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From: "S Couture" <couture_writes@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} {New} Amazon dot cum Ch 1 (FF,blackmail)
Date: Wed, 4 Dec 2002 18:10:03 -0500
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Couture http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Couture/www/
http://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=46698
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<1st attachment, "AMD1.txt" begin>
Amazon dot cum by Couture email: couture_writes@hotmail.com
Please do not read if under 18 years of age or offended by
sexually explicit stories and situations.
(c) 2002 Couture
***********
I work at a home office of a large retail company in South
Africa. It used to be a nice place to work until she came along
- my boss the bitch. Now every day was full of dread - of
worrying if and when she would call me to the office. Sally got
the call the week before last and Angie last week. They each
left the office crying and with a box. The box. The box in
which they packed their belongings in the box and left.
I had just gotten the call moments before. The call to report to
the bitch's office.
I wiped my sweaty hands on my skirt to dry them, and knocked on
her door, looking through the crack to see if it was alright for
me to enter. She put a hand over the receiver of the phone and
said, "Can't you see I'm busy. I'll call you in when I'm ready
for you."
See, I told you, she was a bitch. She was hired a few months ago
and my life has been a living hell ever since. To make matters
worse, she was a woman of colour. She obviously wanted me out,
so she could hire another black for my position. I had already
been written me up twice in one week. One more strike and I was
out the door.
Did I mention I lived in South Africa? After Apartheid ended and
with this new affirmative action crap, it was inevitable that I
might end up working for a black. I did my best to delay this by
transferring over to high-tech and the move served me well. I
was well paid and happy . . . that is, until she came along.
I tried to get along . . . *honest*, but you have to understand,
I was from the older generation. At thirty five, in the back of
my mind, I still thought of people of colour as maids and
janitors, not supervisors -- and definitely not my supervisor.
The worst part was, she was good, incredibly bright, and hungry
for everything - money, power, the works. My only thoughts were
of keeping my well paying job since my husband had been laid off
and of my eventual retirement. With unemployment at over fifteen
percent, a house payment, and a car payment, just keeping my job
was my top priority.
"I'm ready for you now Tracy," she said from behind the door.
"Have a seat," she said, pointing in front of her as she leaned
back imperiously, feet crossed on top of her desk. She was
obviously reveling in her newly acquired power.
I sat down and swallowed. I felt hollow inside. The dreaded
pink color of the reprimand form lay atop her desk, beside it sat
a box. The box my belongings would be packed. The box I would
have to explain to my husband when I went home early.
"Tracy, do you remember when I asked you to pull a report on the
average business transaction ratio?"
"Yes, ma-am."
"Well, luckily I checked the numbers by hand, because the numbers
you gave me were total shit."
Oh God, this was it, I was going to be fired. Everyone makes
mistakes, but lately I was making more than my share, just from
the stress of knowing she was looking over my shoulder, watching
my every move, waiting, patiently waiting for me to slip up.
"Please Ms. Moore," I begged with tears welling in my eyes. "I
need this job."
She crossed her arms behind her head, the edges of her mouth
turned up in a grin. The young black bitch obviously enjoyed
putting the screws to me.
"You don't act like it," she said.
"I do," I said, tears now pouring down my cheeks, probably
ruining my mascara. "Please, let me prove it. I'll work longer
hours. I-I'll do anything. I promise. I won't let you down
again."
"Well," she said. "There might be *something* you could do."
"What?" I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. I didn't like the
way she said *something*, but *something* was better than
*nothing*.
"Here." She handed me a tissue to dry my tears. "Clean yourself
up."
"Thank you," I said, drying my tears.
"You see Tracy, this job is very demanding. Doing my own work
and checking after yours and everyone else's has left me with
little time for myself. Without some relief, I keep getting more
on edge and a little bitchier every day. That doesn't do anyone
any good, does it?"
I shook my head, afraid this was some sort of trick. Maybe if
she knew she was being a bitch, maybe she could stop.
"Good, we are in agreement then?"
I nodded.
"Great. You are officially my relief girl."
"Relief?" I asked. What did she need help with?
She looked down at her crotch. There wasn't a hint of grin left
in her face, only hunger. "Relief," she said, sort of drawing it
out, the f sticking to her lips.
Jesus, this was harassment, but no one would believe me. If I
tried to tell, I would just be a white woman with a grudge
against the new black supervisor.
"I-I'm not t-that w-ay," I stammered.
"I'm not either," she said, as if she were offended by my
suggestion. "But I need something to take the edge off and I'll
take it any way I can get it."
"D-do it y-yourself," I replied indignantly.
"You mean, masturbate?"
"Yes." I was blushing furiously. This wasn't the kind of
conversation I wanted to have with anyone, much less my boss.
"I've tried. It doesn't work for me," she said. "It has to be
someone else. Will you do it or not?"
"But, I'm married and I've never had sex with a woman before."
"It isn't sex," she said. "Listen, you've had a maid before
right?"
I nodded my head.
"And she was black, right?"
I didn't like where this was going. I didn't like it at all, but
again I nodded. I couldn't meet her eyes.
"And she did the stuff you didn't want to do and for a lot less
than you are making now correct?"
Again I nodded. This nodding seemed to be getting me deeper and
deeper in the shit.
"Well, *I* don't want to have to masturbate and get my hands
dirty as it were. I'm also willing to go through the office and
clean house until I find someone who will, or get some people who
will work so I can get it on my own. Now, will you do it or
not?"
I nodded my head - beaten. Sallie and Angie could afford to
leave. Sally had a family she could move in with and Angie had a
husband with a job.
"I didn't hear you."
"Yes," I whispered. "I-I'll do it."
"Wise decision," she said, nodding at me. "Be a good girl and
lock the door."
Somehow I managed to walk with weak legs to the door and lockit.
"Now," she said. "Take off your clothes and set them on the edge
of my desk."
"W-why?" I stammered. This was going further than I thought and
much more quickly than I imagined.
"I don't want there to be any mistake of who has the power here.
If you see my body, I see yours."
"I won't look."
She signed the paper on her desk and threw it at me. "Go pick up
your check and get the fuck out. Don't forget to clean out your
desk."
Tears ran down my cheeks as my fingers fumbled with the buttons
on my blouse. I was doing it. I was stripping in front of her
-- stripping in front of the coloured girl ten years my junior.
Soon, I was in front of her only clad in my panties and bra.
"Those too."
I turned around and finished disrobing.
"Okay," she said, standing up and then sitting on the desk with
her back to me. "Come here."
I walked over to her and even though I was standing while she was
sitting, she glowed with power. Her legs were splayed slightly
and I could see the hint of her panties.
I moved to sit down in her vacant seat, but she kicked it out
from behind me.
"Kneel down and take my panties off."
I went down to one knee and looked up at her grinning face. This
wasn't just about sex. It was obvious she was reveling in my
humiliation. I made up my mind then and there; I couldn't go
through with it. I would have to adjust my standard of living,
but I rather deal with that than being humiliated by this-this .
. . black.
"I can't do this." I said getting back up. "I'll just pick up my
check and leave."
She grabbed my wrists and struggled with me. "Let go of me,
you're hurting me, you crazy old bitch." She grew louder as she
struggled, still gripping my wrists tightly.
I was puzzled at first. What did she mean? She was the one
holding on to me - forcing me to pleasure her. Then reality set
in. Whoever came in would see her wrestling with a larger naked
white woman. They would surely think that *I* was the one trying
to do something to her.
"Please-don't. Please be quiet." I begged, going back down on my
knees. "Don't make me do this." My hands were already moving
under her skirt. I grabbed her panties and pulled them down.
They were small, thin, and silky. The crotch was damp. I could
smell the hint of her musk.
She leaned back on her arms and spread her legs to each corner of
the desk. She was a pretty girl with dark skin and without an
inch of fat. I was instantly jealous not only of her body, but
her lack of inhibition, and her strength.
"Get to work, slut" she said, smiling a superior grin, her eyes
twinkling down at me.
I've just got to get this over with, I told myself, reaching
between her muscular thighs with my shaking hands. The hair on
her crotch was darker and much curlier than my own. Her labia
were almost purple in color. I parted them with my fingers and
traced another along her wet opening. I was thankful she was
wet, because I had no idea what I would have to do if foreplay
was necessary.
I had masturbated myself before and sought to apply my skills in
as professional a manner as possible. Well, as professional as
you can be, kneeling between your boss's legs. I slid my finger
up and down the slit of her sex and alternately worked her clit
in a tight circle. Soon she was breathing heavy and her sex
flowed freely, coating my fingers with her shiny fluids. My
wedding ring glittered next to her glistening clit. I couldn't
help but think of my husband and be ashamed.
"Look at me," she said.
I was desperate not to have to look at my wedding ring, but I
still couldn't bear to meet her eyes.
"I said, *look at me*," she repeated in that same commanding
tone.
I reluctantly met her flashing eyes from beneath my bangs.
"I give you an easy job like this and you can't even do it right,
can you?"
I was crying in humiliation. "I'm sorry," I whimpered,
increasing the speed of my fingers. "I'm trying. I'm really
trying. I've just never done anything like this before."
"You better try harder, pussy girl." Her face screwed up and she
licked her lips. "That's right. You're a pussy girl now. *My*
pussy girl. My white pussy girl."
God, why was she saying these things to me and why was it having
such an effect on me? My nipples ached and I could feel my juices
running down my ass. I prayed she wouldn't notice. I started
using both hands in hopes of finishing her off, so I could get
out of there.
"That's it pussy girl, do my clit and finger fuck my pussy at the
same time."
She talked so filthy. She seemed so worldly. I worked her as
fast as I could. Her musky scent filled my nose and her wet
juices were all over my hands.
"Goddamnit girl, a monkey could do a better job. Give me one
reason why I shouldn't fire your ass and put you out on the
street."
I slipped another finger in - anything to please this demanding
girl. "I'm sorry," I begged. "I'm trying. I'll do better - I
promise."
Her faced winced in agony. I slowed in case I was hurting her.
"Don't you stop. Don't you dare stop. And keep looking at me.
I don't give a shit what happens, you better look me in the
eyes." She bit her lip, groaned, and clutched her breasts
through her business suit.
"Work that pussy girl - work that pussy," she repeated
breathlessly. Her hips spasmed and her sex clutched at my
fingers. She was cumming. Her legs fell from the desk, landing
over my back. She trapped my head between her thighs, squeezing
rhythmically with her orgasm. I looked her dead in the eyes,
never ceasing the motion of my fingers, until she commanded me to
stop.
Afterwards, she propped her feet back on the desk and tossed the
box of tissues down on the floor. I took some out and cleaned
her soaked sex without being asked. When I was finished, she got
up and I cleaned my fingers and the wet spot on her desk.
"Your relief-work today was lackluster Tracy, but I don't hold
you to blame," she said, sitting on the edge of her desk, with
one leg crossed over the other. I was still on the floor with
my legs pressed tightly together lest she discover the signs of
my arousal.
"Go on, get dressed," she said.
I covered my crotch with my hand and made to get away from her to
dress.
"Stop," she said, blocking my path with a leg, and grabbing my
wrist. "What are you hiding down there, Tracy?"
"Nothing," I gasped.
She moved my hand out of the way and observed my wet pouting sex.
I had no idea why it did such a thing; I hated every moment of
the experience and had never been so humiliated in my life.
She chuckled before continuing, "Yes, I hold myself to almost
entirely to blame. After all, it is my job to inspire my girls,
isn't it?"
"No, it's my fault," I said, thankfully able to put my clothes
on. "I-I just never did anything like that before. I-I'm just
not any good at it."
No, not any good at it at all. She would just have to find
someone else.
"Am-am I finished?" I asked. Please dear God, let me be
finished.
"No," she said, tossing me her panties. "Go clean these and dry
them. Then return them back to me."
I hid them in my coat pocket and made my way to the restroom.
God, what a bitch. I couldn't believe she had the audacity to
make me clean her panties afterward. My face burned as I
proceeded with the humiliating task of cleaning her soiled
undergarmetns. I was drying them when someone else came in. Her
eyes bulged out when she saw what I was doing.
"I-I can explain," I said.
"Sure you can," she said sarcastically as she locked herself in
the stall.
I dried them as quickly as possible before the girl got back out
and went back to Thandi's office to give them back.
"Well, don't just stand there," she said, as she got up and
turned around, raising the hem of her skirt as she did so. "Put
them on me."
I had to get down on my hands and knees to do so. I think she
deliberately pushed her bubble shaped bottom in my face. In fact
I'm quite sure of it. I turned my face to the side and hurriedly
pulled her panties up and in place.
"Get them out of my crotch and smooth them out."
That which does not kill me, makes me stronger, I said to myself,
as I completed this new degradation. Somehow, I was able to
summon a renewed strength. Yes, she would fuck up or either she
would get promoted. Either way, all I had to do was wait her
out. I pulled the panties out of her crotch and smoothed out the
wrinkles.
"Good job Tracy. You're a smart girl, the kind of girl who will
keep her mouth shut. Aren't you?"
"Yes ma-am," I said. The kind of woman who will be here long
after you've gone Thandi.
"Ma-am . . . I do like the sound of that. You'll call me that in
the future, won't you girl?"
"Yes, ma-am," I managed to force out. I wasn't a girl. I was
ten years her senior. I couldn't call her what I wanted to,
which was BITCH, so I would have to settle for ma'am.
She reached in her pocket book, pulled out ten rand, and pressed
it into my bra. "That's for being a good girl - a dutiful girl.
Why don't you take off early today?"
Thank heavens for small miracles. I needed to get out of there
desperately, somewhere I could think. I couldn't bear the
thought of being in the office with her for even one more hour.
"Thank you, ma-am," I said, backing out of the door before she
changed her mind.
"Oh, and Tracy,"
"Yes?"
"That money is for you - no one else. Spend it on yourself
before you go home. Buy some earrings. I like big hoops by the
way. Or get your nails done. It's up to you, but I want to see
whatever you decide on tomorrow."
The ten rand might have been beneath my bra, but it felt like a
badge proclaiming, look here -- look at the whore - look what she
does for ten rand. I couldn't bear to look at any of my
co-workers as I went to my cubicle, picked up my pocketbook, and
left.
To be continued.
***********
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