Minority Owned
by Dripping Yarns
I heard his office door click shut ominously as I waited to speak to him. This wasn’t going to be a comfortable conversation. He was seated at his desk, the handsome, well-spoken black man that I now called my boss.
“Paul? Do you have a moment? We really need to talk.” Paul was immaculately dressed, as always, in a suit that probably cost him more than I would make at my new job in a month. He looked up at me, and smiled invitingly.
“Grace, you know that I’d always make time for you, and you appreciate how much I value you.”
“I do appreciate it, Paul. That’s what makes this so hard to say.” I noticed that I was brushing my hands nervously across the sides of my skirt, and I forced myself to stop fidgeting. “I’m sorry, Paul, but I really think I need to quit my job”.
He looked suddenly concerned. “Grace, you’ll feel much better about things after you tell me what’s bothering you.” He gestured towards a seat opposite him.
“What’s bothering me? Paul, I don’t belong here. I’m a criminal defense attorney, I have (or I had) a successful career. I can’t for the life of me figure out why I even agreed to work here. I wasn’t even looking to make a change. You just chatted me up in a bar, and I agreed to be one of your secretaries. It’s ridiculous! Besides, nobody seems to last very long in this job. Practically all of the women who worked here when I started have already moved on and been replaced. What’s more, I don’t even know what this company does, for goodness sakes, or why you’d want to pay several dozen women to sit around pretending to be busy!” Having said all that, I actually did feel somewhat better. It felt good to get that off my chest. I sat down across from him.
“To be fair, Grace, I seem to recall that you approached me at that bar.”
“Yeah, to try to bum a cigarette off of you, and so you offered me what you said was the next best thing...one of those nicotine patches. If it hadn’t been such a bizarre counter-offer, I don’t think I ever would have agreed to slap the thing on. They seem to work, though. I haven’t had a smoke in two weeks.” He smiled at that.
Paul seemed to consider a moment before speaking. “I can’t talk you out of leaving, Grace?” I shook my head no. “Well, you’re a very decent person, Grace, so I know you won’t mind sitting and listening to me as I try to.”
I sat back in the chair comfortably. There certainly wouldn’t be any harm in giving Paul the opportunity to change my mind, even though I knew it was a waste of his time. It would have been impolite not to.
“Grace, I’m a very perceptive person. Even though you’ve only known me for two weeks, you know this and you have a great respect for my insights. You have concerns and questions about your own behavior, but you know that if anyone can lay your concerns to rest, it’s me. You know that I can explain everything to you in a way that will make perfect sense to you, and that you’ll accept my explanation completely and with absolute conviction. We can agree on that at least, can’t we, Grace?”
Paul does have brilliant instincts. If anyone could make sense of what was going with me, it would be Paul. “Of course, Paul, that’s why I came to you. I just can’t seem to understand why I’ve been acting the way I have. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”
Paul nodded reassuringly. “I know, Grace. The answer is obvious once you think about it. In fact, once I tell you what it is, you’ll be amazed that it never occurred to you before now. The more you think about it, the more convinced you’ll be that it’s the one singular truth that defines you.” He reached out for glass to his right, and took a quick drink of water.
“What is it, Paul? Tell me.” I was leaning forward, anxious to hear the answer.
“First answer me a question, Grace. Why did you pursue a career as a lawyer? It wasn’t the money, was it?”
For just a moment, I had been about to answer that it was indeed the money that attracted me, but I knew that wasn’t the real answer. “I wanted to help people who were powerless, to defend them from prosecutors who were just interested in statistics, in making cases, not in administering justice. That’s why I became a criminal defense attorney.”
Paul shook his head. “No, Grace. I have no doubt that some part of you wants to believe that, but the truth is so much simpler than that. I knew the truth from the moment we first met. What I have to tell you is going to sound blunt, but you need to hear it in order to understand.” He leaned forward, and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “Grace, you have (and you have always had) an uncontrollable sexual attraction to black men. That is why you became a criminal defense attorney. By the way, that’s kind of a racist attitude. Not every criminal is a black man, Grace, as much as your fantasies might wish otherwise.”
I stared at him in shock, unable to speak. Then I looked away, unable to meet his eyes. I honestly didn’t know what was worse, realizing that my deepest, darkest, most secret sexual fantasies were so plainly obvious to him, or having it pointed out to me that I had based major life decisions on an unflattering racial stereotype. The sickest part is how much in denial I had been. God, I’d never even dated a black man! Can you believe that?
“Grace, the moment I started talking to you in that bar, I could see how attracted to me you were. The longer we talked, the more obvious you’re attraction became. You were hanging on my every word, Grace, and yet you were so distracted by your desire that you probably can’t even remember what we talked about. You were giving off all of the signals, though. You know that’s the god’s honest truth.” He stood, and walked around the desk, stopping right beside my chair. His hand cupped my chin and tilted it back until I was looking in his eyes again. He looked very athletic. Even under the suit, I could tell that his arms were chiseled muscle. “Look, Grace, I understand that as a defense attorney, you didn’t always meet the class of people you might have wished for. Having a decent-looking black man in a nice suit hit on you in a bar...well it must have really struck a chord with your fantasies. Most of your fantasies of black men involve your submitting to them in some way or another. A suit is a symbol of masculine power. A black executive offers to hire you on as his secretary...it isn’t hard to see why you would have jumped at the chance. After all, your career has never been as important to you as your need to be sexually subservient to a black man. To be his sexual plaything.”
“I came here to quit, though.” I was dizzy and it was hard to think with Paul standing so close to me. He was quiet a moment, and all I could hear was the pounding of my heart.
“Come here, Grace. You need to see something.” He drew me to my feet effortlessly, and I could sense the strength in him. I imagined how easily he could hold me down with those strong arms of his. I imagined myself squirming helplessly underneath him. He led me to a door that led to a private bathroom off of his office. There was a full length mirror on the ouside of the door, and he told me to look at myself, and tell him what I saw. “Look at how you’re dressed”, he prompted.
The skirt I was wearing was short...obscenely short, and it looked like my breasts could spill out of my low-cut blouse at any moment, the top dropping off my shoulder, revealing the edge of one of Paul’s nicotine patches stuck to my left arm. Taking a cue from the other women around the office, I hadn’t worn a bra to work, or panties for that matter, since shortly after I started. The red heels strapped to my feet were breathtakingly high, the garter straps holding up my fishnets plainly visible, peeking out from under my skirt. Seeing myself like that was a bit of a shock. “Oh my god, Paul! You must think I’m such a whore for dressing like this.”
Paul stood beside me, one hand curled comfortingly around my waist. “Well, you certainly dress like a girl that wants to treated like a whore, Grace. That’s pretty clear, isn’t it? You want to be a black man’s whore so much it aches, don’t you?” I saw myself in the mirror, nodding agreement.
“I noticed that your skirts kept getting shorter, Grace. I’ll bet you went and had them all hemmed nice and short. You were hoping I would notice, weren’t you Grace? You like it when men notice you, when they think sexual thoughts about you, don’t you? You know that you can barely keep your hands off of your pussy when you think about men ogling you.”
“Yes”, I agreed, my hands drawn to the hem of my too short skirt.
“You’ve been working out, too, haven’t you Grace? I can see the changes in your body already, how toned you’re becoming.”
I smiled at the compliment. I like it a lot when men notice me, especially black men.
“I should have told that I’d noticed, Grace. I should have told you that your tight white body was making my fat black cock nice and hard for you. I’m sorry, Grace. It’s no wonder you wanted to quit. Here I was behaving like a perfect gentleman to you, and that’s the last thing you needed, wasn’t it Grace?”
I gave Paul a smoldering look. “You really shouldn’t starve a girl of attention, Paul. Look at how I’m dressed, for heaven’s sake! How much more of an invitation did you need?”
“Poor girl”, he murmured. “You can hardly to stand to go an hour without my big black cock pounding one your holes, let alone two whole weeks! Hell, you need it so much you’ll probably go off like a firecracker the moment you feel my cock pushing inside you. You need it, Grace, like an addict needs a fix. The thought of being deprived of my black cock is the most terrifying thing you can imagine. And yet you want to quit on me, Grace?” He unzipped his fly and pulled out a thick, black, beautiful cock. “You looking to walk away from this, Grace?”
“N-n-no, Paul. I don’t need to quit. Really, I don’t.”
The slap nearly knocked me off my feet. “You’re damned right, you don’t. You don’t leave me, bitch, not ever. You understand?”
“Y-y-yes. I’m sorry, Paul.” I was pretty distraught and embarrassed that I’d over-reacted.
“Now, you asked what my company does? Well, I manage a number of entertainment clubs. That’s what brings in the real money. It also lets me pursue my real passion of helping people. I also fully finance a not-for-profit agency that provides vocational training for white women who are looking for a career in the hospitality and service industries. It’s just my way of giving back. On top of that, I also fund a program that supplies products to help white girls like yourself realize the health benefits of a smoke-free life. It just so happened that I had some samples on me when you tried to bum a smoke from me. So, now that I’ve answered all of your stupid questions, I’m going to the can. When I get out, if I don’t see your naked white ass face down over my desk begging for a fuck, I’m not going to bother with you...ever. You got that, Grace?”
“Yes, Paul.” My voice sounded very small and frightened to me.
He grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom and tossed it to me. “Here. Put that over the edge of the desk. I don’t need that wet pussy of yours leaking all over my desk blotter.” I did as I was told, hurriedly stripping off all of my clothes. “Nice!", he commented. “I’m gonna need to move you into one of my clubs. You like dancing, Grace, don’t you. You like showing off that hot body of yours, even if it’s only to white guys who ain’t black enough to ever fuck you. Getting them so worked up that they fork over all of their hard-earned cash feels so good you could almost cum from it. Almost.”
“Y-you don’t want me to be your secretary any more?", I asked, a little hurt.
“Baby, you don’t have the smarts for secretarial work. You can barely hold a thought in that pretty little head of yours, and when you can, it generally involves my cock. Hell, you’ve worked here for two weeks and you didn’t even know what kind of work we do. That ain’t exactly bright, Grace. You’re not alone, though. A lot of white girls are a little on the slow side. I probably turn over one or two of them every day who can’t hack the office work.”
I heard his footsteps behind me retreating towards the bathroom. “Oh, hey,” he said loudly over the sound of the faucet, “that picture of you with the cute little redhead on your desk...she your little sister?”
I heard the faucet turn off, and his steps approaching. “Yes, Paul,” I answered him.
His hands gripped my waist, and I felt the head of his cock begin to press against my virgin ass. I was trembling. He moved one of his hands upward, grasping a fistful of my blond hair, and pulled until my back arched. He leaned forward, and spoke softly into my ear.
“So, is she a smoker?”
I couldn’t answer him as he chose that moment to thrust his hips, his magnificent black cock forcing itself inside me. My mouth opened in a wordless scream as my orgasm consumed me.