- White women’s revenge made the black moan – 1
- White women’s revenge made the black moan – 2
This story is a tale of a proud black woman’s fall into the world of submission to a white younger, pretentious, pretty, bigoted girl. If this offends you please stop reading.
This story is a story about racial domination. If this offends you please stop reading. Also note, this is a lesbian story, but because of the intensity of the race relations I choose interracial over lesbian.
This story includes very generous use of the ‘N’ word, used disparagingly. If this offends you please stop reading.
The majority of my race stories are about a dominant black girl/woman seducing a white girl/woman, but for the second or third time I am writing a story the other way around. Again, if this offends you please stop reading.
On the other hand, if you are turned on by race…. Please enjoy.
I was working my ass off to get my law degree… but since I didn’t come from a privileged white family like most of my classmates, and my scholarship helped, but wasn’t a full ride, I had to work part time. Usually weekends with the odd daytime shift.
Although I had only worked for the chain for a few months, I was promoted to shift manager of a restaurant because of my hard work ethic, loyalty and skill at schmoozing… sorry, being diplomatic with… the patrons.
So I was new to this location, but had experience at two other ones, and I was in training for upper management. I’ll avoid telling you the name of the chain (although it was one that had mostly white upper middle class appeal, so most of the employees and managers tended to be white).
So I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the senior manager who would be training me was also black. I’m not racist, okay yes I am, but I’d much rather work under a black person than a white… for many reasons.
Rihanna and I got along great; she was a strong black woman who didn’t take crap from anyone, especially her prima donna white teen employees, and showed me how to work with the largely white, entitled teenage staff. She stressed over and over again that in order to be a good boss you had to work twice as hard as any of your staff… and that wasn’t a race thing; that was good policy no matter who you were. And she wasn’t just spouting off. It took roughly two and a half hours of my seeing her in action to earn my total respect!
Early on Rihanna quietly described most of our staff to me as ‘little Princesses’ who resisted hard work, which made me laugh, although it turned out to be very true. The first month I seemed to spend a lot of my time trying to get these girls to do their jobs, be polite to our patrons and clean up their work areas properly.
And although none of the teens disrespected me in any real way, it was obvious this was not a job they really cared about and likely didn’t need the money… and saw me as nothing more than a bossy old bitch… even though I was only four to six years older than they were.
During training, which I took in the summer while I was not in school, I had worked Monday to Friday and thus had the better employees to work with for the most part (some of them having worked there for years and having respect for the company because the company treated their proven employees well).
As school started in the fall, I moved to the weekend shifts and rubbed shoulders with the least motivated employees we had. It was a lot more work, a lot more babysitting and a far higher percentage of pretentious teens who had never needed to work for a thing… which really pissed me off as I had worked solidly since I was ten to make money for my family or for my future.
It was during this time that my life began to change… because it was when I met Kelly… the most diva-like princess of all the employees. She was your stereotypical blue eyed, blonde haired, pretty, haughty bitch. She had a tight ass and firm high boobs that only someone young can have. She was just eighteen and her daddy was making her get a job to learn what it meant to work… although I’m not sure she ever would learn that nose-to-the-grindstone ethic.
At first she also fit the dumb blonde stereotype, seeming to be a complete airhead, yet I quickly learned she only played dumb around the boys to trick them into doing most of her work.
It was pretty clear after just a couple of shifts that not only was she entitled, she was racist and thought she was better than me. This, of course, had me in a secret rage, as I’d grown up in the South where I was treated that way a lot… and I was the first woman in my family who hadn’t ended up being a maid… I was the first one to graduate high school… the first one (obviously) to go to college… and one day soon I would be the first lawyer to pass the bar. Just imagine — that uppity black bitch calling herself Esquire! LOL! I could hardly wait!
Now I had been treated a lot worse back home: I had been called every racist taunt you can think of, and many that would never occur to you unless you really put your heart into it; I had been bullied and beat up… so glares and snotty comments under her breath weren’t going to faze me.
Yet we butted heads over pretty much every direction I gave her, as she always smirked and scoffed at my ‘so-called’ experience.
I likely made things worse as I was a very aggressive woman at the time. I felt that in a white world, I needed to be strong and no nonsense… so I was firm and fair… yet unrelenting. I choose my battles, but once engaged I didn’t back down.
That said, I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy making whites do my bidding for me. It was a nice role reversal to be the one in charge. Yes I had an attitude, but I had earned it in the school of hard knocks.
At the time I even had a white boyfriend… well more of a white hanger-on I used for sex. He was obsessed with my big tits and even bigger ass and was at my beck and call whenever I needed my cunt munched or a quick fuck.
I was finally getting ahead in this racist world…before it suddenly began to crumble around me.
Kelly’s disrespect escalated quickly one afternoon when I saw her in the back room eating, while one of the black boys who worked there (there were only two) was massaging her pantyhose clad feet (every girl had to wear a plaid skirt, white blouse and mocha pantyhose to work). She was arranging the universe for her own comfort instead of cleaning the floor like she was supposed to.
Was the company sexist?
Did that help with sales?
As a manager I too had a uniform although it was a little less slutty than the staff’s. It was a black blouse, black skirt (longer than the employees’) and black pantyhose.
Anyway, I blew up at her. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Eating,” she replied laconically, snapping her fingers at Jerome who was actually supposed to be on break and had quit massaging her feet… briefly, before she snapped him back to it.
“You know what I mean,” I roared, furious and more than a little over the top.
“Mike is doing the floors for me,” she explained, as if I should have been smart enough to know that but obviously wasn’t.
“Mike is supposed to be on the till,” I informed her, before adding, “Jerome, please leave Kelly and me alone for a couple of minutes.”
Kelly asked me, as Jerome obeyed, scurrying out of there, “Does that mean you’re going to massage my feet now?”
“Excuse me?” I questioned, stunned by her pretentiousness.
“Do I need to speak more slowly? Use shorter words?” she asked, with such a smirk that I instantly wanted to slap her smug face. Before I could respond, she added the one word no white person, especially an entitled bitch like her, should ever utter, “Nigger?“
I stopped dead in my tracks. Completely stunned she had used the ‘N’ word. It hadn’t been loud enough for anyone else to hear, especially over the noise from the kitchen, but she had definitely said it, and definitely had intended me to hear it.
I sputtered, even as she looked at me smugly, lifting her foot up towards me, “I-I-I’m going to write you up!” I then stormed out before I could say anything else that could get me in trouble. Another principle Rihanna had schooled me in was never to speak when you’re too angry to think straight. Teeth clenched, I was outta there!
Usually I would rip her a new one right then and there… Yet thanks to Rihanna’s wisdom, I didn’t.
All night I replayed the conversation, wondering why I didn’t do something right then and there. Why I had allowed her to think she’d won. Frustrated, I called my white boy toy and had him eat my cunt… then sent him home without sex… yeah, I could be a bitch too.
That was Saturday night.
On Sunday afternoon, as Rihanna came in to do weekly inventory, I told her what happened… still fuming a full day later.
I wanted her fired, but Rihanna calmed me down, saying that there will always be the odd employee or customer who had racist parents and hadn’t yet grown up… it was our job to help teach tolerance. I sighed; I’d been teaching tolerance my whole life, or turning the other cheek, and yet society didn’t seem any less racist… it was just hidden better… I suppose.
I agreed that was true, but we couldn’t be having that kind of disrespect and language in our building.
Rihanna promised she would deal with Kelly before my next Friday shift in two weeks. (The following weekend I was attending a course the company was having me take… ironically, anger management.) Then she began teaching me the last task of a manager: inventory.