Everything was perfect. She had on black underwear and stockings. Black knee length tight pencil skirt, And a long line striped shirt and black belt. ...s she slipped on her her black stiletto shoes a heel breaks, she swears under her breath. She has to put on the red ones, not as high or sexy, but never mind. She calls the office to get the address. She is informed that today she has been asked to work at someone's home. Seems they have an office there. Well paid job, so that what counts she is. I gasp in pleasure, "No one! I don't use them on anyone." "Oh, you expect me to believe you're a good girl?" The tips of the whip are trailing up my legs, inching closer to my aching pussy."Yes, I'm a good girl," I manage to moan as the fringes reach my cunt. He proceeds to tickle me with the fringes, causing me to buck and squirm on the bed."I didn't know good girls had whips and handcuffs," he muses. "You must be one of those rare good girls- good in bed."I can't take it anymore. He keeps. As arousal set in, I began to feel warm and flushed and my fanny began to throb. I turned right at the next crossroad that led to the river. We parked under a secluded crop of trees, mostly surrounded by high brush. We got into the back seat and began kissing and necking. Rebecca was visibly aroused, trembling and panting. She said she was all wet and wanted me to massage her and put my fingers in deep, all five of them. She wanted to feel them way inside and wanted to cum that way. She pulled. She collected books on pre-colonial African history and Haitian history. Her bedroom walls were filled with pictures of Black intellectuals, political, media celebrities, athletes, entertainers and academics. This young woman was a student of Black Life. And I loved that about her. V.C. showed me a side of Ottawa I never knew existed. Apparently, not all Black men and Black women in this city were self-loathing and assimilation-craving sell-outs. Quite a few of them were proud of their Black.