Contrasts (5 page)

“Yes.”

“Then write this down. You are to wear no undergarments, none: no bra, no panties, and no stockings. Go shopping this morning. Buy a short skirt, shoes with a four inch heel, a very shear blouse, bright red lipstick, gloss, mascara, nail polish...red, and a good perfume and body oil. Come to the office wearing these new clothes and shoes. Use the cosmetics to make yourself look as sexually desirable as possible. Have your husband rub your body with the perfumed oil. Do not have sex of any kind with him. Make no plans for tomorrow. Did you get all that?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll expect both of you at six this evening.” There was a click as she hung up. Ann handed the list to Paul and began to cry.

Paul read it, then took her in his arms. “I’m so very sorry. This is all my fault and you are the one who will pay for it. Oh, Ann!” He, too, felt the tears begin.

After several minutes Ann looked up at him as she wiped her face, “It will be ok,” she said. “In three months this will be behind us, no more debt, the stock holders will have been repaid, the company will be solvent. We just have to help each other through the ninety days.”

At five o’clock Ann stood before him in the things she’d bought that afternoon. Her bare legs and arms shown with the musky scented oil. Her face was changed dramatically by the glossy red lipstick and dark mascara. The tight black skirt reached only to her knees and moulded her ass. It was obvious she wasn’t wearing panties. Under the shear white blouse the outline of her breasts was visible. As she’d been instructed, she’d painted her fingernails and toenails with a red polish that matched her lipstick. She had trouble walking in the four inch black leather pumps. At first she had to hold onto things. After practicing she was still unsteady but managed. Paul couldn’t believe the transformation. Neither could she. She studied her image in the full length mirror. “I look like a prostitute.” She felt the tears well up again, but held them back.

Earlier, when he was rubbing her with the oil his cock had hardened. It hadn’t subsided. Looking at her now, he knew that he’d probably cum just by touching it. He’d hardly ever seen her naked and even then it was a quick glimpse in the darkened bedroom. He hadn’t fully realized what a splendid body she had; the tiny waist, the smallish but high and firm breasts, the long pink nipples, the firm apple-round ass, the muscled calves and tiny feet. He sat there seeing his wife for the first time, “No Ann, not a prostitute. Not that at all. You look like a young model or movie star.”

She turned to look at him a flash of anger in her eyes, “My God, Paul! You read that...that obscene detestable contract. I’m to give myself to them....to black men. Isn’t that what prostitutes do?”

Even though it was a warm and humid September evening, she took her long brown raincoat from the closet and buttoned it, pulling the belt tight. “I absolutely won’t go out in public looking like this,” she said. She glanced down at her bare feet in the stilettos and shook her head, “I don’t think I’ll ever learn to walk in these.” Paul put the folded contracts in his coat pocket.

A half hour later they were once more in the reception office of “Watts Import Export Incorporated”. Rona, the receptionist, frowned seeing Ann was wearing a long raincoat. “Mr. Watts ain’t gonna like that,” she said, pointing at the coat. She pressed a button on her desk, “They’re here,” she said. The door behind her clicked. She gestured toward it. Paul pushed it open. Watts was behind his desk. Ms. Ying stood near the bar at the side of the room. If Watts was angry because of the raincoat, he didn’t show it. He pointed to the two chairs facing his desk. When they were seated he leaned forward, “So, you’ve decided?”

Ann met his gaze. “We had no choice. It was either sign those hateful contracts or go to prison.”

“Ahh, well yes.” He smiled at them. “To use an old cliché’, it seems you are between a rock and a hard place. I assume you have the contracts?”

Paul nodded. “Please, Mr. Watts, isn’t there some other way? What if I just signed the business over to you and our house as well? We could go somewhere else and start over.”

Watts chuckled, “Whatever would I do with a failing trucking operation that is deeply in debt to its stockholders? Why would I want your house? Think of it this way; your wife is in our service for ninety days. We are paying off your gambling debt of almost ninety thousand dollars. That’s like a thousand dollars a day. We are also obliged to rescue your business by paying back the stockholders you scammed. In addition, I’ve promised to rescue your bankrupt company and make it profitable again.” He paused narrowing his eyes and staring hard at them. “You come here disregarding my instructions.” He gestured toward Ann’s raincoat. “You come here talking about “hateful contracts”. You come here with a fucking superior attitude when you should be on your knees thanking me.” He waited a full minute letting his anger subside. “Now, sign the contracts and listen to what I have to say or don’t sign them and get out.”

Paul looked at Ann who nodded. He placed both contracts on the desk. Watts pushed identical copies across to them along with a pen. “A set for each of us,” he said.

Ms. Ying crossed to initial all four copies as a witness. Paul put their contracts back in his coat pocket. The other two copies remained on the desk. Watts picked them up and sat back in his chair reading Ann’s contract. “Just to make sure I know you understand the rules,” he said. He looked directly at Ann. “Your parents were killed in an accident when you were five. You were raised by your grandfather and grandmother. They live at 205 Walnut Avenue, West Hempstead, Long Island. It’s a little cottage. The mortgage is paid off. They live on a small pension and social security. Your grandfather has a heart condition and your grandmother suffers from diabetes. He is eighty and she is seventy-nine. His name is Andrew and her name is Elizabeth. The last name is Shelby. Are these facts correct?”

Ann was visibly shaken, “Yes, but what...”

“There is a clause in your contract that warns if you fail to honor any of the requirements we may choose to penalize one or more of your family members. I want you to be aware that we know who and where they are. It’s something you should keep in mind.”

“But they are old and helpless. Surely you wouldn’t...”

“We would.” He leaned forward staring at her. She nodded. He continued, “Your contract refers to our organization as the NWS. Do you know what that stands for?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Negro Worship Society”. We in the organization believe African American is a label that diminishes us. “Colored” is a name they once put on toilets and in buses and other public places to let us know we were inferior. Negro is the name of a proud race of strong resilient people that can be used by both blacks and whites. Nigger is a derivation of that word once used by whites to demean us but recently embraced by black men and women as their own and accorded the same respect as the word from which it came. It is not to be used by whites.” He shook a finger at them. “When you, Mr. and Mrs. Gardner, refer to us you will say ‘My Master’ or ‘My Mistress’.” He directed his attention to Ann. “Would you like some coffee?”

Her throat had gone dry. “Yes, I would.”

“Wrong answer. Are you stupid? What did I just say?”

Ann felt the color rise to her cheeks. She hesitated then said, “Yes, Master.”

Watts nodded, “Saying it will be awkward at first, but in a short time it will be automatic because that’s how you will begin to see us. You will think of us as your Masters.” He looked at Paul, “Both of you.” At a signal to Ms. Ying she brought three cups and set two on the small table between Ann and Paul. The other she placed on Watts’ desk. He sipped his coffee ignoring them for a few moments. Then looking up at Ann he said, “I’ve been told you teach a history course emphasizing what you call ‘African American’ culture?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Yes what?”

It took her a moment to realize what he wanted. She looked away and said softly, “Yes, ah...uh...Master, I do.”

“Stand up,” he ordered. She hesitated then stood. “Take off that goddamn raincoat.” She glanced at Paul then slowly unfastened the belt and unbuttoned it. Blushing, she shrugged it from her shoulders and draped it on the back of her chair. “Walk across the room and back,” he said. Unsteady in the heels she crossed to the door and returned.

“Turn around,” he said. “Your wife has a fine ass, Paul. I thought she did the other night at your house, but with those oversized jeans it was hard to tell.” She was about to sit down. “Not yet,” he said. He crooked a finger at her, “Come over here and ask me to feel your ass.” She shot a glance at Paul, then crossed to stand in front of him. Her legs were trembling and her face was scarlet. He looked up at her, “Well?”

She swallowed struggling to get the words out, “Feel me...I...I...mean feel my...my ass.”

“Wrong,” he said. “That sounded like a white bitch giving an order. You are asking for a favor. Try again.”

“Please feel my...my...ass.”

“Wrong. Who am I?

“Mr. Watts.”

“Wrong.”

“My Master.”

“Now ask again and try to get it right.”

“Please, Master, feel my ass.”

“Are you wearing panties?”

“No, Master.”

“Is your cunt wet?”

She frowned and bowed her head, “I...I...don’t know, Master.”

He glanced over at Paul. “Your husband has a bulge in his pants. I think he’s got a stiff prick. I think this is getting him hot. What do you think?”

“I...I...don’t know.” He slammed his hand down on the desk. She gasped. “I...I...mean, I don’t know, Master.”

“Ask me again. Tell me you want me to. Tell me you want to feel my hand on your bare ass.”

Her legs were shaking. “Please, Master, I....I....want to....to feel your hand on...on my bare ass.”

She drew in her breath as his huge hand started at the back of her leg and slowly moved up. His hand was hot and sweaty. He cupped her ass cheek then slid his hand over so that his fingers were in her ass crack. She made a little sound, “Please don’t,” she whispered.

He squeezed her ass cheek hard causing her to cry out. “You forget who this ass belongs to now,” he growled. “You signed a contract, remember. Who does this ass belong to?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, “You,” she said. “I mean it...it belongs to you, Master.”

“Then I can do what the fuck I want with it?”

“Yes, Master. You can do what you want with it.”

“How about you, Paul? Does your wife’s ass belong to me?”

Paul’s eyes had been riveted on the huge black man’s fondling of Ann’s ass. His cock was obviously hard. “I...I....don’t......” he began.

Watts moved his hand down so that his fingers trailed along Ann’s slit. “Paul you got to know that unless you learn real quick who black men and women are and who you are, things will get more painful for your wife than they need to be.

“I’m sorry. Yes...yes Master, Ann’s ass belongs to you.”

Watts looked up at her, “Your cunt feels wet to me. It isn’t sopping wet, but it’s wet enough. Maybe I’m making you hot?” It was a question.

She felt her cheeks burning, “No....no.....it’s.....it’s just....”

He pushed his middle finger up inside her. She gasped and reached out to the desk to steady herself. “You sayin you ain’t gettin hot?” he asked. He slid his finger in and out of her.

“Yes,” she gasped, “yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Master, you....you’re making me aroused.....making me hot.”

He looked across at Paul holding up his glistening finger, “The bitch is learning, Paul. She’s learning.” He held his finger up to her. “Clean it,” he said.

She looked confused, “I don’t...” she turned to Paul, “There’s Kleenex in my bag.”

Watts chuckled, “Clean it with your mouth, bitch. Suck it clean.”

She started to shake her head. He grabbed her thigh with his other hand and squeezed hard. “I will,” she said, “yes.” She leaned down and took his finger into her mouth. She felt his long fingernail click against her teeth and tasted her secretions. When he withdrew his finger he pointed to her chair. Holding onto the desk she crossed back to it and sat down bowing her head.

Watts let her gather herself for a few moments then leaned back in his chair smiling, “You like what I did? You like me feeling your ass and puttin my finger in your cunt? You like the taste of your pussy juice on my finger?”

Not looking up she whispered, “Yes Master, I liked what you did.”

“You know how many times what I just done to you was done by white men to the wives of black men?” She shook her head. “Hundreds of thousands of times. For two hundred years the black women in this country was owned by the white slave holders, thousands and thousands of black women. Think about that. They was raped by the white man, raped in front of their husbands. And the husbands could do nothing about it. They was raped in front of their own children and the husbands could do nothing about it. They was raped by old men and by boys younger than their own boys and the husbands could do nothing about it. They was made to take white cock in their asses and in their mouths right in front of their husbands and their children and nobody could do nothing about it. For two hundred years they suffered unimaginable abuse at the hands of the white men and the white women too. Thousands upon thousands of black women made to give their openings to the white man whenever he wanted to fuck or felt like having his cock sucked. The husbands and children of these women knowing about it, watching it and not able to do a thing to prevent it.” He paused and leaned back and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he leaned forward toward them. “Is that what you teach the black kids in your African American Cultures class, Mrs. Gardner?”

She shook her head, “No...no...I don’t.”

“I got a nephew that was in your class for a day till you had him tossed out for two weeks. His name is Darnell. You remember him?”

“Yes....yes....I do. I remember him.”

“Ain’t you forgetting something?”

“I’m sorry. Yes, Master, I remember Darnell.”

He changed the subject. “Reparations,” he said, “yes reparations are required and I don’t mean that the government can get off the hook by sending every Negro in America a check for two-hundred dollars.” He sipped his coffee looking at them over the rim of the cup. “Did you know that in the early nineteen hundreds long after Lincoln was supposed to have freed the slaves black men and women were routinely tortured and mutilated then often hanged or burned alive before celebrating crowds sometimes numbering in the thousands? White folks would bring their children to witness the spectacle of a black boy being burned alive because he was accused of looking in a certain way at a white woman. In Waco, Texas, in May of 1916, fifteen thousand white Texans gathered to watch an eighteen year old boy named Jesse Washington burned alive because someone said he looked at a white woman in a ‘certain’ way. They shouted, ‘Burn, Burn, Burn’ as he was lowered into the flames.” He paused staring across at them. “Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Gardner. Retribution.”