African-American Studies Part 1 by ndouglass
Explore the passionate narrative in 'African-American Studies Part 1' by ndouglass, an erotic sex story that delves into desire, intimacy, and cultural connection. Join our characters in a compelling journey of love and exploration. Discover the intersection of pleasure and heritage - read now!<br/>
Rebecca Finnegan’s life comes to ruin after accepting a ride home from a teacher , Malcolm yawned as he walked naked through his home and into the kitchen. He had a late night last night. It was the last day of school and he had been roped into going out to the bar with a couple of his fellow teachers. It had cut into his plans a little, but that didn’t matter much, it was probably better that he went out anyway.
He put the pot on to boil and took one of his tea bags from the cabinet and watched the sun rise over the stockade fence in his backyard. Going to the bar was an awkward experience, Malcolm had never been one to drink, but it was, after all, his retirement party. It would have been awkward if he didn’t show up, too many questions.
Still, it cut into the retirement party that he had planned for himself. It didn’t matter though, it was probably better that he went out, made himself visible. Not that he was worried much, but you never know.
He had been teaching African-American Studies at a nearly all white high school on the east coast since the early eighties and his fellow teachers wanted to go out of their way to show him once more that they were not racist. It had always been an awkward thing and the party was even more awkward when he was in a room surrounded by drunken whites.
He poured himself a cup of tea and gave it a fast sip. Under normal circumstances Malcolm would be up and dressed by now, but it was his retirement, and he did have his own little party planned. He didn’t need clothes for this party. He had been planning it for some time.
Some people, when they leave, pilfer office supplies. Malcolm giggled at the thought. He had taken something far more enjoyable than office supplies.
He picked up his tea and walked into the living room. He took a moment to make sure that the front door was locked and that the blinds were drawn. He set tea down on the coffee table long enough to pull the bookshelf away from the wall and allow his access to the heavy metal door cleverly concealed behind it.
He slipped the necklace and key from around his neck and unlocked the deadbolt on the basement door. He had installed it himself, both the heavy metal door and the series of locks. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, and then pulled the chain to make sure the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf was closed as well. One could never be too careful, especially since kids still had a key to his house and occasionally swung by without warning.
He flipped the light on and slowly walked down the stairs, the wood creaked under his weight. He closed his eyes and took a deep, relaxing breath, and then stepped barefoot onto the cold concrete floor.
He could hear her struggling. He could hear her rapid panicked breaths. He could hear her gagged pleas and they were like music to his ears. He slowly opened his eyes.
There she was, Rebecca Finnegan, little miss perfect. She had been one of his best students, a sophomore in his African-American studies class. A 4.0 student. She had a bright future ahead of her. She was already planning out which college she was going to attend. She wanted to be a lawyer, a civil rights attorney. She had high hopes.
Rebecca Finnegan had a bright and shining future. She had that New England Irish intelligence that didn’t come from brilliance as much as it did from the quick wit and stubbornness that marked her race. Her race, he would have preferred one of the white Protestant girls, one of the girls with clear origins in England, but none of them had as bright a future as little Rebecca had and Malcolm wanted to destroy a bright future. So he chose Rebecca for that, and a number of other reasons.
Rebecca’s bright future had ended the moment he had offered her a ride home after her last day of school. She had told him that he was her favorite teacher. She had said that she learned a lot from him. She was shocked at the injustices his people had suffered in America. Yeah, right, she was too young to know she was just experiencing a little white guilt. She’d grow out of it, they always did.
Now she was hanging from a chain in his basement, still in her school uniform, just as he had left her the night before. Her wrists were cuffed together. Her toes were still struggling to stay on the ground, and she was still pleading into the little red ball gag he had shoved in her mouth.
Her little shoes were on the ground and her feet clad only in her calf-high white socks. She had lost them some time last night in her futile struggles. Without shoes, it made it even harder for her little toes to touch the ground. It put more pressure on her wrists. It caused her more pain. Good. After what she did to his people, she deserved the pain.
With her arms above her head, her blouse was pulled up and out of her skirt. It teased Malcolm. He could see her belly button where the blouse ended and her skirt began. He could see her flat stomach and her fair, porcelain white skin. Rebecca’s shade of white was certainly a factor in Malcolm’s choices. He wanted the absolute whitest girl he could find and Rebecca was lily white. Rebecca had they fair white skin that would burn before it tanned.
The skirt itself hung down to her knees. Rebecca’s skirt was never above her knees. It was one of the reasons that Malcolm chose her. She was small and cute and such a fucking prude. Rebecca was the farthest thing from a cock tease they had at Saint Margaret Mary’s. It was one of the reasons he had decided to take Rebecca. There were certainly more attractive white girls at his former school. There were taller girls with nice long California legs, but he wanted one a more vaginal.
There were other girls, but Rebecca was special. Malcolm had been watching her close since she was a wide-eyed freshman at their elite private New England school. There were far more attractive girls, but Malcolm had never seen Rebecca with a boyfriend. He had even seen her blush when she talked to boys. There were many stunningly beautiful white girls at his school, but Rebecca clearly had very little experience with sex. The odds were great that she had never even kissed a boy.
She had just turned sixteen on Monday. Her parents were threatening to buy her a nice new car just as soon as the school year let out. Maybe they’d save it in the hopes she’d return. He’d have to make sure to swing by their house and pay a sympathy visit once her disappearance made the news.
He walked, well strutted, back and fourth under the bare light bulb. And her tear-filled blue eyes watched him as he postured back and forth, acutely aware that he was naked, and yes, very aroused. He wanted her to watch him. He wanted her to soak up every inch of his six-foot-four-inch Nubian flesh.
He was a Nubian God. Well no, if Malcolm was going to be honest with himself, age had gotten the better of him, a little. He had never been built, he had always been that skinny, nerdy kid, but he had put on some weight as he got older. It started in his thirties and went straight on to retirement.