Africa laid on the bed in the dorm room. Her hands had been tied with blue silk cord to the bedframe. Her upper body had been completely immobilized. Securely anchored down and helpless, Keith stood over her. He had removed the scanty, creamy white school uniform from her body prior and admired the contrast between her swarthy skin tone with the vibrant blues and yellows beneath her.
As I had feared, Keith changed my major from black history to theology with a minor in philosophy. Accordingly, my courses changed as well. For my first semester, I will be taking: Introduction a la Soleilianisme, Devoirs Domicile and Sexologie. I’ll be considered a full-time student as each course is worth four credits. Keith also informed me of the extracurricular activities I’ll be participating in. He tells me they’re for my Baccalaureate Core and are required for graduation.
My school uniform was completed earlier than expected. Keith surprised me with it in the early hours of the morning. It was the same creamy white sleeveless one-piece all the other black girls were wearing. It terminated in an all too short mini-skirt which showed off its matching pair of panties. The fabric was almost transparent and there was a slit in the panties for easy access.
The next day, Africa left her room to go to the common room. She liked watching the news first thing in the morning. Africa liked to think of herself as someone in the know. It was one of those things that the black boys back home didn’t understand. Knowledge is power and those damned [filtered word] are incapable of seeing this truth. It’s amazing just how small their worlds are to be honest. In the world, black boys are like raindrops falling from the sky. They are the ephemeral and pitiful ones. Whereas the Aryan men are like bolts of lightning smashing into the Earth.
Keith grabbed Africa’s udders from behind her and began fondling them roughly. A defeated moan escaped her lips as her nipples hardened underneath the tight, creamy white jumpsuit she wore. They were clearly visible. He stood a full foot above her and could see her excitement over her shoulder. Milking her udders, he made his way to his wanna-be-pygmie’s now fully erect nipples. Pinching them softly, he whispered into her ear “Do you like that?” Another quiet moan indicated an affirmative. Then, he twisted her nipples sharply and she yelped like a bitch in pain.
Keith had Africa burn her old clothing in an incinerator. The symbolism of the act wasn’t lost on her. The thought of her entire race burning in the Lake of Fire made her sick to her stomach. She felt as though she was in league with the Aryan race and their mission to breed her own race out of existence. It was a terribly intrusive feeling.
He had the appearance of the quintessential athlete. His apparent musculature caught Africa’s eyes. He had a thick neck and huge arms; He had broad shoulders and a tight waist. It was the bulge in his pants that scandalized her; “Thank the Lord I’m black or else this man would see me blushing,” she thought.
Africa found herself strangely attracted to this Aryan man.
“You must be my Africa,” he said. “My name is Keith. Please make yourself comfortable.”
“Okay,” she said.
The day following Africa’s appointment with the Council of Race Relations came swiftly. Shaken by her fateful decision, Africa tried to rationalize what had happened while waiting in line to meet her chaperone and donor.
What did I agree to yesterday? Well, I agreed to give up four of my eggs to the Aryan race in exchange for having my college expenses paid for. It wasn’t an easy decision. I thought long and hard about it.
Africa entered the brightly lit room shame-faced. There was a large desk behind which were seared three persons. It was hard to see their faces what with the sun shining through the window.
A man’s voice calmly spoke, “Please, sit down miss Africa.” The middle figure gesturing towards the seat opposite him.