ANNA'S UNVEILED

 

Anna is a slim, nice 34-year-old woman who teaches English at a school in Grenoble. Her style, while neat, is unremarkable; she doesn't have a particularly keen sense of fashion. Nor is she an exceptionally beautiful woman. Her looks are average, yet there is something so graceful about her feminine nature that it gives her a sublime aura, though it takes a discerning eye to notice. 
To a coarse person, she would leave no impression. 
She is trilingual; she speaks Italian (her native tongue) to perfection, having mastered its grammar through her literary studies, and she also speaks English and French. Her command of the latter two is less perfect; she has a pronounced accent in both, though her proficiency remains good. 
She comes from a bourgeois background, with parents of high social status and cultural capital. This allowed her to pursue extensive studies while working odd jobs. In short, her life has been, both socially and emotionally, moderately satisfying. She is loved and loving; she has never struggled to form romantic relationships and is generally well-liked in friendships, too. 
Her aspirations are relatively modest: to start a family and write a book. Literature is her great ion. Unfortunately, she lacks ambition; her feminine nature prevents her from adopting a more ambitious philosophy of life. Yet, that is precisely what makes her charming. 
Lucky is the man who possesses her, for she is a true servant at heart! 
Beneath the decorated trappings of feminism lies a fundamentally servile soul. 
That is the subject of this short story. 
Indeed, Anna is a fragile personality. She suffers from anxiety and a constant sense of guilt because she feels she falls short of the requirements for being a fulfilled woman; this, combined with society’s view of the modern woman’s role, traps her in an agonizing contradiction: how can she live up to her retrograde feminine ideal when the world she inhabits urges her to become a woman liberated from old-fashioned notions of femininity? 
It is an ime; there is no solution. 
This contradiction weighs heavily on her. 
It exacerbates her urges toward submission: the more the world imposes a conflicting ideal of womanhood, the more the dormant side of her (lurking in her unconscious) pushes her toward unbridled masochism. It is with this train of thought (though not as clearly articulated as it is here) that she walks home one fine summer evening, just before the holidays, making her way through the old streets of Grenoble. 
In other words, she is fantasizing. 
She fantasizes often, and increasingly so. This, in fact, worries her. She feels as though an animalistic presence is prowling within her unconscious. And she dreams of that side subjugating the "princess" within her (the shy, virginal, guileless persona she has adopted as a mask). She often dreams that she is alone with one of her students at the end of class (a specific student, a tall Black lad, the most unruly one, the one who gives her the most trouble during lessons). She sees the other students leaving, while she keeps him behind (yet again) to reprimand him; but then, unexpectedly (despite her own latent desire, which knows she is acting precisely to trigger this moment), he turns around and locks the door without a word.
"But who told you to lock the door?" she asks naively, in her Italian accent. 
"Shut the fuck up," he snaps back at her instantly.
Without hesitation, he grabs her by the collar and shoves her onto his desk. He grabs her legs to pull her toward him, then flips her over.
"W-What?! What are you doing?" she asks, shocked but flushed with pleasure.
"Shut your fucking mouth," he replies curtly once more.
He rips off her jeans. 
Anna has a small ass, but she likes wearing tight jeans to show off her two perky cheeks; she’s not ashamed of having a small, flat butt, nor of making an effort to prove that (despite everything) she *does* have an ass. It is a shame, however, that she doesn't wear thongs, opting instead for rather dowdy panties... 
So, this Black man tears off her jeans while pinning her head against the desk – or rather, slamming Anna’s head down onto the desk as she screams. But all the students are out in the yard; they’re playing and shouting, creating a racket that drowns out the cries for help from little Anna (who is in heat) while her colleagues are in the staff room, on the opposite side of the building from the classroom where said little Anna is trapped... and getting soaking wet! 

Undoubtedly. 
That is what has always worried her most. She had noticed that she tended to get wet whenever the subject of violence against women came up; and she had always been ashamed of it, deeply ashamed. That is why Anna is quick to nod in agreement when her friends display their feminism, why she wholeheartedly embraces all the nonsense people spout about the cause of women. For then she rushes off to lock herself in the nearest restroom and finger herself. In fact, that is exactly what she would like to be doing right now. For her thoughts have never gone beyond the realm of fantasy. She is afraid, terrified – yet she is soaking wet.
"No, not there! Not there!" she cries out in her ridiculous Italian accent, just as the Black man prepares to thrust his penis into her small, tight anus – that holy of holies, a most sacred sanctuary resembling a beautiful rose on the verge of blooming; a magnificent, delicious, and sweet rose, devoid of thorns, whose essence is an elixir of eternal life.
"Stop!" she screams. "Help! Ah!"
She is weeping. The Black man drives his cock into her tight anus and ejaculates prematurely – much to his own shame. Yet the pleasure is overwhelming. At the same time, this brings Anna relief; since her anus is naturally lubricated by the semen, the penis enters more easily. The pain becomes bearable, almost pleasurable. Anna bites her lower lip as the young man continues his thrusting; far from causing him to falter, that initial premature ejaculation drives him to keep going, determined to redeem his honor. In his primate brain, it’s clear that Anna must be left with an indelible memory of his virile vigor and that subsequent orgasms will have to erase the failure of the first one. Then again, I’m not sure his thought process is that sophisticated. Writers tend to overinterpret and constantly project. Right, Anna?
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” she screams, her cries gradually turning into moans.
The problem is, the Black guy just won’t stop ejaculating. He’s cumming, cumming, cumming. And the more he cums, the more lubricated Anna’s ass becomes; but the more he cums, the more ashamed he feels, driving his cock deep into the hot interior of Anna’s rectum. At one point, he even thinks he hears her laughing, laughing like a little whore, like a little slut making a fool of him. Hearing that, he re how many times that slut of a teacher scolded him; he re all the reprimands, the detentions, and so on. So suddenly, he decides to pull out; he grabs Anna by her shock of blonde hair.
“Ow!” she screams. “What are you doing?!”
He shakes her, then tosses her to the ground. She struggles, wriggling like an earthworm, thrashing about; just as her rapist is about to grab her hair again, she suddenly sits up and bites his right forearm. He lets go of her hair and kicks her in the stomach two or three times. That doesn't stop Anna from giggling and snickering, though, like the little slut she is.
“Oumphf!” grunts the Black teenager with the big, dangling cock. He grabs Anna by the hair and rams his penis deep into her throat, mechanically forcing her to gag and vomit.
"Yo, what da fuck!" the student says. "Fuck ya', slut! Clean it off!"
He forces her to clean his penis with her tongue, making her swallow the stomach acid.
"Go on, ya slut!"
Anna seems to derive a certain pleasure from this filthy act.
"You bastard," she whispers, while continuing to suck and clean it at the same time.
"What did ya say, slut?"
The Black student thrusts his hips violently to ram his penis deep into the slut's throat, holding her head in place so that his cock blocks her airway. Anna's mouth is filled with the salty sweat from his penis, cum, and vomit, as well as a bit of piss and blood. Blood as red as the eyes of this young teacher – bloodshot eyes – and cheeks flushed red with shame, fury, and pleasure. Just as she begins to seriously choke, the teenager lets her go.
"Filthy nigger," she says, spitting in his face.
He starts up again immediately. He grabs his teacher's head with both hands and moves back and forth rhythmically. He keeps ejaculating, the fluid dripping from Anna's nostrils. 
But what is going on inside the head of our dear little Anna Baracetti, our beloved little Italian girl, that girl who is both so uptight and so libertine; in a word, of our dear massive slut craving for Black cocks? 
Thoughts and images are racing through her mind. After all, until now, Anna had lived in a yuppie environment. Her two previous boyfriends, both well-bred, respectable Italian bourgeois men, namely Stefano and Edoardo (highly presentable, yet fundamentally utterly mediocre) each seemed to her, at the time, to be the love of her life. Yet deep down, how disappointed she was that neither had the audacity (like that Black young man) to corner her one fine evening and fuck her hard in the ass! How she had longed for an intense affair, a rough, transgressive ion – something far more violent and authentic than those two cozy, bland little romances that lacked any real substance! How much more meaningful her life would have been had someone filled the hollow of her barren womb, not with the absolute reality of a new life born of sperm and egg, but with a staggering load of hot semen, blood, and piss! 
Something failed in both scenarios: on one hand, failure to be the perfect, loving, maternal woman, the child-bearer; on the other, failure to be the adventurous slut – cowardice and the inherent mediocrity of her existence prevented her from ever truly living that wilder life. 
A double failure, then. 
And so, that seemingly ordinary teenager appeared to her as a kind of redeemer, a Christ figure, the ultimate embodiment of what Stefano and Edoardo should have been. He represented the vital sap, the virile strength, the raw vigor of the African savanna, the Bedouin camel driver, and the plantation slave – the true antidote to the decline of the white race and of an aging Italy: that feeble, tottering, bedridden nation withering away for lack of children. One might say, then, that destiny intervened by placing this teenager in Anna’s path, and that Anna is fulfilling her spiritual fatum by getting raped like this. Such is the law of the universe, of reality. And this ecstatic realization erupts across Anna’s face, much like a massive load of cum splatters during a facial; and with good reason – she is taking a pounding, hit by both blows and hot semen. The Black teenager keeps striking her. Anna immediately drops to all fours and arches her back.
"Fuck me in the ass," she says confidently. "Quickly, please."
Faced with Anna’s unexpected, calm strength, the teenager seems to revert to the schoolboy he once was not long ago. He stammers.
"Fuck me in the ass – quick!" she insists. She glances at the wall clock, seeing that the end of recess is approaching. "You fucking Black mongrel," she screams in Italian, "fuck me in the ass!"
The guy keeps stammering, so much so that his cock goes limp. Without a second thought, the Italian slut grabs the flaccid penis and tries to stiffen it with her sucking. She looks like some nymph or naiad – playful and ambling – at the feet of Olympian Zeus, of stormy Zeus; or like a minor, supplicating goddess caressing a supreme, indifferent mass, hoping that, once revived, it might grant a secret wish. And that secret wish, in this instance, is Anna’s cherished desire: to become a consummate slut, liberated from the prejudices of a stupid world and a surrounding society incapable of truly grasping the exquisite pleasure a soul like hers requires. 
"Fuck me in the ass, come on!"
The penis remains limp despite everything. Desperate, she grabs it again to try and force it into her own anus, but it’s a futile attempt, doomed to fail. The penis won't harden, and her anus is too tight to accommodate the flaccid appendage. She begins to weep, making desperate attempts to insert the penis, while the Black guy, dazed and utterly spent from the exertion and the number of times he’s already ejaculated, stays quiet and blissful, finally satisfied with the deed done. A strange contrast: the woman, sobbing her heart out over the fundamental void in her life, and the teenager, feeling a near-mystical sense of wholeness now that his balls are empty.

"Fuck me in the ass, please," Anna begs softly.
A striking contrast indeed: the white woman (blonde with blue eyes) beseeching before this new supreme race, the Black race, brawny and virile, whose semen has coated the woman's rectum.
But it is only a memory, a memory of an unsatisfying dream that occupies her thoughts as she walks home from work. A recurring dream that disturbs her sleep. She takes a deep breath. What will she have for dinner? Risotto? She doesn't know yet. It matters in a small life, knowing what you’re going to eat for dinner, doesn't it? Didn't Saint Paul say, "Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die"? Routine masks the abyss she refuses to plunge into. Besides, she has papers to grade, too. There’s no time to think about "that". As the opaline, saffron-hued moon begins to shine in the sky, scattered, cloud-like wisps of cotton hide the stars. Anna weeps.