9 comments/ 151107 views/ 37 favorites The Humiliation of Kyra Florence By: patric Kyra knew that the Chanel skirt-suit didn't fit as well as it had when she'd bought it. It was tight around her hips and breasts. Still, she didn't have anything half as good from the last few years. Not since the business had gotten into trouble. As she stood in front of the reception desk in Manhattan, though, she knew that she looked good. She'd spent her last $100 on a hair cut. Her legs were still toned from the last few months of the gym subscription, when she had nothing to do except exercise. This was her first interview of the month and she was desperate to get this job. It was a real comedown, for someone like her, applying to manage a chain of sleazy bars, but the money was great and it would just be a stepping stone. The receptionist behind the desk looked her up and down dismissively and then said. "Mr Cohen says he'll see you now. Take the elevator up to the fifth floor." There were already two men in expensive suits in the elevator. The shameless way they, too, looked her up and down confirmed what she already knew. She looked good. As she got out at the fifth floor she wiggled her ass a little in her tight skirt. Just to tease them. Mr Cohen was sitting behind a desk in an open plan office at the end of the corridor. He was just a little guy. The kind of person she once would have employed to take out her trash. He had short black hair, round spectacles and a nervous manner. As soon as she walked up to him he glanced at her tits and then quickly looked away, like a kid stealing a lick at an ice-cream. "Miss Florence? Thanks for coming in. Shall we go somewhere a little more private." He put his hand in the small of her back as he led her to another office and gestured to a black leather seat in front of a long sofa. "Now then," he said, sprawling on the sofa, "I must say you have a much more impressive resume than most of the people we've had come in." "Thank you," she sat down on the chair and crossed her legs, her skirt riding up to her thighs. "So why do you want to run a chain of titty bars?" She gulped. She hadn't expected him to be so crude about it. "Well I think my business experience speaks for itself. . ." "It sure does. How much were you worth?" "Over a million dollars." "But you lost everything?" "Not everything," she uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. "We ran into difficulties. . ." "My difficulty," he said. "Is that I can see that you've achieved a lot but you ran your last company into the ground. You screwed up big time. We don't like failures here. We can't afford failure. How do I know you won't do the same thing to us?" Kyra's heart was sinking. It was the same story at every company she'd been to. She'd been so confident but they just wouldn't let her forget what had happened. "It's different. . .I mean I'm different." "You've changed? How. . ." "Well, I guess that, erm, I've learned from my mistakes and. . ." He was looking at her without a trace of emotion as she struggled to get the words out. At last he seemed to take pity on her. "Look Miss Florence, I think maybe you need to take a long vacation. Bankruptcy on that scale must have hit you pretty hard." "I don't need a vacation! I need money!" she blurted out. He raised his eyebrows. "Well, I'm sorry. I really am. But we can't help you." For a brief moment she thought she was going to cry. "I mean. . .I guess," he smiled. "But no, that's stupid. . ." "What?" "Stand up." Slowly she did as he said. He looked at her with a whole new confidence as though he'd beaten her in some game she didn't even know they'd been playing. "Turn around." She turned around without thinking about it. It was only when she was facing away from the sofa that she realised what he'd asked her to do. He was looking at her ass. He was inspecting her ass. When she turned back, blushing bright red, he was holding a card out in his hand. "Go and see this guy," he said. "I'm pretty sure he'll give you a job." Even as Kyra left the office building and walked along the Manhattan street her cheeks were still scarlet, she felt humiliated, but the card was clutched in her hand. She had no idea what this "guy" did but it was obviously some job where the shape of her ass was at least as important as her experience. Still, the next week she was walking along a street on the other side of town. It wasn't hard to spot the place. It had a purple sign outside of a naked woman in high heels holding on to a pole. Had it really come to this? It was one thing to run a business managing strip clubs but another to manage an actual "titty bar" as the guy had put it. And the way he'd looked at her it was clear that it was the way she looked, just as much as her management skills, that would get her the job. If she got the job. That was why, to her shame, she'd put her shortest skirt on and a top that was tight against her big tits. She went in. It was dark and there was a middle aged Latina woman mopping the floor. A bar ran all the way round the back wall and there were three silver poles in the middle of the room. "Hi," she asked. "I'm looking for Mr Michaels?" The woman gave her the briefest of looks, before jerking her head towards a door in the corner. Kyra blushed. The woman obviously thought that she was a new stripper. How embarrassing. She walked quickly across the room, her heels clicking on the parquet floor. She was just about to knock when a girl came out. She looked about eighteen years old, big breasted and wearing a skirt that barely covered her ass. It looked like she'd been crying. She almost pushed past Kyra in her rush to get out. Kyra walked inside, into a dingy hallway, but there was a door open into a small office with half-open Persian blinds throwing a shadow across the room. A black man was in there with his feet up on the desk. He was massive, with a shaven head and a face that looked battered out of shape. "Hi," she called. "I'm Kyra, I'm looking for Mr Michaels?" His expression didn't change. "That's me." "Mr Cohen sent me. He said that you might have some work for me." "Cohen sent you?" "Yes? Didn't he tell you?" she clicked forward, taking her resume out of her pink shoulder bag and holding it out to him. He took it and put it down on the desk in front of him, looking at her through heavy-lidded eyes. "Cohen's never sent me no one before." "Well I applied for a job in central office but he seemed to think. . ." she hesitated, standing awkwardly in front of him, wishing her skirt wasn't so short. "He seemed to think you might have something more suitable for me here. I've got a lot of management experience and. . ." "Management experience?" he laughed with a low, almost silent rumble. "I don't think we need anybody with 'management experience'. I'm the manager and you ain't taking my job, baby." "But what. . ." her face turned bright red as she suddenly realised why Cohen had sent her here. "We do need strippers. We always need a new pair of tits but, honey, you's a little old." "I'm not a stripper! He must have been having a joke. I mean what a bastard. Sending me here." "But," he smiled a twisted smile. "If you thought you were coming here to be the boss why you wearing that top that shows your tits off so fine? And that little skirt you got on?" "I'm not. . .I just thought that in a place like this. . .You can't exactly dress like somebody's mother in a strip club, can you?" "No you can't," his shoulders shook and she realized he was laughing again. "But why do you wanna be manager anyway? The girls out there make five times as much money as I do. And work half the hours." "How much. . .I mean just out of interest. . .How much do they get? "The best girls make $1,000 a night. The worst, maybe $200." She thought about her debts and the apartment that she was about to lose. He looked at her calmly as though he'd seen girls like her a hundred times before. "You've got a nice body," he said after a while. "Maybe you're not too old. Most of the girls here are, like, nineteen but," he shrugged, "takes all sorts." "But I couldn't though," she was thinking aloud, playing with the hem of her skirt. "Take off your clothes." "No way." "Strip, bitch." He said it with the same, cool emotionless tone. "You're here. We both know why you're here. Let me see what you got." Hardly able to believe what she was doing Kyra took her jacket off and hung it over the chair in front of his desk. She glanced at him briefly then looked back at the floor before unbuttoning her top and taking it off. She was wearing a pink bra underneath that cupped her full breasts and scooped them upwards. It was a struggle to get her skirt off. It was tight and she had to wriggle out of it. When she was standing in front of him in just her bra and panties she looked up. "And the rest." She unclipped the bra, letting it fall to the floor, showing him her naked breasts. He nodded thoughtfully. "So, what do you think?" she laughed nervously, her hands over her chest. "Get your hands away from your titties bitch and get them panties off." She blushed bright red, pulled her panties down her thighs, bent over and stepped out of them. She stood there naked in front of him except for her expensive shoes, her hands hanging by her sides. "Alright," he frowned at her pussy. She looked down. She had a neat blonde strip. "Turn round," he said. She turned round slowly, feeling the heat of his gaze on her naked round ass. "OK baby," he said after several seconds, "now dance for me." "What? I can't," she turned back, covering her breasts with one arm and her pussy with the palm of the other hand. "I can't just dance here in front of you at 11 in the morning with no music or anything." In answer he pressed a button on his computer and a low throb of R&B came out of speakers on either side. "Dance for me bitch." Slowly she began to move her hips from side to side, rubbing her hands over her naked body, feeling her nipples harden as she touched her breasts. He watched expressionless for several seconds before she noticed his shoulders start to shake again. He was laughing. "What?" She stopped, trembling in humiliation in front of him. "Damn, bitch," he said eventually. "You are the whitest white girl I have ever seen. Didn't no one ever teach you to shake your ass?" She bent down to pick up her panties, holding them in her hand. "So. . .I'm. . .I'm not good enough for this place?" "No baby, you're not. I could try and teach you but," he shrugged. "I don't think it's worth the effort." She struggled to pull her panties back on. It was even more embarrassing to put them back on in front of him, as he laughed at her, than it had been to take them off. "I guess you really need money don't you?" She remembered just how badly she needed money. "I can't believe. . .I can't even get a job in a strip club." She bent over to pick up her skirt but he stopped her, holding up a big, black hand. "Maybe you could work here. You'll never make it as a dancer but we have another vacancy. You won't even need to get completely naked." "What do you mean?" "We need a girl to serve drinks and food. It's illegal to have nude girls do it but I guess you'd be about right." "So I'd be. . .fully clothed." "Not quite," he laughed again. "But you'd get good tips. Not as much as the dancers. Nothing like as much. But better than any other waitressing job." "Alright, but I need money fast." He smiled a slow smile. "We can pay by Friday. We'll try you out on the late shift tomorrow. Be here at eleven for your briefing. Here," he leaned across the desk towards her with her file in his hand, "take your resume." When she left for work the next day Kyra literally just had enough money to get her across town to the club. That was it. She hoped the black guy was right about the money she could make. At least he'd said that she wouldn't need to dance around naked. That was one humiliation she'd been spared. She blushed again to think of the way he'd made her strip and dance for him like a whore, before laughing in her face. When she arrived at the club it was very different to the last time. The door was open, she could hear R&B music pumping out and there was another big, black guy guarding it. He was just as impassive as Michaels. He just lifted the purple rope and let her inside. It took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness but she could see the girls dancing in the spotlights straight away. There were three of them, winding their way around the poles, naked except for high heels. One was black, one looked Chinese or Korean and the other was small and blonde with little tits that she was fondling on either side of the pole as she slid up and down it. Kyra hurried past to the back office. When she got there Michaels was on the phone. He saw her and, without stopping talking, walked over to a locker, opened it and gestured inside, before going back to sit down. She looked inside to see a pile of bikinis in different colours. She looked at him. This was her uniform. A bikini. She looked through them, looking for something in her size but they all seemed to be too small. At last he got off the phone and stood up. "You need to get your bikini on and get out there girl. No time to hang around." "This is what I'm wearing?" she held up one of the tiny red bikinis. "If it fits, yes." "It doesn't fit, none of them fits." "Get out of my way," he pushed her firmly to one side and reached in, pulling out a pair of canary yellow panties and then the matching bra top. "Put that on. I want you out there in three minutes. Dressing room's upstairs." She went upstairs, the bikini dangling from her hand. The dressing room was small but there was a mirror that ran down the whole length of one wall, making it look bigger, there were four sinks and a row of metal lockers. She slowly undressed, folded her clothes up, put them in one of the lockers and tried not to look at her own naked body in the mirror. The bra top wasn't as small as she'd feared but it was soft, filmy material. Her nipples were clearly visible through it and it only covered the lower half of her breasts, thrusting them upwards. The bikini briefs were tight against her pussy and the thin material clearly showed the outline of her lips but they didn't cover her ass properly. She practised walking backwards and forwards down the dressing room and noticed, looking over her shoulder, the way the material of the briefs slid backwards and forwards. She wondered whether this was even more humiliating than being completely naked. She was bending over to put her heels back on when two young girls came in. She straightened up quickly and they looked her up and down as everybody seemed to these days. They were both light-skinned black girls with perfect figures, round pert breasts, almost completely shaved pussies and long, slender legs. Even though they were naked they were so much more confident and assured than her that she felt that it was as though she was the one in the nude. One of them opened her locker to pull out a white robe while the other carried on looking at Kyra. "You new? Why you wearing that dumb bikini?" "I'm. . .I'm not a dancer. I'll be serving food." "You're the new waitress?" They both laughed at her. She quickly hurried back to Michaels office. He was still on the phone but he glanced at her impassively as she came in. She couldn't tell whether he was pleased or not. She waited in front of him for what seemed like several minutes as he spoke. When he put the phone down he still didn't speak to her, he just scribbled something on a pad by the phone. "Erm, Mr Michaels," she said at last. "Go and see Julie in the kitchen," he said, without looking up. "She'll tell you what to do." Kyra's job was to take plates of fries, burgers and other snacks from the kitchen out to the clients. Her position in the club hierarchy was very clear. She was looked down on by everyone. The only people who seemed to like her were the clients, who obviously got some kind of kick out of staring at the one, almost, clothed woman in the club. They liked the way the bikini didn't cover her ass. They liked the fact that she was there to serve them, like some kind of medieval slave girl. It was true she was making better money than any waitressing job, the tips were as good as she'd been promised, but she wasn't sure how long she could keep this up. Then, barely 20 minutes before the end of her shift, she was carrying a tray of twelve cocktails when she stumbled. The whole tray went flying on to the floor in a spray of frothy liquid and broken glass. When she told Michaels he just shrugged. "It ain't a problem for us baby." "Oh," she said, relieved, "thanks." "I mean it ain't a problem for us because anything you spill you pay for." She thought for a second and turned pale. "There were twelve drinks there that means. . ." "Twelve Double Blue Balls. They're 15 dollars each. That's 180 dollars you owe us. We'll deduct it from your pay." "But that's more than I'm getting paid even with tips!" He shrugged. "Teach you to be more careful." For the rest of her shift she desperately tried to make as much money in tips as she could. She bent over in front of bachelor parties, letting her bikini bottoms ride up her ass and, each time, she'd get a few extra dollars. But it was no good. By the time she'd finished, after paying for the spillage, she didn't even have enough for her cab fare home. She was still 15 dollars short. She knocked on Michaels door. "Come in," he grunted. "Mr Michaels?" She went in and stood in front of his desk. "Yes." "I was wondering if you could advance me some of my pay from tomorrow. You see I need it to get home," she laughed nervously. "I don't have a dime. After I spilled those drinks. . ." He shook his head. "No can do." "But you don't understand I've got no other way to get back." "You ain't sleeping here." "I don't want to sleep here. I just want a cab." "I'm sorry," he turned back to his computer screen as though there was nothing else he could do. "Please." He turned back to her. "How much do you need?" "Just 15 dollars! That's all." "Alright. I can't give you 15 dollars of the club's money, though. Your Mr Cohen would fire me next day if he found out. It'll have to be my money." "You don't mind?" "No I don't mind. He wheeled his office chair around the other side of the desk towards her, took out his wallet, put it on the table and opened his legs on either side of hers. "Get that bikini off, get on your knees and suck my dick." "What?" She blushed bright red. "If you want to get home tonight it looks like that's what you're gonna have to do." She stood there for a moment looking at him. "Here," he reached behind him and grabbed the cushion from his chair, tossing it in front of her. "You can kneel on that." "Oh my God." "You got five seconds to start sucking." Her fingers shaking she undid her bikini top, letting it fall to the floor, showing him her naked breasts for the second time. Then she got on her knees on the cushion, wriggling out of her panties as she did so. She was kneeling in front of him, completely nude except for the same expensive high-heeled shoes she'd worn for her job interview the week before. He unzipped himself but let her take his big cock out. It was already half-erect. She stroked it, feeling its surprising weight in her hands. Then she kissed it, making it quiver. He leaned back and put his muscular arms behind his head. She kissed it again and it jerked upwards. "Lick it, bitch," he ordered. She lapped at it, pushing his dark skin up towards the bulge of his cockhead with the tip of her pink tongue, looking up at his half-closed eyes and scarred black face to see if she pleased him. He was soon fully erect and she slowly slid her wet mouth over him, sliding down his crooked length and then back up again. "Good girl," he said, she put her hands on his thighs and began pumping her head up and down on his big cock, feeling its heat between her lips, tasting him. She couldn't believe she was naked on her knees with a black man's cock filling her mouth. A man she didn't even know. She was so ashamed and yet her nipples had hardened and her pussy was wet. The Humiliation of Kyra Florence "Good girl," he murmured again. "Oh you fucking horny white bitch. Keep sucking it, whore." She kept going, sliding up and down him, swirling her tongue around his stem, doing anything she could to make his breathing quicken. "That's right. That's right. Now lick my balls bitch." She hesitated for just a fraction of a second before ducking her head to lick his balls, looking directly up at him, his penis almost against her forehead. She was lapping at his balls like an animal, pushing up against their weight with her tongue, before taking each one in her mouth in turn, sucking it, making him moan with pleasure. "Oh yeah. Now suck me again. All the way down." She plunged her mouth back down over his cock, trying to take as much as she could, her saliva sliding down him and matting the thick black hair of his balls. "Oh yeah," he moaned again. Then suddenly they heard the door click open and the voice of one of the black girls. "Oh Jesus Christ!" There was an intake of breath behind her and then giggling. She slid her mouth off Michaels' cock and looked over her shoulder in shock. Three of the strippers were standing in the doorway, fully dressed. She was completely exposed, her naked back and ass facing towards them as she knelt on the floor at her boss's feet. She knew that they'd seen her practically deep-throating him, her mouth sucking him all the way down his cock towards his balls. "Sorry Louie, but we gotta get signed off and I ain't waiting for this bitch to finish." To Kyra's disbelief he said. "Alright," and, gesturing her to get up, he added. "Go and wait in there." She stood up, her chin wet with her own saliva, and dumbly headed to the door he was pointing to. As she went past him he lazily slapped her ass but he was so strong that the blow made her skip forward like a child, a firm pink imprint of his hand already forming on her skin. She rubbed it and ran through the door as the other girls laughed. He didn't seem to care about them seeing his cock, he just tucked it away and pulled out the form they needed to sign. The office he'd pointed to was little more than a box room. There was no furniture except for one chair and boxes of filing. Kyra stood there, trembling with shame. A couple of minutes later he came in grinning. "Where were we?" "I'm not. . ." He looked at her, leisurely enjoying her naked body once again as though she were a steak that he was about to eat. "Knees bitch," he ordered, tossing her the cushion. She slowly fell to her knees in front of the chair and he sat down with his legs spread. This time, though, after he'd made her lick his cock all over until it was fully erect again, he fucked her mouth. He was using it as though it were her pussy. The thought made her physically aroused, and she wished he would take her and fuck her properly. Instead he held her by her long hair, pumping her mouth and making her breasts bounce with every thrust. At last he came, in her mouth first, and then, pulling out, all over her face, the last hot jet falling against the base of her slim neck and towards her chest. "Oh yeah," he moaned. He reached down and spread his own cum over her tits, rubbing it into her nipples, making her moan in turn. She looked up at him yearningly but he abruptly stood, wiping his cock against her face, almost slapping her with its powerful length, before sliding it back into his pants. "Thanks bitch," he grinned broadly. "Here's your money," he peeled three five dollar bills out of his wallet and handed them to her. She stood up shakily, her face glistening with his cum. "Where can I clean off?" "In the dressing room." "Upstairs? But I mean haven't you got a wet-wipe or a tissue or something that I can use." "No. I ain't got nothing," he went back through to his office and she followed him. "Where's my bikini gone?" He looked at the floor and then chuckled. "What the fuck? It was all screwed up down there where you crawled out of it. Damn bitches must've took it." She stood there suddenly conscious of her nakedness again, hiding her pussy with one hand and her breasts with the other that still clutched her money. "But why would they do that?" "Who knows? Damn bitches." "There must be something in here I can use to. . to wipe myself clean." "There ain't." She looked around desperately and then tried wiping the cum off her face with her free right hand, smearing it against her ass and thighs. "You mean I have to go out through the club like this and upstairs to the changing room?" "Do what you want." He'd already lost interest in her. He sat back down on his big swivel chair and looked back at his computer screen. She stood there, utterly defeated. There wasn't a mirror in the office but she knew what she must look like. Her naked body was shiny with sweat, the blonde hair at her pussy was matted and her face, neck and breasts were smeared with her bosses' cum. Slowly she crept out of the office into the club. As soon as she did so she saw the cleaner, the same one she'd seen when she first arrived. She looked up from her mop for the merest fraction of a second and then looked away. The click of Kyra's heels was humiliating loud as she walked across the empty club to the stairs. She didn't turn around but she knew that the middle-aged woman must be looking at her naked ass with contempt. As she walked up the stairs she could hear the chatter of the strippers. When she walked in there was six of them. By now they were all fully-clothed, just applying their make-up. They looked at her in disbelief and then burst out laughing. "Someone took my bikini," she said. "Girl," one of them gasped through her laughter. "You got cum on your face." She blushed again. She tried to make her way through them to the sink and then saw her cum splattered face in the mirror. "How much did he give you?" one of them demanded. "I'm not a whore." "So why you got money in your hand?" "I just. . .He just gave me some money for a taxi." "You blew him for taxi fare? Just where do you live? San Francisco?" She grabbed at Kyra's free hand and tore away the three notes. "Fifteen dollars! She blew Michaels for fifteen dollars!" "Oh my God!" "Tell me something," said one of the black girls she'd seen on the stairs. "Did he make you lick his balls?" "Give me my money back!" "Not till you tell us." "Please, just give me my money back." "It's a simple question. Did you lick his balls?" "Yes. Alright. I licked his balls." The laughter got even louder. "Kyra licked his balls and sucked his dick, let him cum all over her face. For fifteen dollars. You are one generous lady Kyra! I see how you got that great job you have!" She shuddered. "Please give me my money back." The girl contemptuously let it flutter from her fingers on to the floor and Kyra bent over to get it. As her ass went up in the air the strippers laughed even louder. "Dirty bitch." She wasn't sure if she could face going back to work the next day but she knew she still needed money by Friday. When she saw Michaels he acted like nothing had happened. He barely even looked at her. Throughout her shift, though, she realised she was finding excuses to be near him, to try and attract his attention. During her break, as she thought about the way she'd kneeled naked before him, her pussy suddenly became wet. If he asked her to she would spread her legs and let him fuck her. She knew that and it made her feel simultaneously ashamed and aroused. At the end of her shift she went in to collect her wages and stopped in her tracks. The same slim black girl who'd asked if she'd licked his balls was now naked, straddling his chair, bouncing up and down on his big cock. He grinned and, without losing his rhythm, he slapped the girl's shiny, bouncing black ass. Kyra's pay packet was on the desk next to the girl's splayed hand. She took it and walked out. For the rest of the week she did her best to ignore him, trying not to look at him or even think about him. Every now and then, though, he would have to speak to her. Sometimes he would cup her ass in his big black hand while he gave her orders, or he would slap it suddenly when he wanted her to move, making her skip forward humiliatingly again. She wondered why he didn't fuck her. He seemed like the kind of man who fucked every woman he could. By Friday she had the money she'd needed. She could quit. Just one more week, she thought. Just to get back on my feet. That week, too, though, he barely looked at her. Meanwhile she kept thinking about the way his cum had felt as it had splattered against her face and her naked breasts. The next Friday she came into his office again at the end of the shift. He didn't look up. "Mr Michaels?" "Hmm?" "I'm probably going to quit soon." "Sure." His heavy, almost bald head was bent over a pad he was scribbling on, a biro clutched in his massive, scarred fist. She moved a few steps closer, feeling her nipples becoming erect, stretching the filmy fabric of her bikini. "I wanted to ask you something." "What?" he looked up, annoyed. "The reason I can't be a dancer?" "Yes." "Is it because I'm. . .I'm not attractive enough?" He laughed. "No, you attractive. I told you. It's the dancing that's the problem. You dance like the whitest women alive. Anyway you're a businesswoman ain't you? That's what you told me." "I know. You just. . .I just wanted to know." He looked her up and down with a reflex glance at her bikini briefs and chuckled again. "Girl, you're wet. I ain't never met such a horny bitch as you." She looked down. It was true she was wet, although she couldn't see how he could tell. There was no tell-tale dark patch yet. But it was as though he controlled her vagina. He could switch it on when he wanted to, just by looking at her. She blushed hard. "I can't help you baby," he turned back to his computer. "I'm kinda busy." "I know, I'm sorry but I was thinking," she moved another step closer to his desk. He sighed and put his pen down. "What was you thinking?" "I was wondering if I could wear a different. . .uniform when I serve the food. I mean, still something sexy. I understand what this place is all about. But this bikini. . .I don't know. . .I think we could do better. Something sexier even." "You look pretty dumb in that bikini. It don't even fit right." "I know." "You look like a dumb whore." "I know." "And that's the idea, bitch. Don't you think there's something kinda sexy about taking a smart, college-educated white bitch like you and making her dress up in something that don't even cover her ass or her wet pussy? Every guy in the club can see you didn't choose them clothes for yourself. You was made to wear them. You a bitch. You a whore who's here to serve them. That's what they think. You understand me, whore?" Kyra did understand but she still didn't walk away. "Alright then," he said after a few moments. "Take the bikini off if you don't like it." It was, she knew, what she'd been waiting for him to say. She breathed hard and then took off the top and pulled the briefs down. "Sit down here." He patted his desk next to his computer. She walked slowly round to his side of the desk and slid her ass on to the cool wood, her feet dangling off the side. He nodded at her approvingly. "You're so horny it hurts." She didn't say anything. "Alright, play with yourself, let me see you stroke that pink pussy." Kyra opened her legs and arched her back, thrusting her naked breasts towards him. She began by gently running her fingers over her clitoris, breathing harder. Then she played with her nipples with one hand, sucked the fingers of the other hand in her mouth and began stroking herself slowly and rhythmically with her wet middle finger. She half-closed her eyes and put her head back but when she glanced at him he wasn't even looking at her. He'd gone back to looking at his computer screen. In frustration she put one foot against his massive thigh but he didn't even seem to notice. She left it there, pressing gently with her toes, while carrying on stroking herself, faster now, moaning slightly. After a few moments he turned to look at her again. "How badly do you want me to fuck you?" "So badly." "You want my big black dick in your tight white pussy?" "Yes." "Say it." "I want your big black dick in my tight white pussy." "You want to be fucked by a nigger." "Yes." "Say it." "I want to be fucked by a nigger." He stood up and the wheels of his chair squeaked against the wooden floor. "Little white girls shouldn't use that word." "You told me to." "You a racist, bitch?" "No! You told me to!" She was still stroking herself, moaning, looking at him, half-frightened, half turned-on. She could see that there was an enormous erection steepling his pants. "Maybe I will fuck you. Fuck you hard. Teach you a lesson. Is that what you want?" "Yes!" she squealed. "What do you want?" "I want to be fucked hard and taught a lesson." He took each of her ankles and roughly spread her legs wide. "Why do you need to be taught a lesson?" She sat there with her legs spread, one pressed against the side of his computer, the other in the air off the edge of the desk. "Because I'm a dumb white bitch." He peeled off his shirt and she moaned again at the sight of his body. Then he pulled out his cock. It looked even bigger than when she'd sucked it. She wriggled her ass against the desk in pure frustration, leaving a damp mark of her sweat and pussy juices. Her ran his hands up her thighs and she arched her back again. "What are you Kyra?" he asked, stopping his hands just before they reached her pussy, spreading her legs as wide as they'd go, brushing his thumbs just below her pussy lips. "I'm a stupid white bitch," she moaned. She'd spent all week imagining how he'd fuck her. She knew she wouldn't ride him like the black girl had ridden him. She would be taken with her legs in the air or on all fours like a bitch. She would be fucked hard and used like a whore. She moaned again, louder, in anticipation as he stepped closer to the desk, his big black pole moving towards her exposed pussy. Then, suddenly, he flipped her over, making her heavy breasts slap against the desk. He held her roughly by her hips and slid his big cockhead up and down her slit. "Oh God, please," she moaned. "What is it bitch?" "Don't tease me. Fuck me. Please." "You begging me, bitch?" "Please!" "Is that a yes?" "Yes I'm begging you. I'm a little white whore. I'm a dumb white cunt. I'm whatever you want me to say, just fuck me, please, please fuck me." "Dumb white cunt," he laughed softly. Then he slapped her ass hard before driving his cock inside her tight, wet pussy. It filled her. "Oh God," she squealed. He slapped her again. "You like that, you dumb white cunt?" "Oh God yes." Slowly at first, he was fucking her. Facing the door now she could see that it was open. The other girls must have come in while she was sitting there, naked, facing him and stroking herself. They had probably been able to hear her admitting that she was a dumb white cunt. But Kyra didn't care. She was crying out now, squealing as he fucked her hard. His dick was drilling her tight pussy and with every thrust her erect nipples slapped against the desk. Her whole body bounced. She was covered with a sheen of sweat and every time she squealed he spanked her harder, making her naked ass quiver. Again and again he fucked her until, at last, she came so loudly that the whole club must have been able to hear her. But he hadn't finished. He flipped her on to her back again and pushed her ankles up to either side of his thick neck, her scarlet painted toe-nails pointing towards the ceiling. Then he fucked her again, sliding her naked ass backwards and forwards on the desk, impaling her on the thick pylon of his cock. She shook her head backwards and forwards as the sensations exploded inside of her, her heels banging against his shoulders. "Oh God, please," she moaned. He held both tits in his hands as he slid her expertly back and forth. Then, to her surprise, he did pull her on top of him. He made her straddle him on the swivel chair, facing him. She eagerly bounced for him, just as the black girl had, crying out uncontrollably at the top of her voice. He made her bounce, digging his fingers into her ass hard, pulling her close to lick savagely at her tits. At last, when she thought she couldn't take anymore, he pulled her off him. He made her kneel on all fours on the chair with her ass in the air and her hands flat on the desk. Then he took her standing up, pulling her head back by her long hair. He was panting too, now, as he used her. She could tell he was close. She looked over her shoulder at him and he spanked her again, the sound echoing through the open door and out into the empty club. He was getting faster, gripping her by her breasts and then by her waist. "Oh yeah," he moaned triumphantly as he came. His hot cum spurted inside her, filling her pussy. She hadn't even thought to ask him to use protection. She looked over her shoulder at him again, her mouth still open, panting, her body sticky and shiny in the light from his desk-lamp. He pulled his cock out slowly and she gasped. When he spun the chair round so that she was facing him she didn't even need to be asked. She obediently ducked her head and licked his cock until it was completely clean, tasting the salt of his cum and her own wetness. "Little whore," he stroked her hair almost affectionately and then put his cock away and zipped himself up. The next Monday when she came in to work she remembered what he'd said as she put on the deliberately humiliating uniform of the canary yellow bikini. It made her pussy suddenly gush. When she saw him, as she'd expected, he barely acknowledged her. It wasn't until Wednesday that he touched her again. While giving her and the strippers a talk he almost absent-mindedly put his hand down the back of her bikini briefs, openly fondling her in front of them. At the end of her shift, though, when she went, trembling with anticipation, into his office he merely tore her bikini top off, pushed her on to her knees and fucked her mouth. The taste of cum as she obediently swallowed it made her pussy gush again but when he'd finished he just told her to get up off her knees. Then he slapped her ass hard and told her to go home. She couldn't believe she was letting herself be humiliated like this. And even enjoying it. But by Friday she knew that if he didn't fuck her again she would have to beg him. She wouldn't be able to resist. She would have to crawl on all fours and hand him any last shreds of dignity and pride that she'd retained. At the end of her shift, though, he called her into his office. "Hey Kyra," he said. "I need to tell you something." It was the first time he'd called her Kyra since her interview. "What is it?" She said. "You know I've been thinking about you ever since you first touched me. I don't know what it is that you do to me." "There ain't no secret. You're a dirty white whore. But. . ." She took another step closer and tore her bikini top off. "Please don't make me beg this time. I need you to fuck me. You can do anything you want to me just please fuck me." He looked at his watch. "Alright. Panties off whore." She pulled her bikini briefs down for him and stood there naked. "Open that drawer," he ordered. "And take out the white tube." She opened the drawer and there was a slim bottle of lube in there. "Oh no. . .You want to ass-fuck me don't you? I don't do that." "Shut up bitch. Squeeze a little of that lube into your hand and come over here." The Humiliation of Kyra Florence She reluctantly did as he said, standing trembling before him as he took his already half erect cock out. "Lube it up baby." "I'm not doing this." "Lube it up or it'll hurt." She rubbed lube all over his long shaft, making his cock bob backwards and forwards, eagerly erect. She felt another sudden flood of wetness despite herself. "Now bend over this desk and lube up that tight little white asshole." "Oh no. Please. Can't I have it in my pussy?" "Do it." She bent over the desk, with her ass in the air. Then she squeezed more lube on to her fingers, reached back between her naked ass cheeks and pushed her fingers into her tight hole, lubing it as much as she could. "Hold them ass cheeks apart for me whore." She put one hand on each cheek and spread her asshole as wide as it would go, her face against the desk. "Now where do you want my dick bitch?" For about a second she just lay there. Then Kyra knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted to be humiliated and there was nothing more humiliating than this. "In my asshole," she moaned. "And why do you wanna be ass-fucked?" "Because I'm a dumb white bitch." He spanked her hard. "You're a dumb white cunt." "I'm a dumb white cunt." "You want nigger cock in your tight white ass-hole don't you bitch?" "Yes." "Say it." "I want nigger cock in my tight white ass-hole." "Racist bitch," he laughed, slapping her hard. Then he put his cockhead against her puckered hole. It was much too big. "Oh God," she moaned, wriggling on her naked belly. "You need to be ass-fucked don't you Kyra?" "Yes." He pushed into her and she started panting hard, beads of sweat already appearing along her spine. He put his hands on her tits, pressing his strong fingers into them, and then pushed his cock in further, first one inch and then two. "Uhhhhhh," she cried When he had four inches inside her he pushed her flat on to her belly on the desk and climbed on top of her, pushing her breasts down into the cool wood. Then he began using her. He was pumping her ass, thrusting his big black cock between the soft white flesh of her buttocks and deep inside her. Boyfriends had asked her for anal before and she'd always refused but she was powerless to refuse Michaels. She felt like such a whore as her whole body slapped rhythmically against the desk. "What am I doing to you bitch?" He taunted. "You're fucking my ass." "What am I doing?" "Oh God, you're fucking my ass. You're fucking my ass like I'm a whore." "Oh yeah, dirty white whore." "I'm your dirty white whore. I'm your dumb white cunt. Oh God." She'd never been sexually humiliated or degraded like this and she couldn't believe how it made her feel. She felt like he owned her and it turned her on so much that she thought her pussy would explode. He kept fucking her ass, abusing her, and the more he did the more turned on she was. She was close to cumming when, suddenly, with a harsh moan, he came first, squirting his hot white cream inside her. As he pulled out he looked down at her. "Alright bitch. Stroke yourself. Finish yourself off." He pulled her onto her knees with her thighs spread and one hand supporting her behind her ass. With the other hand she began frantically stroking her pussy looking up at him. He pushed his softening cock into her mouth and she licked it clean again, tasting the harsh flavour of her own ass as, her whole body vibrating, she came hard, squealing, never taking her eyes off him or his cock out of her mouth. When she'd finished he smiled and gently slapped her face with the length of his cock again as her tongue eagerly chased it. "You are one horny little slut," he said. "But you interrupted me. I told you I gotta tell you something. I got some good news and some bad news. The bad news is, you're fired. You're a dumb bitch and the worst waitress we ever had." Kyra stared up at him in shock, her mouth still open. "The good news," he continued, "is I got you a new job. I met somebody who wants to offer you a kinda different position." Behind her, from the boxroom, the door opened and a slim white man dressed in a pale grey suit stepped out. He looked down at Kyra's kneeling, naked, shiny body, the cum already oozing from her ass, and he grinned like a wolf. "Hello Kyra," he said. "Remember me?"