Dominican Slut: Blackmailed

Summary: Years later, proud MILF is blackmailed back into submission.

Note: This is dedicated to the real Johnathan and Elizabeth who inspired the story. The entire back story is based on real events...the plotlines are real fantasies of the lovely couple.

Note 2: This is part two of a multi-chaptered story. In part one, Dominican Slut: Ass Fucked, Elizabeth, a proud Dominican teenager determined to overcome stereotypes, gets seduced by a white college man and becomes his personal cocksucker and ass slut. In this part, we flash forward a dozen years. Now married and working as an accountant, she is drawn back into a world of submission she had stayed out of (other than in role play with her husband).

Note 3: Thanks goamz86, Robert, and Wayne for editing.

Warning: Like my novella 'Deconstructing the Professor', this story will use racially inappropriate words to create the vivid, authentic race based story that has been requested. If words like 'nigger', 'spic', 'puta', 'gringa' and 'chula' offend you, please don't read further.

Glossary:

I am a Canadian writing a story about a Dominican using a variety of Spanish terms. So, although I think I do a good job of explaining the Spanish words I use during the heat of the moment, here is a brief advance glossary:

Puta: whore

Gringa: whore - a term used by Dominicans for Americanized Dominicans

Chula: cute or sexy

PS: If any of these are used incorrectly, I apologize in advance. Urban Dictionary and Google Translate were my main sources.

Dominican Slut: Blackmailed

Two kids and twelve years later, I was living the 'American Dream'. We had just purchased a new house in a nice, safe suburb, and we both had great, well-paying jobs.

We were successful enough to have a live-in nanny, a Haitian woman, which I revelled in having (which only makes sense if you know Dominican Republic vs Haitian history and our strong dislike for each other even though we live on the same island).

I had broken free of the historical chains of manual labour in my family and was a successful accountant working at the biggest firm in the city (there was even a bidding war over me of sorts when I finished my degree).

I was the most successful member of my family and the only one not doing menial labour like cleaning houses. I was (and am) a proud Dominican who wanted to be a role model to my many nieces and nephews...to show them that, unlike their mothers (my cousins were almost all dirty sluts who spread their legs for anyone), they could get out of the Dominican and make something of themselves.

Of course, Johnathan and I protected ourselves from the temptation of racial sexual submission by role playing at home a plethora of different scenarios (I'll get into more details of our racial role play later).

Ironically, whenever I went back to the Dominican Republic to visit my parents, who moved back there a couple years after I graduated high school, I was mortified by my extended family, who were sex maniacs. My male cousins would grab my ass, cup my tits and try to sleep with me, trying to tarnish the 'golden girl' image I had achieved because of my academic and professional success (my parents keeping my senior year sex scandal under wraps). I was also ashamed of my female cousins, all with kids by the time they were twenty. I scolded them for being such sluts and spreading their legs for any guy.

Of course, my cousins had no idea of my own sexual taboos and would love to see me fall from the pedestal my parents and their parents had put me on. They would love to see the 'golden girl' with the uppity American education brought down a few pegs.

So in public I was a professional; a feminist; a proud Dominican who even had my national flag in my home on proud display.

Yet, behind the facade was a slut who loved to be used. Who loved having her face sprayed with cum. Loved having her asshole reamed, even more so than getting her cunt filled. Loved playing submissive role playing scenarios where she was a stereotypical Latina: an office slut to her fellow colleagues, a maid, a stripper or having to convince the deportation officer she should be allowed to stay.

Even though I am a proud Latina, my biggest fantasy is constantly having my Dominican pride taken away from me and eventually being made into a cum slut for the entire office.

Oddly, my fantasy was about to become a reality, although not in a way I would ever have imagined.

...

A rich entitled Italian, who had also gone to Harvard, albeit a few years before me, was named the new CEO...because her daddy owned the firm.

She was pretentious, snobby and a complete bitch...a bitch who immediately seemed to take a dislike to me.

At first, I couldn't figure out why. The previous CEO loved me and I was always given the biggest companies' accounts because of my work ethic and my thoroughness.

She had one on one conversations over the first month with all her employees and in the first minute of mine I could tell her dislike of me bordered on hate.

She said, "Liz, I'm not happy with you, can you guess why?"

Being my usual self and hating being called Liz, I corrected, "My name is Elizabeth, ma'am."

She sighed dramatically and said, "Answer the question, Liz."

I was annoyed clearly she was trying to shove her position of power over me, yet realizing I probably shouldn't have corrected her, I answered truthfully, "I honestly don't know, ma'am."

She stood up from her desk and walked around in front of me. She asked, looking down at me, creating a clear power shift between her and me, "What is the difference between you and I?"

I wanted to say, 'you have a rich daddy who gave you this job', but that didn't seem to be a good career move.

Instead, I pondered for a moment and answered, "You're Italian and I'm Dominican."

Immediately, Vaughn popped back into my head, he being Italian too.

"Well, there is that, too," she nodded, before she continued, "I dress as a professional and you dress as if you're going out to be a stripper."

I could have joked I was actually taking dance pole lessons and that one of my newer fantasies was to be forced to be a stripper, but that didn't seem like a good career move either.

Yet, I was also offended. I was wearing a blue blouse, black skirt and practical one inch heels.

Conversely, she was wearing a flower patterned blouse, a shorter leather skirt and ridiculously silly five inch heels...if anyone was unprofessional it was definitely her.

Yet, I couldn't say that.

So I said, "I don't understand, ma'am."

"Professional women wear nylons," she explained.

I had always detested pantyhose, wearing them only for weddings and funerals... I didn't even wear them to my own wedding.

I explained, "Oh, sorry ma'am. That has never been a concern at the firm before and I have never been a fan of them."

She said, "This is a professional place of business and you will dress accordingly."

"Yes, ma'am," I nodded, feeling belittled which oddly made my panties dampen, which immediately mortified me.

She then went on a lengthy, mostly one-sided conversation of her vision of the firm. She asked me questions on occasion, but mostly it was like a teacher-student relationship.

Once I was dismissed, I pondered why I got wet while being belittled by her. Yes, if she were a man that would make sense, but I had never considered being with a woman.

I brushed it off and focused on proving I was an amazing employee, going out and buying a few different pairs of pantyhose. I always felt they were redundant because of how dark my legs already were (I actual found it amusing that white women attempted to look black by wearing black pantyhose or look Indian by wearing dark coloured pantyhose).

Yet, nothing I did ever seemed to be good enough. The big name clients began to go to other accountants and I was soon doing the generic individual tax returns and even being tasked with menial jobs like filing.

I was incredibly frustrated, but with the market slow down, there were not many other jobs available.

I also noticed a shift, over time, on how I was treated. I went from being widely respected and the top accountant in the firm, to being ignored and treated like I was low woman on the totem pole.

Then it got even worse.

One of the accountants who started after me, who was relatively incompetent, but ridiculously good looking, walked into my office and ordered, "I want this file done by Monday."

I glared at him, resenting his rise at my expense and said, "I'm pretty sure that is your portfolio."

"Look Spic, I wasn't asking for fucking commentary. Just do as you're told," he firmly ordered.

I gasped. Although he had always been smarmy, checking out my voluptuous 38D breasts, and lately even slapping my ass a couple times, this authoritative side was very new...and frustratingly hot.

As I stared at him in shock, he added, "Just pretend you are back at Harvard and taking the orders on your knees."

Before I could respond, he walked away.

Fear coursed through my entire being. Somehow he knew of my slutty one night where I was gang banged by three guys.

Fuck!

I always worried my high school past would come back to haunt me.

Yet, it was my one reckless moment in four years of college, one drunken wild night, which was now staring me in the face.

I did his work for him, coming in for twelve hours both Saturday and Sunday and handed it to him Monday morning.

He didn't even look up at me as he said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," I politely replied, before asking, "You'll keep it a secret?"

"Sure," he nodded, still not looking up, "but I think I may want a piece of that bubble butt ass of yours in return."

I wasn't completely surprised by this, his blackmailing me seemed the next logical step, but I pointed out, "I'm married."

"To a nigger," he replied, finally looking up. "A slut like you needs a dominant white man to please you, don't you?"

I could feel my face burning, flashing back to Vaughn and the dominance he had over me...a dominance that Johnathan tried to replicate, but being sweet and black he could only role play so well.

The reality was that as much as I loved my husband, as much as he tried to make all my fantasies as authentic as possible, he couldn't replace the dominant white man I lusted over...craved. Black just cannot become white.

"Yes, he is a handsome black man," I corrected, trying to hide my submissiveness and the reality that my panties were damp from him.

"He's a nigger, a second level citizen, which is higher than third level wanna-be-American people like you are," he said, venom and racial hatred spewing from his tongue.

"T-t-that's ludicrous," I stammered, even as I no longer saw him as Bryce, but as a strong white man who could put me in my natural place.

Instead of responding, I walked out fuming at both his attitude and my own internal weakness.

...

Over the next week, he did a variety of things which were definitely sexual harassment:

-He would walk by and cup my breasts when no one was around.

-He would call me his gangbang slut.

-He would squeeze my ass and whisper that it would soon again be filled with white dick, his stiff bulge rubbing my ass.

-He left a picture on my desk of a white dick, assumedly his, which looked so big, thick and appetizing.

That Monday, there was a note on my desk saying that I was to see him as soon as I arrived.

Reluctantly, I went to his office, worried what he may have in store for me...yet, undeniably, also a little excited. 'Fuck! Underneath my career persona I am indeed a slut!' I thought to myself. I then decided for myself to be the proud Dominican I was, the strong feminist I tried to be, and stand up to the fucking leech.

I turned my phone on record, hoping I would get enough information to use against him if he tied to blackmail me...a little tit for tat.

As soon as I entered his office, he ordered, "Close the door."

I did.

"So have you been fantasizing about my cock all weekend?" He asked.

Truth be told, this weekend I had Johnathan role play being a fellow accountant and forcing me to be his cum slut, all the while in my head imagining it was Bryce.

I lied, "No."

"Fucking Spic liar," he roared. "We both know you're just another Latina cum slut for white cock."

It was true, but I wasn't going to admit it and potentially lose my career. I needed to prove him wrong to put a stop to his advance and, in turn, prove him wrong for myself.

"I am not!" I firmly responded.

"Stop the facade," he sighed, "you married a nigger to hide your true feelings, but both of you were put on this earth to be slaves. You can only do so much for each other, you need a Master, as does he."

I was shocked by his racial accusations towards my husband. There was no way he knew that underneath my husband's firm, black body was a natural submissive. Yet, frustratingly, as I tried to remain cool and in control, I could feel my panties dampen. I responded sarcastically, "God put me on this earth to be a slave?"

"Exactly," he nodded, ignoring my sarcastic tone. "Spics and niggers were created to work for their superior white masters, it really is black and white, or in this case brown and white." He laughed at his own silly joke.

"So you're automatically a master because you are white?" I questioned, trying to understand how he ticked, both to hopefully use against him and also to answer my own personal curiosity of how white guys like him think.

"It's the way it's always been and the way it'll always be," he shrugged.

I protested, "But times are changing."

"Are they really?" He asked. "You look the part of the business class, you play the part of the upper class, but that is all you do...play. Underneath the expensive outfits, fancy degree and hard worth ethic is the truth."

"And what is that?" I asked, my tone dripping with sarcasm. I knew I had enough on my phone to charge him with sexual harassment, but really was intrigued with where he was going. If I was really smart, I would have walked away right then and there, the power was now back in my hands, yet that isn't what I did.

"A big butt, ass slut who will do anything for a big white cock," he answered.

"That's what you see?" I questioned, wondering if that was what others saw too. Did others see through my professional exterior and see the true me? The sexual deviant who loved getting ass fucked, loved getting her face covered in cum, loved to obey orders?

Ignoring my question, he ordered, "Now get under my desk and suck my cock."

My mouth instantly watered, my cunt instantly soaked my panties, and yet I tried to remain dignified and deny my internal carnal urge to obey. "Bryce, this has gone too far," I informed him.

"Agreed," he nodded, rolling his chair back. He stood up and walked to me, "this charade of being a strong-willed woman when we both know you're just a Dominican cum bucket who craves submission to white cock needs to end."

I hated that he was right. That at this moment I was as fragile as the ice on a frozen lake in spring. I knew if I didn't leave that second I would submit to him.

I turned to leave.

"Stop, Spic," he demanded.

I froze.

"Good ass slut," he said. "Isn't that the name you liked when you were gangbanged?"

How did he know that? All night, the three of them called me their brown ass slut, each taking turns fucking my ass before depositing their loads on my face or tits.

"I bet that cunt of yours is soaking wet thinking of my white cock drilling your asshole," he smugly predicted.

"H-h-how do you know about that?" I stammered, not turning around.

"One of the three was my brother," he revealed. "When he was visiting last month, he is engaged to Michelle by the way, he recognized you and almost crapped his pants," he revealed.

Well, that may explain Michelle's hatred of me. I had fucked her fiancé. Did she know???

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"What?" He quipped, "white cock got your tongue?"

I was speechless. Mortified my past had caught up to me, ashamed I was completely turned on and desperate to find a way to refuse the temptation before me.

"Knees, cum slut," he ordered.

I didn't even realize my body was lowering as I pondered the question.

"Crawl over and under my desk," he ordered.

Shame burning through me, I turned around, head down, and crawled as instructed.

"You're dying for a nice big white cock, aren't you, slut?" He asked.

I whispered the truth, as I reached him, "Yes."

"Yes, what?" He asked, as I crawled under his desk, completely humiliated and simultaneously soaking wet in my panties.

"Yes, I want a nice big white cock in my mouth," I admitted, suddenly the words ringing completely true.

I missed being used; I missed being dominated; I missed white cock.

I felt guilty that I was cheating on my husband, yet I knew deep down he would understand. He would know I had no choice... when the white flag was offered I had no choice but to surrender.

He rolled his chair back and ordered, "Get to work, Lizzy, this is part of your new job duties now."

I hated being called Lizzy, even more than Liz, but I was transfixed by the task at hand. A big white cock to suck. It had been years since I had a white cock in my hands, my mouth or ass. I fished his cock out, trying not to look eager, even though I was dying to suck it.

Once I pulled it out, already half hard, I leaned forward in the dark enclosed space and took it in my mouth.

"That's it, Lizzy, be the spic cum slut you were meant to be," he groaned softly.

His words were absurd, I wasn't meant to be a cum slut, I was meant to do great things. Yet, as his cock grew in my mouth, something I still marvelled over every time it happened, I pondered how I could be two entirely different beings: a hard working proud feminist Latina and also a dirty cum slut spic that would do anything a white man said. There were no easy answers to this doppelgänger persona of mine, and the mixture of excitement and shame never seemed to give me any clue either.

I was mortified I was under his desk sucking his cock at work.

I was dripping wet that I was under his desk sucking his cock at work.

I was terrified I would be caught and lose my job.

I was filled with adrenaline at the possibility of getting caught.

I was ashamed by the fact that he was treating me like a, what did he call me, third class citizen...just another slut for him to use; conversely, my cunt was burning with need.

I was wet as hell at being used as a dirty spic cocksucker willing to obey any white man with a big thick dick.

These oxymorons, these conflicting emotions, spun inside me creating anxiety, excitement, shame and lust.

"Your big mouth finally has a purpose," he quipped, once he was fully hard and I was slowly bobbing on his cock.

Suddenly the door opened and his secretary said, sounding confused, "Um, your nine o'clock is here."

"Send him in," he answered, as I froze with a mouthful of dick.

"Where is Mrs. Parker?" She asked.

"Under my desk," he answered, nonchalantly.

Shame burned through me.

"Oh," was all the secretary, who was best friends with my secretary, said.

A moment later, he said, "Keep sucking slut."

Petrified of getting caught, yet exhilarated at the risk like I used to get with Vaughn, I began slowly sucking his cock.