Black Stenographers Strike Back · Part 1 (1/2)
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The old office building was run down. The once white neighborhood was now all black, and the area was constantly affected by crime. In the Nolan Building, the first seven floors were vacant. Only the ninth floor was in steady use, and this was a black publishing company known as "Sepia Review".
The total office personnel consisted of the owner, Mrs. Jardine, a black woman in her early fifties, and eleven female staff members. Four were stenographers, and the remaining seven were responsible for putting together each monthly issue. On this particular day, everyone was quite unhappy. Another white advertiser had dropped his monthly ad. That terrible act was the fifth in the past month.
None of the white bookstores or white newsstands wanted to carry "Sepia Review". "God damn white capitalists, they tell us to make it on our own, but when we try, they won't even offer a helping hand." This was Ann Thompson speaking, a tall, extremely well-built black stenographer. She had a very live audience in the girls that were listening. At this moment, each of them hated Mister Whitey.
Mrs. Jardine had already informed them that the magazine might go under within the year, but that there would be no layoffs before that time.
Each night, the girls always went down in groups of two or three, because the elevators were not safe in this almost deserted building.
The owner held on to it because he knew its value would skyrocket in the next three years. Mrs. Jardine's company paid his upkeep expenses.
By contractual agreement, the owner was required to supply a full time custodian to take care of the office needs, empty the trash, clean the offices, and in general supply the necessary custodial services.
Francis Ipano was twenty three, a previously unemployed high school graduate, fairly good-looking, and white. The building owner gave him the job only because Francis did not request a big salary. His duties were fairly simple: keep the place clean, and see Mrs. Jardine about any office needs she might have.
Ann Thompson had her desk right at the front door. At one time she had been the receptionist, but now, no one visited. They were too afraid of the neighborhood. Behind Ann sat Joyce, very tall yet very feminine in an almost Amazonian way. The other girls occupied desks all the way back to the glass enclosed office where Mrs. Jardine tried to keep the company together.
Although the miniskirt was now obsolete, both Ann and Joyce wore them every day. They were sort of trying to out-do each other, but they were inseparable friends. The only panties they ever wore were soft pink nylon bikinis with lace trim. It seems that a traveling store buyer once sold them a gross for a very good price, probably because they were hot, and now each girl owned seventy-two pairs of pink lace panties.
When you work in an office day in and day out with no visitors, you tend to relax in the way you sit, sometimes exposing yourself. Ann had fallen into this habit. Joyce was the same way, but her desk had a closed front, while Ann's was wide open, exposing her lower waist to anyone who might come to the glass- paneled door. On this particular day, she was sitting very carelessly, legs wide open, slouched down at her desk so that part of her marvelous posterior was hanging off the edge of the chair. Her panties had worked their way into the hairy folds of her cunt, and the sight being offered was erotic, to say the least.
Now, Francis was about to leave the elevator to meet Mrs. Jardine, to tell her he was the new custodian. The old black janitor had retired.
Ann was busy reading 'Cosmopolitan', and did not notice Francis approaching the front door. He stopped. His eyes could not miss the bizarre display of black thighs and pink lace panties. He kept staring, feeling an erection begin to grow immediately. The crotch of her panties had completely sunk into the full soft folds of her cunt lips, allowing Francis to see the very lips themselves and the black forest of hair surrounding them. Her buttock cheeks were also there to see, as they hung fully below the edge of the chair. He was breathing very erratically.
She glanced up, but Francis did not catch her eyes as they watched his. She did not move. Quietly she called to Joyce to attract her attention, and both women sat there watching as Francis as he stared at the mysterious spot all girls have. His hand touched his crotch, rubbing ever so gently. Then he saw her looking. His hand fell to his side, his face turned scarlet, and he seemed to jump.
Ann kept smiling at him. He lowered his eyes and entered the office. His red cheeks were so damn obvious. He approached Ann's desk.
"Yes, may I be of assistance?" She tried to sound very businesslike, but she was ready to crack up laughing at his nervous state. "Good morning, ma'am. I'm your new custodian, and I'm supposed to see Mrs. Jardine."
"Oh, is that all you is? Here I was, using my best office voice, and you ain't nothing but a honky cleanup man – or should I say 'boy'? Wait a minute." She used the intercom. "Mrs. Jardine, the new custodian is here. Yes ma'am, right away." Looking back at Francis, she smirked, "Okay, white boy, you go right down this aisle here to that funny glass room. You got that?"
He stumbled by her desk, almost tripping. Joyce and Ann were watching him very closely. He was strange.
After he entered Mrs. Jardine's office, Joyce turned to Ann. "What do you make of that honky? He seemed all shook up, didn't he? He was staring at your pussy all that time? Why, you black floozy!" They both broke up laughing.
Mrs. Jardine was busy explaining Francis' duties to him. She was not prejudiced in the least, and treated him very warmly. "Now, you go down to my receptionist, Miss Ann Thompson, and she will show you where the shreddings are that must be picked up every day. I hope you enjoy your job here, Francis, and good luck."
Joyce watched him as he approached Ann. She did not bother to turn to face him, and after a very awkward and silent moment, he walked around to the front of her desk. Ann kept on reading 'Cosmopolitan'. He stood there quietly while Joyce stared at him quizzically. He shifted from foot to foot, and soon Pam and Louise had stopped working to join in with Joyce, staring at this grown man waiting for Ann to acknowledge him. Ann knew he was there; she was just playing games with him. She wanted to see just how long this honky would stand there.
Finally, he choked out a word. "Ma'am?" Silence. "Ma'am?" Ann did not look up. "Yes?" she replied quietly. He almost whispered. "Mrs. Jardine said you would show me where the shredding pickups are to be made." Ann did not budge. "Alright, but wait until I finish this article." Now the girls had whispered to one another, and everyone was staring at Francis. Ann continued to read. Francis did not budge from the spot.
He knew this was foolish. After all, he did not work for them, but for the owner, Mr. Quinn. Perhaps he should walk over to the table, pick up a magazine, and read while he waited for this very direct female to be ready for him. He felt all of their eyes staring at him. He turned in the direction of the small table, but Ann stopped him without even raising her eyes. She knew all of the fellow workers were watching with erotic interest. Ann liked an audience. "Just where do you think you're going?"
Francis stopped cold. "Just to pick up a magazine, Ma'am, if that's alright?" Ann waited until she was sure her group was listening. "No, it's not alright. You stay put until I'm ready!"
Now you could hear a pin drop. All of the typewriters were silent. Only the turning of a page was heard as Ann continued her reading. Francis got red, then more so. Joyce was trying to hold a giggle in. Pam stood up. She could not really believe that this was happening. Francis swayed uneasily, as his feet seemed to be getting numb. He wanted to shift from one foot to the other, but was too afraid to move. Minutes ticked by. Five, then ten. This was unbelievable. Why was he allowing this to happen?
Finally, Ann closed the magazine and stood up. She smoothed out her miniskirt, looked at the girls knowingly, and took off. "Follow me." Francis was caught off guard, but when he realized that she was about to show him his job, he sort of jumped forward nervously and caught up to her, but stayed a few inches behind her left shoulder. Soon they were out of sight.
"Hey, Joyce, what the hell was that all about? Ann acted like she owned that honky. Why the hell did he stay there all that time?" Joyce smiled.
"I think Ann owns our new janitor. You get that, Pam? You get my meaning? That guy was cooked the minute he saw Ann's pussy. Man, I'll bet she's having a ball with him right now."
"That's shredder number 1. Every day, you get every scrap of paper from inside it and around it, and take it down to the big incinerator in the basement. The same goes for shredders 2, 3, and 4. You got that? And I mean every shred. Also, there are two bathrooms, one right down the hall that everyone uses, and a smaller one up on the tenth floor. I know that the tenth floor is deserted, but Joyce and I use the one up there. It gives us the privacy to smoke a joint and talk freely when it's slow down here. I don't have to tell you that both bathrooms are to be kept spotless, especially the one that Joyce and I use."
"Twice weekly, you mop the offices. On Friday, you clean Mrs. Jardine's office. I guess that's all for now. Do you have any questions?" Francis had none. All the time that she had been talking, Francis stared at her with great interest, trying to please her with his intention of doing a good job. She waited. He did not know what to say or do. They were all alone in the cutting room, with only the background noise breaking the silence. She walked over to the old wooden desk in the corner, giving Francis a slow, full picture of her rounded but firm buttocks. She then hiked her short skirt up nearly to her waist and sat on the edge of the desk. Her legs were wide open, and Francis began to salivate as his eyes had to peer into the warm, dark vision. Ann loved it. His whole docile manner. What a yo yo he was, she thought to herself.
She saw the erection forming in his tan work pants. She let him look a few more minutes, and then told him that he had better get started with the shredders since they had not been emptied in almost a week. She left him and returned to the office. The minutes she walked in, all the girls were up and at her desk, wanting to know what had happened with the new honky custodian. Ann sat there, smiling at them, patiently listing their questions in her mind.
"Now, I'm sure that you innocents will have no idea of what I'm talking about, but that skinny white boy is what I call slave material. See, you girls don't even know what I'm talking about, do you? Hey, Leslie honey, remember that day you were complaining to me that black men don't like to French? Well, that white boy that just left here will eat your pussy until summertime if you tell him to. Dig? TELL him to. Oh, what's the use – it just doesn't ring a bell, does it? Did you all see how scared he was? Doesn't that make you wonder? What do you think a straight guy would have done? Do you think he would have stayed put in one place for that long? Whitey did, though!"
The girls were all just staring at her with blank looks on their faces. Not Joyce, though. She had been friends with Ann for over ten years, and they had read about males who were like this Francis. "Hey Joyce, how about you and me having lunch together today? I want to talk to you about something."
Francis worked hard in the shredding room. The week long build up of paper had made the job that much more difficult. He got over seven barrels of shredded paper from each shredding room. When Joyce and Ann entered the elevator to go to lunch, Francis was only thirty feet away, working on the second shredding room. The girls went to the Capri Lounge because Ann said that she wanted to have a drink with lunch. After the cocktails were served, Ann settled back, smiled at Joyce, and began what was destined to become the most bizarre conversation that they had ever had together.
"Joyce, honey, you remember that night about a year ago, when we read that magazine about dominant females? Do you remember what we talked about? C'mon, Joyce, what were we talking about that night? Remember?
It was pouring rain, and we had just looked at the picture of the naked guy in chains." Joyce looked at her. "Yeah! I can see you remember! Well, Joyce, I had an idea today. I think it's really wild, but I won't go through with it unless you think it'd be fun too."
Joyce sipped her drink, half laughing, half staring in astonishment at her closest friend. "Ann, I don't know what you got in mind, but you got THAT look, and this is the first time we drank our lunch in a long time. But I'm game, honey, to anything you say."
Ann swallowed the rest of her drink, ordered another, and then started to talk again. "I got the idea just as we started talking a little while ago. It has something to do with that other bathroom on the tenth floor. You know, our little private bathroom. Are you with me, girl? Oh shit, I hope so!"
Ann began to unfold her bizarre plan to Joyce. The young woman's eyes just got wider and wider. "You've got to be kidding, Ann, you've just got to be." Ann smiled. "Why, Joyce? Everybody talks and talks and talks, but you and I got us a chance to really do something wild. You know you want to, don't you? If you chicken out now, Joyce, we'll never get another chance. If we pull that fuse in the elevator, then no one, not even that new janitor, can get to the tenth floor. The stairs aren't safe. And no one would want to, since the tenth floor is deserted. C'mon, Joyce, what do you say?"
Finally, they ordered another drink and shook hands. It was all set. That evening they would meet at Ann's to discuss their plan of attack. It was very risky, but if they did it right, it would work, and they would feel so erotic just knowing what they did. That evening they lay in bed in each other's arms and went over everything in detail, time and time again. When they finally fell asleep, Joyce was lying at Ann's feet with her face resting on the full brown thigh.
The following morning, Ann kept her eyes peeled for Francis. She had to give him orders in a very nonchalant way so that he would be at the tenth floor bathroom at exactly noon. At ten-thirty that morning she saw him pass her office on his way to the third shredding room. She told Pam that she was going to take a coffee break, and left the office. Joyce watched her leave, knowing where she was going, and feeling her heart beat faster at the thought of what was yet to come.
Francis did not hear her coming in. He was picking loose scraps of paper up from the floor and loading them into a big trash bag. When she spoke, he almost lost his balance turning toward her. She loved the fear that seemed to come over him whenever he saw her. No words were spoken, but they both knew the power she had simply by being there. "How's it going, Francis? Catching on to all the rules? Good. You just might work out if you stay on the ball and do as you're told."
Francis could not help but to answer her with his head downcast. She liked that. It showed respect, but more importantly, fear. "Today I want to show you how I want the bathroom on the tenth floor cleaned for Joyce and me, so I want you up there at today at noon sharp. Do I detect a question in your face? No ifs, ands, or buts, Francis. You be there at twelve exactly, and Joyce and I will instruct you on how to keep OUR private bathroom just the way we want it."
With that, she came closer and pinched his cheek, which made his face a deep scarlet. "I like you, Francis, do you know that? I think you're very sweet. I like a man who knows his place, and you know your place, don't you? Do you know what a slave is, Francis? No? Well, you and I should talk about that someday. You would be perfect. See you at twelve."
With that, she was gone. Francis was trembling. He did not want to meet them on the tenth floor. He was afraid of them, especially Ann. Perhaps they really wanted to show him how to clean the bathroom properly. For two days now, he had tried to avoid this very attractive black girl who scared him just by being in his presence. But he knew he had to be there at twelve or this girl was going to be very angry, and for some unknown reason, he did not want to anger her.
It was eleven forty-five, and Joyce was standing by Ann's desk. She was very nervous and Ann sensed it. "Relax, baby. This is going to be fun for us for a long time. Try to look at it as fun, okay?" Joyce smiled.
She was looking forward to carrying out their plans, but she was scared, too. Her panties were damp, so she knew in her heart that the idea was appealing to her.
Black Stenographers Strike Back · Part 1 (1/2)
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