Chapter One

 

Tara Bergman was very aware of her white privilege. In fact, she reminded herself of it every morning. There was a sign she had taped to the mirror of her dresser in her small dorm room so she would read it every morning to remind herself. It said, "You are the product of white privilege derived from slavery and oppression."

Her parents had not been happy that she had decided to major in gender and racial studies at Harvard. Her mother, in particular, had been scathing. She was almost an archetypical Jewish mother, and wanted Tara to be a lawyer or a doctor or an accountant.

Tara had tried very hard to enlighten them regarding their white privilege, but to no avail. They felt no shame at all, nor any guilt that she could see. Instead they bragged about their success being the product of their own hard work - as if that work meant anything without their privilege!

Tara was quiet in class, because she didn't want to put herself forward. She did not feel she had that right, given how many women of color there were in the classes. She was very much reflexively aware of and accepting of her low place on the hierarchy here.

She embraced that low status as fully deserved, and was quick to give way to the opinions or wishes of any of the women of color around her. So when professor Olowe called her to her office one afternoon she was on pins and needles, fearing she had inadvertently caused offense or done something which might have been seen to be putting herself above the others.

"Professor Olowe?" she asked as she tapped timidly on the door.

"Come in, Tara," the professor said, turning from her computer. "Close the door."

Tara gulped but obeyed. She was almost in awe of Professor Olowe. She was a tall, stern, elegant black woman with the height and features of her Zulu warrior ancestors. She had become a full professor before she was even thirty years old.

"Tara, I have noticed you putting in considerable effort to understand the oppression people of color have been subjected to over the centuries."

"I have, professor!" she gulped earnestly.

"Because of this I would like to offer you an opportunity to take part in a workshop. Actually, it is part workshop, part social experiment. It is designed to make people of extreme privilege like yourself more intimately conversant with the reality of oppression."

"I'd be glad to!"

"Do not be so quick to accept before I have explained," Olowe said sternly.

"I'm sorry," Tara said meekly.

"You do not understand what oppression means. You do not understand the hopelessness of being the slave of another. You do not comprehend what it can mean to feel, bone-deep, that you are the possession of another, and that you are completely at their mercy, at their whim."

She stood up and walked over to Tara, who licked her lips nervously.

"How can you? How can you even imagine what it feels like to submit to another to the extent that it does not even enter your mind to refuse an order you do not like, or to even consider that you should have such a right," the woman said. "To be degraded and abused, but not to even think for a moment that you should have the right to not be?"

"I will give you such an opportunity," Olowe said. "But it will not be a simple thing for you. It will be painful and there will be physical as well as emotional discomfort. I and other Black women will be there to see to it that you and the others are confronted with the reality of what being a slave means, of what true oppression is. Do you think you can subject yourself to this?"

"I can! I will, professor!"

Tara felt nervous about the idea, of course, wondering how much abuse she might be subjected to in such a workshop. But she knew it was something she deserved, that it was right and just and that it might actually lead her to a better understanding of her responsibility for the inequities of society which the white race had perpetrated on all others.

*

A week later she was driven to the workshop in the back of a van. It had no windows except in the front seats, which were occupied by Professor Olowe and another black woman named Professor Zivai. She and Hannah Smith and Meghan Forsyth sat in the back on a rough bench.

"Remember, girls, there will no equality here. There will be no politeness. You will not be treated the way you have come to expect to be treated in your life thus far. You will not be given respect. You will not be given consideration. People who are oppressed are rarely given such things."

"Yes, Professor," Tara said.

"I understand, Professor," Hannah said.

"There will be a certain amount of role-playing on the part of myself and other instructors," Olowe warned. "We will speak rudely and harshly to you. We will insult you, and you will feel degraded and... oppressed."

Tara nodded. She was almost looking forward to it!

Almost. She continued to have some trepidation, but also a sense of righteous anticipation. For the crimes of her ancestors she deserved harsh treatment! And perhaps it would not only give her more insight into what it meant to be oppressed, but less of a sense of guilt.

They drove on the highway for an hour, then down some side roads, and finally down a very narrow, unpaved road.

"We are in the country, removed from the normal comforts of civilization," Zivai said. "You will get no such comforts for the next week. You will be put in the position of being owned, and come to understand the kind of helplessness and oppression your people dealt out and continue to deal out to others."

Finally, the van stopped. The two black women got out, and then after a moment the side door slid open and the three white girls climbed out. There were several more black women present, all looking sternly at them as they stood there uneasily.

They were in a rough, grassy area which surrounded a large, lovely looking cabin, or perhaps, chalet. It looked quite large, and beyond the grassy area was a fence, and beyond that a forest.

"Are you ready to begin? To experience what oppression means?" one of the women asked.

"Yes," Hannah said.

The woman immediately surged forward, glowering, until her face was inches from the startled blonde.

"Are you talking to me?"

"Uhm, yes?"

"Then you will call me mistress."

"Yes... mistress!" Hannah said.

"If there were men here you would call them master, as our ancestors once called your ancestors. But there are no men here," Olowe said.

"Now remove your clothing," Zivai ordered.

Tara gasped at the order, as did the other two white girls.

"Are you so shy?" Zivai taunted. "There are only women here. Do you think you have such special bodies that none can see them? All of our ancestors were brought here naked and in chains. Do you not know that? Did your ancestors show any consideration to their modesty?! No!"

Reluctantly, the three white girls removed their clothes as the five older black women glared at them.

"Stand straight, you whores!" another of the woman shouted.

Tara gulped and straightened her shoulders, blushing hotly.

"Look at these cows," another of the women sneered. "With their big udders."

And it was true that by coincidence, Tara realized, she and Hannah and Meghan were all generously endowed. In fact, all three were slender, beautiful, and fit. The only fat on them, really, was their breasts. Tara was a thirty-six-D, and the other two looked about the same size.

"Maybe we will put you in the barn and attach you to a milking machine," another of the black women taunted.

"Turn around and put your hands behind your backs," Olowe ordered.

Red-faced, the three girls did, and three of the Black women stepped forward, taking their wrists, and placing metal shackles around them.

"These are not the shackles of our ancestors," Olowe said. "Those were heavy, rough iron. They would leave your wrists scratched and eventually scarred. These are modern, stainless steel and very smooth. The idea is not, after all, to cause any physical damage. The idea is to put you in the same position as our ancestors so you can gain insight into what it was like."

Tara gulped in surprise, uneasy as the woman behind slipped the metal firmly around her wrists. She had not expected this, though now that Olowe pointed out she saw that it made perfect sense. She was not even surprised when the woman slipped a metal collar around her neck and locked it tight.

Then the woman gripped her soft brown hair and jerked her around.

Tara cried out, startled, her scalp aching.

"On your knees, slut!" the woman barked.

Tara gasped as she half-fell to her knees, as the other two girls did.

"Sit on your heels, legs spread wide," one of the women ordered. "You have no privacy anymore. Your bodies belong to others."

Tara blushed hotly as she obeyed, she and the other two kneeling side by side, legs spread, as the five older black woman stood before them.

A part of her felt a sense of deep and righteous satisfaction at what was happening, remembering what her race had subjected others too. Another part was embarrassed at being naked and... displaying herself like this, even in front of women.

But, disturbingly, she also felt a strange, twisted sense of sexuality in what they were doing. She knew it wasn't intended, of course. She knew full well that black men and women had been displayed like this for sale. But she still felt a deep and growing awareness of how... sexual this could be seen by some. And even, despite herself, felt an attraction for the idea as something darkly thrilling yet forbidden.

"It should be remembered that speaking is a sign of humanity. Our ancestors spoke not a word of English when they were enslaved and taken here," Olowe said. "So to attempt to let you see the same circumstances, none of you will be permitted to talk."

She picked up a long thin object and held it out before them.

"This is actually something of a toy," she said. "It's not the real thing. Riding crops can leave welts across your body, but this is very lightweight and thin, and will only sting a little. It will sting, however. I warn you. It is nothing compared to the flogs used by your ancestors on ours," she said sternly. "It is not even as painful as the canes routinely used against schoolboys in previous centuries. So I think you can bear it."

She swished the thing back and forth in front of the white girls, glowering at them.

"You shall be rewarded with pain for every hesitation or inability to perform the tasks you are required to perform," she said. "This will greatly enhance your sense of oppression, and what it means. It might even be you will be rewarded with pain simply for the amusement of your overseer - an all-too-common occurrence back in the day."

Three of the black women stepped forward then. They had round balls in hand, and each tugged on one girl's hair to force her head up and back, then pushed the ball against her mouth.

Tara gasped, instinctively opening her mouth as her head was pulled back by the hair, then again as the pressure of the ball pushed hard against her teeth until she widened her jaw. The ball slipped into her mouth, thick enough to press down against her tongue and up against the roof of her mouth, and too thick to close her mouth behind it.

"This will be temporary. So that you get used to the idea of being powerless to speak or protest," she said. "It wasn't necessary with our ancestors as they could not make themselves understood anyway."

Tara felt her chest tightening, her heart beating rapidly as she knelt there, feeling the hardball in her mouth and against her jaws and lips. The gags made things scarier, because they made her feel more helpless. She immediately understood Olowe's point about how helpless it made one feel to not be able to communicate with their captors!

But she also recognized the ball-gags as the sort of thing people did in very, very... kinky... sexual situations. And it reinforced that strange, swirling sense of fluttery heat in her lower belly as she knelt naked and shackled before the other women.

She felt ashamed of herself because of that. This clearly was not a sexual situation! And certainly slaves dragged from their homes by cruel white captors would not have felt aroused by being forced to kneel naked and shackled before them!

"Now, you will be thrown into the slave dungeon for a short time, for you to meditate on what it might be like to be a slave, helpless and naked and alone, chained and voiceless, completely at the mercy of your cruel captors."

Each of the three black women who had been waiting when they arrived produced a chain, which they attached to the front of the white co-eds' collars. They then yanked and the girls were forced to their feet, to stumble after them.

Tara's eyes were wide as she walked after the black woman - leashed and naked! This was so... bizarre! She knew she ought to be trying to feel the kind of oppression and terror and sympathy for the woman's slave ancestors experienced. And she certainly did feel anxiety and some fear.

But it also felt even more darkly sexual as she padded hurriedly along behind the woman - helpless and naked!

The chalet was large and seemed quite luxurious as they were led in, but they saw little of it before being led downstairs. The basement was finished and carpeted and beautiful, but that was not their destination. They went down another flight, this one of stone stairs, into a dimly lit stone space. It was lit, in fact, by old fashioned lanterns!

The floor was stone, and each of the girls was taken into a small stone room.

Tara's pulse raced as the woman turned her to face the stone wall. She felt her hands at her wrists, then her right wrist was lifted up above her and locked to a chain bolted to the wall. The woman turned her, took her left wrist, and raised that up to attach to the chain as well.

Then she looked down at Tara, glaring.

Tara gulped, deeply aware of the cold metal around her wrists and her naked and helpless state.

"Little slave girl," the woman growled. "Do you know what happened to pretty slave girls who were taken off the slave ships?"

Tara cried out as the woman took her hair and jerked it sharply back.

"The pretty ones, like you, wound up being auctioned as sex slaves, to please cruel masters who used their bodies to sate their own lust."

She looked down at Tara's full, lithe body and sneered.

"We ought to have Black men here to use you just as our ancestors were," she said. "That would give you the right understanding of what oppression is!"

Tara gasped as the woman cupped her left breast, then squeezed.

"I'm sure a lot of Black masters would love paying for this pretty white breast," she said. "You'd go for a high price on the block, with all the masters pawing and feeling you up before deciding what to offer for your body."

She drew her hand back but then her fingers gripped Tara's nipple and she pinched. She smirked down at her, then caught Tara's other nipple between the thumb and forefinger of her other hand, pinching it, then pulling both up, stretching them as the helpless Co-ed gasped and moaned, her back arching up.

"Your nipples seem quite stiff, white girl," the woman sneered. "Is all this talk of big black masters turning you on? Are you getting hot at the thought of a big black cock sliding up into your hungry little pussy?"

She leaned in closer.

"I bet you are," she said, her voice going low. "I bet you'd love to be sold to a Black master who would keep you as his naked sex slave."

She released Tara's burning hot nipples and the girl slumped back against the wall, gasping.

"Maybe in time, little white girl," the woman sneered.

She turned to the door. There was some dim light coming through from the lanterns hung from the walls outside, but little entered the room where Tara was chained. The woman took a cigarette lighter from her pocket and lit it, then raised the flame up to a thick candle sitting in a sconce, lit it, then went out. The door was heavy and closed with the sound of finality, then a thick bolt was shot, and Tara was alone

Naked, shackled, gagged, in a... a dungeon cell!

She moaned, staring around at the little room. It was not much bigger than a closet, and made entirely of stone. She shuddered as she looked up at the candle, then down at her body. Her nipples were still hot, and pink, and hard.

That had been soooo embarrassing! The woman had guessed she was at least somewhat aroused! Though Tara would insist her nipples were only cold because... because it was cool down here!

It wasn't very cool, though.

She looked up at her wrists, encased in the stainless steel shackles, which were in turn chained to a bolt in the wall.

This was incredible! To be chained up like... like a slave!

Then she felt guilty again. She ought to be trying to feel the oppression and terror those distant black women had felt, not feeling aroused! Was she some kind of pervert!?

She did her best to put herself into the right frame of mind by thinking about what the woman had said - about being naked and alone and shackled and on an auction stage before a group of men, being sold as a sex slave!

The thought was... terrifying in a way, but it was so unrealistic it was hard to feel fear. Instead, the thought only aroused her further! It was, after all, not an actual threat, which made it a sort of, well... fantasy.

And it played right into many of the lurid fantasies Tara had had about sex.

It would serve her right, too! As a privileged white girl, she deserved to be given the same treatment those African slaves had been given! She deserved it even more because of how utterly outrageous it was for her to feel a sense of arousal at the idea!

Why, Professor Olowe would probably throw her right out of the workshop, and maybe even out of her class if she knew of her disgusting thoughts. She'd probably throw her right out of the program! And Tara would deserve it too!

They had certainly taken care to make this seem realistic, she thought. The rough stones of the wall pressed against her shoulders and back and buttocks, and the door seemed so tightly sealed no sound got in. She was isolated - in a dungeon! Naked!

She imagined a man coming in, a big man, a black man, using her as she deserved! Using her as was his right to any slave girl! Treating her however he felt like treating her! Using her body! Thrusting his big cock into her!

No, no, she had to get that image out of her mind! Instead of outraging her it was arousing her!

She tried to force her mind to fear, to thinking she was completely lost, far from home, a captive of strange people whose language she didn't know!