BLACK POWER (A BWWM COLLECTION)By: Dana Cruise
By Dana Cruise
I’m a good girl.
I live at home with my very strict, very religious parents. I'm a black girl living in a very white town, I go to a local community college, and I volunteer in the neighborhood. On Sundays we all go to church and after school I sit at home and knit, before telling my parents that I’m going to join my friends at a local coffee shop, to study and talk about The Bible. I dress in my very conservative clothes, skirts never above the knee, shirts never showing any cleavage, and kiss my mom and stepfather on the cheek and wish them a good night, before hopping into my car and turning out of the driveway.
I then drive to the strip club in the city where I perform naked in front of hundreds of horny men, every week.
There’s always been a seedy side to me. My mom was born a poor black girl and did whatever she needed to do to survive. Her brothers were in and out of prison, her dad went missing when she was seven.
Which is exactly what happened to my birth father. He went out one day for a pack of cigarettes and never came home – leaving my mom and me alone and penniless. We scrimped, we stole, we took whatever handouts we could get. When my mom met the man who would eventually be my stepdad we were saved.
He's so different to us. He's middle class, very conservative, and very white. I sometimes wondered what he saw in her – in us. When I first met him I certainly didn't think that he'd be the kind of guy who was attracted to black women. The events that unfolded though told me that black girls were certainly his 'type'.
When I was younger I discovered my body and would spend any precious moment alone playing with myself - using whatever I could find to get myself off. I would take long hot showers, directing the stream of hot water onto my tits, my stomach, and my pussy. I would take travel sized shampoo bottles and push them into myself, into my ass, into my wet pussy. I would lie on my bed with my fingers all over myself, diving into my cunt, toying my clit, pinching my chocolate nipples. I would dream of the day when a man would take control over me, tying me down and fucking me senseless.
A white man, preferably.
I don't exactly know why, but I've always had a thing for white guys. I've had so many people tell me that I should stick to my race, but there's something about the white skin of a guy against mine. I guess I love the contrast, the ebony against ivory feel – the taboo. What I didn't know was how much I would enjoy the extra taboo...
All in all, though, a strip club is a perfect place for me to work.
I first had the idea when I was talking with Carol - one of my friends - at the coffee house. Back in the days when I would actually go to the coffee house in the evenings. We were talking about ways to make some extra money to pay for a spring break vacation to Mexico, and were going through the typical available options.
“You could work at a fast food place?” she said, trying to lift my spirits. She didn’t have to get a job, her parents are rich and generous. She pulls into the school parking lot in her new Mercedes and always wears the latest fashions. If she wasn't a friend I'd be happy to call her a prissy white bitch to her face. As it is, I just say it behind her back. “They’re always hiring, right?”
“There’s a reason for that” I said, turning up my nose. “They pay minimum wage and treat you like shit. The work sucks and you go home smelling like a burger. Isn’t there something else?”
“The mall?” she said, with a little more hope. “Plenty of stores there looking for clerks. Cute girl like you could work for any of them.”
“Ugh” I said, with disdain. “Minimum wage again and to stand on my feet all day. I dunno. Maybe. There’s got to be a better way.”
“They’re hiring at Whirlwind” she said with a cheeky smile, clearly joking. “You know, the strip club in town – It’s on their billboard, I passed it tonight. ‘Girls needed - amateur night auditions tonight’ it said. There! Perfect for you!”
I looked up at her, aware that this moment had to potential to change my life.
“Okay” I said, nervously. “I’ll do it.”
My heart was pounding as I waited to the side of the stage, waiting for my name to be called. I had driven to the club with Carol, who at every stoplight asked me again if I was serious about doing this. I was, I had never been more serious about anything in my life before, but I was also incredibly apprehensive and just wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible. I had no ‘show’ clothes so decided that when I go there I would just strip to my bra and panties, thankfully matching, thankfully scandalously sexy. Sure, my visible clothes may be ultra conservative, mainly for the benefit of my parents, but my underwear I buy especially for myself at the slutty store in the mall - they make me feel like a sexy young black woman underneath prim, boring clothing. Today I had felt especially horny when dressing and wore my crotchless, white lace panties with a bra that struggled to contain my 34DD boobs. With a quick shedding of my outer layer and a liberal splash of makeup I could go from sweet to sinful in seconds, and I intended to make the most of this ‘audition’.