From the moment that she opened the box Monica understood the message she was being sent. The objects inside were blatant, the significance of one particularly obvious. It was for her to choose whether to take the path indicated.
Monica understood. In 'real life' she was Heather Cameron, the sole daughter of extremely wealthy parents. She was a trust-funded academic researcher and her success was not entirely down to the money behind her. She had an intelligent, seeking, mind and that fact did not change during those, increasingly prevalent, times when she became Monica. When she was able to be the woman that she was becoming ever more aware that she truly was.
As an illustration the old Heather could not have done what she was going to do tonight. It would not only have been unthinkable it would have been impossible. Only now that she was also Monica could she explore her true self.
She picked up the object again. Not for one moment did she even consider declining its implications. She performed shows on the TKB network and the boss of that network, Harley, had caused that box to be delivered to her. It might well have been his idea - Harley was a man who seemed able to look into her very soul. They had made love but they were not lovers. Her experience on the Island with Harley had not made them a couple but it had left her wanting more. Since her return he had been in her dreams, he and the other man. They had been very different except, of course, that they had both been Black, they had both wanted her and they had left her craving more. A craving that could not be satisfied even by that large sex-toy modelled, accurately she could testify, on the Big Black Cock of the porn-star Julius Flint.
It was a dangerous thing. Not so very long ago Heather Cameron might have had desires but the possibility of ever acting upon them had seemed impossible. Not because she could not have done so but because she would never have thought of doing so. That barrier had been collapsing even before she had gone on her trip with Harley. The last fragments had collapsed into nothingness as Harley's Black cock had claimed her very willing white pussy. Maybe even before that.
Had she thought that experience would be enough? She doubted that, that would have been foolish beyond belief. She had already been aware that it was proverbially a step that you could not retreat from. Now she knew the truth of that. There really was no going back. When she had felt her Black lover, her Black lovers, claiming her body and planting their seed deep within her it had changed her. Heather no longer had to play a part as Monica. Now, it often seemed, it was Monica who had to play a part on those occassions when she had to be the old Heather.
Most of all, the hunger had not been assuaged. The need to feel that same thing again, to see his dark cock enter her pale body, to sense his power and know his desire for her. To experience that rush, that intense rush, that only being Blacked could give her.
Monica paused and articulated those words to herself.
'That intense rush.'
She knew what context those words were usually used in. The association with drugs, the 'high' of a user. Drugs, users, addiction - loss of control. She picked up that particular object from the box again and thoughtfully examined it. It would take her further down the road, would tie her ever more tightly into the path that she had chosen. She knew that, all of that, but it never crossed her mind to reject it.
***
Harley was not there. He watched from his home base in another State. This was a show that he would not have missed for the world. That rarest of things for the TKB Network - a show unavailable to the hundreds of African-American Members or the many thousands of white boy subscribers. This was a little private pleasure just for himself and for Izeye. It was really Izeye's party. That man had a fine eye for female talent and he had noticed Monica from the first.
That shouldn't have been difficult. She really was a beautiful young woman. That long, vivid, red hair cascading down over her shoulders, the well-defined, symmetrical features of her face, the pale unmarked skin of her body. The fine lines of her back down to a real fine phat ass like most white girls couldn't even dream of sporting. That whooty alone would have made her the biggest star on his Network but it wasn't what he found most desirable about her.
No - that was her deep green eyes. He had seen a lot of blue-eyed and brown-eyed white girls, even some with green eyes, but none with eyes quite like hers. They radiated intelligence, they told you this fine piece of ass wasn't an everyday slut or money-chasing whore. She was something else. Not the first time he had 'developed' a girl like her but it was always special and unique. It was what kept him in the game. He didn't need the money - though he also didn't turn it away!
His opinion seemed to be shared by the Network's Members and subs. Even a regulation show by Monica drew heavy traffic. Subs had to put their names and money down early to even have a chance of seeing her Challenge shows. He could already charge twice the usual rate - as things progressed that mark-up would increase rapidly if he was right about just how great a prospect this girl was.
Tonight's little audition would tell them a lot. He had left the details to Izeye - the man was a master in his field. Devising the show and also, as a true craftsman, manufacturing what was required.
The countdown began on his screen. Harley made himself comfortable in his deep leather armchair and took a taste of his fine cognac. He enjoyed the finer things in life.
***
Monica had carefully read the instructions provided. She had examined all of the objects provided for her use. She detected the hand of the notorious Izeye in both the objects and the orders. She detected that he, like Harley, was a man who could take her to places that she had never explored before. The objects laid out before her were, she knew, only a beginning if she followed that path.
Her instructions had started simply if a little ominously. 'Always have someone with you in case of difficulties. Always have a safe word. Yours is 'whitebread'.'
The first part was not difficult. That had been arranged for her. George, her college's African-American porter and her regular helper in these shows, was watching the game in the other room. A shout or a hand knocking on the connecting wall would bring him at the run.
