To that small group of disturbed people who have enjoyed my previous efforts and encouraged me, thank you.

There are people who will not like some of the things that I write in this story. If you are of the opinion that the south will rise again (or that it should), if you are convinced that the American Civil War was fought for financial reasons or to secure state's rights then I highly recommend that you skip this story. Some of the things I write here will offend your sensibilities.

I will admit that a lot of what happened to me is a result of my racist upbringing. If I had not been raised in a small southern town by racist parents and if all of my friends had not been racist I might not have done the things that I did. For it was my misguided actions that triggered the events that I'm writing about, events that changed the lives of both me and my husband. I'm not saying that I deserved what happened to me, or what is still happening to me. But I can't deny that I brought it on myself.

My husband and I met in college, Ole Miss of course. We met in our sophomore year and dated a few times. We dated off and on in our junior year too. It seemed that we got a little better at it each time. By half way through our senior year we were, well, maybe not engaged yet, but we had an understanding.

We got married as soon as we graduated. We had both been hired right after graduation by the same company. My new husband, Paul, is the same age as me, twenty-three. My parents loved him. He is a southern boy from a town on the other side of the state. But we had the same basic upbringing and the same values.

Paul was very smart and very good looking. He was not a jock by any means. That was okay with me. I wasn't fond of jocks. He was five foot ten, slender, not muscular but quite fit. He had a smile that could melt glass and a warm personality. Everyone loved Paul and I was proud that he was my husband.

I guess I should describe myself as well. My name is Jolie. I stand five feet tall and weigh right at a hundred pounds when my hair is wet. I have shoulder length blonde hair and I don't wish to sound vain but I'm pretty good looking myself.

I have a nice figure. My breasts are B cups. That may not sound big, but on my small frame they look just right. They are perky and very sensitive. I have what my husband describes as a "butt like a fifteen year old." I'm assuming he is referring to the way it sits up high and tight like a young girl's.

The reason that Paul and I kept getting back together every time we split up was that we both loved sex and when we made love it was magical. We were perfect together. There was never a time that he didn't ring my bells when we had sex. We were both open to just about anything that two people could do together. All the normal stuff anyway. There was none of that bondage stuff or pain or anything, and nothing involving other people of course. And certainly none of that bathroom stuff.

That left a lot of room to play though. I loved to kiss and be touched. I loved it when he ate my pussy and I loved it nearly as much when I sucked his cock. He is a very good lover too. We could, and often did fuck for hours. He has a nice seven inch cock that has never let me down yet.

The trouble started a little more than a year after we had been at work at our new jobs as research assistants for a pharmaceutical firm. We were both making very good money and had great futures. We were living a charmed life and we knew it.

Then things changed. A black man moved into the house next door to ours. Maybe if he had moved in down the block, just maybe things would have worked out differently. But our Deep South sensibilities were really offended by the idea of a black man living right next door.

We tried to ignore him at first. But just the fact that he was living next door was a constant irritant. To make matters worse, he was separated or divorced and his two teenage sons were always spending weekends and holidays with him.

A couple of times Paul or I had to chase his kids out of our yard. I suppose that we could have been a little more tactful when we did. We said some things that weren't very nice.

I yelled at his youngest son one day and called the kid a couple of names. I guess the kid told his father because he came to my door that evening and instead of the apology that he was probably looking for we were pretty rude to him as well. We didn't actually call him names. But we said some things that weren't very nice to him too.

I'm sure that you have heard the expression, "If looks could kill." That night I saw it. I had never seen such pure hatred in another person's eyes. He never said word. He just stared at me for a second. Then he turned and walked back to his house.

A chill ran up my spine as he walked away. Paul closed the door and we went back into the living room and talked about putting our dream house on the market and moving away from that man. The trouble was that we had just bought the house. We owed much more than it was worth. It would be a couple of years before we could afford to sell. We were just going to have to put up with having that man living next door until he moved or we could sell.

I noticed that the other people on our street didn't seem to have a problem with our new neighbor. They would talk to him when they saw him outside and they seemed pretty friendly. Soon he was being invited to neighborhood get-togethers on a regular basis. That made things uncomfortable for Paul and me. We had been forced to leave a couple of gatherings because he showed up.

Cathy, the woman that lived on the other side of me, came over for coffee one morning not long after he moved in and went on and on about how nice he was. I didn't understand her. She was a good southern girl just like me! I wanted to say something to her but for some reason I felt uncomfortable and I just let her go on until I could change the subject.

Paul and I thought our perfect world had been turned on its side. Our charmed life had begun to lose some of its luster. We couldn't sit around our pool out in the backyard without thinking that a black man lived next door and might even be in his back yard at that very moment. I didn't feel comfortable wearing my bikini in my own pool.

It wasn't like he was doing anything in particular that we could complain about. His yard was always perfectly manicured and he certainly didn't let his house go. He was quiet. We never heard any of that loud, obnoxious music that those people listen to. He didn't have parties.

It was just that where Paul and I were from the races didn't mix. White people didn't live next door to those people. It just wasn't done.

Several weeks after the name calling incident, a terrible thing happened. Our supervisor had a stroke. He woke up in the morning and was taking a shower when it hit him. Everyone was upset. He had been very popular and a lot of fun to work for. Unfortunately, it was a pretty major event and he would never recover enough to return to work.

There were seven of us in our department, not counting our supervisor. I was the only female in our department. Most of the guys were in their forties and fifties. The only exception was Taylor. Taylor was in his early thirties. I suppose that it was unusual for a husband and wife to work together the way we did. But when we had applied for the jobs at a job fair held on campus we had made it clear to the people that interviewed us that we were going to be married and they didn't have a problem with it.

Everyone got along great at work and we had a really laid back little group. We were all afraid of what our new supervisor was going to be like and how he or she would change the dynamics of our little group.

You may have seen this coming, but Paul and I didn't. The plant manager came in one afternoon to introduce our new supervisor. I almost screamed out loud when it turned out to be our next door neighbor, whose name was Mr. Anderson.

Everyone gathered around while the plant manager introduced him. Paul and I stood behind the others. We were the most junior anyway and it was probably appropriate for us to be the last to meet him.

I was scared to death and I am sure that Paul was too. I could just see our entire future going right down the drain. I didn't doubt for a moment that we were about to lose our jobs and I knew better than to ask what kind of a reference he would provide.

I could see our entire lives going up in smoke. We would lose our jobs and our reputations, our house and our cars. We could never work in our field again. In fact, we could probably never get another job in any related area. We were certain to lose our security clearances when he found some pretext to fire us.

I will give the man credit. There was never a hint in his face that he recognized us. He didn't give us dirty looks or gloat. Nothing! He nodded and shook our hands when we were finally introduced to him, just exactly like he greeted our co-workers.

After we were all introduced the plant manager left and Mr. Anderson smiled and said, "Gentlemen, and lady, I'm not one to stand on formality. I want you all to call me Doyal. The name is Gaelic and means 'dark stranger'. My grandmother was from Ireland. We are a small department and will be working closely with each other. I have your personnel files in my briefcase and if you can spare me a little time I would like you to join me in my office one at a time so that I can get to know a little about you."

He sounded so reasonable, so pleasant.

He turned to Karl and said, "Karl, I believe that you have the most seniority. Shall we start with you?"

Karl walked off with Doyal and they chatted pleasantly about sports as they walked away.

The rest of us went back to work. I don't think that the others noticed the look of despair on the faces of me or my husband. We glanced at each other and I knew Paul well enough to know that he was thinking the same thing that I was. Life as we knew it was over. We were about to lose everything.

We all looked up expectantly when Karl came back. He was smiling and it was obvious that he liked our new supervisor. He said, "You're up next Neal. Nothing to worry about, he's a great guy. I'm going to like working with him. He really knows his stuff too. I'm really impressed."

The rest of our co-workers filed out one at a time by seniority, Neal, Travis, Ron, and Taylor. They all came back smiling and looking forward to working with Doyal. When Taylor came out he turned to Paul and me and said, "Doyal said to send you kids in together since you are married."

I dreaded this. But I felt better that I wasn't going in there alone. I was terrified. I actually didn't think that he would fire us right away. He would keep us around for a few days or a few weeks and make our lives hell. Then he would find, or make up, some excuse to fire us.

Our co-workers finally noticed that we weren't as happy about our new supervisor as they were. We got some curious looks as we headed out into the corridor and down one door to the small office next to our lab that now belonged to Doyal Anderson.

We stopped in the corridor and looked at each other. I could see that Paul was just as scared as I was. That didn't do anything to reassure me.

There didn't seem to be anything to say, so we walked the fifty feet to his office door. I don't think I would have been any more afraid if there was a gallows in that small office.

Paul tapped on his door and he opened it and held it for us. We walked in and he waved his hand towards the two chairs in front of his desk.

We took our seats and he sat down in his chair behind his large, wooden desk. There were two stacks of personnel files on his desk. One with the five files of our co-workers in it and the smaller stack with just Paul's and mine. We hadn't been working here all that long and our files were much thinner than the others.

Doyal didn't say a word. He picked up our files, one at a time, and he flipped through them quickly. He placed them back on his desk in front of him and looked up at us. Now, in the privacy of his office, the hate was back. He nodded at the files and said, "Not much there. You two don't have much of a past and now you don't have much of a future. You both did very well in college. So I'm sure that you know what serendipity means. Karma, fate, chance, what it boils down to is suddenly I have the lives of two young racists in my hand. I have to tell you, it feels pretty damned good."

"I think back to all the insults I have suffered at the hands of people like you, all the indignities, all the challenges people like you have thrown in my way at every turn. I'm not even going to mention the names you called my son recently. I have to tell you, when I saw you two in that lab a little while ago I started looking around for someone to high five."

"I am going to destroy you. I am going to ruin your lives and I am going to enjoy it so much that it will probably give me an erection when I am doing it."

Paul just sat there stunned. I didn't speak, I couldn't. But I had tears running down my cheeks.

Doyal smiled, a cruel, vindictive smile. He said, "I am not going to fire you right away. I'm going to play with you first. I'm going to make your lives hell. I'm going to wait until you do something, or until I can make it look like you did something, so terrible that you won't be able to get a job cleaning bathrooms in a gas station."

He glared at us for a moment longer and said, "You can get back to work now. I can't stand to look at you."

Paul started to get up. I couldn't. My legs were trembling and weak. But I couldn't let it end like this. As much as it killed me to do it, I had to say something. I cleared my throat and said, "Please Doyal..."

He interrupted curtly and snapped, "Sir! You call me sir, bitch."

Bitch! I felt like I had been slapped. But still, I couldn't let my life end like this. My parents had mortgaged their home and gone into debt to put me through college. I had promised them that I would pay them back. I couldn't go home to them with my life in ruins.

I quietly said, "Sir, please don't do this to us. I'm sorry for ... I'm sorry for everything. We both are. We shouldn't have said the things that we did. We just ... it's the way we were raised. I know it's wrong. Please sir, I'm so sorry."

His expression never changed. He said, "You are only sorry that I am your supervisor and hold your lives in my hand. In your mind I am nothing but an uppity nigger who has no right living in your neighborhood and no right doing anything but janitor work and yard work for white people."

He was right of course. But I was right too. It's the way we were raised to think. I know that isn't much of an excuse. I had friends in high school that had developed friendships with black people. But of course we had unpleasant names for people like that too.

It had been even more prevalent in college, even the college that we had attended in the Deep South. It had never failed to upset Paul and me when we saw groups of kids getting on so well despite their different races. And when we saw a black boy with a white girl, well, we just never could deal with that!

The tears were flowing freely now and I don't think I was really capable of reason. But I couldn't just give up. I couldn't let it end like this.

I wiped my eyes and said, "Please sir. I'm begging you. Give us a chance. Give us a chance to change. We'll do anything, but we can't let our lives be destroyed like this."

He glared at us for a moment. I didn't think for a moment he would relent. His face never changed expression. He hated us, and I suppose he had every right.

A long silence passed before he leaned back in his chair and quietly said, "I don't believe you."

I wasn't certain what it was that I had said that he didn't believe. But it was an opening. I quickly responded, "I will sir! We will! We will change. I promise you!"

He had a strange look on his face, almost a smile and I didn't know what was going through his mind until he said, "No, bitch. I don't believe that you will."

Was that a straw? I wasn't sure if he was just toying with me or if he was actually suggesting that there was room for compromise. I grasped at it though. I had to.

"I swear it, sir! I ... we will do anything to make it up to you. We can't let our lives be destroyed like this. Please sir. I'm begging you. Give us a chance."

He actually smirked then. It wasn't reassuring. He clasped his hands behind his neck and leaned back in his chair and said, "Stand up."

We quickly got to our feet and stood quaking in fear in front of his desk.

He left us like that for a moment before he said, "I don't believe it, bitch. I don't believe you will do anything. I don't believe that you can. I doubt if you are capable of it. But I'm willing to give you a chance to prove it if you want."

I swear, I actually thought he was relenting. The pressure in my chest started to let up and I could actually breathe. I quickly responded, "I can sir! I will! We both will. Please give us a chance."

He answered quietly, "Okay. I don't think you have thought this out very well. But I'm willing to give you a chance."

He turned to my husband and said, "Paul, I want you to go over there and lock my office door. Then I want you to come back over here and undress your bitch for me."

I heard Paul make a sound like he had been punched in the gut. He grabbed my hand and started to pull me toward the door. My legs wouldn't move. I collapsed on the floor and covered my face and cried loudly. I can't even describe my thoughts. To be honest, I don't know if I was actually thinking. I was just feeling. I was feeling total despair, and total desperation.

I started to get my hysterical tears under control. I wiped my eyes on my lab coat sleeves again and I looked up to see Doyal smiling down at me, enjoying my distress.

I struggled to my feet and pleaded, "Please sir, that isn't what I meant."

He just kept smiling. He said, "I didn't think that it was you silly bitch. But it is what I meant. If you two want to keep your jobs here then you have only one option. You become my slaves. Don't you think that's fitting?"

"After all," he continued, "that's what your ancestors did with my ancestors. You made them slaves. They were humiliated and degraded. They were bought, sold and traded like a common commodity. They were whipped and abused and raped and even killed on a whim. And once my ancestors were freed, by force I might add, you continued to make their lives hell. You denied them an education. You denied them a decent place to live. You denied them good jobs and you denied them the right to vote. We had to fight your kind for every step forward that we made. And even now, you two, and those of your ilk, are still fighting against equality for my people."

I was holding onto the back of my chair now. I wasn't sure that I could stand unsupported. I looked into those cold eyes and in a quavering voice I whispered, "I don't think ... I can't ... how can I ... oh please, sir!"

His expression never changed. He smiled that cold smile and said, "Get out. I'm done with you. But if I were you I'd put that nice house of yours on the market. You won't be able to afford it in a few weeks."

Paul gently pulled at my wrist, trying to guide me to the door. I whirled around to face him and hissed, "NO! Paul I won't let it be over. I can't. If we don't do what he wants then we might as well kill ourselves. My parents will lose their home. We will lose everything we own. What kind of jobs do you think we will be able to get after we get fired and lose our clearances?! I refuse to end up living in a single-wide trailer on the edge of town and working at ... working where Paul? No one would hire us. Do you want to live on welfare the rest of your life? Do you think that there is a future in picking up aluminum cans on the side of the road?"

Paul looked like an animal caught in a trap. He couldn't look any more stunned if Doyal had popped him in the forehead with a two-by-four. I took a deep breath and said, "Paul. Go lock the door."

He shook his head and tried to grab my wrist again. I pulled away and hissed, "No god damn it! We have to do this. We don't have a choice. Go lock the damned door!"

I could see Doyal out of the corner of my eye. He hadn't moved and his expression hadn't changed. No matter what Paul and I did in the next few minutes, he was enjoying the hell out of our suffering.

Paul still hadn't moved. I grabbed the lapels of his lab coat and quietly said, "Paul, we can talk about this later. But you are a smart man. That was one of the things that attracted me to you. You know as well as I do that we don't have any other option. We have to do what he wants. Please honey. Go lock the door."

Paul stared at me for a second and then he reluctantly turned to Doyal and asked, "You just want to see her naked, right? Just this once? I take her clothes off and then she gets dressed and you have had your revenge. You will have humiliated us. If we do that we keep our jobs and we forget all about this, right?"

Doyal answered in a condescending voice one might use with an idiot, "No you dumb fuck! I told you just a few minutes ago. Weren't you listening? You become my slaves. You will be my slaves until I get reassigned or you leave here, or until I get tired of you. You will do anything I tell you to do. You will do it anywhere I tell you to do it and with anyone with whom I tell you to do it. In case there is any question in your minds, I am going to fuck your hot little bitch of a wife. She is going to suck my cock whenever I'm in the mood. And it won't be just me. I have a lot of friends that would enjoy a piece of her ass."

"As for you Paul, you don't do anything for me personally. I can't speak for some of my weirder friends. I will enjoy humiliating you though. Since I don't plan to fuck your skinny ass I'll have to find other ways to make your life a living hell. It wouldn't be fair if Jolie was the only one suffering. But it's up to you. I don't give a shit one way or the other. I'm going to enjoy it immensely no matter which route you choose. Now is the time to choose though. I am enjoying this very much. Watching you two suffer has made my whole year. But I have a lot to do. So either do what I told you to do or go back to the lab and get to work."

Paul stared at Doyal as if in shock for a moment, then he stared at me. He finally turned and walked slowly toward the door. I watched him cross the room. His shoulders were slumped and he walked like he was going to his death. He turned the handle and the lock made a loud metallic clicking sound that seemed to seal our fate. He turned without looking up from the floor and crossed the office to stand beside me once more.

I felt sorry for Paul. I figured that our marriage would soon be over. I was about to be raped by a black man and I was certain that Paul couldn't see that and still have anything to do with me afterwards. Once Paul started to undress me he could never look at me the same again. I understood though. It was the way we were raised.

Paul gave me an apologetic look. You may find it hard to believe but I could see that this was nearly as hard for him as it was for me. When he could delay no longer he reached for my lab coat.

Doyal called to him, "Wait! Not like that. Jolie, turn and face me. Paul, stand behind her and reach around and undress her. I would like to tell you to take your time but we have already been in here as long as I kept your co-workers. They are going to wonder what is going on. So you might want to pick up the pace a little."

I turned to face Doyal and Paul moved behind me. I closed my eyes as his hands reached for my lab coat and removed it.

He dropped it on the chair where I had been sitting. I felt his arms reach around me to unbutton my blouse. He was still working on the top button with shaking fingers when Doyal said, "Jolie, open your eyes. Look at me."

I opened my eyes. That was the easy part. I had been about to lose my balance with my eyes closed anyway. The hard part was looking Doyal in the eye. I didn't want to see him looking at my body as Paul uncovered it. I didn't want to see lust in his eyes. I didn't want to see pleasure. I had to remind myself, I was a slave now. What I wanted wasn't important.

I stood as steadily as I could while Paul unbuttoned my blouse. I stared uneasily into Doyal's eyes. I had never been so embarrassed in my life, or so scared.

Paul pulled the blouse out of my skirt and unbuttoned the last button. Just before he pulled it off he whispered, "I'm sorry Jolie."

Then he slowly pulled it down off of my shoulders and slid it down my arms. He dropped it on the chair with my lab coat. Next he struggled with the button and then the zipper in the back of my skirt.

He hesitated before letting my skirt fall. I guess that it's a good thing that he was being forced to undress me. I don't think that I could have done it. The blood was pounding in my head and I was feeling dizzy. I could actually feel my heart beating wildly in my chest!

I kept my eyes focused on Doyal as my skirt pooled at my feet. Paul bent down and I held onto the back of the chair to steady myself as I stepped out of my skirt. Paul picked it up and placed it neatly on the chair. Then he started removing my pantyhose.

As he worked them down my legs, Doyal said, "I don't want you to wear those again. I hate them. I'll let you wear panties for a while, until I make up my mind about them. I kind of like to see a sexy young woman in her panties. They are a barrier between me and your cunt, but they turn me on. However, I detest pantyhose."

I whispered, "Yes sir."

When my hose were on the growing pile of clothing on the chair, Paul stood up and began to tug on the clasp that held my bra in place. It wasn't easy for him. It was harder for me.

I was not a virgin when I met Paul. I had been with several boys before him. But there had been none since Paul. And I had never been undressed in front of a black man. I was terrified. I stood before him now in a plain white bra and a pair of pink panties and I know for a fact that I had not been this nervous on the evening when I lost my virginity to Michael Gavin on a blanket beside Astor's pond in the eleventh grade.

I felt the clasp come loose and the cups began to fall away from my breasts. The arrogant look on Doyal's face was not the look I was accustomed to when a boy was about to see my breasts. Normally I was just as excited by baring my breasts to a boy, after an appropriate period spent kissing and petting, as the boy that was about to be honored by my nudity.

I was not excited now. I felt so degraded. It was almost enough to take my mind off of the despair I felt at the impending end to my marriage.

Paul was reaching for my panties when Doyal stopped him and said, "Not yet Paul. Her tits are marred by the marks that come from being imprisoned by her bra. Reach around and massage them for her. Work them a little. And get those nipples hard for me. I like to see a bitch with her nipples standing up and begging for attention."

I normally enjoy very much the touch of Paul's hands on my breasts. This time I hated it. I hated it in part because as much as my mind screamed it's defiance, when his fingers began to tease my nipples they quickly became hard and erect. I wasn't aroused of course. I was horrified by what was happening to me.

Doyal watched with an amused expression on his face for several minutes before he said, "Okay. She looks like she's starting to enjoy it. I don't want that. Finish undressing her. I want to see her cunt."

I shuddered in fear and revulsion as Paul grasped the waistband of my underwear and slid them down off of my hips and down my legs. I stepped out of them and stood, naked now, in front of my new supervisor, the black man who now lived next door to me.

He stared at me for a moment and then he sat up in his chair and crooked his finger, indicating that he wanted me to stand beside his chair.

I muttered, "Oh god. I can't do this."

But I did. I slowly circled around his desk and stood beside his chair while he stared at my body, my naked body. He smiled up at me and his large fingers began to explore my breasts. In a conversational tone he said, "I prefer bigger tits, but these look alright on your little body. I bet it's really tearing you up isn't it? A black man is touching your little tits. Just imagine how you're going to feel when my big, black cock is rammed up your tight little pink pussy. That's going to really tug at your racist, redneck sensibilities."

His hand crawled down my belly like a big black spider. His fingertips teased my pubic hair before they dipped into the tight opening between my legs. I saw him chuckle and he held his finger up to show me how wet it was.

I was more shocked than he was! How could my body possibly react like that to this prelude to rape?!

The tears were running off my cheeks in a steady stream now. They were falling onto my breasts and then dripping off of my nipples. Doyal placed his finger, still wet with my juices, against my nipple which was damp with my tears. His finger circled my nipple which quickly grew erect once more.