Chapter 2

African Anthropology, African Studies, and Black Philosophy had become some of the most common degrees for white females by 2018. The wave of multiculturalism led to many of them instinctively allying themselves with the progressive politics of the time favoring disenfranchised minorities. White guilt swept over them getting them in the door as they opened their minds and ideas to increasingly more extreme philosophies.

White people brought slavery.

White people brought colonialism.

White people brought genocide.

White people brought capitalist exploitation.

White people brought all of the world's suffering.

White people were the problem.

The radical shift on campus led to African American males being the most sexually active, over ten times more so than their white male counterparts. Pregnancy rates were skyrocketing around the country among young white college girls. It has to be a phase, right? That's what so many white males old and young hoped. PC culture had dominated politics, nobody daring to discuss why the interracial activity among young educated white, Asian, and latino women was increasing tremendously with no end in sight.

That is where Felicia Ann Morgan came in. The short red head had bright red hair and milky white skin. Her body was lithe with a flat chest, but with a cute round ass. She was the leading critic in Professor Jermone Fayette's African Genetics class. His controversial theories were sweeping the nation by storm as they praised the superiority of black genes over all others. Something about the older black male's deep voice and intelligence was winning her over. Slowly, her objections dissipated and she moved toward the front row. Instinctively, she was coming to embrace the truths he was bestowing upon her. The engaged conservative white girl began to dress a bit more revealing, but still professional.

Summoning up courage, she swallowed hard and asked Professor Fayette if they could discuss his latest thesis over tea. With a knowing smile he accepted.

Grinning from ear to ear Professor Fayette sipped from his tea knowing fully well her's was spiked with the concoction created by the Zulu Brotherhood. It caused slight euphoria from the powerful aphrodisiac and fertility enhancing drugs. Sitting beside her on the small love seat he was conservatively dressed in a crimson dress shirt, tie, and grey vest. "You see, I theorize that the reason black genes are the more dominant is an evolutionary change ... It means nature prefers the African race as more virile, healthy, and strong." The man insisted, keeping himself from staring down at the young girl lecherously.

Felicia licked her lips as she gazed up at the older man sitting beside her on the love seat. When she'd left her apartment that day, she'd worried that her long-sleeved, black turtleneck dress might be a bit much for her visit. When she'd seen him at the door, looking so handsome in his dress shirt, tie, and vest, though, she'd been reassured. And now, as she sat next to him, sipping at her tea, she couldn't help but be aware of how the otherwise concealing garment clung to her every curve. Not to mention how far above her knee the hem rested. Was it getting warmer in the room?

Much of her afternoon was spent getting off, thinking of the visit. She had joined the free website that so many white women and even men were coming to enjoy – zulubrotherhood.com. Black supremacy indoctrination and videos of white girls being converted after giving testimonials. Lying on her bed she rubbed at her sex, staring wantonly at her laptop screen as her white fiancé was at work. Bright red, she shivered in orgasm as she watched a small blonde teen beg to be impregnated by her Nubian breeder.

Her thoughts returned to the professor's words. "That would make the bias of Western society an evolutionary reaction, then, wouldn't it?" she asked. "An attempt to suppress the superior genes of a competitor to avoid being replaced." Jerome nodded. "My theory says that other races' suppression of African peoples comes from an instinct that tells them how sexually threatened they are." He told her, a sly smirk crossing his dark lips as the handsome and muscular older man put his large hand on her knee, his chocolate eyes fixated on her. "Perhaps the last 500 years of suppression came from a biological need inside of white males ... With the rise of feminism it shows us that without the bias of white patriarchy that women are increasingly embracing black genetic superiority." The man told her with a nod. "You can see why it is so controversial ... I'm impressed an upper-class young woman such as yourself is so ... Open minded." Her professor told her.

Her lips and her legs parted as one. She didn't immediately spread herself for the older man beside her, but ... Well, she wasn't pulling away, either. His hand on her knee left her fighting not to simply tremble under his gaze. Looking up into his chocolate eyes, she smiled softly as she sat beside him. She stalled, taking a sip of her tea. "I've always been fascinated by evolutionary psychology," she said. "And, honestly, your theory is a fascinating one. It even makes a certain amount of sense. On the one hand, the male's main drive is to plant his seed and prevent his rivals from doing likewise. On the other..." Licking her lips, she gave his hand a squeeze, covering it with her own as it rested on her knee. "On the other, females are motivated to find the most successful mates with whom to combine their genes and pass them on to the next generation."

Jerome grinned at her impishly as the hand squeezed a bit. Slowly, it moved upward ... Perhaps out of instinct ... Under that short skirt and over her pantie covered sex. That large middle digit began to rub at her swelling pink pearl through the thin silk. "Ms. Morgan ... I think you already know the answer ... Ever since you began attending my lectures you went from vocal skepticism to sitting in the front row quietly ... Staring ... I see you have a fiance from that ring on your finger ... He must be white. The wicked man asked, already knowing the toll it was taking on her mind. Dozens of girls already had succumbed.

Her lips parted again as his hand began sliding up along her thigh. She gasped softly. And yet, she didn't move to push him away. Far from it. If anything, she parted her legs ever so slightly wider, giving him better access as he reached for her tender sex and its panties. When he began rubbing the tender nub of her clit through the silk, she moaned softly ... and pressed herself into his touch. He wasn't wrong ... About the meaning of her ring, about the way she'd reacted in class, none of it. And when he asked his question ... She nodded. "Yes," she said softly, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "I am." The older black male slid his hand down the front of her panties, giving her swollen pink nub direct attention as he rubbed harder. "Felicia ... You know instinctively your white boyfriend will never ... Ever give you what you need now that you've observed real men." The professor said. For the past month she made 'no sex' excuses at every turn to her white boyfriend, preferring to lay on her back in private and rub her clit to interracial porn. The last time they had sex she began to finally get some minor pleasure from his tiny white cock before his body jerked and he pumped the condom with his meager cum. In moments he was beside her asleep and she was left to pleasure herself and fantasize about her professor. "Felicia ... There is a God ... And, it is inside every black person."

Her eyes were starting to glaze over as he teased her so. Jerome's finger on her clit drew whimpers and soft moans from between her lips as she squirmed under his touch. And there was no mistaking the way that she reacted to him. That she forced herself against his hand and trembled while he teased her. No mistaking the way his slightest touch left her drenched and gasping. For the past month, she had been making excuses to her fiancé at every turn. Now, as her professor teased her ... turning, she brushed an exploratory kiss across his lips. Then, nuzzling into his neck, she murmured against his skin. "Then please ... take me to church."

Jermone pressed his full dark lips to her's, kissing her softly as he pleasured her. Pulling the small white girl up onto his lap he kissed at the ginger's neck. "Once you've had me inside of you ... You'll never ... Ever want a white boy again ... You sure you want to risk that... ?" He cooed sweetly. "Maybe you're too fragile?" Jerome added to challenge her. "Take off your shirt and bra ... Show me you're a good white snowbunny that knows what she needs..." Following his command required her to slip out of his lap, and that was the last thing she wanted in that moment. And yet, for him, with his promise and his challenge still ringing in her ears, she would do it. Slipping from his embrace, she took ahold of her clinging dress and, slowly, peeled herself free of the garment. It tumbled from her fingertips, forgotten the moment that it left her hands. Her bra followed moments later, freeing her perky, young chest as she crawled into his lap, naked but for her panties.

Reaching between them, the metallic sound of him undoing his belt ringing in her ears as he unbuckled it. Undoing the front of his dress pants he reached into fish out that godly black member - the 12" turgid monolith of ebony flesh pressed firmly against her inner thigh as she faced away from him. Her back to his muscular chest, he held the base and began to rub the giant domed head of the black tool up and down her wanton pink pussy after pulling her pantie aside... "Repeat after me... 'Black is better.' Chant it. It is your new life mantra..." The wicked man