Chapter 1

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.

"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.