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I work at a home office of a large retail company in South Africa. It
used to be a nice place to work until she came along - my boss the bitch.
Now every day was full of dread - of worrying if and when she would call me
to the office. Sally got the call the week before last and Angie last
week. They each left the office crying and with a box. The box. The box
in which they packed their belongings in the box and left.

I had just gotten the call moments before. The call to report to the
bitch's office.

I wiped my sweaty hands on my skirt to dry them, and knocked on her
door, looking through the crack to see if it was alright for me to enter.
She put a hand over the receiver of the phone and said, "Can't you see I'm
busy. I'll call you in when I'm ready for you."

See, I told you, she was a bitch. She was hired a few months ago and my
life has been a living hell ever since. To make matters worse, she was a
woman of colour. She obviously wanted me out, so she could hire another
black for my position. I had already been written me up twice in one week.
One more strike and I was out the door.

Did I mention I lived in South Africa? After Apartheid ended and with
this new affirmative action crap, it was inevitable that I might end up
working for a black. I did my best to delay this by transferring over to
high-tech and the move served me well. I was well paid and happy . . .
that is, until she came along.

I tried to get along . . . *honest*, but you have to understand, I was
from the older generation. At thirty five, in the back of my mind, I still
thought of people of colour as maids and janitors, not supervisors -- and
definitely not my supervisor.

The worst part was, she was good, incredibly bright, and hungry for
everything - money, power, the works. My only thoughts were of keeping my
well paying job since my husband had been laid off and of my eventual
retirement. With unemployment at over fifteen percent, a house payment,
and a car payment, just keeping my job was my top priority.

"I'm ready for you now Tracy," she said from behind the door. "Have a
seat," she said, pointing in front of her as she leaned back imperiously,
feet crossed on top of her desk. She was obviously reveling in her newly
acquired power.

I sat down and swallowed. I felt hollow inside. The dreaded pink color
of the reprimand form lay atop her desk, beside it sat a box. The box my
belongings would be packed. The box I would have to explain to my husband
when I went home early.

"Tracy, do you remember when I asked you to pull a report on the average
business transaction ratio?"

"Yes, ma-am."

"Well, luckily I checked the numbers by hand, because the numbers you
gave me were total shit."

Oh God, this was it, I was going to be fired. Everyone makes mistakes,
but lately I was making more than my share, just from the stress of knowing
she was looking over my shoulder, watching my every move, waiting,
patiently waiting for me to slip up.

"Please Ms. Moore," I begged with tears welling in my eyes. "I need
this job."

She crossed her arms behind her head, the edges of her mouth turned up
in a grin. The young black bitch obviously enjoyed putting the screws to
me.

"You don't act like it," she said.

"I do," I said, tears now pouring down my cheeks, probably ruining my
mascara. "Please, let me prove it. I'll work longer hours. I-I'll do
anything. I promise. I won't let you down again."

"Well," she said. "There might be *something* you could do."

"What?" I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. I didn't like the way
she said *something*, but *something* was better than *nothing*.

"Here." She handed me a tissue to dry my tears. "Clean yourself up."

"Thank you," I said, drying my tears.

"You see Tracy, this job is very demanding. Doing my own work and
checking after yours and everyone else's has left me with little time for
myself. Without some relief, I keep getting more on edge and a little
bitchier every day. That doesn't do anyone any good, does it?"

I shook my head, afraid this was some sort of trick. Maybe if she knew
she was being a bitch, maybe she could stop.

"Good, we are in agreement then?"

I nodded.

"Great. You are officially my relief girl."

"Relief?" I asked. What did she need help with?

She looked down at her crotch. There wasn't a hint of grin left in her
face, only hunger. "Relief," she said, sort of drawing it out, the f
sticking to her lips.

Jesus, this was harassment, but no one would believe me. If I tried to
tell, I would just be a white woman with a grudge against the new black
supervisor.

"I-I'm not t-that w-ay," I stammered.

"I'm not either," she said, as if she were offended by my suggestion.
"But I need something to take the edge off and I'll take it any way I can
get it."

"D-do it y-yourself," I replied indignantly.

"You mean, masturbate?"

"Yes." I was blushing furiously. This wasn't the kind of conversation I
wanted to have with anyone, much less my boss.

"I've tried. It doesn't work for me," she said. "It has to be someone
else. Will you do it or not?"

"But, I'm married and I've never had sex with a woman before."

"It isn't sex," she said. "Listen, you've had a maid before right?"

I nodded my head.

"And she was black, right?"

I didn't like where this was going. I didn't like it at all, but again
I nodded. I couldn't meet her eyes.

"And she did the stuff you didn't want to do and for a lot less than you
are making now correct?"

Again I nodded. This nodding seemed to be getting me deeper and deeper
in the shit.

"Well, *I* don't want to have to masturbate and get my hands dirty as it
were. I'm also willing to go through the office and clean house until I
find someone who will, or get some people who will work so I can get it on
my own. Now, will you do it or not?"

I nodded my head - beaten. Sallie and Angie could afford to leave.
Sally had a family she could move in with and Angie had a husband with a
job.

"I didn't hear you."

"Yes," I whispered. "I-I'll do it."

"Wise decision," she said, nodding at me. "Be a good girl and lock the
door."

Somehow I managed to walk with weak legs to the door and lock it.

"Now," she said. "Take off your clothes and set them on the edge of my
desk."

"W-why?" I stammered. This was going further than I thought and much
more quickly than I imagined.

"I don't want there to be any mistake of who has the power here. If you
see my body, I see yours."

"I won't look."

She signed the paper on her desk and threw it at me. "Go pick up your
check and get the fuck out. Don't forget to clean out your desk."

Tears ran down my cheeks as my fingers fumbled with the buttons on my
blouse. I was doing it. I was stripping in front of her -- stripping in
front of the coloured girl ten years my junior. Soon, I was in front of
her only clad in my panties and bra.

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"Those too."

I turned around and finished disrobing.

"Okay," she said, standing up and then sitting on the desk with her back
to me. "Come here."

I walked over to her and even though I was standing while she was
sitting, she glowed with power. Her legs were splayed slightly and I could
see the hint of her panties.

I moved to sit down in her vacant seat, but she kicked it out from
behind me.

"Kneel down and take my panties off."

I went down to one knee and looked up at her grinning face. This wasn't
just about sex. It was obvious she was reveling in my humiliation. I made
up my mind then and there; I couldn't go through with it. I would have to
adjust my standard of living, but I rather deal with that than being
humiliated by this-this . . . black.

"I can't do this." I said getting back up. "I'll just pick up my check
and leave."

She grabbed my wrists and struggled with me. "Let go of me, you're
hurting me, you crazy old bitch." She grew louder as she struggled, still
gripping my wrists tightly.

I was puzzled at first. What did she mean? She was the one holding on
to me - forcing me to pleasure her. Then reality set in. Whoever came in
would see her wrestling with a larger naked white woman. They would surely
think that *I* was the one trying to do something to her.

"Please-don't. Please be quiet." I begged, going back down on my knees.
"Don't make me do this." My hands were already moving under her skirt. I
grabbed her panties and pulled them down. They were small, thin, and
silky. The crotch was damp. I could smell the hint of her musk.

She leaned back on her arms and spread her legs to each corner of the
desk. She was a pretty girl with dark skin and without an inch of fat. I
was instantly jealous not only of her body, but her lack of inhibition, and
her strength.

"Get to work, slut" she said, smiling a superior grin, her eyes
twinkling down at me.

I've just got to get this over with, I told myself, reaching between her
muscular thighs with my shaking hands. The hair on her crotch was darker
and much curlier than my own. Her labia were almost purple in color. I
parted them with my fingers and traced another along her wet opening. I
was thankful she was wet, because I had no idea what I would have to do if
foreplay was necessary.

I had masturbated myself before and sought to apply my skills in as
professional a manner as possible. Well, as professional as you can be,
kneeling between your boss's legs. I slid my finger up and down the slit
of her sex and alternately worked her clit in a tight circle. Soon she was
breathing heavy and her sex flowed freely, coating my fingers with her
shiny fluids. My wedding ring glittered next to her glistening clit. I
couldn't help but think of my husband and be ashamed.

"Look at me," she said.

I was desperate not to have to look at my wedding ring, but I still
couldn't bear to meet her eyes.

"I said, *look at me*," she repeated in that same commanding tone.

I reluctantly met her flashing eyes from beneath my bangs.

"I give you an easy job like this and you can't even do it right, can
you?"

I was crying in humiliation. "I'm sorry," I whimpered, increasing the
speed of my fingers. "I'm trying. I'm really trying. I've just never
done anything like this before."

"You better try harder, pussy girl." Her face screwed up and she licked
her lips. "That's right. You're a pussy girl now. *My* pussy girl. My
white pussy girl."

God, why was she saying these things to me and why was it having such an
effect on me? My nipples ached and I could feel my juices running down my
ass. I prayed she wouldn't notice. I started using both hands in hopes of
finishing her off, so I could get out of there.

"That's it pussy girl, do my clit and finger fuck my pussy at the same
time."

She talked so filthy. She seemed so worldly. I worked her as fast as I
could. Her musky scent filled my nose and her wet juices were all over my
hands.

"Goddamnit girl, a monkey could do a better job. Give me one reason why
I shouldn't fire your ass and put you out on the street."

I slipped another finger in - anything to please this demanding girl.
"I'm sorry," I begged. "I'm trying. I'll do better - I promise."

Her faced winced in agony. I slowed in case I was hurting her.

"Don't you stop. Don't you dare stop. And keep looking at me. I don't
give a shit what happens, you better look me in the eyes." She bit her lip,
groaned, and clutched her breasts through her business suit.

"Work that pussy girl - work that pussy," she repeated breathlessly.
Her hips spasmed and her sex clutched at my fingers. She was cumming. Her
legs fell from the desk, landing over my back. She trapped my head between
her thighs, squeezing rhythmically with her orgasm. I looked her dead in
the eyes, never ceasing the motion of my fingers, until she commanded me to
stop.

Afterwards, she propped her feet back on the desk and tossed the box of
tissues down on the floor. I took some out and cleaned her soaked sex
without being asked. When I was finished, she got up and I cleaned my
fingers and the wet spot on her desk.

"Your relief-work today was lackluster Tracy, but I don't hold you to
blame," she said, sitting on the edge of her desk, with one leg crossed
over the other. I was still on the floor with my legs pressed tightly
together lest she discover the signs of my arousal.

"Go on, get dressed," she said.

I covered my crotch with my hand and made to get away from her to dress.

"Stop," she said, blocking my path with a leg, and grabbing my wrist.
"What are you hiding down there, Tracy?"

"Nothing," I gasped.

She moved my hand out of the way and observed my wet pouting sex. I had
no idea why it did such a thing; I hated every moment of the experience and
had never been so humiliated in my life.

She chuckled before continuing, "Yes, I hold myself to almost entirely
to blame. After all, it is my job to inspire my girls, isn't it?"

"No, it's my fault," I said, thankfully able to put my clothes on. "I-I
just never did anything like that before. I-I'm just not any good at it."

No, not any good at it at all. She would just have to find someone
else.

"Am-am I finished?" I asked. Please dear God, let me be finished.

"No," she said, tossing me her panties. "Go clean these and dry them.
Then return them back to me."

I hid them in my coat pocket and made my way to the restroom. God, what
a bitch. I couldn't believe she had the audacity to make me clean her
panties afterward. My face burned as I proceeded with the humiliating task
of cleaning her soiled undergarmetns. I was drying them when someone else
came in. Her eyes bulged out when she saw what I was doing.

"I-I can explain," I said.

"Sure you can," she said sarcastically as she locked herself in the
stall.

I dried them as quickly as possible before the girl got back out and
went back to Thandi's office to give them back.

"Well, don't just stand there," she said, as she got up and turned
around, raising the hem of her skirt as she did so. "Put them on me."

I had to get down on my hands and knees to do so. I think she
deliberately pushed her bubble shaped bottom in my face. In fact I'm quite
sure of it. I turned my face to the side and hurriedly pulled her panties up and in place.

"Get them out of my crotch and smooth them out."

That which does not kill me, makes me stronger, I said to myself, as I
completed this new degradation. Somehow, I was able to summon a renewed
strength. Yes, she would fuck up or either she would get promoted. Either
way, all I had to do was wait her out. I pulled the panties out of her
crotch and smoothed out the wrinkles.

"Good job Tracy. You're a smart girl, the kind of girl who will keep
her mouth shut. Aren't you?"

"Yes ma-am," I said. The kind of woman who will be here long after
you've gone Thandi.

"Ma-am . . . I do like the sound of that. You'll call me that in the
future, won't you girl?"

"Yes, ma-am," I managed to force out. I wasn't a girl. I was ten years
her senior. I couldn't call her what I wanted to, which was BITCH, so I
would have to settle for ma'am.

She reached in her pocket book, pulled out ten rand, and pressed it into
my bra. "That's for being a good girl - a dutiful girl. Why don't you
take off early today?"

Thank heavens for small miracles. I needed to get out of there
desperately, somewhere I could think. I couldn't bear the thought of being
in the office with her for even one more hour.

"Thank you, ma-am," I said, backing out of the door before she changed
her mind.

"Oh, and Tracy,"

"Yes?"

"That money is for you - no one else. Spend it on yourself before you
go home. Buy some earrings. I like big hoops by the way. Or get your
nails done. It's up to you, but I want to see whatever you decide on
tomorrow."

The ten rand might have been beneath my bra, but it felt like a badge
proclaiming, look here -- look at the whore - look what she does for ten
rand. I couldn't bear to look at any of my co-workers as I went to my
cubicle, picked up my pocketbook, and left.