Out Of Order 4

Author's Note: This story contains racist and bigoted ideology and use of the "N" word with a hard R in a derogatory way. Please also view the tags as this story has themes of non-consent, forced homoeroticism, toilet slavery and anal/oral play. Feel free to skip reading this story if any of these themes offend or disgust you in any way. Everyone else, enjoy!

Helen Campbell was tired. She was tired of her job, tired of the lousy Houston traffic, and tired of her patience being tested by insolent civilians on her weekly grocery run.

"C'mon...c'mon!" She grumbled, tapping her gnarled fingernails on the steering wheel. She groaned with every minute she was forced to wait in traffic alongside these driving hooligans.

To say that it was not a good day for Helen was an understatement. After spending the entire day training her new, young coworkers, she was met with cold indifference. Not only did she not even receive so much as a 'thank you' but to make matters worse, her boss later pulled her to the side to suggest she think about an "early retirement".

She blamed millennials. Those pink-haired avocado-munching menaces were ruining everything good in the 63-year-old Southern matriarch's hometown with their "gender expression", "Godless schools", and Starbucks drinks. Now, they were taking good jobs from hard-working folks like herself.

The nerve! As traffic droned, Helen Campbell stewed over this injustice.

"No one respects our values anymore. These new millennials...they think they can waltz in here and do anything." She huffed.

The traffic light turned green. With a sigh of relief, Helen turned right on the I-45 exit and pulled into the Foodarama store parking lot.

"It's about darn time. Finally, I can-"

She was about to park her car into an empty space when a long, winding screech stopped her in her tracks. A blue Ford pickup truck swerved into view, cutting past her to park, forcing her to floor her brakes. If she were an inch closer, the cars would've collided.

That did it.

"Hey!" She barked, climbing out of her car. "Hey, you two dinguses!"

Two teenage boys with tawny skin, blue-green hair and matching university jackets hopped out of the vehicle.

"Uhh...yes, ma'am?" The driver-side teen replied as his partner left to find a cart. The 6'2 teen had to peer downward to meet the steely blue-eyed stare of the stout, Caucasian 63-year-old grandma.

"Oh so now you all have some manners. You almost hit my car and took MY parking spot!" Helen spat.

He scratched this head. "Oh... uh sorry, ma'am, Our bad. We just assumed you were going to park upfront..." His eyes traveled to a sign that read "SENIOR CITIZEN PARKING ONLY" but averted when he saw Helen's fuming face.

"...But if you want to park someplace else ---"

"Park someplace else, are you kidding me?! When you two doofuses are the ones who swerved into the spot I was parking in first? What is the matter with you? I swear all you millennials do is think of yourselves with your blue hair and piercings!"

His partner who re-joined them, cart in hand, furrowed a brow. "We're Gen-Z, though?"

"Ugh!" She'd had enough. The two boys looked like they were struggling with the same braincell trying to understand why they were in the wrong. Well if they couldn't understand, she would find someone to make them.

"Excuse me...excuse me!?" She called out several minutes later, as she paced the store searching for an employee.

"Yes, ma'am?" a young black woman in an employee uniform answered. She looked to be in her early 20s, with frizzy afro puffs, dark eye makeup, and face piercings. Her expression looked less than thrilled.

"Yes...

Rhaven

," Helen squinted to read the girl's name tag. "Those two young delinquents back there nearly hit my vehicle and stole my parking space. I feel utterly violated right now!"

Rhaven craned her neck to see the two "delinquents" outside walking peacefully to the store.

"I see... and what would you like me to do for you, ma'am?"

"Well first I'd like you to make them apologize for almost hitting me and giving me a heart attack! Then I want you to tell them to find someplace else to park! "

A sigh. "Ma'am, did you reserve the spot with us in advance?"

"Well, no--"

"Was this a designated spot for the handicapped or elderly?"

Helen's face flushed. "Well - uh, no- "

"Then it's first come, first served. It's out of our hands."

"Gah - out of your hands! Surely, there must be someone here who has something to say about this. Where is your manager?"

"I'm the manager for the night. And I'm asking you to either kindly drop this and continue your shopping like everyone else. Or find someplace else to shop. We're almost at closing time."

Helen blinked in shock. She turned to see if anyone was witnessing this attack on her but found no one. Only a large, bearded man a few feet away with a biker's build and tattoos.

"I have as much right as anyone else to shop in this store. I've been a shopper here for 42 years...42!" She hissed, clutching her purse. She grabbed a shopping cart and began walking away from the less-than-helpful employee.

Then, she stopped and said. "And by the way,

Rhaven

, you could stand to wipe off that makeup and remove those piercings from your face when you're in a customer service position. It would help you look more professional."

Rhaven appeared unfazed. "Sure, lady. Store closes at 10."

***

It was 9:45 p.m. and Helen still hadn't checked off all the items in her grocery list. She was still steaming over her conversation with the sassy black employee, who not only refused to help her, but insulted her. The gumption of that wannabe punkster!

She stared back at her grocery list in hand. Eggs, milk, butter...but no cheese. She needed cheese to make a nice red velvet cheesecake for her grandkids and didn't want to leave the store empty-handed, but the only employee in the store was the sassy Rhaven, who appeared to be talking to a gang of three burly men with long goatees and tattoos down their arms.

She baited her breath.

"Excuse me... I need some attention in this aisle, please?"

Rhaven broke her conversation with the men to look in her direction. Then she sighed as she realized who was beckoning her. "In a minute, ma'am."

"It would only take a second--"

"In. A. Minute. Ma'am." The black girl repeated herself like a mother scolding her child.

Humph! Helen didn't even want to dignify her with a response. She drummed her nails on her cart and seethed, waiting for their conversation to end.

A loud clash took her out of her thoughts. Four animated voices grew louder and louder until a rattling noise followed by a high-pitched squeal tore through the air.

This time when Helen peered around the aisle, the front desk was empty, none of the four parties in sight. Merchandise lay strewn across the counter, as if a scuffle had taken place.

"Hello?" She called out, walking to the register. Silence.

Out of the corner of her eye, a black button shimmered on the floor. It looked like one of the buttons on Rhaven's employee vest, but Helen couldn't be sure.

"Hmmm." She muttered.

The wall clock buzzed: It was 10:00 p.m, closing time, and a signal for the attending employee to check out the last customer and lock down for the night. But except for a lone motorcycle on the far end of the lot, she was the only patron here.

Did some altercation happen between the black girl and those men?

'If so, then good on them', Helen thought snidely. 'That black bitch got whatever was coming to her'.

But that also meant her grocery shopping was done for the day. Disappointed, she ambled her way to the self-checkout lane to ring her things.

As she did, a large presence came into view. It was the same bearded man from before who had witnessed her get humiliated by that black girl.

He was a mountain of muscle with ivory skin, a long gray goatee brushing his beer belly, and a cropped vest exposing long metal chains and tattoos down his arms.

He tipped his biker hat to her. "You have a good day, ma'am."

She felt an uneasiness about him that she couldn't place her finger on but said. "You too, sir." and gave a strained chuckle at the emptiness around them. "You'd think someone would be here by now to help us. No sense of service these days."

The man gave a throaty laugh. "Well, you won't have to worry about bad service anymore. It's about time those people started treating us with respect."

Helen blinked, unsure of what the man meant. But she gave a hesitant nod. "Oh, I agree." She said. Then with an awkward smile, she turned to fish her receipt out of the checkout machine.

What she didn't see was the swastika symbol on the man's arm that had faint scratch marks from where a female hand had clawed at.

As the man headed for the store's exit, he stopped and turned. "Oh, and just to let you know. The bathroom in the store is out of order. So, you may want to use the Johnny out back if you need to take a leak."

Helen nodded and watched the man leave the store without another word. She wanted to ask him where his other partners were and what their argument with that Rhaven employee was all about. But she held her tongue.

Now that she was alone, she realized she did have to pee. All this driving, sitting in traffic, and shopping was testing her 63-year-old bladder.

The bathroom 'out back' was an outside portapotty. She walked at a brisk pace towards the back of the store until the standing portapotty came into view.

There was a...pungent smell, a smell she didn't even realize COULD come out of a toilet. Ugh, if it wasn't millennials bothering her, it was men with their disgusting hygiene.

There she stopped cold at the following spray-painted words

"NIGGER SERVICE OPEN 24/7. WILL RESPECT ON COMMAND. "

My my...she hadn't seen that word since...well since it was still used in her day. But who would spray this on the portapotty door? And what did it mean by "will respect on command"?

A soft groaning on the other side startled her out of her thoughts. A war of emotions raged in her head before her curiosity won out and compelled her to turn the knob.

Helen gasped.

In the center was the toilet, a small, smelly putrid white thing. But next to it was a sniffling naked Rhaven with shackles binding her arms and legs to the wall.

Her uniform or what remained of it was tattered on the floor in a pool of yellow mystery mess. Her hair was a rat's nest, her two afro puffballs now ragged and frizzled out in all directions. Her mascara was runny, all down her cheeks and her black lipstick was smeared across her lips. There were splotches of blood where her piercings were - ouch - the only item on her body fairly intact.

Yes there was definitely a scuffle.

"NIGGER TOILET" and "TOILET WHORE" were written in white across the alt black girl's frame. Over her small but perky black breasts, and petite toned legs. What's more, a circular metal ring gag with black straps was clamped over the girl's mouth. It forced her mouth wide open rendering her unable to scream or cry out for help. Every time her mouth moved, the ring pushed itself around its inner corners like some medieval oral torture device. She was a muffled, sniffling mess.

"Who - what -?" Helen was speechless.

The girl's big brown eyes peered up, frightened. When she met Helen's gaze, she broke out sobbing, the metal ring still locking her mouth in place.

She felt for the girl.

But she also had to pee.

"Shoot, shoot, shoot!" Helen couldn't wait anymore. She prayed to God for forgiveness as she scrambled to the gross toilet.

She hovered over the seat to tinkle---No way was she going to let her behind touch that disgrace of a seat--- pulling her pants down to her knobby ankles and sighed. A stream of the day's waste exited her body and into the dark pit of the John.

Helen finally felt some sordid relief as day's anger and frustration trickled out of her mature pussy and into the John. She reached behind her for a roll of toilet paper to wipe her bottom but found there was none.

In weak lettering, someone had used a sharpie to write "OUT OF ORDER" on the sill indicating there was no toilet paper or working toilet.

Just great.

Sniffle, sniffle.

Her head whipped around to the black girl still crying. She watched her urinate all this time, no doubt furious that Helen's first instinct was to pee before helping her.

"Oh, don't you give me that look. I would've soaked my panties if I didn't. Then who would that have helped, huh?" Helen chided.

The restrained black girl rolled her eyes with a look of annoyance. Helen caught a whiff of the black girl and recoiled as an acrid odor flooded her nostrils.

Whee-eew! Now she knew where the stench was coming from. It dawned on her. The graffiti. The piss-soaked floor. The naked trembling girl. The biker men didn't just vandalize this potty. They used the girl as their porta potty!

Helen was appalled. People could be that nasty?

But then her thoughts went to how animated the voices of the three men and the girl were back at the store. The young girl probably mouthed off and said something to make the men react. The mouth ring clamped over the girl's mouth only reaffirmed her suspicion.

"Humph. I bet you wished you had waited on me now, huh? I guess this is what happens when you don't respect your elders. At least the white ones, anyway."

The black girl's eyes widened, and her mouth attempted to move to protest the woman, but as predicted the ring gag stifled her.

Helen dismissed her. She stood over, looking for any toilet roll hidden under or behind the girl. The girl cowered back.

"Oh, please! I'm not a man. If I wanted to punish you I would've washed out that little sassy mouth of yours with soap. I do need toilet paper though..." She mumbled, scanning the area for a sign for toilet paper or wipes. Heck even a stiff paper towel would do. Nada.

The girl, frustrated, yanked at the metal cuffs shackling her to the hook on the wall.

"Oh jeez! Impatient, are you? You want me to do you a favor when you couldn't even do me a favor - twice might I add? And I even said 'please '. That's what's wrong with you millennials. You're so self-centered. How about you start with an apology first and THEN you can ask me to let you go politely."

The girl's eyes blinked in confusion. Her mouth was gagged. She couldn't form real words without gurgling spit. But she made her best attempt.

"I ---SAAAAAAWWWHHEEEEEEEE---MMMHHHEEEHHHHMMM." Saliva bubbled out of the girl's mouth as she tried to say, "I'm sorry ma'am".

Helen, still naked from the waist down, arched forward and cocked her ear to the side.

"What was that, dear?"

"I ---SAAAAAAWWWHHEEEEEEEE!" The girl wailed, more in frustration than sincerity.

Helen smirked. "Much better. Now ask me to help you, nicely."

A pause. "Puhweeee-huuuuuhhhhh-meeee---miiihhh---"

"Oh dear. I can barely understand you. You youngsters and your mumbling. Say that again?"

"GAAAAHHHHH!!" The girl launched her body at Helen. But she got thrown back by the whiplash of the shackles and fell into a puddle of piss. Her wrists and ankles looked red and raw from her failed assault.

"I thought so." Helen said, narrowing her eyes at her. "You aren't sorry, you're just desperate. And now you want me to help get you out of this mess, so you can go back to being a disrespectful little punk."

In Helen's eyes, all she'd be doing was letting her go back to her old ways. All these dumb young people did was inconvenience her. Her time, town, parking, enjoyment.

And what did she get in return? She got treated like she was the dirt underneath their shoes.

The man's words rang in her head all too clear now.

"You won't have to worry about bad service anymore. It's about time those people started treating us with respect."

Helen wasn't a racist or a cruel person by any means, but something came over her. The Devil on her shoulders was nodding their head in agreement: 'They' should treat 'them' with respect (or at least her more specifically, but why should she be picky about what the man meant).

She felt a tingle in her loins at the realization that for the first time in a very long time she was in control. She held all the cards. And no one could tell her otherwise.

She craved the respect she deserved. And here in front of her lied the perfect opportunity to get it.

"Shut up." Helen snapped. The black girl stopped cold as a different look washed over Helen. She no longer looked like she was thinking of helping her. The girl tried to back away.

"I said, shut up. And stay right where you are, you little hussy. You're going to learn how to treat your elders with some respect." Helen peeled off her pants and panties from around her ankles.

The girl shivered as she got to take a good look at Helen. The elderly woman was now completely naked from the waist down, dripping with piss and arousal. Her pale pear-shaped hips flared out to a jungle grove of thick thighs. Thick blonde pubic hair thatched her mature pussy, and when she leaned over her fat labia spread open to reveal an even thicker coat over her pussy lips. The damp coat was a light iridescent gold in sharp contrast to her coral-yellow piss. Helen folded her garments and set them aside in her purse on a corner of the floor that wasn't piss-stained.

"Since you can't seem to show respect or do your job anywhere else. You're going to suffice as toilet paper for me. I'm going to lift my leg and you're going to lick me until I'm clean."

The black girl shook her head wildly, trying to back further from the lady but hitting the wall instead.

Helen grabbed the shackle binding her left arm and yanked at it, tugging the helpless girl forward until she was face to face with Helen's pink twat. Helen lifted her leg up until the flesh-colored lips spread open for her like a flower.

"I'm the only person left at this store that could help you. If you don't want to spend the rest of the night naked next to a toilet full of piss you better do what I say."

The girl's spirit deflated at her words. It was then she realized the gravity of the situation. She could be stuck here all night in this filthy potty with no clothes, food, or protection from any creep who'd take the chance to do more depraved things to her. She barely had any fight left in her as it was.

Her eyes glistened with tears as she realized her only hope was in this vengeful Karen. She slumped her body forward as a sign of surrender.

Helen smirked. "That's right. Now lick."

The black girl's eyes softened in defeat. She resigned as the white woman lowered her crotch to her gaping mouth. Helen sighed as she felt the tip of the girl's tongue on her dripping snatch.

It was abhorrent, filthy, disgusting, and... the most sensational thing Helen had ever felt. She never felt such pleasure before. Not even with her husband, who sex with had become non-existent. She was used to modest missionary sex intended for procreation. This was pure unadulterated fucking.

The black girl's tongue lashed at her slippery wet opening, lapping at the coral-yellow piss dripping from her cunt like a thirsty dog drinking from a faucet. She tried not to recoil at the smell and made sweeping licks around Helen's clit. Her hot sticky and pierced tongue drew figure 8s on Helen's slick pussy, bathing her clit and vaginal hole in oral bliss.

Helen was in heaven. The older woman's hands quivered on the wall as she tried to keep her balance. Her toes curled with every suction of the girl's lips, which were working miracles on her pussy. The pierced metal ball on her tongue was bobbing up and down her swollen clit like a second female nub tribbing her to orgasm. The girl would then dip her pierced tongue into her love pool, lapping up the ripe nectar from her folds before retreating just when Helen yearned for more.