Latessa's New Position | Neal's Home Page | ASSTR Home Page
CAUTION: This story is not politically correct. It includes the humiliation and degradation of willing and maybe not so willing black women. The "n" word is used liberally.
by Neal
Tom and Latessa left their house at five on the morning of her first day at the Andrews'. It was still dark. The interior of the car was dimly lit by the dashboard lights. Tom turned to his wife.
"You know the car payment check and the rent check bounced?" he said. "It's a good thing we found this work for you. Your other job just wasn't enough."
Latessa said nothing. Her stomach in a knot, she had a sense of impending doom.
It was just getting light when they pulled up to the Andrews' house. Tom kissed his wife and she got out and watched his tail lights disappear down the long driveway. Dressed in her maid's uniform, she got out the key and let herself in the back door.
She looked around the kitchen and found the cabinet where the cereal was. Latessa put it on the table along with bowls and spoons. She'd leave the rest in the fridge until Megan and Bobby came down for breakfast. Alone with her thoughts, she wondered what she'd gotten herself into.
A month earlier she'd just be getting up now, picking out which of her expensive business suits she was going to wear, and starting to think about the day's schedule of meetings, presentations, and reviews of her subordinates. Today she sat in someone else's kitchen wearing a maid's uniform waiting for their kids to come down so that she could serve them breakfast.
A little before seven, Bobby came down. He looked a lot like his father must have when he was sixteen. Same steel blue eyes, but a full head of dark brown hair.
"Hi," he said. "You must be the new maid. You're kind of pretty. What's your name?"
More indignities, thought Latessa.
"My name is Latessa," she replied. "I've got your cereal out. I'll get the milk and orange juice now."
"Hey," he complained. "Aren't you supposed to say sir to me?"
She felt her cheeks flush. Yes, she remembered, she was supposed to say sir to this snot nosed white boy.
"I'm sorry, sir. I forgot," she said, chagrined.
She brought the items from the fridge and placed them on the table.
"Well, ok," he allowed. "It is your first day."
Megan came in. Green eyes and bleach blonde hair. Too much make-up for an eighteen year old. Latessa was surprised they let her out of the house like that.
"Why isn't my cereal poured, girl?" she scolded the black woman. "It's supposed to be ready at seven."
"Sorry, ma'am," said Latessa, once again fighting to control her temper.
Latessa poured the cereal for the white teenager, her face hot with a mixture of anger and shame. Girl? She was old enough to be this girl's momma. What kind of people raised a child to be so disrespectful, she wondered, even of a maid.
Bobby finished his breakfast and went out of the kitchen. Megan left without eating, leaving the untouched cereal in the bowl on the table. Latessa cleared it all away.
With the children gone, Latessa could concentrate on the breakfast for the man and woman of the house. French toast was on the list stuck on the refrigerator door. She prepared it so it would be ready at eight thirty as she had been instructed.
It was almost nine when Cindy walked into the kitchen.
"Ah..., the smell of breakfast cooking," the diminutive white woman said. "It's such a pleasure to wake up to. Bring me some coffee like a good girl."
"The coffee's ready, ma'am," replied Latessa. "I've already got the cups out on counter for you."
Cindy proceeded to walk right past the coffee maker where two cups were already out on the counter and sat at the kitchen table, waiting to be served.
"Listen, nigger," said Cindy, looking up at her, "it's your place to serve me. I don't serve myself. Bring me a cup of coffee, sweet and light. Two sugars and use the half and half, not the milk. Is that clear?"
Did she just call her a nigger? Latessa was beside herself. She was about to smack the snotty white bitch when she thought of Darlene and her college, the bounced checks, and she realized she was trapped. There was nothing she could do except take it and suffer her humiliation silently.
"Sorry, ma'am," she said with restraint. "I'll fix it for you now."
"That's more like it, girl," replied the white woman.
"What's all the commotion?" asked Jack as he entered the kitchen and sat at the table.
"It seems our new maid still needs to learn what she's here for," his wife answered. "She thinks this kitchen is self service like at the 7-11."
"Take it easy, hon," he said, trying to calm her, "she'll get the hang of things around here soon enough."
Latessa poured the coffee. She carefully prepared Cindy's cup to her specifications. The things she had to do for her family, she thought. She silently cursed the economic conditions that led to the layoffs. Before, it had been she who handed out the rebukes and it was her white underlings who took them.
After breakfast, Jack and Cindy left the kitchen, though the white woman gave Latessa a smug smile on the way out. The new black maid cleared the dishes and waited for Bertha to arrive.
The big colored girl showed up a few minutes later, letting herself in the kitchen door.
"Well, I see you still here," she said.
"Only because I need the money so bad," Latessa replied. "Those children are snots, especially the girl. And that woman! She called me a nigger! Can you believe it?"
"Oh, I believes it," said Bertha. "Dem white folks take some gettin' used to. Dat's fo' sho'. You jus' gots to git used to it, dat's all. Let's go. I's gonna show you what you needs to know."
The young black maid showed Latessa around the Andrews's house. Where the bedrooms were, the linen closet, and the laundry chute. Finally Latessa was left alone to make the beds.
That completed, she figured she'd do the laundry next. Somehow the tour had not included how to get to the laundry room itself. It must be in the basement, thought Latessa, but where was the door? She looked around a bit and finally found the door off the kitchen that led down the stairs.
Sure enough, there was the laundry room. At the end of the hall that went past the washer and dryer she could see light streaming out of a door that had been left ajar. As she approached she heard the sound of grunting and hard breathing.
She peeked in the door expecting to find a home gym or exercise room. Instead she was greeted with the sight of Bertha and Mr. Andrews. The big black girl was on the floor on her hands and knees, completely naked. Mr. Andrews was on his knees behind her, his pants down, but otherwise dressed. His hands were on her ass and he was fucking the fat negro maid for all he was worth.
"Oh, Massa!" she cried. "Oh! You fuckin' yo' nigga fine now! Oh, gimme dat white cock! Yo' nigga got da good coochie fo' you! Dat's right, boss, use yo' nigga! Use yo' nigga good!"
Smack!
Jack slapped Bertha on the ass, hard enough to make a sound that made Latessa flinch.
Smack!
"Oh! Oh!" Bertha vocalized. "Oh, Massa, you gon' beat yo' nigga's black ass now? You gon' beat her ass while you fuck her? You too good to yo' nigga. Beatin' her fat black ass dat way."
Latessa stood mesmerized by the sight of the big black maid down on all fours, her floppy breasts swinging hard in response to his thrusts. Her husky voice urging him on. Urging him to slap her, to fuck her, to user her. The sound of flesh on flesh rang in her ears and the smell of sex was in her nostrils.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!", grunted Jack, clearly in the throws of orgasm.
"Dat's right, Massa," Bertha said huskily, "use yo' nigga. Fill yo' nigga wit' yo' cum."
Latessa could see he was just about spent and quickly walked away. She went right up the stairs to the kitchen and sat at the table. She felt her heart racing in her chest. The fear of being discovered combined with the exertion of her hasty retreat had obviously taken a toll on her, she thought.
Maybe a quarter of an hour later, Bertha walked into the kitchen from the dining room as though nothing had happened. There must be more than one way down there, thought Latessa.
"Well, I s'pose I should be showin' you da laundry," said Bertha. "Den where da vacuum is."
Bertha went to the basement door that Latessa had already discovered. She followed her down the stairs.
"What's down the hall?" asked Latessa, as if she didn't know.
"Jus' some mo' rooms. Ain't nothin' special," Bertha answered. "You be seein' dat soon 'nough, girl. Let's be workin' on da laundry fo' now."
Bertha proceeded to show her where the detergent was and how to operate the machines. Latessa wasn't listening, she still had the image and sounds of what she'd just witnessed rolling around in her brain. The big colored girl had been like an animal in heat. And all the shameful things she said! It was never like that with Tommy. He was so restrained and gentlemanly with her. So, she'd find out soon enough? She felt flushed again and noticed a dampness between her legs.
Later Bertha showed her what the rest of her duties were to be. Well, except for the one she was most curious about. Somehow she knew that the day would come when it was to be her on her hands and knees being used by the master of the house for his pleasure. The thought left her with butterflies in her stomach.
* * *
Tom came by at one thirty to pick his wife up. His job involved traveling to customer sites to service office equipment so it was easy for him to work in a trip to the Andrews' house as part of his rounds.
"So, how bad was it?" he asked.
"That woman is a bitch," she replied. "And so's her daughter. Those kids are unbelievable brats. Can you believe I have to call them sir an' ma'am? And, Tommy? That white bitch called me a nigger. A nigger! Can you believe it?"
She held back on what she'd witnessed in the basement room.
"I'm sorry, baby," replied Tom. "You know how white folks are." He felt a twinge at the thought of the blonde haired woman.
What a pussy she had for a husband, she thought. She wasn't surprised that he wouldn't defend her honor. Although what she expected him to do, she wasn't sure. But, at least he could have come up with something better than that.
She had nothing more to say to him and they rode the rest of the way without speaking.
* * *
That night she turned away from her husband as they lay in bed.
"Not tonight, Tommy," she said. "I just don't feel up to it. Besides, you've got to drop me off early again. We're going to have to get used to that."
Tom had no response to that either. Instead, images of Cindy's cold expression filled his thoughts as he drifted off to sleep.
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