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Deconstructing The Professor free porn video
Deconstructing the Professor: A Novella
Summary: A proud black MILF is slowly dommed by a racist white co-ed.
WARNING 1: This story includes many politically incorrect words (such as nigger). If any such words or concepts offend you, please do not read any further
WARNING 2: Personal Reflection: I have many kinks. I love the thought of being seduced and used by a younger woman, I love the idea of submitting to a black man or woman (ideally both), I love the thought of utter submission. My point is twofold:
1. Fantasy is exactly that….what someone fantasizes in the dark subconscious kink of their inner being…it shouldn’t be taken as a reflection of who the writer is.
2. Having naughty interracial fantasies does not make the fantasist a racist. Although I am expecting comments calling me a racist (I am not, if anything I am enthralled by the thought of submitting to a black man or woman). Yet I am telling this story from the point of view of a black woman using racist language and a sordid history, to create a vivid and, I hope, realistic downfall of a strong, black woman.
So please read this lengthy tale with an open mind, an open heart and an open libido.
NOTE 1: I have written a few fantasies about a younger black woman dominating an older white woman. I have been asked to write a story from the opposite point of view. So with the assistance of a fan who requested the story, this is my attempt to write a story about an older black university professor who is blackmailed into submission by a dominant white student.
NOTE 2: The story could fit a variety of Literotica categories including Lesbian (because the story is about a black woman who becomes a lesbian slave to a group of young girls), Incest (because there is a lot of implied incest early on and actual incest later), Group Sex (because later sex scenes include a variety of participants), Interracial (because it is a story about a black woman and a white Mistress), Mature (because the main character is a beautiful 40 year old MILF), Anal (because there is a fair amount of backdoor sex), Exhibitionist and Voyeur (because the protagonist is forced to do things in public, and in front of and for groups of people), First Time (because our lovely professor is a lesbian virgin when the story starts), NonConsent/Reluctance (because Felicia very reluctantly submits to the powerful white seductress), Toys and Masturbation (because throughout the story both are used), BDSM(because there are many levels of bdsm in the story), Fetish (because of its multi-layered kink: panty-sniffing, stockings, golden showers, etc ), Mind Control (because of the domination at the core of the story) and Novella (because of its length).
NOTE 3: A special thanks to Vanessa for the many e-mails exchanges that guided this story. A second special thanks to Estragon, who accidentally inspired the beginning by an e-mail he sent me with an article from a well-known academic journal.
NOTE 4: As always a million kisses and thanks go to my editors for this story as it went through many drafts and changes: Vanessa, LaRascasse and Estragon.
Deconstructing the Professor: A Novella
1. THE ‘N’ WORD…a prologue of sorts
Setting the tone of a class is critical, especially in college. Most students don’t want to be there and in today’s information-now-world a professor must not just be an old-school lecturer. We must be engaging, we must be controversial.
So a couple of weeks into my freshman class on Race and Ethnicity I usually drop the bomb on them by walking in and writing the word ‘Nigger’ on the board. The response is always the same: gasps followed by utter silence. I wait, letting the word and the silence linger there. Finally I ask, a group of sixty freshmen, mostly white, with a few Asians and three blacks, ‘Who can say the word Nigger?’
Silence lingers throughout the room. Sixty students’ eyes fixed on the 40-year-old black female professor who has just asked them the most controversial question possible.
When no one answers, I go through a lengthy history of the word in language and Black identity. I ask the question again, the history lesson now done, ‘Who can say the word Nigger?’ I scanned the room, gauging the reaction of my stunned students.
A black girl, Carrie, a jock on a basketball scholarship, finally breaks the lengthy silence, ‘Black people.’
I smile, because that is always the first answer. I push, ‘Why only Black people?’
She responds, ‘It is clearly racist if any other race says it. But if a Black person uses it, it is usually ok.’
‘I see,’ I say, thoughtfully.
Mike, another black student, adds, ‘I’m Black and I would never use such a word. It is an insult to our race, our history and how far we have come.’
‘Interesting,’ I agree, but attempt to push the envelope, ‘but what about thoughts from our other races?’
Finally, Emily, a shy blonde girl puts up her hand and whispers, almost embarrassed to speak, ‘I could never say the ‘N’ word.’
‘Why?’ I probe.
She looks around the room. ‘It would offend someone.’
‘But don’t many words offend people?’ I ask.
‘I suppose,’ she whispers, clearly wishing she hadn’t spoken.
I break eye contact with the embarrassed girl and continue, ‘There are many words that offend people. For example, who has used the word faggot?’
A few brave students raise their hands.
‘Queer?’
A few again raise their hands.
‘Dyke? Bitch? Whore?’ I give them the list.
Miko, an Asian student who has spoken intelligently on almost every issue the first two weeks of class, speaks up, ‘Those are all offensive, but they are not race words, they are sexual words. If the ‘N’ word is offensive, which it is, what about the word ‘Chink’ or ‘Gook’?’
I nod my head, ‘They too are offensive and could easily be added to this conversation. But for now let’s stick to the one word, Nigger.’
A student, who has never spoken before, a nerdy looking white boy, is the first to use the word, ‘It is 2012, and the word Nigger is just as offensive as the other words mentioned.’
‘Agreed,’ I say, but continue to push their thinking, ‘yet, no one refers to faggot as the the ‘F’ word, although I guess there is another ‘F’ that fits that isn’t there?” This gets a solid laugh from the group and seems to relax them just a bit. ‘My point is, the word Nigger has become a category of its own, hasn’t it?’
Madison, a very pretty blonde, asks, ‘Professor Jefferson, isn’t this conversation an insult to you personally?’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, knowing full well what she means.
‘Well, the use of the word Nigger,’ she says, her voice stressing the word, ‘is clearly offensive when said by a white person towards a black person, regardless of the context.’
I smile, attempting to distance myself from the word. ‘I don’t enjoy hearing the word used, even by fellow black people, or the way black stand-up comedians like Chris Rock and Eddie Murphy use it so liberally for laughs, but in a class discussion like this, the word takes on a different context. One where the word distances itself from the negative connotations it has historically symbolized.’
I noticed an odd smile cross her face, one that I could not read. My answer seems again to lighten the tension in the room and the conversation opens. For the remainder of the period, the discussion goes on with a few more students responding and one more actually using the word. Most continue to call it the ‘N’ word and even then, they look down, avoiding eye contact with me when they imply the taboo word.
The conversation evolved into clothing and fashion and I pointed out, ‘There are two polar opposites of appearance and the impact it has on black image. For one, I dress a certain way to create a persona that will be taken with respect. A respect that is much harder to earn than if I w
as the same age, similarly educated and white. On the other hand, the rap culture, gangsta rap and the glamorization of thugs, pimps and hoes to the cultural mainstream manifest another image. In reality, the vulgarization of popular culture, and the sexual objectification and degradation of females, goes back through the history of blues, rock and roll and r & b.’
After a few more minutes of frank discussion, as students debated who was to blame for today’s excess sexuality, Madison asks another question. ‘Professor Jefferson, is that why you always dress so properly? To become more white?’
That surprises me, but I explain. ‘Not to be more white, but to be seen as an equal to whites. How one dresses defines, at least in some respects, who one is.’
Madison reflects on this briefly before saying, ‘So how does what I wear define who I am?’
I pause, knowing the answer could be very judgmental. ‘Well as young adults you dress casually because in this school setting that is the norm and you are less likely to be judged.’
‘But you are judging me now,’ she points out.
‘Touché,’ I reply, ‘but only because the question was asked. The point I am attempting to make is that how you dress is part of your culture. Students dress casually at school because that is the norm, yet these same students will dress much more provocatively when they go out to a party.’
‘Fair enough,’ Madison agrees, before adding, ‘but the stereotype you just created is not race based.’
‘True,’ I conclude, ‘but the end result, even in this faculty, is that as one of the very few black professors, I feel it is important to dress the part.’
‘Even though your husband doesn’t?’
I look up, as did my class, unsure who said that. Unsure who it was, I explain, not liking the way this conversation has led to me personally, ‘Well first of all, he is my ex-husband, but we will not go into the details of that. Secondly, you have just made my point. As a white professor, and a male, Professor Hamilton doesn’t have to earn the respect the same way I feel I do. I know that sounds sexist and racist, which I suppose is how it will be taken, but I am trying to be totally honest with you.’
‘But Conner doesn’t try to make a statement, he is just who he is,’ the same boy explains. I recognize him as a player on our basketball team, a team my ex sometimes assistant coaches. I am immediately envious of the first name familiarity this student has with my ex. I try to brush the jealousy away, but my hatred for my ex bubbles just below the surface.
With only a few minutes left, I hear Emily arguing with Madison. I ask, ‘And what seems to be the problem?’
‘My sister won’t even utter the word Nigger, even after the conversation we have just been having,’ Madison explains, revealing a new piece of information to me. Although they both had the same name, their very different demeanors had me assuming they were cousins at best.
Emily, her voice slightly shaky, ‘It’s not that I am incapable of saying the word. It’s I refuse to say it. The word is offensive to many and thus I will not say it…ever.’
Madison glaring at her sister, her tone suddenly angry, threatens, ‘We will see about that.’
I smile at her stubborn morality, I respect it. She understands who she is and doesn’t break when pressed by her clearly dominant sister. ‘Of course,’ I explain, ‘it is much bigger than that. I have met many people who are racist towards the black race or any race for that matter, even though they don’t say the word. The word, like many others, has evolved into a derogatory term that will never change.’
‘Exactly,’ Emily agrees, glaring back at her sister.
Madison adds, ‘So if I say Nigger I am racist and if I don’t say Nigger I may still be racist.’
She is now liberally using the word Nigger, and I try to get a grip on the conversation. ‘No, that was not the message I was trying to get across. I was simply implying that racism is much bigger than the use of a derogatory word or not.’
Emily, on a roll now, as if trying to stand apart from her overbearing sister, continues, ‘Plus, I like the way you dress Professor Jefferson. I don’t see it being about race, but rather about respect and authority. You demand respect by how you dress. When a professor comes to class in shorts and flip-flops I have a hard time taking them seriously. All I wonder is why am I paying 400 bucks to take a class with someone who doesn’t take their job seriously.’
Madison, her face going redder, clearly not used to being contradicted by her sister, says, ‘So
Professor Jefferson is a better teacher than Mr. Hamilton because she dresses better?’
‘Yes,’ Emily confidently says.
‘So you are against using the word Nigger because it is racist, but you have no problem judging a qualified professor based on his dress? How hypocritical.’
I break the sisterly disagreement. ‘I think we are getting off topic. And I definitely don’t want to get into a conversation about the quality of our professors based on clothing. Regardless of our disagreements, I have no doubts about the competence of Professor Hamilton.’
Madison, ignoring my attempt at closure, pushed the envelope, ‘If Professor Hamilton was not here, and there were no African American students, many here would have no problem saying Nigger. Some would even use it in a blatantly racist way.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Emily counters.
Madison keeps going, her words dripping condescending superiority, ‘Oh I know you wouldn’t. But I know many in here would. I have heard the word used hundreds of times in my life.’
Looking at the clock, I decide the point has been made and I wrap up my lecture. ‘Our time is almost up. I hope you understand the point of this lesson. Every one of us comes from different pasts, different histories, pasts and histories that have helped develop your values and beliefs. And as we move forward in this course, you have to be able to be aware of your personal values and respect others. The reality is the word Nigger will always be offensive when used in a derogatory context. But it is only through discussion and respect that we can ever move forward.’
I dismiss the class and watch as Madison and Emily are arguing the whole way up the stairs. I consider intervening, but it is not my place.
When I look back now and try to pinpoint when my fall began, it always comes back to this lesson. I didn’t know it at the time, but from this moment on Madison’s respect for me changed. She always looked at me smugly and I always felt like she was assessing me in a way I could never fully explain.
Oddly on occasion, Madison would pop up in my dreams. I never remembered them completely, I never do, but it seemed she always was in control, always smiling smugly and always flaunting her superiority over me. Looking back now, clearly it was my subconscience warning me of what was to come…but I missed it completely until it was far too late.
2. A SHORT HISTORY OF ME
To tell my story, my unbelievable story, my fall from grace, my complete and utter humiliation, my loss of dignity and my ultimate complete sexual satisfaction, I must let you know who I am as a person.
My name is Felicia Jefferson, a name that goes all the way back to my ancestor’s white master hundreds of years ago. I am 40, 5’6′ tall and my figure is 38D-28-40. Obviously my breasts have been the center of attention since I was a teen. They are both a blessing and a curse. I work out regularly (have for decades), both for stress relief and to keep fit, so I’m firm and in pretty good shape, if I do say so myself. Some sag and jiggle of course, with gravity and three kids, but I look younger than my age. Large brown eyes, naturally long lashes, prominent cheekbones, and large luscious lips that all my men have loved. I keep my hair straight, black (no tints or dyes), shoulder length (professional styles, not natural, but no weaves, braids, dre
ads, or curls). I have chocolate brown skin, smooth, few wrinkles but not many age wrinkles (just crow’s feet), no stretch marks, dimples in all four cheeks (face cheeks and ass cheeks), and no cellulite. In truth, for my age, I am told I am still very attractive, although I hadn’t felt very attractive after my second divorce and relatively long dry spell.
The dry spell was for a variety of reasons, but the main two were my professional career and my upbringing had prevented me from being remotely outgoing. I was raised to be a prim and proper girl, a black girl living in a white man’s world. My early blossoming in the chest brought me tons of unwanted attention and I won’t even go into the details of the sexual harassment I endured from a very early age. I did learn to hide my body as best I could and focus on my studies if I was going to be successful. So I became a typical compulsive over-achiever, workaholic, with the tendency to take work and myself too seriously, always restless to test myself at something new, thus sacrificing my personal relationships. I always had to prove myself.
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