A powerful story of an unfortunate girl. I admit, I do hope Richard or someone "rescues" her - but I suppose there are advantages to the school of having such a teaching tool at hand. Still, they're cheap enough to replace...I didn't intend to write a story at first when I exchanged our fancies related to school with another member via PM. But my post somehow grew into one before I realised. So, I'm posting it here after I get permission from her:
A Schoolgirl's Dream
The only education allowed for a coloured girl - or a "chink" as they call us - like me is a slave training course which includes learning various submissive positions or how to pleasure my white masters and mistresses sexually.
However, it is in school that now I'm spending most of the days. In fact, I'm rarely allowed outside this private school since I was purchased by the schoolmaster to perform all the menial duties that the students and teachers find to be below their status.
I regard myself fortunate to be a school slave, though. I'm not pretty enough to be a house pet of some affluent Master anyway. And I'm even allowed to wear some loosely fitting rag over my naked body here - a privilege not many slave girl enjoys.
Of course, it has nothing to do with any merit I may have or even with my modesty. It's necessary a measure to prevent the students from acquiring a "degenerate taste" of using such an ugly, low-grade work slave for unintended use. I only hope it was as effective as the teachers think it is, though.
So, I usually go around the classrooms or toilets in my bare feet to mop the floor or clean the urinals most of the time when I'm not chained in the basement for the night. Even though I'm expected to stand aside and keep my head low whenever I come across students or teachers on a corridor, I can't help stealing a glance at them especially when it's a female student of my age. I envy how merrily she laughs, what clean clothes she wears, and how good she smells when I pass by her, even though I'm usually greeted with a look of disgust and contempt.
I have more problematic relations with the boys, however, as they often drag me outside to a shady recess where they grope me or even made me give them an oral service. Of course, I'm well past the stage when I feel too ashamed of being used like this. But the problem is, when they get caught by a teacher, it's always me who receive a whipping, not them.
I lost count of how many times they had tied me up to the big pine tree standing in the schoolyard, while the boys are at most sent to the detention room, watching from the window how I dance and wail naked under the ruthless leather.
But not all male students are bad as there is one particular boy who has saved me from the hands of his more sadistic and unscrupulous friends several times already. I think he is pretty handsome too and I even fancy he may have taken a liking to me.
Of course, I'm not stupid enough to believe a chink girl like me could be anything more than a sex toy for such a white boy from a wealthy family like him. And as a work-grade slave, I'm not even good for that.
But it's not unheard of that a man with a strange taste sometimes buys a low-grade chink that matches his unusual fetish to make her serve him as his house pet. I fancy of being owned by him and serving him as his favourite slave in his household. I blush at the thought of what services I might be asked to perform for him in his bed-chamber at nights.
I know his name is Richard, even though I'd never be allowed to call him by that name even if I could become his favourite slave. Still, it didn't prevent me from fancying how I'd call him "My Richard" as he fondly caresses my naked body in his bed. It was this kind of thoughts which has kept me enduring the hardships of slavery while making me wet when I sleep on the cold concrete floor in the basement, leashed to a nearby water pipe.
At the very least, my fortune would be incomparably better if I can be purchased by his family, compared to be owned by one of those cruel bastards who wager how many pebble stones they can shove into my holes, for example.
But it didn't take long before my fancy was shattered completely. When I was ordered to come in by Mr Anderson as I was walking past his classroom. I thought it odd because I was never allowed in when there was a class before today. He is a middle-aged man with receding hairlines whom I occasionally met during my cleaning duties. But I don't know him well beyond that because teachers don't usually touch a low-grade slave like me, unlike some boys do. Nowadays, everyone owns a chink girl or two at home, and if I looked as beautiful as those girls, I wouldn't be mopping the toilet floor here.
After leaving my floor mop and the water bucket outside, I timidly stepped inside with my head demurely down. Still, I managed to learn that it was a biology class from the crude sketch of what I believed to be the cross-section of a female body on the whiteboard, even though I couldn't understand any of the letters written there. But I didn't have enough time to think about it further because Mr Anderson ordered me to strip, in front of all those eyes!
I got appalled and hesitated before feeling a vicious slap on my cheek. The few gasps from the girls immediately got drowned by the roar of jeers and laughter from the boys. Realizing that I have no other choice, I turned my back to the students and pulled down the rag, which has been covering my humble Asian features from the scrutinizing eyes.
I put my hands upon my breasts and furs as I stood naked while waiting for the next order. But my pitiful attempt at keeping my modesty proved futile when the teacher grabbed my hair and roughly spun me to face the students again, ordering me to climb up the table.
As soon as I complied the command, he grabbed each of my ankles to position them at the farthest corners. It splayed my legs as widely as possible to reveal my womanhood to the full view. The boys get wild at this point, some whistling and some even throwing paper ball to hit my fully exposed folds. Mr Anderson had to spend considerable time to calm them down, and I bit down my lips to suppress tears and turned my face away from the crowd.
It was the position that I had to keep for the next 30 minutes while the teacher explained various features of a female reproductive system. As his pointing stick pokes around my sensitive skin, I had to stretch my labia or pull back the fold to expose my clit with my own fingers because he didn't want to touch my unwashed vagina with his hand.
He once commented how my vulva has such a darker, and "dirtier" colour compared with the ordinary - which means 'white' - girls of my age because it's one of the traits of the inferior race to which I belong. At one point, he made me pull my hole as wide as I can with my fingers then he thrust his pointing stick inside me. I jolted and squirmed my hip as I felt the polished wood glides upon my wrinkled recess.
My reaction reanimated the boys once more, especially when I yelped quite loudly as the teacher patted on the head of his stick to make sure it reached at the end of my cave. He pulled the glistening shaft to show the students how deep a female vaginal tract is, although he didn't forget to mention that relative shortness of the length which he attributed to my race again. He joked about the small size of their vaginal opening to be one of the few redeeming qualities that those female species from that ugly but naturally servile race have. It drew a knowing smile from some of the boys while making a few girls who understood the implication blush with embarrassment.
Satisfied with his own joke, Mr Anderson thrust the wet end of the stick under my nose, and I knew what I'm supposed to do. It's a regular routine a slave girl is expected to perform after serving a male owner. While trying not to smell my own female juice, I demurely opened my mouth to receive his pointing stick and began to clean it.
As I felt funny taste upon my tongue, I could hear many gasps and cries of disgust from the students. They should be well aware of how slave girls like me routinely serve our owners (or anyone they lend us to) to provide sexual pleasure. Still, they probably have never witnessed what degrading rituals we usually perform in our duties before. I tried not to make my motion too vulgar for them, but that was when I found a familiar face among the crowd. It was Richard... my Richard!
Then I recognized the utter contempt in his face, which was contorted with the shock and disgust he must be feeling of me. I closed my eyes as I felt warm tears rolling down my cheeks while cold breeze brushing my still wet and exposed sex.
Suddenly the stick withdrew from my mouth, and I heard a loud slap upon my left breast for failing to follow the next step immediately.
"Please forgive this stupid chink, Sir!" I felt even more ashamed at how quickly I was able to utter those words like an automaton, even before I began to feel the burning pain on my reddened breast. Nevertheless, I managed to grab the end of my greasy and dishevelled hair to mop the surface of the stick clean of my saliva.
"Thank you, Sir," I said meekly and kissed the tip of his pointing stick when I was done drying it with my hair. Probably I shouldn't have done that, however, because it made Mr Anderson raise his eyebrows and scold me, saying "This is a classroom, not a whore house, you stupid animal!" He planted another savage slap on my cheek before continuing his class, possibly being angry at himself for uttering an inappropriate word in front of the students.
The class lasted for another 10 minutes, and I kept my position on the table while dripping the shameful evidence of my involuntary arousal upon the plastic surface. The students drew a sketch of my vagina in their notebook, annotating its individual part with the names they just learned. Richard had to raise his head several times to check the details of my female anatomy, but he's refusing to meet my eyes now.
I wanted to die.
(Image source: www.tanie-auta.eu)