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**Description of symbols. ‘>>>’ denotes a return to present time. ‘—-‘ denotes a natural break in narrative.
Professor Huxton marched up and down the aisles, slapping tests down on students’ desks as he went. He continued to whine in his high-pitched nasal voice about poor study habits, poor note taking, not following through with the homework assignments.
“The math lab is available to any student that takes the initiative and goes down there,” he sneered. “But that won’t do you any good unless you actually go there, you know.”
Dee smiled as she looked at the ’97’ on her paper. She quickly skimmed down the sheet to see the mistake that had cost her a perfect score. There it was, a missed negative sign.
He was finished handing back the tests, but wasn’t finished humiliating the students as he burst into his rapid-fire lecture on factoring. An unfortunate student dared interrupt with a question and was screamed at for interrupting.
“You have any questions, you wait until I’m finished,” Professor Huxton reminded the class, then resumed his lecture.
At the end of his lecture, he sneered at the students that dared to have a question, then announced the end of the class period. There was a mad dash to get out of the classroom.
Dee pushed her thick brown hair back out of her light brown eyes and gathered up her books. She gave a quick look around at the students; some of them were very attractive. Quite a few were also giving her the once-over; she too was quite attractive.
Delicious ‘Dee’ Africa Jones was a very attractive young lady of twenty-three years of age. Her good looks came from a rich history; one she had researched for her Sociology 305 class.
<<<< In 1845, Sarah, a slave owned by Mr. Carter went into labor. It was the thirty-year-old slave’s seventh child, but this one seemed to be different from the other births. The previous births had been quick, nearly painless. This one, however, had given her pains almost from the very start. “That ’cause it a boy,” Ruth had snickered. “Boys always be trouble.” She groaned as the contractions came closer and closer and sweated in the Mississippi summer heat. It felt like her belly was ripping open. It was not a boy, as Ruth had predicted, but Sara Carter did not live to see that. She died just before Ruth, acting as midwife, pulled the baby from Sarah and gave it a resounding slap on it’s backside, to start the breath of life. “I name her Sarah,” Ruth said tearfully. “I bring her up for you, my friend.” Sarah did not wonder why she was the only child of Ruth Carter. She did not wonder how such an old, withered woman could have birthed her. She was a simple, happy child, and a hard worker. War broke out and Mr. Carter joined his other brothers in the Mississippi brigade. He did not return to his homestead. When news of their freedom reached them, many of the slaves simply continued to pick the cotton for Mrs. Carter, not knowing any other way to live, to exist. “You, you free,” Ruth cackled to Sarah. “So?” Sarah shrugged. “What that mean?” Sarah Carter and Moses Carter jumped the broom in 1866. Ruth sobbed and cackled in delight as her baby enjoyed the freedom of marrying herself a man of her choosing, not a man the lady of the house decided she should breed with. Sarah gave birth to Rachael Carter, Ester Carter, and Rebecca Carter. In 1871, Moses left her for another girl on the same plantation, disgusted with a woman that gave him only daughters, instead of the son he hoped for. Moses’ second wife fared no better and he left Hattiesburg, Mississippi altogether, looking for the woman that would bear him a son. —- In 1885, nineteen-year-old Rachael Carter traveled to Montgomery Alabama, to go to work for Lady Carter’s daughter and her husband, Penelope and Steven Jones. “Of course, there’s really not much to do, with Steven, junior away at Harvard,” Penelope intoned, and grew quite agitated that Rachael did not react to the mention of the lofty university. There may not have been ‘much to do,’ but Penelope made sure that Rachael was always busy. Rachael dabbed at the sweat as she scrubbed the floors in young Steven’s room; Steven was expected home for the summer break. “You look thirsty,” young Steven Jones Junior smiled and held out a tall glass of iced tea. “Oh no, I couldn’t,” Rachael said, recognizing the glass as one of Mrs. Jones’ nice glasses, the ones she only brought out for company. “Oh, come on, just one glass,” Steven Junior cajoled She knew Mrs. Jones would have a fit if she saw her drinking from one of the good glasses. Mrs. Jones was none too subtle in her disdain of her Negro servants. But it was hot, and she was thirsty, and it was Mrs. Jones’ son that was offering the glass. “That’s a girl,” Steven smiled as the attractive casino oyna Negro servant quickly drained the glass, drinking quickly lest Mrs. Jones catch her drinking from one of the good glasses.
She came to on Young Steven Jones’ bed, with her clothes in disarray and a sore, burning sensation in her private area. Her breasts were also quite sore, as if they’d been squeezed too hard. She vomited heartily; her stomach was not used to alcohol.
Nine months later, Polly Carter was born. Penelope Jones did not listen to Rachael’s protestations that she had no idea where the baby came from, and kept a very close eye on the attractive servant, especially when her husband was in the house.
Rachael did not mourn with Mrs. And Mr. Jones when news of young Steven Jones death reached them. It seemed the daring young rake had been found in a wife’s boudoir and leapt from an eight-story window to avoid the certain thrashing the wife’s husband would have given him.
“And that probably how I got me that baby,” she deduced.
Rachael began to call her daughter Polly Jones, an action that actually found favor with the mistress of the house. The lady of the house also began to treat the servant with a little more kindness. It seemed the death of her son had softened her harsh edges.
Polly Jones was hired to clean the home and the office of a son of a friend of Penelope Jones, James Richardson. Mother and daughter shed a few tears as the girl boarded a train from Montgomery, Alabama and headed down to New Orleans, Louisiana.
James Richardson was an attorney at law, was single, and was quite sought after by the well-to-do society, both as an attorney and as a potential suitor and husband for the debutantes of New Orleans society.
He did not come down to the station to collect Polly and her one trunk; but did send his livery steward. The tall black man easily picked up the heavy trunk, then assisted the woman up the carriage step into the plush carriage.
Polly looked around at the bustling Mecca in awe. Montgomery was not a small town, but was certainly not as large, or as elaborate and ornate as New Orleans. She was still gaping about when Charles pulled the carriage in front of a brownstone building on Magazine and State Street.
:Nester Richardson is expecting you; his office is the second one on the right when you enter through the ‘Colored Only’ door at the rear of the building,” Charles said as he helped Polly down from the carriage. “Please, hurry, he is expecting you.”
After knocking on the door marked ‘Colored Only,’ Polly entered the darkened hallway and walked down to the second door on the right, as Charles had indicated. Another timid knock and she was bid to enter.
James Richardson took her breath away. He was incredibly handsome with his blonde hair, parted stylishly in the middle and large handlebar mustache. He took off his reading spectacles and smiled widely at her, revealing a mouthful of dazzling white teeth. He stood up, revealing his well-muscled physique to the young lady.
“Ah, Miss Jones! It is Miss Jones, right?” he asked in a deep voice.
“uh, yeah, uh yes sir, I Miss Polly Jones,” she stammered as he took her small hand in his large one and gave her hand a firm shake.
“Hate to have to greet you this way, but there’s quite a bit of work needs to be done as soon as you can,” he genially said and guided her to the small closet that housed her broom, cloth mop and scrub brushes as well as three large tin buckets.
“I know, you’re probably tired from such an arduous train ride, but it’s gotten to the point that I am embarrassed to have my clients visit me at my office,” he apologized.
“Oh no, no sir, I get on it right away,” Polly said and grabbed the broom and dustpan first.
He was exaggerating; the suite of offices was nearly immaculate, but Polly did her best to clean it even more.
“Very nice, very nice indeed,” James murmured from behind her.
“Thank you sir,” she responded. “I does my best.”
“And it shows, Miss Jones, it shows,” he agreed.
She had been working there for three months. Every now and then, James would make a light-hearted overture; Polly recognized it as ‘fishing.’ He was throwing the hook out there to see if she would nibble at the bait. Her usual response was to giggle and waggle a finger at him.
“Polly,” he called out one afternoon. “Please come to my office.”
“Yes sir?” she asked as she bustled into the office.
“Please close the door,” he asked and she did so.
“That, Mister and Miss Overlon, they were my last clients for the day, and thankfully, tomorrow is Saturday,” he smiled and she returned his smile, though she was not sure why.
“So shall I draw your bath, or have Charles bring your carriage around?” Polly asked.
“No, no, Miss Polly, I was hoping that you and I would spend this time getting to know one another better,” James said and stood up.
Polly looked at the man, fighting the urge to laugh. He canlı casino looked positively ridiculous, bare from the waist down as he was. His small cock was hard, sticking straight out, and drooling his excitement.
“You wants me to take care of that with my mouth?” Polly asked as she stood up and slipped out of her simple dress. “Or with my cunt?”
She was no virgin; she’d lost her virginity to another one of the servants at the Jones’ household.
“Oh!” James shuddered at the sight of the voluptuous servant and sprayed his semen onto his desktop.
“Let me get that,” Polly laughed and got a rag from the closet.
She was comfortable with her nudity and smiled at him as her breasts bobbled and jiggled as she wiped his semen from the desktop. He groaned aloud, then growled and attacked her breasts, suckling on the large chocolate brown nipples. She laughed and cradled his head to her breasts. His fingers traveled down her plump belly and combed through her profuse thicket of black pubic hair.
Mm hmm,” he moaned as he found her pussy to be quite wet and ready for his erect cock.
“Let me suck it first,” Polly whispered, then kissed him on his lips.
He felt her wet mouth encircle his manhood then felt her tongue lap at the sensitive flesh.
“Oh, oh, oh my!” he groaned, then filled her mouth with his seed.
“You wants me on the settee, or on the carpet here?” Polly smiled.
“The settee,” he panted and she lay down on the silk covered couch.
No amount of scrubbing could get the stains from the delicate fabric, but James refused to get rid of it. He laughed as he told Polly, he rather liked the idea that his snooty, pretentious clients were sitting on the combined love juices of their attorney and his colored maid and did not know it.
“In fact,” he gave her his knowing leer. “It gets me quite randy, just to think of it.”
“Mister Richardson, everything gets you randy,” she laughed, but good-naturedly took his cock into her mouth.
Her belly was growing larger and larger and James actually hired another colored girl to do Polly’s duties around the house.
“Your only duties are to fuck,” he said crudely and she smiled and parted her legs for him.
The white doctor was quite agitated as Charles brought him to the Richardson home; he had just administered a large dose to cocaine to himself.
The fact that his charge was a colored woman furthered agitated him and he nearly refused to assist in the birth of the woman’s child.
Rachael Polly Richardson was born in May of 1907. The doctor carelessly crushed the baby girl’s skull with the forceps. Rendering the child both blind and mentally addled.
In 1908, Polly tearfully boarded a train with her disfigured child and took her East, to Hattiesburg, Mississippi and put her in the only institution in the United States of America that would take a colored child.
In 1925, Thomas Lincoln became the new Director of Services for the Mississippi School for Blind Negroes. He surveyed his charges and smiled gleefully. Several of the girls appealed to him and he set about interviewing them, one at a time.
Rachael Richardson giggled and laughed as the man talked silly talk to her, and giggled as he removed her dress and undergarments that the Sisters made her wear.
She grunted and cooed as he touched her breasts; whenever she touched them, the Sisters slapped her hands and told her this was bad, naughty. She gasped as he touched her crotch; another no-no place the Sisters did not like for her to touch.
“You like that, huh?” Mr. Lincoln laughed as she grunted in orgasm.
She screamed as he stuck something in her crotch and caused a burning pain. She tried to bite his hand as he clamped his large hand over her mouth. A strong slap to her face stopped her and she sobbed and grunted and sniffled as he thrust the strange object in and out of her crotch. She heard him grunt, then make a strange bellowing sound, then he stopped thrusting whatever it was in and out of her. She felt a strange wetness when he pulled the object out of her.
He often had her brought to his office and would repeat the entire ordeal. It no longer burned when he shoved the object into her crotch, but she did not like it and often felt ashamed of herself after he dismissed her.
There was something wrong; Rachael’s belly felt very hot, like it was on fire. She got out of the bed, thinking she might have to go to relieve herself like she often did whenever she had a tummy ache.
“Sister Theresa!” she cried out as a new pain tore at her tummy and caused her to stagger to her knees.
Thomas Lincoln was removed from duties at MSBN when seven more girls became impregnated. He was reassigned to a state mental institution in Vicksburg, Mississippi.
James Richardson was not satisfied with simply removing the man and sought reparations; he and his maid were raising the two children he’d given Rachael; a son Polly lovingly kaçak casino named James Charles Richardson and a daughter Polly named Venus Marie Richardson.
The courts did not recognize the rights of the blind and certainly did not recognize the rights of a blind Negro so Thomas Lincoln was not fined or ordered to make any restitution.
His bloated body was discovered, nude and adorned with several welts, as if he’d been beaten with a large, heavy chain, floating in the Mississippi River, just south of Vicksburg. Charles graciously accepted the one thousand dollars from James Richardson. Neither man ever spoke of Thomas Lincoln or of Vicksburg, Mississippi again.
James Charles and Venus Marie enjoyed the comfort the wealth of the woman they thought of as their mother brought to them. But they never ever forgot that they were colored. Even though they both had skin only slightly darker than many of the other children in the neighborhood, they were Negroes.
They didn’t understand it, but accepted it. Upon graduation from school, James decided he wanted to be an attorney, Like Mister Richardson and Venus decided that she wanted to be a nurse. The two got onto the large bus and rode east to Washington College in Mobile, Alabama, the only college for Negroes that offered law courses to Negroes in 1945.
The loud, raucous laughter made Venus nervous; the sailors were drinking and listening to bawdy vaudeville songs, and watching the burlesque dancers. She did not like walking past the bars that crowded the street, but it was the shortest and quickest route to the hospital.
The splash of the water as the four sailors dumped her into the Gulf revived her. She screamed as she realized that she was now nude, and valiantly tried to cover herself and to swim as the four sailors laughed and jeered and hooted.
“Ain’t probably nothing going to happen to y’all,” the sheriff smiled as the four sailors sat in his jail cell. “Hell, the girl wasn’t nothing but a n*gger anyhow.”
But the presiding judge was not as narrow minded as most in the state of Alabama in 1945 and quickly sentenced the four sailors to the maximum sentence of five years hard labor each. Two have the sailors actually committed suicide rather than go to a labor camp in northern Alabama.
Venus raised Milton Scott Richardson while she completed her education and internship at the hospital. He was a healthy, happy baby and a rambunctious child. But he too never forgot that he was black
When Milton graduated from high school, college did not appeal to him. Milton traveled west, to Lafayette Louisiana, and got a job on an oilrig. He grew his curly hair long and combed it out in the wild style of the more militant blacks, although he was not militant.
Offshore, Milton was highly regarded. He was a hard worker, easy going and could take a joke, just as well as dish on out.
On dry land, he was a black man. Even in 1966, he had a hard time finding an apartment to rent, or a restaurant to eat at, or a grocery store to shop at that did not have its stock boy follow him around to make sure he didn’t steal anything.
Mildred Jones felt her pussy grow wet when the light skinned black man came in to the bank. She was strongly attracted to black men, especially after making love with her first one. His cock had been twice the length and girth of her husband’s cock and from that moment on, she was hooked.
She lightly flirted with him and he smiled amicably. It was nice to have someone speak in friendly tones to him. They concluded their transaction and she had to run to the bathroom and masturbate.
The next time he came in to cash his paycheck, she flirted a little more aggressively and he agreed to have a cup of coffee with her. There was a small restaurant on Johnston Street that did not discriminate and they agreed to meet there.
She was sure her husband would not be home for another hour or two; it was Tuesday night; his bowling league night.
Her blonde pussy was nice and tight and wet and Milton drilled it like he was drilling for oil.
Suddenly the door opened and Prentiss Jones walked in.
“Rape!” Mildred screamed and Prentiss blew out the back of Melton’s head with his forty four-caliber handguns.
Nine months later, Ann Marie Emily Jones was born. She had light caramel skin and straight brown hair; Mildred named her AnnMarie after a childhood friend, the daughter of their colored maid and Emily because it was Prentiss’s mother’s name. One look at AnnMarie and it was obvious that the pale skinned, blonde haired Prentiss Jones was not the biological father of the caramel skinned child.
Two years later, he walked in to catch Mildred on her hands and knees, sucking one black cock while a second black cock plumbed her pussy. This time Prentiss did not shoot the men; he shot his unfaithful wife, then blew his own brains out.
AnnMarie Emily Jones grew up in one foster home after another ; no one wanted to adopt the child because of her black ancestry. Neither Mildred’s parents or Prentiss’ parents wanted anything to do with the child, both sets of grandparents claiming ‘she ain’t no kin to me.’
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