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Summary: In 1970, a black teen turns white racist principal.

Note 1: Thanks to NO NAME, who requested this story.

Note 2: All characters are at least 18 years old.

Note 3: Thanks to Tex Beethoven, and Robert for editing

All White School BLACKED

Principal Jones sighed. It had only been three weeks since she had, oh so reluctantly, allowed three black girls into her heretofore all white private school for girls. A school that was very expensive to attend, which had always meant they accepted only the crème de la crème of the students submitting applications. Which in effect meant that young ladies of colour need not apply (any colour, except that girls with a California tan were waved through without incident). It was also a seniors only school, restricted to students in their final year of high school.

This school was not only the most prestigious in America, but it also had a dozen plus young ladies from across the world attending… mostly diplomats’ children.

Yet it was 1970, and the black Equal Rights movement had been slowly corrupting America, except that her school had been immune to integration because of the excessive cost of tuition. Until three weeks ago. Damn!

The school’s curriculum was designed to prepare women to become leaders in society once they’d completed college, or to marry men of prestige, or ideally, first one and then the other. The success rate was incredible, with alumni in positions of authority throughout the world… often just based on who they married, and how skilled they were in manipulating their husbands.

Men always assumed they were the ones who ran the world, and on a smaller scale the one who controlled their own household… but women were trained here, and later in elite affiliate colleges, how to manipulate men into doing what their wife wanted them to, without even knowing they weren’t the ones making the decisions.

Partly psychology, the rest feminine (and hence sexual) wiles.

Unfortunately, a major contributor to the school, actually the largest and most consistent contributor, a dowager named Cindy Chambers (an informal dowager, having no title but more money than God), insisted on their admitting three girls of her choosing to join the second semester, under the threat of her reversing all her recent contributions, and giving no money in the future. This demand was unheard of, as they had only once before allowed a student to enroll in the second semester in the school’s entire 150-year history, and that had been the daughter of a current Vice President of the United States.

Although Principal Jones had endeavored to convince Mrs. Chambers this was a bad idea, especially once she learned all three girls came from less than privileged upbringings, the long-standing benefactress insisted, making it clear that, in her view, the school needed to be on the cutting edge of social change, and not plodding along reacting to it… which, of course, was very hard to argue against without sounding racist.

And thus, alas, when the second semester began in January, for the first time ever, three black girls became part of the 1970 class of Wellington Private School.

One of the girls, Zehra, appeared to be the principal reason for Mrs. Chambers’ decision. Her mother was Mrs. Chambers’ maid, and apparently she had somehow triggered Mrs. Chambers’ astonishing advocacy. She had been, in previous discussions over the past ten years, completely against the civil rights movement. She not only had a black maid, but also a black cook and a black chauffeur but… of course… no black friends. In truth, her insistence on ending the traditional segregation at the school came as a major shock. At first Principal Jones thought it was a joke, and had literally laughed out loud at the request, before the dowager’s sudden frosty demeanour made her realize it was far from jocular. She then assumed it was a pity project, which perhaps it was. Regardless, these girls were here to stay.

Zehra was a very opinionated and brazen girl, the way Principal Jones envisioned most uneducated blacks. She had been a handful to all of her prior teachers… the only positive being that she was a pretty good basketball player, who helped make the team more competitive.

The second new arrival was Zehra’s best friend Sahara. She was the keeper of the three. A basketball state all-star in both her sophomore and junior years. She and Zehra had made their high school team a serious threat for the first time since the late 1940s.

Wellington won their first four games with the two recent additions to their starting lineup, including… icing on the cake… their trouncing their archrival private school Juniper Private Academy by twenty points in back to back games (a team they hadn’t beaten since before Principal Jones had become principal).

The third black girl was a large young lady known as Big Josie (yes, this was Big Rosie’s mom). She was often a bit abrasive, casino şirketleri and given the advantage of her large frame was incredibly confident, but nevertheless there was no doubt the ringleader of the three close friends was Zehra.

And although she couldn’t prove it, Principal Jones had a hunch that all the strange unexpected actions done by some of her students were somehow connected to the three black girls’ arrival.

For example three days into the new semester, Haley Hamilton, whose father was the CEO of a major (in international terms) oil company, and who was a member of the basketball team who had initially vigorously protested the addition of the two black girls to the team at the last minute (the team had supposedly been finalised in December), was caught masturbating in her chemistry classroom with a marker… a black marker.

The following week Becky Walton, the daughter of a senator from Alabama, her dad well known for fighting integration tooth and nail, was caught sucking off a black janitor in his storage closet when she was supposed to be writing a test.

A couple days later, Daphne McGee, daughter of the mayor of New York, and Zelda Hapsburg, daughter of the man who would have been King of Austria had the monarchy not been relinquished in 1918, were caught in a 69 out in the garden… in clear view of the Principal’s office. Which could not been by accident, although both girls swore that they hadn’t realized where they were.

Lastly, yesterday all three girls had altered their traditional school uniforms, which was a white embroidered blouse with the school crest, a plaid skirt that went down to the knees, and either black, blue or beige pantyhose, which was the single accessory the girls could choose for variety.

Yet three heretofore good girls, sweet girls who had never gotten into any sort of trouble at all, all three members of the prestigious debate club, came to class wearing shortened plaid miniskirts, and stockings held up by scandalously visible garters. On top of that, they were all wearing red stockings… a colour that clashed completely with their traditionally coloured black and blue skirts.

Principal Jones interrogated each of these girls in her office individually, disciplined them with the paddle when they wouldn’t explain why they’d altered their outfits and broken the dress code, watched them all cry, seemingly mortified by their actions, and yet not one of them would tell her why.

It appeared obvious to Principal Jones that this was all the work of a single bully. A puppet master who was pulling these girls’ strings from behind the scenes. Every year had at least one bully, but they usually turned out to be harmless and easy to crush. The fact that each one of these… situations, as she called them… had occurred after the arrival of the black girls, made it pretty obvious that the pot stirrer was one (or more) of three specific girls.

Principal Jones knew she had to crush this insurrection before it got out of hand, or to throw herself onto the mercy of parents who had paid ridiculously good money to send their daughters here. Knowing the culprit had to be one of the black girls, her money was on Zehra, who was obviously the leader of this small ‘from the hood’ group.

So Principal Jones had her secretary summon Zehra to her office via the loudspeakers in all the classrooms, to participate in a very one-sided discussion that would almost certainly include her notorious paddle. Which was part of her intimidation tactics… everyone in the school knew that Zehra Jordan was being summoned to the principal’s office to be disciplined

But Zehra was far from intimidated. She walked into the Principal’s outer office enthusiastically. She’d already turned a dozen of her white peers into pussy licking pets for her and her two friends… and was now pondering which dumb bitch racist teacher she should turn first… but deep down, she knew if she wanted to take charge of this school, she’d need to start at the top, by taking down the top dog.

Zehra had played her game very patiently so far. Excelling in her classes, openly respecting her teachers, even though they mostly didn’t seem to respect her or her two close friends, and following all the rules…. while behind the scenes she was working with her two friends to systematically seduce every girl in the school.

Truth was, it was very easy. Most white girls are naturally submissive, something Zehra had learned quickly when dealing with the bitch Cindy Chambers, who had treated her mother so poorly for years. One day Zehra had had enough, stormed over to the bitch’s mansion and after verbally lambasting her, she felt a rush of black power. It was the aftermath of the wild 1960s and the black movement for equality after all, so she turned the bimbo bitch in her late fifties into her submissive… then her two daughters, and later her sister and mother.

Now Cindy, her daughters, sister and mother were casino firmalari all secret maids during the day for a dozen different black families, while wearing the humiliating traditional maid uniforms. Their duties, in addition to all the housework, included servicing the pussies, eating the asses, sucking on the tits, and massaging the feet of black women… for any act of wrongdoing the white maids did, such as questioning an order, tardiness (for any reason whatsoever), working too slowly or unthoroughly, led to a spanking, an ass fucking, a fisting, and for Cindy’s rather defiant eldest daughter… a gangbang in the hood.

One thing was clear: you didn’t fuck with Zehra, her friends, or her family.

Zehra sauntered into the office and said to the surprisingly pretty secretary, as she blew a bubble with her bubble gum, “You beckoned? Why am I here?”

“Your name?” Mrs. Ashley asked, looking down her nose at the black girl with disdain… she didn’t deserve to be in this school.

“You should already know what it is, you called it out for everyone to hear not five minutes ago,” Zehra responded, taking note of the look and tone of someone who thought she was superior to her. Instantly, this redhead had earned herself a spot on her turn list.

“Name,” Mrs. Ashley repeated and added, already annoyed by this black girl, and not even trying to hide her utter disdain for the black teen, “and don’t give me any of your sass.”

“Sass?” Zehra asked, actually laughing at the word. She countered, not one ever to back down, especially after discovering the sexual power she could easily assert over unknowing, usually racist, white women. “I think you’re the one who’s sassing me.”

“Enough,” Mrs. Ashley said firmly.

“Enough of what?” Zehra asked all innocently, loving to rile up white women, who were accustomed to treating black women as beneath them.

“Enough of your attitude,” Mrs. Ashley said, annoyed by the disrespectful tone of this black bitch.

“Sorry,” Zehra apologized with a full dose of sarcasm, as she blew another bubble. “I treat people the way they treat me.”

“I’m the adult here,” Mrs. Ashley said, standing up from her desk, attempting to loom intimidatingly. But as she was eight inches shorter than basketball player Zehra, it didn’t work.

“So?” Zehra questioned her elder, having always been amused by how adults thought they should be respected simply because they’d been around longer.

“So I deserve to be treated with respect,” she asserted loftily, somehow thinking by standing up she’d intimidate the teen, as she expressed the same opinion Zehra had just pondered.

“I beg to differ; respect is something to be earned,” Zehra clarified, already knowing this bitch was going to be eating her pussy and getting a strap-on dick in her ass soon. “And if you’re the adult here, you should be acting like one, instead of trying to throw your weight around like a schoolyard bully.”

Mrs. Ashley was getting angry, as she wasn’t used to being talked down to by a student, especially by a black one.

Zehra decided to push the envelope further by adding, while taking the gum out of her mouth and pressing it onto the secretary’s desk, “Besides, you’re just a secretary, so you don’t have the right to be respected.”

“And you don’t even deserve to be here!” Mrs. Ashley said bluntly, so angry at the moment, even though she knew she shouldn’t say such things out loud.

“Because I’m black?” Zehra asked bluntly, standing right in front of her and literally looking down at her.

“No, of course not,” Mrs. Ashley lied, realizing she’d made an error, and decided to end this conversation by spinning around and walking into Principal Jones’ inner sanctum. Zehra smiled at how easy it was to push white women’s buttons.

“Zehra is here to see you, and she’s been very disrespectful to me,” Mrs. Ashley reported.

Principal Jones sighed, “Send her in.”

“She needs to be disciplined, and shown how to respect an authority figure,” Mrs. Ashley insisted.

Zehra walked into the office, not waiting to be beckoned, her tone dripping with obvious condescension, “Like I said secretary, respect must be earned.”

“You little…” Mrs. Ashley was cut off before she could say another word.

“Please leave us alone, Mrs. Ashley, and close the door after you,” Principal Jones intervened, a little surprised to see Amber so riled up; her closest friend was ordinarily a very calm person.

Amber wanted to continue her diatribe, but she just glared at the ignorant black teen and walked out, closing the door behind her with extra gentleness, although she obviously wanted to slam it with a loud bang.

“Take a seat, young lady,” Principal Jones said with another sigh.

“My name is Zehra,” Zehra corrected the older white woman, establishing right off the bat she wasn’t like every other student.

Principal Jones didn’t wish to start a fight over generic nothingness, güvenilir casino so she apologized, “Sorry, Zehra, it’s just a term I use for all the girls I meet with.”

“Actually, it’s Ms. Jordan,” Zehra corrected the principal again, deciding to push the hierarchy.

“Excuse me?” Principal Jones asked, surprised by the girl’s brazen attitude.

“I prefer to be addressed by my last name,” Zehra said, although that wasn’t true. Her preferred manner of being addressed was Mistress Zehra, but that would come later… perhaps in just a few minutes.

“Well, that isn’t really how we do things here,” the principal said.

“You don’t treat people with respect?” Zehra asked, playing the equality for all women card, buttressed by the fact that the last decade had been a slow but steady positive movement for women.

“Well, of course,” Principal Jones responded, realizing she had to word this carefully. “But there is still a hierarchy in any school.”

“Why?” Zehra asked, as she finally sat down, seeing she’d already rattled the woman, who was used to being in charge and never questioned.

“It’s a matter of respect,” Principal Jones answered, getting a little annoyed by the conversation. “Which, speaking of respect, what did you say to Mrs. Ashley?”

“She treated me like I was less than her, so I treated her that way in return,” Zehra responded.

“I expect all my students to treat the adults here with respect,” Principal Jones stated firmly.

“And I expect all adults here to treat the students, including the poor dumb black girls, with equal respect,” Zehra said, throwing the race card right out there.

“Are you implying adults here are treating you poorly, based on your race?”

“I’m not implying, I’m stating it clearly,” Zehra said, enjoying rattling this woman who was usually in control. “The teachers here don’t respect me, Sahara or Josie.”

“Sahara, Josie or I,” the principal corrected.

“Actually, in that sentence it’s me. The teachers here don’t respect ‘I’ doesn’t make grammatical sense,” Zehra corrected the principal. Since she was black, she was always underestimated by her teachers, and her average grades hid the truth that she was really fucking smart… she just hated the pretentious bullshit that is and always has been a hallmark of school. With a slightly smug smile, she added, “Perhaps you would care to join our next grammar class.”

Principal Jones could feel anger beginning to bubble inside her. The only thing she hated more than getting attitude from a student, was being corrected by a student. She said, ignoring the correction completely, and the smug tone that went with it, “Here at Wellington, we expect our students to follow the rules, Zehra.”

“Am I not following the rules, Sarah?” Zehra asked back, using the principal’s first name, knowing that would rattle her.

“Excuse me?” Principal Jones asked, standing up, as she felt her cheeks burn red.

“What?” Zehra asked playing dumb, even though she knew exactly why the principal was upset.

“You shall address me as Principal Jones,” she said firmly, getting really angry at the smug attitude of this girl, regardless of her race.

“And if I don’t?” Zehra asked, looking up at the red-faced woman.

“You’ll be disciplined,” Principal Jones threatened, having had to paddle many girls during her time here.

“I bet you’d like that,” Zehra smirked, not at all fazed by the threat, but rather looking forward to it.

“Get up,” Principal Jones ordered, grabbing the teen’s shoulders and pulling her up.

“I’m up,” Zehra said, still showing no signs of fear.

Principal Jones was now running on anger, which continued to keep growing from this black girl’s disrespect. What was the most surprising was the teen’s lack of fear. Principal Jones had a reputation she’d built over a decade, of running this school with an iron fist and a wooden paddle. She very seldom had repeat offenders. “Bend over my desk,” she ordered.

“Mmmmmm.” Zehra moaned, as she bent over the desk, “usually I make my girlfriends take me out for dinner first.”

“What, at some fried chicken place?” Principal Jones stereotyped rudely.

“I prefer fish,” Zehra retorted, not sure the rattled principal could possibly catch on to the sexual innuendo, although the principal had sealed her fate when she’d made a stereotypical comment about poverty and race.

Principal Jones went to her desk drawer, opened it, pulled out the wooden paddle she sadistically enjoyed using, and returned to the black girl, who was now obediently bent over.

“You shall learn discipline,” Principal Jones said, a phrase she was famous for. One that for years had made her students cry out and tremble with fear.

Zehra wasn’t backing down as she responded, “Maybe you’ll need to learn discipline.”

“Excuse me?” Principal Jones asked, hearing the words, but shocked by them. No one had ever talked back to her at this juncture.

“Well, to be perfectly clear, I think you’re a submissive lesbian looking for a young black Mistress to take you in hand and train you,” Zehra accused confidently, actually lifting her skirt to reveal she had on a pair of crotchless pantyhose, and no panties.

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