forrest! That was the best orgasm of my life!"
I found the comment sad and hilarious all at once.
"Ms. Forrest, did you? Did you enjoy yourself? Did you know, did you ? ... That is, did I ... did I make you ... ?" the Mayor asked.
"Come?"
The Mayor sheepishly nodded and muttered, "Yes,"
“I did, Mayor; nice job."
Almost impossibly, the Mayors cum coated grin becomes even more expansive.
Unbuckling the Mayor from his leather neck collar that securely fastens his head to the chair, I help him to his feet. His limbs are stiff and sore from the excursion, and his balance is shaky. He continues to gush about the experience and thanks me endlessly.
I remind him of the privilege he just received. Usually, an honor that carries a price tag of thousands of dollars. Again, he gushes and blunders his gratitude. I also advised him of the rule that a Black man's seed is never wasted or allowed to remain on or touch the ground, pointing to the vast puddle of passion juice he has left on the trailer floor. He quickly drops to his knees and laps the cold, slimy, and congealed mess from the floor. Once complete, he dresses quickly and begins babbling on his gratitude. I dismiss him without a word, simply waving him off with my hand.
One item troubling me from earlier in the evening has been answered. Usually, Hedi would tell me before the shoot which one of my many patrons had bid enough to earn the right to be creampie boy after the shoot. She had not mentioned it this pre-shooting, and I had forgotten to ask. The question of who was answered, but the why was still murky. However, I had my suspicions.
Later the following morning, my phone rang as Hedi, Elijah, and I lay spent and sprawled out over his bedraggled hotel bed. True to his word, Elijah exploited Hedi and me roughly all night long, not that either of us was complaining. The caller ID shows Mr. Reynolds.
I pick up the phone from the nightstand and yawn, wiping the sleep from my eyes before answering, "Hello, Mr. Reynolds."
"Hello, girl. Good job on last night's shoot. Olivia said the shoot went well, and we got some excellent footage."
"That's great, Mr. Reynolds. The crew is fantastic, and Mr. Carter is the best. I always enjoy working with him and Ms. Jenkins." I say, untangling myself from the collective tryst of bodies. All the while trying to remain humble on the phone as I move towards the window and away from the bed. Elijah and Hedi are still in restful slumber as I traverse the room.
Mr. Reynolds laughs. "Yes, Olivia doesn't like white girls much, but you did show her the respect the all Black women deserve. On a different matter, I assume that all went well with the Mayor after the shoot?"
"Yes, Sir, he was more than happy when he left."
"Good, girl, the production crew said we have it all on video."
"That's great, Sir."
"One more thing. You are to continue to see and groom the Mayor. This means we will be arranging more rendezvouses between you and him."
I suppress a sigh, not wanting Mr. Reynolds to hear or know about my disappointment and aversion to the assignment.
After several silent moments, Mr. Reynolds speaks, "Do you understand me, girl?"
"Yes, Sir, yes, Mr. Reynolds, I understand."
"That's a good girl, you know and understand your duty to the Cause. We have big plans for the Mayor. We see him becoming a state Representative first, then a US senator, and after that, who knows? With the Cause's resources behind him, we intend to plant the seeds of the downfall from within."
"Yes, Sir"
"Again, good work, girl, and keep it up. Tell Elijah hello for me.
"Yes, Sir," I say as the phone call ends, and with that, I return to bed, snuggling up to the strong, powerful, proud black Man who lay fast asleep.
