Trigger warning. This includes some non-consent/reluctance, degradation and somewhat intense raceplay/slurs. Aftercare/Romance is not my thing so if it's a requirement for you then this isn't the story for you. This is not for everyone. If this isn't your thing please find something that is. If it is, enjoy! Every character is written to be 18 or older.
There is a rumor that if you want a good recommendation to an ivy league university, you need to visit the teacher's lounge. What you do once you get up there is where the rumors get complicated. At cheer practice I approach some of the other senior girls and ask them if they've ever been.
"It's not worth it!" Leah says, crossing her arms.
"What do you mean??" I ask.
"If you go, you'll have to give Mr.Connors a blow job." One girl says from the circle.
"I heard it was just a hand job." Another whispers.
"But no one has ever been?" I ask.
The circle of girls shake their heads, "No way. But that's what a senior from a few years ago said and I'm not trying to blow some crusty old man for a letter of recommendation!" Leah says, trying to manage her voice level.
Easy for her to say. She was pretty, blonde hair, blue eyed and blue blooded. She didn't need a recommendation from a teacher, daddy would get the mayor or someone to write one for her. For me things would be more difficult. I wasn't even a paying student here, as if my family could afford $20k a year for high school. My family survived, we weren't living in the ghetto like most students assumed since I was one of the few black students, but we weren't like Leah's family. I was poor, black and blue collar. I wasn't ugly but I wasn't desirable by the standards of Rebs Preparatory Academy. I wasn't "fat," but I did have natural curves and though they were long my curls were tight and I hardly ever straightened them. I didn't fit the beauty standard but I had made a life for myself here and I have goals. I desperately want to get into Harvard and that isn't happening without a good letter. If that means giving a hand job, so be it.
The group of girls disperse and I wait for things to die down before leaving the locker room. I walk down to the teachers lounge which resides in the basement. Before I knock on the door I make sure that my uniform is presentable. My plaid skirt is at the right length, my light blue button up shirt is perfectly tucked in and my knee high socks are perfectly straight. I brave up and knock. The voices on the other side get a little quieter and then Mr.Connors open the door.
"Yes?" He asks.
My palms are sweaty and my backpack strap begins too slip, "I ca-," I clear my throat, "I came to ask about a letter of recommendation."
Mr.Connors looks me up & down, smirks and then turns into the room, "There's a student here looking for a letter of recommendation. Anyone willing to write her one?" He asks the room.
I hear laughs coming from the room and three teachers exit with their things. The art teacher, Mrs.Orthel looks me up and down on the way out and slumps, "What a pity. I wish I had the time." She says before walking towards the stairs.
Mr.Connors ushers me into the room. The only teachers left are him, Mr.Peters a math teacher and Mr.Trudell the American history teacher. They sit sipping coffee or with their arms crossed on the brown leather sofa.
"So, you need a letter of recommendation?" Mr.Trudell asks.
I nod, "Yes sir."
"This one is polite." Mr.Peters says.
"Who told you to come down here?" Mr.Connors asks.
"No one. I mean, I just heard rumors of where to go." I say.
"And these rumors, did they say you had to do anything?" Mr.Connors asks.
The men start to chuckle.
I look up at Mr.Connors, "They say, I'd have to give you a handjob." I say.
Connors & Peters burst into laughter but Trudell stays serious, "You think that's fair?" He asks.
I look at the other two men but Trudell approaches me, coming into my circle. "Do you think we're giving away ivy league worthy letters to our students for hand jobs?" He asks. I can feel his breath in my face.
"How old are you anyways?" Mr.Peters asks.
Mr.Trudell is circling my body as I speak, "I'm 18." I say. And it's true, my birthday was only recently.
"Answer my question." Mr.Trudell says, "Do you think a hand job is a fair trade?"
I shrug, "I don't know."
"I don't think so." Mr.Connors says. The other men shake their heads.
"So, I can't have one?" I ask. I am confused.
"You can have one but it's gonna cost you more than a hand job. Question for you is, what are YOU willing to do for it?" Trudell asks.
"I say we find out." Connors says.
"Never had a black one before." Peters follows.
"I don't know." I say. I try to back away but instead I just stumble into Trudell who begins to peel the straps off of my back.
"Don't go cold on us now." Trudell says. He holds my shoulders tight before forcing a hand down my shirt, "An hour in exchange for your future, I'd say that's fair." He says.
He begins to grope my breast while the other two teachers look on. Is this really happening? Am I really being felt up by my history teacher? I look up to see that Mr.Connors has his dick out and Mr.Peters begins to reveal his. If they don't want handjobs then what do they want? Maybe just to watch. I hope it's just too watch. His touch makes my skin crawl and I'm not sure how much more I can take.
"Three white masters... Three thick white dicks.. One nigger girl." Trudell says.
My jaw drops. The other two teachers smirk.
"Sounds like a traditional American fantasy to me." Connors says.
"No, no. Wait." I say trying to pull away. Mr.Trudell grips me tight forcing me towards the couch where the other two men sit with their dicks in their hands. The closer I get the larger the dicks get. They didn't look so big from a distance. Mr.Trudell forces me to my knees and even though I try to resist him I am no match.
I start to cry, "I don't want the letter anymore." I say.
The men laugh and Mr.Trudell begins to force my head down to Mr.Connors crotch. I gag at the smell. Does he shower??
"Yes you do." Mr.Trudell says. He forces his fingers into my mouth and opens it wide. With Connors guiding my head his dicks does end up in my mouth.
"That's right, take this white dick in your mouth." Connors says forcing my head down further.
I can barely breathe. Mr.Peters is jerking at his dick right next to my face. He rubs the tip onto my face and I feel the warm precum.
"Hm. Mrs.Orthel would've loved this paint project." Peters says.
"And this contrast of color." Trudell jokes. The men laugh.
Using my hair Connors guides my head up and down. I try to push up on his knees but Trudell yanks my arms back and ties some kind of fabric around them to restrain them.
"You people always expect things to just be given to you. Not today. Now, be a good little nigger and work for what you want." Trudell says.
Connors starts to move my head faster and jerk his hips causing me to choke on his dick.
"I need some of that." Peters says. Connors pulls my head up and before I can take a breath Peters dick is in my mouth. It is a bit shorter than Connors but what it lacks in length it makes up for in girth. It makes my cheeks hurt trying to take it all. "Good girl." He says as he throws his head back. I close my eyes. I don't know who is doing what, I can't stand to look. I feel my clothes leave my body and statements about my body. I don't care about the letter. I just want to leave.
All of a sudden I feel a warm disgusting liquid fill my mouth. I start to feel like I'm going to throw up and try to break free of Peters hold. Finally he pulls me off and I try to spit the goo out but Mr.Peters covers my mouth with his hand, "Nope, that's good white man cum. You better fucking swallow it or I'll let you choke." He says. He holds my head back and I feel like my neck will break. I try to resist but he doesn't let up and I force myself to take a swallow the mouth full of cum.
