Cries of pleasure echoed out from the classroom. Moaning came from a statuesque black woman bent over the desk. Behind her was a powerfully built white man, quickly ramming his lengthy, thick cock into her black pussy. With every thrust of his powerful frame, she cried out for more. Her mind was lit up like a Christmas tree. She never had a white man before, but always dreamed that a white man could make her feel as good as she felt now. Fluids ran down her legs and inner thighs, making a mess of the student's desk.
This was not her student that was eagerly ramming that tight cunt with a generous helping of white meat. It was the new teacher the school hired over the summer. It was hard enough for a ghetto school to get any teachers, let alone a white teacher. But here he was, giving a grade-A lesson on the merits of good staff relations.
A few days earlier
Mr. Knight walked through the halls of the rundown, ghetto school. It was not exactly his first choice of a local full-time position after graduating from school. He wanted to get a job near his home, to give back to the community he was raised in. Politics and a lack of openings kept him from a full-time position, forcing the ambitious guy to seek out experience elsewhere. After some time overseas he figured he'd have to swallow his pride and work from the dirt. Teaching is teaching after all.
Searching through advertisement after advertisement, and getting shot down from job after job, he finally got a call back from this school. It didn't have a name, just a number. PS 69. Not exactly the least lewd of names. He was told it was a tough crowd. Every student was black. Most were poor. Few teachers stuck around for more than a year, if they were lucky. The vice-principal thought he was mad to accept, and told him straight up that if being called a cracker was the worst he experienced, it would be a good day.
Knock Knock
"Excuse me, I'm looking for room 303. I can't seem to find it," Mr. Knight asked.
Inside the classroom sat a young woman behind a large teacher's desk. Her hair was straightened, lips painted red, and she wore a dress suit that hugged her frame to leave nothing to the imagination.
"You must be the new guy. I'm Michelle, Michelle Jackson."
"Knight, Nik Knight. Yeah, I got here early and no one is in the office. Your classroom says 302 but I can't find mine."
"That is because it is in that corner over there?" she said, pointing to the end of the hallway. "It is in the gymnasium."
"I was told I'd be teaching history, not physical education," he said, confused.
"The gym teacher quit a few weeks ago. The principal told us in the staff email you'd be taking that over as well. We also have space issues, and are underfunded. You'll get used to a lot of changes at the last minute. Welcome to Ghetto High, Nik."
"Uh, yeah, thanks for the welcome. Cool, I'll make do. Shouldn't be too hard to teach two subjects."
The comment got a laugh out of the woman. "Hard enough to teach one in this school. Want my advice? Just survive. Not the most politically correct thing to say but you're in enemy territory, stud. I'd keep lifting those weights if you want some of the more boisterous crowd to give you space."
She winked at the man and flashed a playful smile.
"You wouldn't be hitting on me, would you, Michelle?" he asked, smiling back and leaning against the door frame.
His suit looked like it was painted on, barely housing his tall, muscular frame. A full mane of hair hung over his forehead, swaying side to side with each turn of the skull. That smile had the appeal of a magazine model.
"Maybe," she replied, coyly. "Not a lot of white guys in this area, if you get my drift and vanilla happens to be my favorite flavor."
The comment caused the pair to chuckle.
"Thanks for the complement. Feel free to stop by my room if you're ever in the mood for a vanilla shake." He winked at her before leaving to find his classroom.
X
The gym looked run down. A few banners hung from the rafters, denoting a moderately successful past, but the ceiling tiles looked like they would fall at any moment. Two rooms were adjacent to each other in a corner of the gymnasium. One was a half empty storage room, containing barely enough supplies to run even a basic practice. The other was a cramped office that was renovated into a classroom. It looked weird that there was a personal shower room next to the black board, but the man learned early from working overseas to accept whatever the job threw his way.
After an hour of lesson planning, he proceeded to the staff room. Fellow faculty walked in at random intervals. Some looked depressed before even the first days of classes; others looked like the shine of their vacation had a day left. Immediately, the room's mood felt depressive. Nik also noticed he wasn't just the only white person there; he was the only non-black person there.
After some simple pleasantries, it did not take long for the staff to ask the million dollar question. Why?
"This is a great opportunity to gain some in-country experience, and help out the community," he told them.
"So you couldn't get a job at a white school," Mr. Léger, the math teacher said. "Don't worry, we're not here for our health either. We've just become accustomed to the bullshit, collect our paychecks, and leave."
"Best not to get too worked up about being the great white hope," Mrs. Latrell commented. "Most are going to be in slammer in a year. Just focus on the one or two who haven't sold their books for drugs. No one will think less of you otherwise."
It became obvious he signed up for something more than he expected. Nik's work colleagues were not exactly the cheerleading; we're all one people, black power type.
"I heard back from Mark. He is enjoying his new position in Barbados. Lucky guy," Mrs. Latrell said to the group. "If I wasn't married, you better believe I'd be enjoying the beach weather."
"Let us get this over with quickly, ladies and gentlemen. I'm sure you all have lots of prep to do for next week," a lady spoke out after entering suddenly.
Nik looked at her and was immediately taken aback. She was as tall as him, and there were obvious toned muscles hidden underneath her conservative suit as if she moonlighted as a fitness model. Heels clicked rhythmically with each sultry step giving off the vibe her and Michelle were sisters. They both looked similar in build.
"I see you're here on time. That is a good sign, Mr. Knight. It is nice to meet you."
