Erotic provocateur, racially-influenced humanist, relentless champion for the oppressed, and facilitator for social change, Scottie Lowe is the brain child, creative genius and the blood, sweat, and tears behind AfroerotiK. Intended to be part academic, part educational, and part sensual, she, yes SHE gave birth to the website to provide people of African descent a place to escape the narrow-mined, stereotypical, limiting and oft-times degrading beliefs that abound about our sexuality. No, not all Black men are driven by lust by white flesh or to create babies and walk away. No, not all Black women are promiscuous welfare queens. And as hard as it may be to believe, no, not all gay Black men are feminine, down low, or HIV positive. Scottie is putting everything on the table to discuss, debate, and dismantle stereotypes in a healthy exchange of ideas. She hopes to provide a more holistic, informed, and enlightened discussion of Black sexuality and dreams of helping couples be more open, honest, and adventurous in their relationships.

Showing posts with label black dommes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label black dommes. Show all posts

Saturday, October 22, 2016

True Power and Control (discarded ending)

The following is the ending of a story I wrote for my book, In Loving Color, but I’ve decided to go with a much different story line, a much more hardcore one in fact, so this one is no longer needed.  Even though it doesn’t have any of the story details and character development found in all my other stories, you pervs should still enjoy it.

Veronica opened the door and Evan almost lost his balance.  She looked better than he could have even imagined.  Her face was fully made-up; her eyes were smudged with a dark shadow, making them look smoky and mysterious.  She wore a black halter-top and black mini skirt, not fetish wear, skimpy and sexy but sophisticated at the same time.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?  You look like you’re ready to go on a date.  I can come back some other time if you’re busy.”  He was looking for any excuse to turn around and go back to his condo.

 “Come in.”  She stepped to the side and held the door open for him to enter.  Evan felt like his legs were going to give out on him as he crossed the threshold.  He heard the door close behind him and was paralyzed with fear.  He had no idea what was going to happen.  She could have just invited him over to say, “Look leave me alone,” but he didn’t care at that moment.  All that mattered was the fact that he was there and there was the potential to plead his case, however small it may have been.

He sat quietly, taking in his surroundings.  Her living room window faced the city, substantially more moving than his view of the parking lot of the Save-Right grocery store.  Veronica’s view was nothing less than breathtaking and he sat hypnotized by the illuminated urban skyline, trying to distract himself from his fears.  He fidgeted.  A few minutes had passed and he shuffled his feet and twirled his thumbs in nervous anticipation.

Carrying two glasses of wine, Veronica strolled in casually, placing one glass before him and sipping from the other as she sat in the chair adjacent to him.  “What are your limits?”  She was direct and to the point.

“My limits?  What do you mean?”  Evan looked puzzled and immediately tried to back track as his mind raced for an answer that wouldn’t make him look like a total fool.  He had to pull out whatever stops he could to make “this” happen.  He wasn’t quite sure what the details of “this” were, but he was damn sure, well, reasonably sure, okay, almost sure that he wanted it.  “Ohhh, you mean my limits?  Right.  Well, I’m not into kids or animals or anything like that, of course.  You know, I believe the children are our future,” he said, trying to be funny.

Veronica didn’t crack a smile.  “Is that so?”  With that, she began rattling off a list of things that sounded so perverse, Evan didn’t know what half of them were, the others he could figure out and he didn’t like the sounds of them one bit..  “So, you are open to CBT, handballing, feltching, chemical play, golden showers, klismaphila . . .”  It really might as well have been Charlie Brown’s teacher sitting there, mumbling in incoherent banter, because Evan didn’t grasp a word she was saying.  She was testing him and Evan was failing miserably.

He cut her off.  “Wait, are you saying that I’ll get a chance to  . . . you know . . . serve you?”  He chose his words carefully; he didn’t want her to think that he was only trying to play and he wanted to be sure that they were on the same page.  Veronica pulled her legs underneath her and sat back in the chair.  Evan didn’t wait for a response.  He was in survival mode and he started pouring out his plea.  “I don’t know what all those things are.  I know you are more experienced than I am and I know I don’t deserve this opportunity.  If you give me a chance, just one chance, I’ll show you that I can please you.  Even if it means that I endure pain just for your pleasure.  Let me serve you; let me be your plaything.  I want you to take control of me; I want you to reduce me to nothing.  I don’t know why but I feel like I owe it to you.  I know you know more than me but if you just give me a chance I know that I can prove to you that . . . ”

Evan’s declaration of servitude froze on his lips.  Veronica shifted in her seat and he could very clearly saw her pussy between her legs.  She wasn’t wearing panties and she intentionally shifted to give him a view of heaven.  It was as if he’d lost his train of thought and could only focus on the thing of beauty before him.  His gaze remained there, transfixed, glassy-eyed, like a deer caught in the headlights.  He swallowed hard and tried to find the words to continue but he couldn’t.  Two months ago, he was a pompous ass, trying unsuccessfully to get laid.  Today he was pleading his case to be allowed the pleasure of being submissive to an incredibly beautiful and mesmerizing woman.  A woman like he’d never known before.

A wave of insecurity washed over him, he stood, downed his wine in one gulp, and got ready to make his exit.  “I’m sorry.  You’re obviously more experienced than I am and I don’t have a right taking up any more of your time.  I’m sorry.  I promise I won’t bother you any more.”  He looked around for a second, getting his bearings, and turned towards the door.  “I’ll let myself out.  Have a good night.”

“Freeze!”  There was no mistaking a direct order and Evan stopped in his tracks.  He stood like a statue and heard her heels clicking on the hardwood floor behind him.  He felt her presence, her body heat near him.  He shut his eyes tightly; the alcohol was warming his insides, rushing to his head.

“Do you remember, Evan, that first day we met?  Do you remember how obnoxious you were to me?  Playing your offensive music and invading my privacy?  What happened to him?  What happened to that guy who got an attitude because I wouldn’t fulfill his fantasies?  Where’d he go, Evan?”  Hearing her speak his name made him feel weak.  Sweat formed on his upper lip and he worried that his deodorant wouldn’t withstand the stress.  He wanted to run but his feet were glued to that spot.  “The entire reason you are here right now is because I was impressed by your email.  It showed incredible change.  In fact, it turned me on.”

Evan couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  Without warning, he felt the buckle of his belt being unfastened.  His first instinct was to push her hand away but he stood still, not wanting to move until he was instructed.  Veronica pulled his belt free from its loops and circled him slowly, dragging it behind her.  She undid the button on his pants and slowly lowered the zipper.  His pants fell to his ankles and his heart skipped a beat.  His cock didn’t miss a beat, however, and was as hard as it had ever been in his life.  It was throbbing and pulsing and dripping with desire.

Reaching into his boxers, Veronica pulled his hard cock out and stroked him softly.  He wasn’t anticipating such tender treatment; her touch was delicious, soft, mind-blowing even.  He couldn’t control the guttural sounds of pleasure that escaped his lips as she jerked him off, try as he may.  With one swift motion, she yanked his boxers down to mid thigh and inspected him like a piece of meat.  Every millimeter of his penis was standing at attention.  She went about her inspection casually,  squeezing his cock and nuts.  She took her finger, rubbed it across the head, and held it to his lips.  Maintaining eye contact, she whispered, “Lick it.”

Evan instinctively began sucking and licking the precum from her finger.  He was ravenous as she fucked his mouth with her digit.  His enthusiasm was obvious and she yanked her hand away and left him standing there in a state of longing.  Immediately feeling embarrassed he started to explain.  “It’s not like what you are thinking.  I was just trying to show my enthusiasm.”  Shame consumed him.  He’d been eating his own cum since he was a teen.  He didn’t do it all the time, only when he was “in the zone.”  That was the way he described it when he was so horny that nothing could satisfy him, when he craved stimulation.  It was in those moments that he drink his own spunk, rationalizing that it was his so it wasn’t really gay or anything.  He felt transparent, as if Veronica could read his mind, as if she knew all his dirty little secrets without him saying a word.  Evan felt as if the was telepathically transmitting his depravity to her and he was desperately trying to send her false signals.

In some parallel universe, that might have worked.  In this one, however, Veronica was manipulating his every move, two, three, and maybe even four steps ahead.  Evan was out of his league.  “Bend over, hands on your knees,” she said.  Feeling degraded and proud at the same time, Evan leaned forward at the waist and let her continue her inspection.  She pulled his shirt tail up and ran her soft hands over his ass.  Evan would have given anything in that moment to have a big fat bubble butt like a black man.  His was flat, pale, and pretty unspectacular in the scheme of things but he tried his best to stick it out, he wanted her to approve of him.  He never thought feeling like an object could feel so liberating, so sexy.  The irony of the role reversal wasn’t lost on him and his cock jumped even more.  He wondered momentarily if she would look in his mouth like a horse as well.

Unceremoniously, Veronica spread his asscheeks and examined his hole, not touching it, just looking at it.  Even was so humiliated he couldn’t speak.  Then, without warning, he felt the first blow of his belt come crashing down on his ass.  He cried out, not in pain, but more out of fear.  He hadn’t expected things to go like this.  What was going to happen?  What was she going to do?  He wanted to just stop things and call it off, say, “time out” and start over.  The next blow landed with greater force and he knew deep in his soul that he couldn’t leave.  He’d volunteered himself for her pleasure and there seemed to be a karmic debt he had to pay, so he endured in silence, muffling his cries of pain by biting his lower lip.  The heat spread quickly across his ass, the pain grew more intense with each strike.  At some point, reality shifted and the pain turned to pleasure.

Veronica punctuated each stinging blow with a question.  “Do you want to stay, Evan?  Do you like the kiss of pain, the sting of pleasure?  You’ve waited a very long time to be here, haven’t you; you’ve waited a long time to submit to me.  Is it everything that you’d thought it would be?”  She played him like a violin, asking questions he could only answer in the affirmative, forever branding in his mind that the pain he was experiencing was tied to pleasure.  Instinctively, he grabbed his cock and started stroking it.  Veronica stopped the whipping and pressed her body against his, leaning in close.  “Does that feel good, Evan, you like stroking your little cock?”  The words “little cock” turned him on; it was embarrassing and oh so arousing.

“Oh, yes, Mistress, yes, it feels so good.”  He’d never uttered the words mistress before in his life but it felt so natural rolling off his tongue.  He was stroking himself to beat the band, pounding away, feeling her soft breasts pressed against his shoulder, smelling her sweet perfume, feeling the heat on his ass from his spanking.  Even the word spanking seemed erotic, he had just gotten a spanking.  He was ready to cum, to shoot his load all over the floor.  He was prepared to lick it up if he had to, to show his submission.  Just then, with her hand gently stroking his hair, Veronica said, “Evan, I didn’t give you permission to jerk off, did I?  If you cum, I can assure you that not only will I make you pay for it, but you’ll never get the chance to play again.”

Evan panicked.  He was going to cum, there was no holding back, he was on the verge.  He stood up quickly, grabbed his cock, and squeezed with all his might.  His body was convulsing and he was having an orgasm.  He squeezed harder, crying out in anguish.  He was in such excruciating pain but it was also a pleasure like he’d never known.  He stumbled backwards, still gripping his cock tightly, terrified that if he let it go, his cum would leak out.  He used the edge of the sofa for support and tried to regulate his breathing.

Veronica let him take his time.  “Are you okay, Evan?”  He was confused by her compassion but he welcomed it at the same time.  He was expecting her to be cruel, to be irrational and demanding.  Quite the contrary, she seemed genuinely empathetic.  He looked at her with a puzzled look in her eyes and he did his best to communicate his fears to her non-verbally.  He wasn’t as fluent as she was with this language and he questioned in his mind what was going to happen next.

“You were right, Evan, I was just about to go out when you came over.  My girlfriend is on her way and she should be here any minute.  Now, you are more than welcome to stay and  . . . how shall we say it . . . entertain us, or your can call it a night and go home now.  Now, if you stay, you’ll be subjected to more humiliation than your puny imagination can comprehend.

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.  Evan looked around, wanting to pull up his pants and run.  There was no back door.  Maybe he could make a flying leap off the balcony to his.  A million thoughts ran through his mind as to how to get out of there but he didn’t listen to one of them.  His throbbing cock dictated his actions and he stood erect, in more ways than one, while Veronica ushered in her guest.  She actually made introductions, as inappropriate as they were.  “Yvette, Evan.  Evan, this is my friend Yvette.  Isn’t she beautiful?”  The two women shared an intimate kiss that was the stuff of fantasies, right in front of him.

He tried to remain as still as possible, blending in as it were, trying to camouflage himself off as if he were a piece of furniture.  A piece of half naked furniture.  A piece of half naked, completely aroused furniture, if there was such a thing.  The ladies giggled like schoolgirls playing with a doll.  “Ronnie, you are a trip.  Girl, where do you get these white boys from?”  The women, obviously not new to the experience, inspected him together, unbuttoning his shirt and caressing his muscles.  Four hands fondled him while they talked like he wasn’t even there.  “You remember that one that you made do all those brothas at that party, turned him into a sissy.  What ever happened to him?”

“Hmmm, I can’t remember which one you are talking about.  OHHHHHH, him,” the dawn of recognition in her voice.  “I have no idea.”  Evan swallowed hard, trying to drown out his terror from what he had just heard and the casual inference that Veronica had discarded so many guys like a pieces of trash once she had broken them completely that she could barely keep track of them.

Yvette was interested in taking advantage of the situation.  “He’s not that cute but he does have a nice body.  He’s truly not cut out for fucking.  Can you make him eat my pussy?”

Confident and unfazed by the question, Veronica replied, “Girl, I can make him do anything you want, name it.”  Evan’s arousal was tied to humiliation.  He was turned on by the fact that didn’t have regard for his feelings, that they were not afraid to ridicule him, that they talked about him like he wasn’t even there.  “Come on, let me show you the work I’ve done on my new playroom and you can have him use him any way you want.”

Veronica pulled him by his tie, using it like a leash, and the three were off to get into some hot and heavy action, Evan struggling to walk with his pants and underwear around his ankles.  Veronica opened the door to a bedroom and his heart dropped.  The room had been equipped with custom built furniture that was obviously intended for hardcore domination.  The women laughed at his fear, pulled him in the room, and shut the door.  “Don’t worry, Evan, I made sure the walls were soundproof so no nosey neighbors can hear.”

Veronica led him over to some sort of medical table and handcuffed him to it.  The steel cut into his flesh, they were too tight but he dared not complain.  The ladies finished undressing him, tossing his clothes and shoes in a pile on the floor.  “Evan was a bad boy earlier, jerking off without permission, so we’ll have to make sure he can’t do that anymore.  Bend over!”  Her tone was still soft, but her intent was clear.  Even put his face on the padded table and waited, exposed and vulnerable.

Veronica kicked his legs open and reached between him and felt up his crotch.  She pulled his cock backwards, grabbed his balls.  Some sort of leather strap was secured around his genitals and was surely intended to prevent him from cumming.  He felt the softness of someone’s hands caressing his ass again, and then, without warning, a finger was invading his hole.  He bit his lip and held back his moans.  It was clear that lube was being applied to his hole.  It was cool, the hands were soft, and the sensation was out of this world.  He was squirming, enjoying it when he felt the head of a dildo being pushed in.  He grabbed the table and held tight as the ass plug pushed deeper.

Evan was determined not to scream out in pain, to endure more than he had thought was possible.  His knuckles were white as he gripped the table and felt the burning sensation in his hole.  He wanted to make Veronica proud, to prove to her friend that he was worthy of sticking around.  Soon, the pain turned to indescribable pleasure as the dildo started hitting the right spots.  Within seconds, Evan had gone from one extreme to the other, only now, trying to stifle the moans of pleasure instead of ones of pain.  He didn’t want them to know that he had been so easily converted, he was afraid of what potential scenarios that would create.

The sounds of talking brought him back to reality and he listened intently to a conversation that had been going on for some time, drowned out by his own voyage of anal pleasure.  “. . . yeah, I know, me too.  But right now, I can’t think about that.  Right now, all I want is for him to eat my pussy.  I’m so wet and I want to cum so hard.”

Veronica released the handcuffs and instructed him to lie on the table.  He did as instructed and felt his hands being handcuffed again.  He spoke up on his behalf.  “Please, I don’t want to get away.  I’m not going to resist.  Can you please leave the handcuffs off?”

Veronica smiled and nodded, acknowledging his demands but not meeting them.  Yvette slipped her skirt down her legs and then her tiny thong.  Evan was mesmerized and he looked at Veronica, seeking some sort of approval.  He wanted to make her proud, he wanted her to know that he was doing it for her.  He desperately wished he could be eating Veronica’s pussy but he knew that was an honor he’d have to earn.  Yvette was incredibly sexy but it was Veronica that Evan wanted to belong to, whom he wanted to worship.  She looked deeply into his eyes, conveying her compassion and understanding and admonishing him with her stare that he had better not disappoint her.

Yvette climbed on the table, lowering her cunt slowly to his face.  Evan stared up in disbelief.  Her pussy held him captive by the sweet folds of flesh as they opened for him.  He stuck his tongue out and waited, not so patiently for his first taste of dark desire.  Teasing him, Yvette let him take in every detail before she positioned herself comfortably on his face, using it as a seat cushion of pleasure.  The full weight of her body was a bit overwhelming but he felt Veronica’s hands caressing his body and he was inspired to do whatever he had to do to make her proud.

Even though Yvette was petite, with her full body weight on him, Evan hovered somewhere between consciousness and ecstasy.  His senses were deprived and he was overwhelmed with the sensation of wanting to gasp for air along with the intense feelings in his throbbing, restrained cock.  Her full ebony ass shielded his vision and prevented much movement on his part.

The slippery folds of her pussy coated his face with juices as his tongue and jaw ached from trying his best to pleasure this woman and give her pleasure.  She masturbated herself back and forth at times, rubbing his nose from clit to asshole; the sexy scent of her pussy a stark contrast to the musky aroma of her butt.  Evan loved it; he loved every second of sweet torture.

Occasionally, she would raise herself up to give him a brief second of reprieve.  For that instant, his eyes would be flooded with light, he would gasp for air like a man drowning, and he would feel the cool air revive him.  Rather than being the sensation he craved, he longed to feel the warmth and security of that gorgeous black pussy on his mouth again as he teetered near the edge of suffocation and orgasm.  He pretended it was Veronica, riding him, using him.  He imagined he was driving his tongue up in the sweet recesses of her sexy treasure.  Veronica taunted him, teased him, asking him if he could take more, demanding that he make her friend cum or else.  She humiliated and degraded him.  “Look at your pathetic cock, jerking wildly, dripping like a faucet.  Make her cum white boy.  Make her cum and I just may let you back to experience more.

Yvette began bouncing up and down, one the verge of orgasm.  Veronica began to slap and twist Evan’s balls cruelly, pulling them to administer pain, or was it pleasure?  Determined, he refused to stop until he could taste Yvette’s cum pouring down his throat.  Her legs covered his ears, he could barely hear her moans but he knew that she was about to cum.  He sensed the muscles in her legs tighten up and she was more aggressive with her gyrations, bouncing up and down harder.  For a moment, he thought he was going to be crushed.  The only thing that kept him alive was the fact that Veronica was stroking his cock, twisting it, slapping it, masturbating him cruelly.  He couldn’t breathe; he was feeling faint.  The pleasure was indescribable and Yvette was riding him hard, cumming even harder.  He could feel her nails digging into his flesh and . . . without warning, Veronica removed the strap, causing Evan’s body to explode in orgasm like he’d never known before.

Evan awoke the next morning in his own bed.  His limbs were fatigued and sore; his body ached and his mind was drained.  He stumbled to the kitchen to get some juice and after that he wasn’t really sure what to do.  His experience the evening before had left him emotionally drained.  He couldn’t go back to the way things were, he had been transformed.  He was experiencing every detail over in his mind.  He opened the door to the balcony and stepped outside to get some fresh air.  Veronica was seated outside, sipping iced coffee and engrossed in the morning paper.  She looked up, acknowledged him with a wave, and went back to reading.  Evan retreated back inside, unsure of what to say, what to do.  When he sat at his computer and opened his email that he saw that Veronica had emailed him.

“I was extremely proud of you last night.  You did very well.  I will look forward to pushing you further, exploring more in the future.  V.”

He felt a sense of accomplishment and pride like he’d never known.  He ran to the balcony again and opened the door.  Veronica was gone but she’d left her mark, on his body and in his soul.

Thursday, October 23, 2014

My Perfect Pet

There is no such thing as the perfect submissive.  There’s no such thing as a perfect Domme for that matter either.  There is, however, a symbiosis, a precious and delicate balance, an equilibrium that can only be achieved between Domme and sub, involving owner and pet that transcends all other relationships.  No vanilla/romantic relationship can compare to the bond that is formed when complete trust and adoration marries with utter depravity and absolute control.  When the desires of the Domme perfectly match the perversions of the sub, when the hunger of the filthy bitch satisfies the appetites of the Divine Bitch, perfection in domination and submission is achieved. 

I created Michael.  I made him from a vision formed from my perverse imagination.  When I met him online all those many years ago, he was submissive and eager but he needed to be molded.  Without a doubt his blond hair, blue eyes, his transparent pink skin and inherent slutty nature, and, of course, his laughably small but typical white cock made him a prime candidate for my particular brand of racial domination.   He had to learn a very expensive lesson after he sent out a racist email about Obama.  He had to pay and pay dearly for that little mistake.   I asked him how, in fact, he could profess to be submissive to Blacks in private, especially intelligent, articulate, professional Black men exactly like Obama but espouse racist thoughts to his friends and co-workers.  He had no answer other than to feign outrage, behave arrogantly, lie, and deny – behavior absolutely typical of white men when they are wrong.  Learning that expensive lesson humbled him.  He recognized how fucked up he was to profess love and worship of Black men in private, to crave denigration and humiliation from men of African descent sexually and then pretend he was superior in public. 

Our virtual relationship started out slow.  At first, he provided me with tributes.  He did so willingly and of his own free will, with absolutely no coercion or pressure on my part.  I think that’s what made him stand out from all the rest of the subs who said they desired my attention.  I’m not a financial Domme and I don’t solicit, demand, or require tributes in any form from subs.  So when he voluntarily provided the funds for me to get a brand new laptop, without strings or attempts to manipulate me to dominate him, I found favor in him.  It was a thoughtful gesture that made me happy and, in turn, gave him joy in pleasing me.  From there, things just seemed to flow naturally.  I was dominant, he was submissive, and we understood our roles very well.  He wasn’t overly whiny and annoying but he wasn’t arrogant and obnoxious either.  It took us a lot of late night conversations to get to a point where he understood that I needed him to be submissive behind closed doors but that he had to be able to engage me as my equal; the perfect complement to my personality.  I needed a sub who was as exceptional in his hunger for depravity as I am and as balanced, sane, and as charming as my vanilla persona is as well. 

Today, after lots of bumps in the road, Michael has become all that I had ever hoped for and dreamed of in a submissive.  More than his miraculous social transformation that allowed him to perfectly parrot my positions on race and racism in public; I expertly and patiently crafted and molded him into the single-most filthy slut, cum whore, and insatiable queen addicted to black dick I had ever encountered.  His boicunt stays wet, throbbing, and ready for fucking at the drop of a hat, like a good whore always is.  Even in chastity, he remains constantly aroused and dripping, in a persistent state of horniness.  I allow him to maintain his job but he has voluntarily all but given up his regular social life, friends, family, and outside interests for our D/s relationship.  Behind closed doors, immediately, from the very milli-second he walks beyond the majestic foyer of my custom home after work, he is subjected to some sort of extreme sexual situation where his nasty butthole is stretched, filled, and fucked relentlessly.  Every day is a new adventure to see how far I can push him, to see how many loads of cum he can take, to see what sorts of extreme and nasty things I can think of and to get him to a sub space where he not only enjoys my warped demands but where he craves, needs, and BEGS for more.  Honestly, I think his depth of perversion goes beyond my creative scope but for now I keep finding new and innovative ways to add variety to our repertoire of kinky games that seem to keep him satisfied.  Well, at least as much as he can be satiated. 

Reflecting back, our first meeting was extreme by most standards; it was pretty typical for the sorts of encounters that we’ve come to share however.  I remember very vividly that first Friday evening as we dined at a cute little bistro on the river.  Arriving early, he was nervous and fidgeting as he sat at the bar waiting not so patiently.  I arrived exactly on time with my usual flair that turned heads when I walked in.  I made sure to exaggerate my moves, sway my hips accented by the click of my high heels on the wooden floor.  I extended my hand in greeting and Michael stared in disbelief, frozen to his bar stool.  If I had said, “BOO!” I’m sure he would have pissed his pants right there in public.  His hands shook with nerves as we were seated for dinner and he held my chair.  I almost got up from the table and walked away I was so irritated with his inability to have a normal conversation.  If the night wasn’t so beautiful and the view wasn’t so damned spectacular I would have excused myself 15 minutes into the evening.  I kept saying, “Take a deep breath,” and eventually, he started to relax, to gain control of his nerves and we began having a very pleasant exchange about the intricacies of straight ahead jazz and the wretched scum they call smooth jazz.  We were able to converse freely and comfortably about all things kinky, casually discussing things that would have made the people at the next table cringe in horror had they had been listening carefully.  In many ways, our friendship was cemented that evening, over amazing seafood and wine and laying the foundation for what would become the ultimate union of Domme and sub.

After an amazing dinner, as we sipped our coffee and slid molten lava cake around the plate with our forks, too full to eat another bite, I said, “There’s a club not too far from here, would you like to join me in an evening of play?”  He looked like a deer caught in headlights, staring blankly at me, eventually mumbling something incoherent, visibly shaking.  You would have thought I would have said, “Would you kiss my ass, right here, right now, in front of all of these people.” 

“Relax, sweetie,” I reassured him, “It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything.  I was offering because there’s chemistry between us, because I spoke to a couple of my friends earlier and they said that they would be hanging out and the place isn’t far from here.  I was just . . .” 

Before I could even finish my thought, he blurted out, “I’ll do it.”  His breathing was labored and it looked like he might hyperventilate any minute.  “It’s just that . . . I didn’t . . . you know . . . I didn’t think that we would do anything tonight . . . I thought we were just meeting to get to know each other in person.” He was hyperventilating. 

“Calm down, relax, take a deep breath,” I assured him for the thousandth time.  I could see that he was anxious and aroused but also a bit overwhelmed at the same time.  I did my best to help him settle down.  “I have some friends, some male friends in fact, and we get together about once a month to play.  We are all connected because we are all from Kenya.  Jomo and Matunde, we all call him Matt, they were both born in Kenya but moved to the US when they were small children.  Reginald and I are both first generation American.  Our parents were born in Africa and we were born in the US but we both lived in Mombossa, Eldoret, and Kisumu for much of our adolescent years, visiting our grandparents and cousins and such and we continue to travel back and forth with some frequency.  I met Reggie on the plane coming home and I introduced him to Jomo and he introduced me to Matt.”  Michael seemed spellbound, captivated, hanging on my every word.  “Are you okay, sweetie,” I asked, genuinely concerned about him and his state of mind. 

“Ma’am, I had no idea . . . You know, I’ve been to Kenya,” he said shyly, almost imperceptibly.  I went to Narobi and Narok and I was VERY aroused by the concept of submitting sexually to the Maasai people . . . it has been a fantasy of mine for a very long time.” 

We both laughed out loud and shared a moment of pure destiny and coincidence. 

I continued on.  “Well, like I was saying, the fellas and I all met and related because of our Kenyan connection but we share a fetish connection as well and we all like to get together and play every once in a while.  Being who I am, with my following, I’m sort of the group leader of course and we’ve had some pretty amazing times with me heading up my marauding band of sexy brothas.  Tonight, they called me and asked me if I wanted to hang out at the spot.  I told them that I had plans and they said if things didn’t work out, to swing by.  They also said that if things DO work out, that I could swing by and bring them a toy to play with.” 

“Have you ever, I mean have they ever used a white boy for you Ma’am?  I mean, what would be expected of me?” 

After a little more deep breathing I told him, “Yes, we have used white boys before.  In fact, that’s our specialty.  We’ve done everything, and I mean everything with them.  I control the subs, the situation, what happens, and how far things go.  They do the fucking.  If you want, and only if you consent, we can meet up with them later this evening and I’ll see what sort of cock-sucking cum slut you can really be.”

Michael swallowed hard.  “I’ll do whatever you want me to do Mistress. ANYTHING.”  His desire to please was written all over his face but I wasn’t really sure he was up for anything that I would require of him.  I thought I would put him to the test however and see just how far I could push him.  I certainly didn’t have anything to lose and if had regrets the next day, that wouldn’t be my problem. 

We walked to the car.  “I’ll drive,” I said, and I unlocked the door to my car and held open the rear passenger door.  He climbed in and I made sure to buckle him in like he was a toddler in a child seat in plain view of the other restaurant patrons who had a clear view of the parking lot from the deck.  Leaning over him, my cleavage was inches from his face.  I could hear him inhaling the fragrance of the mango shea butter that I wore to make my brown skin glisten.  People stared, some with shock on their faces, others with intense curiosity.  I’m sure some couldn’t quite figure out what sort of dynamic was going on between us and I’m sure others could only have imagined in their wildest fantasies what was about to happen. 

We drove a short distance to the club, less than 15 minutes in fact, and I watched in my rear view mirror how Michael was squeezing his cock through his pants, trying to play with it discretely but more so to make adjustments because he was hard and leaking.  He had nothing but questions.  “Do they have big cocks?  This place we are going, what’s it like?  Am I going to get to do anything with you?  Are people going to watch me do . . . you know, stuff?  Are you lovers with all of them?”  He wouldn’t stop asking questions.  I answered some and let him wonder about others. 

“Jomo and I dated for about a year. We are still great friends and we’ll probably get back together in the future but for right now, he wants to concentrate on his career and says he doesn’t have time for a relationship.  We still love each other and we get together every once in a while and we occasionally fuck like wild beasts, sometimes in front of others just for the fun of it, other times in private because the chemistry is so strong.  The rest of the guys observe a very strict ‘hands off’ policy as far as penetration is concerned but they have both eaten my pussy on more than a few occasions with Jomo there to give his ‘permission’ sort of.   They are both very respectful of that male bond thingie that men have and they don’t want to do anything to destroy the friendship so they are cool with just getting together to explore our kinks and not really too stressed about sex with me.  Besides, I make sure they get all the pussy they can handle from white bois.  I have so many white bois who want to submit to me, we could all get together and they could fuck someone different every night of the week and there still would a line of subs waiting for their turn.” 

In that instant, a look of fear came over Michael’s pale face and made him look even whiter.  “Ma’am, If they are going to fuck me, I didn’t, prepare for that if you know what I’m saying.” 

I knew exactly what he was saying but I pretended not to.  “No sweetie, what do you mean?”

“Well,” he stuttered, “Sometimes, when . . . well, what I’m trying to say is, if you are going to tell them to fuck me, they might be offended if I . . . how can I put this?”

“Just say it precious, no need to be afraid, just say whatever’s on your mind.”

“OK,” he took a deep breath.  “Usually, if I know I’m going to be getting fucked, I will take precautions to be clean, you know, back there.”

“Ohhhhh, you mean that your asscunt might be dirty and you will get shit on their dicks if they fuck you?” I’ve always found the white boys cower at the plain truth being spoken unapologetically.  I could see him squeeze his semi-erect cock harder in the rear view mirror.  He moaned in arousal as I said, “Well, you won’t mind sucking their filthy cocks clean in that case, licking those thick, black dicks covered in your shit, up and down the shaft streaked with brown stains and the engorged heads covered with your smelly crap and their hot sperm from fucking you hard and deep in your dirty shit hole?  That won’t be a problem, will it?  Will you look up at them and show them what a dirty pig you are that you are eager to lick your own foul waste just to get a taste of their sweet, hot cum and feel their gorgeous cocks in your shit eating mouth.  That’s the price you have to pay, isn’t it, for getting three, thick, hard, black cocks shoved deep and hard in your asshole, pounding the shit out of you, making you scream, making that hole gape open, and dumping their hot loads of sperm deep inside you?”  He didn’t need to answer.  He was moaning uncontrollably at that point and his breathing was labored.  “I hope for your sake that you aren’t too full because you are going to be eating all that nasty packed fudge while they fuck you deep in your shitbox.  I better not smell any of your shit so you would be wise to beg them to fuck your mouthcunt the second you think there might be any shit on them.  Who knows, before the night is over, you might be so be such a depraved shit-eating pig, that you will be begging my friends to shit in your mouth.”  I smiled sweetly. “The night is so very young.” The fact that a black woman, especially one so sophisticated and classy, was so casually discussing the prospects of him eating shit, and being so graphic about it, almost made Michael cum in his pants. 

Michael was sobbing a tearless cry, whimpering like a baby.  “Yes, Ma’am,” he whispered over and over again as we pulled into the parking lot of the club, wanting, no needing to be subjected to that and more.  Coincidentally and totally without planning, Reginald pulled in seconds after us.  I left Michael in the back seat of my car, his mouth hanging open, confused and wondering about the possible solution to his dilemma, drooling at the thought of doing what I had suggested, actually he was more aroused about the concept of doing something so nasty in front of people.    

Reggie and I both got out of our respective vehicles and hugged in the crisp night air.  We caught up with one another as it had been some time since we had last had an opportunity to chat.  Michael sat in the back seat of my car and I pointed to him and Reginald casually glanced and we kept on with our friendly banter.  I had the child locks in place so Michael couldn’t get out of the car without me and he was helpless to do anything but sit there with his veritable nose pressed against the window and stare.  Jomo and Matt were car-pooling so we decided to wait for them so that we could all go in the club together. 

We didn’t have to wait long; it was only a matter of minutes before they pulled in.  I’m sure it must have felt like a million light years to Michael however.  Jomo and Matt parked and got out and they all did the hugging/kissing ritual with me and the “giving dap” male ritual with each other.  Jomo, I guess feeling particularly flirtatious and quite possibly even romantic, pulled me to him and ran his hands all over my full backside, his hands caressing the smooth, chocolate-colored silk of my dress.  He put his tongue in my mouth, pressed his soft, full lips gently to mine and kissed me deeply, passionately and I forgot all about anyone else or anything else for that matter for a brief moment. 

“OK guys, break it up.  I’m in the mood to get my dick sucked now,” Matt chimed in.  “And little white boy over there looks like he is hungry to swallow my load.  Hell, I might even have two loads for him.”  We all glanced towards the back seat of my car and saw Michael there with his pale face glowing in the night and laughed at him looking like a wild-eyed child imprisoned and seeking release. 

I let Michael out of the car and I think he assumed there were going to be introductions and some sort of cordial conversation but my boys didn’t give a fuck about him.  He was just another slut to be used by them, they didn’t care about his name, his likes and dislikes, they simply trusted me to direct the situation and they would go with the flow. 

The club was really a swingers club for straight couples but in recent years, they had relaxed their “no homosexual play” rule.  So while they didn’t actually promote it, they didn’t frown upon it either.  I guess with so many cock-hungry white bois out there, they needed to adapt and change with the times.  Bisexual women were always welcomed at the club so on the last Friday night of every month, they had a “Bi-friendly Party” that was geared towards men exploring their same sex desires.  We didn’t always use white boys to play with, sometimes we went there to just enjoy some sensual fun.  The owners knew that when my boys and I walked through the door however, that there was going to be a super hot show and they would always make an extra large private room available just for us. 

Courtney, the goth chick at the door who takes the money and gives out the membership cards and stuff like that, said, “Ohhhh, hi you guys.  Long time no see, we missed you last month.  Will you be needing a room with a view tonight or do you want something a little more secluded?”  She looked Michael up and down with a slight look of disgust and possibly even envy on her face.  We all conspired, did a quick vote and decided that tonight we wanted a room with a large window for voyeurs to watch and, if possible, we wanted a room that was large enough to accommodate people on sofas to sit and watch if it was available.  I think we got such VIP treatment because people would show up just to watch us play, even on the nights we weren’t there, with the hopes that they could see some of the super hot play that we brought to the club.  Lots of swing clubs have little enclaves of sex but mostly people just wander around either looking for people who are fucking.  With us, we brought our own party favors and would get the party started the minute we walked in the door.  That inspired other people to loosen up and do their own things in their own private rooms and even in the public group rooms. 

When most people hear that my friends and I are all African, they form an opinion that we are going to be half dressed African savages with beads and spears and doing a traditional Up Down Dance.  My friends were all very good looking, if I must say so myself, accomplished, professional and Americanized to a certain extent.  While none of us have forgotten our history or where we come from, we’ve assimilated well into our surroundings and we’ve flourished in Western society.  I think we’ve all maintained that delicate balance that allows us to remain true to our history and culture but also to take advantage of living in the most industrialized, capitalist nation of the world without becoming enslaved to the dysfunctional and oft times hysterical behaviors that are so rampant upon our peers who denounce our homeland. 

We ran the full gamut in terms of skin color, Matt and Reginald were the deepest, most delicious shade of rare African ebony found anywhere on the planet, their rich, dark skin almost casting a bluish hue they were both so dark.  I fell right in the middle with a milk chocolate complexion and anyone who knew anything about Kenya could tell by my signature haircut and facial features that I was Maasai.  In fact, Matunde and I were both Maasai so we both were tall and our frames were lean.  That’s not to suggest either of us were skinny.  I have the curves that make a woman a Goddess and a man’s mouth water and Matt spent many hours in the gym building muscle mass and ate a diet that filled out his frame that was uncharacteristic of Maasai men.  Jomo was Luo and Reggie was Kikuyu but Jomo was a mixture of Asian, African, and European bloodlines so his features were “more refined” as they say.  Jomo was Obamaesque in complexion.  Reginald was the shortest of the bunch at 5’9”, Matt was over 6’ tall according to my estimates and Jomo was the tallest of the bunch.  I, of course, am 5’10” but in heels, I’m almost as tall as my sweetie pie. 

I let Matt give Michael a tour of the place, get comfortable with his surroundings while I got drinks for everyone from the bar.  The rest of us socialized with the other patrons and danced a bit as well.  Because the four of us have such an unconventional friendship, because we are so comfortable with our sexuality, it was nothing for Jomo and Reggie to start kissing me on my neck, undressing me on the dance floor and fingering me to the beat while white people stared in awe of our sensuality.  We are all bisexual and not ashamed of that in any way so we turned heads when our play culminated in passionate, sensual eroticism where we were all just a tangle of beautiful bodies licking, sucking and fucking each other without regard to gender.  Of course, the other Black people in the club were interested in watching us as well and would often start their own little public displays of affection only appropriate in a sex club inspired by our freedom, beauty, and blatant sexuality. 

By the time Matt and Michael came back from exploring the club and going over the rules, I was hot and bothered and ready to play.  That had given Courtney just enough time to velvet rope off, The Madison, my very favorite room that could accommodate us in comfort and allow for a few spectators to recline and watch with relative ease as well.  We found our way to the room and people started to follow us, mostly regulars who knew that the white boy with us was about to get fucked like no one’s business. 

As the five of us poured into the semi private room and began to make ourselves comfortable all I could say was, “What the fuck is that god awful smell?”  I put my hands over my mouth and nose and I almost wretched because of the foul odor. 

“Yeah, that’s ole boy.  I guess he’s so nervous that he’s sweating like a pig.” Matt’s face was scrunched up and he was holding his nose and pointing at Michael. 

“God Damn, he stinks like a fucking pig,” Reginald said. 

“Well, one of you needs to take him to the showers and get him washed because he is going to make me vomit,” I said. 

Michael made an attempt to defend himself with some lame, feeble excuses but I wasn’t hearing any of it.  We all trotted over to the shower rooms and the boys did rock, paper, scissors to see who would be the unlucky bastard to have the job of bathing whitey.  Reggie lost.  “And burn those fucking clothes,” I yelled, “cuz I don’t want him riding back in my car smelling like a barnyard animal.”  We’d actually been through this routine before.  It was really a ritual in humiliation more than anything else but it was working.  Oh, trust me he stunk, but the thrill was in the imagery of him being bathed like a little boy by his big, Black daddy.  It seems like the hormones and pheromones of white boys kick into overdrive when they are nervous and it comes out in their pores as a funky smell, regardless of their personal bathing or deodorant habits.  And what could be more humiliating than having to be bathed like a child, to stand there and have viewers gather and whisper in not so hushed tones about how embarrassing it must be to have to endure such treatment? 

Reggie undressed Michael, taking off his clothes like a father does his child.  Michael stood there, trying to cover up everything as it was being uncovered.  Naked and exposed, he blushed from head to toe, making his pasty flesh turn pink, and quite honestly, slightly repulsive to me.  Reggie undressed and everyone in the room couldn’t help but stare.  Even the men who called themselves straight, and they were few and far between on a night like tonight, had to take a second look.  A perfectly sculpted body and a dick of mammoth proportions, with skin that was blacker than midnight, he was the embodiment of perfection.  In contrast to Michael, the two literally and figuratively looked like night and day. 

Under the spray of the communal shower, Reggie soaped Michael up roughly from head to toe.  He had no choice but to comply and conform to Reggie’s commands as he twisted and contorted Michael’s body, lifting his arms and washing away the stench from his pits and bending him over and making a huge show of spreading his ass cheeks and fingering his asshole.  Michael, struggling to stay balanced, braced himself on the shower wall and thrust his ass backwards, revealing his true slutty nature.  As women and men alike, both black and white started to gather in the small communal shower room, Michael moaned loudly as Reggie had three, soapy, thick fingers twisting and thrusting in and out of his asshole.  He humped back, his face pressed against the cold shower wall as Reggie gripped the back of his neck and forcefully held him in place as he pulled his cock back, between his legs, and soaped and stroked it roughly.  On his tip toes, teetering between shame and pleasure, he grabbed his ankles as he was being milked like a cow.  The crowd that gathered was closer now, turned on by the atypical show of a Black man so easily manhandling a white man, almost with disdain.  Reggie’s cock stood out straight, practically aimed right at Michael’s hole and men and women alike who were spectators would have gladly gotten on their knees and sucked off that tower of erotic black flesh. 

Satisfied that Michael was not only clean but sufficiently humiliated, Reggie grabbed a couple of towels and dried him off.  Holding out his hand, he said, “Let’s go.”  Michael reached for that strong hand like a little boy and padded naked through the nosey, aroused onlookers as Reggie waved his hand and they quickly dispersed like Moses parting The Red Sea.  The crowd scurried quickly behind like rats enchanted by the tune of the African pied piper, anxious to see how the rest of the evening would unfold. 

Matt, exceptionally horny that evening, started undressing and said, “Move out the way, I need to get my dick sucked now.  I’m so ready to bust a nut I can’t see straight.” 

“Oh hellllll naw.  I had to wash his funky ass so I get first dibs at whatever hole I want.  I want it tight and hot for me.”  Reggie was already naked and erect and he did have a right to go first.  Jomo and Matt nodded reluctantly as Michael looked at me for permission or direction as to what to do. 

“What are you waiting for bitch, get on your knees and service my beautiful friend,” I commanded.  He complied, anxious and ready to get the party started, his heart pounding out of his chest.  Reggie stood stoically; his manhood before him, the head glistening with precum as he stroked it to maintain his stiffness.  People started squeezing into the room, trying to find a spot where they could see everything.  Glancing around, for a brief moment, Michael felt self-conscious.  All of these people were going to see him be used, abused, and dominated by three beautiful Black men and a gorgeous Ebony Domme.   The tiny part of him that is white, the holdover part of him that had that instinct, that arrogant gene, that little white devil who whispered in his ear and said white men were not, under any circumstances, to be submissive to black men, caused him a few seconds of hesitation.  He looked around the room and saw the faces of strangers whose minds he could almost read, that said, “What sort of white man would lower himself to do something like that?  What sort of white man could degrade his race and his gender to let those savages use him?”  All of those thoughts and apprehensions hastily faded away when he looked in my eyes and I simply motioned for him to do whatever he was instructed to do.  He KNEW that his responsibility, his job was to make me proud.   It was only then that his true nature, that of a filthy cum slut, took over.  The part of him that made him long, no NEED to be used, fucked, abused, and degraded, the part of his being that craved humiliation and cum took over.

Falling to his knees, Michael knelt before Reggie and blocked out all the spectators except Jomo, Matt, and myself.  His mouth watered at the sight before him and Reggie tormented him by waving that beautiful dick in his face, the weight evident as his hand gripped the heavily veined shaft, the engorged head peeking out from the thick foreskin.   Peeling back the hood, Reggie revealed the glans of his penis and the unmistakable presence of head cheese.  It wasn’t that rank and raunchy odor some gay dudes get off on, but it was that undeniable, manly, piss, sweat, and cum odor that was the trademark of uncut cocks.  Knowing Reggie as I do, he probably had fucked some woman at lunch time in his office to add a little more flavor to the mix because that’s the way his twisted mind worked.  He loved making sure white bois KNEW unquestionably that they were sucking a man’s dick: a testosterone driven, dominant, alpha Black male’s dick.   Michael closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrance like a sommelier breathes in the aroma of a vintage 1964 Chateau Lafite Bordeaux. 

Reaching out for it, Michael stopped in mid air, looking up, asking permission with his eyes to touch it.  Reggie nodded and he placed his hand around the base.  His fingers were able to wrap around its girth, but just barely.  His pale hand looked striking against the blue/black skin of his exquisite master and Michael marveled at the contrast in skin tones that made him aroused on a cellular level.   To him, there was nothing in the world quite so beautiful as a thick, hard, big, black, cock, especially one that was about to give him a copious load of hot, creamy, sperm down his throat.  His own small, pinkish cock leaked in aroused anticipation. 

One last time, he looked to me for a nod of approval and the go ahead to begin a night of complete and utter depravity and filth.  It was as if my signal was the starter pistol for his whorish, piggish, slutty behavior.  My nod was the proverbial, “On your mark, get set, GO!”  I made him wait.  I circled him, looked down upon him, I caressed Reginald and tongue kissed him.  I lifted my dress and displayed my black lace covered ass a mere inches from Michael’s face.  I could have easily blown a fart right in his face but I’m sure he would have enjoyed that more than regretted it.  Reggie fondled and caressed the full cheeks of my butt, slid his finger in my panties  between my already moistening pussy lips.  Michael whimpered like a little bitch and started begging, “Please, please, please,” over and over and over again.  I’m not sure what he was asking for specifically because he seemed just as mesmerized by my ass as he was by Reggie’s cock, both centimeters away from his desperate tongue. 

I leaned down and whispered, “You better suck that dick and suck it good you little white fruit cocksucker because this will be the first and last time you ever perform for me if you don’t please my friend, understand?” 

Michael nodded and whined which was enough of an affirmative response for me.  I took Reggie’s dick in my hand and I stroked it; precum dripped now from the head.  I grabbed the back of his head and fed him what was clearly the most superb cock he’d ever had in his mouth.  “You told me you love cum, bitch, that you love the taste of cum, well you better prove it to me.”  That cock was so thick, Michael was only able to get the first three or four inches all the way in his mouth, leaving the vast majority of it unattended.  He wrapped both hands around the base of his dick and immediately set out on a rhythm to suck and stroke, suck and stroke.  The slight taste of smegma fueled his slutty passions as his taste buds filled with the creamy makings of a dick in heat.  He used his tongue to lick all the creamy residue he could and used his lips to cover his teeth and make his mouth nothing more than a pussy to be fucked and pounded.  Reggie wasn’t impressed; he wanted Michael to work for his cum, to pig out on his cock.  He delivered a sound smack to the side of Michael’s head, filling the small room with the sound of flesh against flesh, and demanded, “Suck my dick, slut, and make me shoot my load down your faggot throat.” 

Inspired, Michael, did his best porn star impersonation and began sucking that incredible cock like his very life depended on it.  He was moaning, slobbering, sucking, and stroking for with all his might.  He could feel every thick vein, the soft smooth skin of the shaft, the ridge of the head sliding in and out, in and out.  Drool ran down his face to his naked chest as he put on a show that was turning all the spectators on.  Everyone had moved in closer and the crowd was visibly turned on by the show.  A few of the regulars had seen my friends in I in action before and they were turned on by the dynamics but there were always others, first timers, who stared in shock, awe, and what I can only assume was jealousy, or maybe it was disgust. 

I leaned in close and whispered in Reggie’s ear, “Baby, fuck his throat, jam that fat dick down his esophagus and make him choke on it.  No mercy.”  Reggie responded by kissing me, pressing his full, soft lips against mine and sliding his tongue in my mouth.  That was his way of saying, “Anything for you sweetie,” and he proceeded to grab the sides of Michael’s head in his powerful hands and skull fuck him without mercy. 

There is a very subtle art to shoving your dick down someone’s throat so that they don’t throw up all over your dick.  It demands patience, restraint, mercy, and PERFECT timing.  Reggie was not versed in that technique.  He grabbed Michael’s ears like handles and began ramming, pounding, and thrusting his hips with all his might, forcing more of his cock down Michael’s throat than most people would have thought humanly possible.  Michael gagged and tried to push away with his hands on Reggie’s firm thighs but it was absolutely an exercise in futility.    With more than half of his cock in Michael’s mouth, he wasn’t going to be happy until his nuts were resting on Michael’s chin.  Perhaps, if his dick hadn’t been so thick it might have been possible.  Tears were streaming down Michael’s face and he could feel the remnants of his dinner getting ready to come back up.  He loved the feel and taste of that dick in his mouth.  He even adored the staggering pain of that huge dick forcing its way past his tonsils.  The words used and abused took on new meaning with this blowjob and all the while he wanted to make me proud, so he sucked and swallowed and stroked with all his might.  He was gagging, doing his best to hold on to his stomach contents down but I knew it was only a matter of time.  I was shocked that he had lasted as long as he did and with one more violent thrust, Reggie forced his dick further down that throat than even I thought possible and all the contents of his stomach came rumbling back up.  Greenish, brown slime poured out his mouth and nose and cascaded down his body.  Michael spit and coughed and looked up at Reggie with a craze, animalistic look in his eyes and panted like a dog, “MORE! Please, more.  Fuck my mouth some more, use me, give me that hot cum, use it like a cunt, shove it down my throat.  MOOORRREEEE!” 

That was all it took for me.  My pussy was dripping wet.  There is nothing I love more than seeing a white man in the midst of getting used and degraded and craving more.  Reggie found his rhythm and started fucking that mouth pussy senseless.  I had Jomo undo the zipper of my dress and slide me out of it.  In the midst of all the action, both he and Matt had gotten completely undressed and they were stroking their cocks, preparing for their turns at bat so to speak.  Still in heels, bra, and panties, I paraded around the small room, looking at spectators dead in the eye, visually taunting them, asking them if they wanted to be next, if they wanted to trade places.  One of the black men in the crowd had gotten a white woman to suck his dick while he watched but her skills were nothing compared to Michael’s; she was coughing and gagging and keep telling him to stop. 

Jomo and Matt moved in closer, surrounding Michael.   If there is a heaven for cocksucking whores, being surrounded by three gorgeous men with beautiful dicks, all hard and dripping has to be pretty damn close.  Not giving a damn about asking for permission, he dove for Reggie’s dick, this time, swallowing pretty much the entire thing, his throat open and accommodating.  The one and only goal of a true cum pig is to get that sticky, hot load.  He wanted to taste that jism, eat it, swallow it; he needed it inside him.   My boy Reggie made me proud, holding back and denying him that cum, slapping his face with his hard meat, making him beg for it. 

Matt decided to get in on the play and spun him around and starting ramming his dick in Michael’s mouth next.  While his dick is the same beautiful charcoal black color, he’s cut, not nearly as thick, about the same length but his dick as a marvelous curve to it that was made to go down a throat perfectly.  Michael dove for that dick like he was a dying man who needed cum to live.  His eyes watered as he took a severe throat pounding from Matunde and I instructed him, “Suck that big, beautiful, cock you bottom bitch, eat it, swallow it you filthy cocksucker.  Suck that cum out.  Show everyone what a nasty cum whore you are.  Suck that hot load out so you can get that little sissy cunt of yours stuffed.  That’s what you want isn’t it, to get that pussy of yours stretched and filled with stiff, black, cocks, right?” 

Those were the magic words.   Michael and Matt both went into over drive, Matt pounded and Michael grabbed his hips and held on tight as he swallowed every inch, his nose was pressed against Matt’s crotch as drool escaped the sides of his mouth.   Matt knew the score and he pushed Michael away and Jomo immediately grabbed his head and shoved his dick in that little bitch’s mouth.   For the next ten minutes, Jomo skull fucked Michael without mercy.  I almost felt sorry for him.  The pounding was relentless and Jomo showed no clemency, no compassion.  Harder, deeper, faster, he thrust.  “Yeah white boy, that’s a good girl, show daddy how much you love that dick, take it, suck it,” Jomo taunted him as he continued with his brutal throat fuck. 

My panties were soaking wet and Reggie and Matt were fingering me, waiting for their turn at that hot mouth again.  “Boys, first one to unload in this cum dump gets to eat my pussy.”  The fellas all nodded each one got a twenty or thirty second shot at Michael’s mouth.  Greedy slut that he was, Michael tried his best to get both Matt’s and Jomo’s cocks in his mouth at the same time.  The two of them rubbed the silky heads of their cocks against his lips, slapping his face and alternately feeding him juicy, man meat.   I would have bet money that Reggie would have been the first to go because he had been aroused the longest.  In fact, it was Matt who was the first to unload.  He started breathing hard, and he began to piston his dick in and out of Michael’s throat like a machine.  He started moaning, and grunting, and saying, “You want this cum sissy, you want it?”  That inspired Michael to moan and whimper louder, unable to speak because his mouth was full.  He was practically crying tears of joy.  Matt let out a sound that echoed in the room and pulled his dick out and shot no less than six times, filling Michael’s mouth with thick, creamy, hot, cum. 

Before Matt was even finished, Reggie grabbed his head and started stroking, saying, “Hold that cum in your mouth bitch, don’t you dare swallow, don’t you dare fucking swallow until I tell you.”  Every submissive cum-loving button Michael had was being pushed.  He loved cum, the taste of cum, he adored being used as a cum dump, he loved big black cocks unloading in his mouth, he loved being treated like a cheap whore, he loved being told what to do, and he craved people watching him perform for a Black woman, he loved being on display as a sex toy, used, abused, manipulated and hungry for more.  The taste of Matt’s cum on his tongue drove him crazy as he waited not so patiently for Reggie to empty his balls.  Grabbing the back of his head, Reggie stroked out his baby-making juice in Michael’s mouth, overflowing now with two huge loads of authentic, potent African cum. 

Michael swallowed.  The slimy, thick, white, cum tasted like bleach and salt, but it was the taste he craved, the taste he loved more than anything.  He turned and crawled to Jomo.  “More, give me your cum,” but Jomo had other plans in mind.  As Matt, Reggie, and I moved to one of the beds, both of them planned on feasting on my body, Jomo turned around and lewdly squatted, bending over and pulling the cheeks of his ass apart.  “Get your tongue in there bitch, eat out my nasty shithole, lick it clean, let me feel your tongue licking my insides.  Little cunt, get deep in there.  Suck out my assjuice.”  Hornier than he’d ever been in his life, and desperate for more stimulation, more degradation,   Michael grabbed those full, brown globes and dove in.  He wasn’t tentative or shy; he made a nasty showing of tongue fucking that hole, getting in deep, sucking it for all he was worth.  He could feel the fine hairs that surrounded the hole against his lips.  Unbeknownst to anyone else in the room, Jomo was pushing out his sexy hole, opening it up, flexing it, he was essentially kissing Michael with his ass lips. 

Michael kissed back.  He French kissed that asshole like it was a long-lost lover.  Driving his tongue in as deeply as he could, he felt the tip of something hard, something bitter tasting pushing back against him.  Jomo looked back and smiled; it was sort of a reassuring, sadistic smile, one that said, I’m not going to do it, but I could if I wanted to.”  Michael understood exactly what he meant and that only made him lick, suck, and kiss that much harder.  He loved the feeling of being powerless, of being so nasty that he could, with the snap of my fingers, become a human toilet.  Feeling brazen, he blew air up in Jomo’s hole, only to be rewarded seconds later with a hot, rank, foul-smelling fart that almost knocked him off his knees.  He inhaled it, luxuriated in the scent and started licking harder, sucking more, trying to get deeper. 

Glancing over at me, Michael saw the look of lust and satisfaction on my face that inspired him to pig out more.   It wasn’t satisfaction because Matt was licking and sucking my clit like a masterful pussy eater.  No doubt, he was.  I was pleased because I had found the ultimate sub.  Michael was a true pig, he was a born slut who hungered for cum, cock, and disgrace like babies need a mother’s milk, like diabetics need insulin, and like addicts need a fix.   I was proud.  He was the sort of sub that I could tell to do anything, no matter how nasty, how disgusting, no matter how many people were around and he would do it with pride.  I just knew in my heart that I could lead him around on a leash and offer his hole to anyone that I wanted and he wouldn’t even have to turn around to see their face or know their name, he would throw that ass up in the air and beg for his cunt to be filled with cock and cum.   It was a Domme’s greatest desire, to have a sub with no limits, one who lives to satisfy and please me above any other needs, desires, or wants he may have.  It was my greatest desire to have a sub who craved the most foul, obscene treatment from Black men possible.  Seeing him like that, with his mouth plastered to Jomo’s asshole, knowing full well that all I had to do was say the proverbial word and Michael would make a meal of the thick, hard, logs that packed my lover’s colon; chewing them, feeling that waste slide down his throat, entering his body, being absorbed by his very soul until he was nothing but shit.  I made me want to cum. 

The crowd was undone.  The very fabric of society is held together by the unspoken code that certain things were only supposed to be done behind closed doors and some things were supposed to be left to the imagination.  Here was this white man doing all the filthy things that so many of them had dreamed about doing and not only was he not ashamed, he was proud to be doing them with dozens of eyes watching.  This was his and my dream come true.  He wanted nothing more than to be subjected to sexual objectification every single day of his life, from morning till night, to be the fuck hole, cum dump, cock sucking white queer that got black men off for my amusement and pleasure.  He needed to be fed cum and piss around the clock, to have his pussy stretched and sore from relentless pounding. 

At this point in the evening, both my pussy and Michael’s pussy needed to get fucked.  I can’t help but be aroused watching subs perform for me like sexual circus monkey’s, doing anything and everything I tell them to do for my amusement and entertainment.  I got wet seeing white men submit, worship, and serve black men.  Michael’s body was wired wrong.  He got more pleasure from getting deeply, soundly, savagely fucked than he got from stroking his cock.  His asshole functioned like a pussy, an insatiable one at that.  It would throb and twitch and wake him up from a sound sleep in desperate need to get filled.  He was convinced it actually got wet, that it produced a lubricant like substance that allowed him to bend over and get the largest of cocks forcefully rammed deep in him without preparations.  Of course, he liked a little pain with his pleasure, he liked when he was getting fucked and it started to hurt but the man fucking him wasn’t finished, wasn’t satisfied, and didn’t care whether or not he was in discomfort or not.  He enjoyed being fucked raw, being left sore, it only made him want more cock in his asscunt.  I was ready to see that myself.  I needed to see him fag out on some beautiful black cocks and beg, plead, and scream for more.  Just the thought of that, the idea that he quite possibly could be the perfect sub of my dreams who needed more dicks than I could provide him with, whose cock would leak and drip and dribble cum from getting hammered relentlessly. 

Everyone in the room was beyond aroused at this point.  People were panting, gasping, groping, moaning, and some were fucking like wild animals.   Michael was the center of attention and he loved every second of it.  This was all foreplay for him however.  He loved dicks shoved down his throat, he loved the taste and feel of cum in his mouth, he lived to be degraded but the main show had to be getting fucked.  The entire evening would be for naught if he didn’t get several loads of semen deposited deep in his colon.  So while he was licking furiously, putting on a filthy show, he was waiting for me to give the signal that the real games were to begin. 

Jomo knew what time it was as well.  His dick was hard and dripping and he was ready to RAM it in a hole and get off.  While he loved the feel of a white man, humbled and on his knees, wildly licking the crap and filth from his anus, he wanted to make him is bitch, mount and breed him like he was nothing more than a rutting animal in heat.  White boys, in his eyes, deserved to be used without mercy because they talked shit, had a feeling of entitlement and arrogance that was truly unearned, and their true place, their true role was of that of servant, maid, foot stool, and fuck hole to divinely superior Africans. Abruptly, he turned and delivered a backhand that sent Michael crashing to the floor and echoed throughout the room.  The crowd gasped.  The neurons on Michael’s brain registered the hard slap as not pleasure, but not pain either.  To him, it was just acknowledgement that he was serving a superior. 

“Baby,” I moaned, bring him over here so I can see you fuck him.  I want to see your gorgeous meat ramming in and out of that slutty hole – up close. I want to see baby.”   Grabbing him by the arm, like nothing more than a rag doll, he pulled Michael to the bed, right next to me and Matt and Reggie.  We slid over, making space, but it was a tight fit with all four of us piled on that bed; Jomo stood at the end of the bed and stroked his cock. 
Everyone in the room moved closer, well, everyone who wasn’t in a chair or sofa, leaned up against a wall, or on one of the other beds fucking.  The room was beginning to stink like hot sweaty bodies and sex and we hadn’t even started yet.  To me, it just showed how unsophisticated and savage most people really were.  They were driven by their lust, aroused by the slightest of stimulation.  I, on the other hand, could control my desires.  I enjoyed the wait.  Prolonging the pleasure was a sign that I could not and would not be a slave to my hormones.  

Michael was on his knees, his face down on the bed, his ass high in the air.  His face was inches from my own.  Without taking my eyes off his, I said, “FUCK HIM!” 

Jomo took aim.  He held the fat head of his dick to Michael’s hole.  He spit on it, stretching the opening with his thumbs, prying it obscenely open so his saliva dripped in his already gaping hole.   That was the only lube he was going to get.  He didn’t need it, his hole was so used to being ravaged, so fucking slutty, so used to getting fucked with huge dildos and toys that even Jomo’s enormous dick wouldn’t faze him.  The one thing that his toys couldn’t do was pound him with the ferocity, force, and relentless intensity that only a real Black man could.  

“AHHHHHHH, oh yessss.”  Climbing to his hands and knees so he could feel the friction even more, so he could have that dick hit his magic spot, Michael lowered his head and raised his ass, presenting his asshole like a bullseye for target practice and Jomo was the expert marksman taking aim.  His moans spoke a language of their own.  He was communicating in grunts and groans, speaking in tongues, vocalizing his profane and perverse desires with his eyes, telling the story of his lustful desires.  “What are you waiting for?  Use me like a dirty, white cum dump, with no regard for me or my pleasure or pain.  Make me pay, pay for my white privilege, for the vile treatment of your ancestors, fuck me like the sissy faggot I need to be, nothing but a hole for your to dump your superior sperm.  I need that big, black dick pounding me, fucking me, using me.  You’re a real man.  Make me your white cunt bitch. FUCK ME.” 

Speed, power, and precision are what make for a great fuck.  Jomo possessed all of those things plus a dick with the length and girth to make even the most seasoned bitchboi cry.   Michael indeed looked like he was going to cry, but his tears were tears of joy.  He was being impaled by an extraordinary Black cock, on display for everyone to see his sluttish nature, and it was all being orchestrated by the Black Bitch of his dreams.  It was the stuff submissive white boys lived for, dreamed of, craved.  Jomo built up a steady, pounding rhythm; never backing off, not caring if he was causing discomfort or pain.  His fierce fuck was jarring Michael’s teeth and causing the bed to bump against the wall.  I whispered for Reggie and Matt to start warming up for their turns and the crowd watched in shock, awe, and arousal.   I slid out of the way and allowed the fellas to take their positions for the main event. 

A gorgeous sheen of perspiration glowed on Jomo’s skin as he worked out his frustration and lust on Michael’s battered hole.  Matt knelt on the bed and force fed his cock into Michael’s mouth, insuring that he was getting fed dick from both ends, that he was going to get cum in his belly and his bowels simultaneously.  He gagged and moaned on that beautiful cock, glancing at me for approval and acknowledgement.  I smiled.  Matt grabbed him by the head and forcefully skull fucked him as I leaned in closely and whispered, “Make me proud, show me what a nasty slut you really are.” 

With those few words, it was as if all of Michael’s antics and actions up until that point had been foreplay.  He grabbed Matt’s cock long enough to hold it and turn his head to moan, “FUCK ME HARDER.  DAMN YOU!  Ram that hot, black pole in my white, slutty hole.”  Precum was literally dripping from Michael’s cock like a faucet.  He was thrusting his ass back; the epitome of a hot fuck.  He dove for Matt’s cock again, swallowing it whole; spit dripping from the corners of his mouth as he moaned around every beautiful, black inch of it.  The cock in his mouth was so long, so hard, that it was literally being shoved two or three inches down his throat. 

I positioned myself so that he could see me playing with my hot, wet, pussy but so as not to interfere with the hot action.  A white woman came up to me and started licking my pussy without even so much as an introduction let alone my permission.  She appeared to be in a daze.  I don’t think she was as aroused by watching all the gay fucking as she was jealous that she wasn’t being the gangbang whore that Michael was.  It was all speculation of course because she had her face buried in my wet snatch and I was grinding my pussy on her face, using her to get off because I was outrageously aroused by the scene before me.  Michael possessed a hunger, a ravenous need that most subs didn’t even understand, let alone were they capable of achieving.  I could tell Jomo was on the verge of orgasm because he was pounding harder, moaning loader.  I timed my orgasm to match his as he pumped his creamy sperm in Michael and I squirted my juices into the 50 something brunette who was fingering her pussy while licking me. 

Jomo came.  His orgasm was powerful and he deposited his seed deep inside Michael’s guts.  Withdrawing his satiated dick, he grabbed Michael by the hair and spun him around, not caring that he was denying Matt the pleasure of his blowjob.  He placed his cock, fresh from a hot, sweaty, shithole on Michael’s lips.  He inhaled the aroma deeply.  That cock stunk of spunk and ass juice.  It wasn’t exactly apparent to me if there were streaks of shit on it but I assumed there were given that the fuck had been so savage and deep.  It didn’t seem to matter if there were slight streaks or if it was completely covered in filth, Michael devoured it hungrily.  In fact, his oral assault was a bit too aggressive and Jomo pushed him down and staggered away, literally drained after such a vigorous fuck.  Undaunted, Michael screamed for more. 

Matt, warmed up and ready, lay down on the bed.  “Climb on this stick, whitey.  Ride me, bitch.”  Michael straddled Matt, placing his legs on the outside of his strong, muscular thighs and his hands on Matt’s perfectly sculpted chest.  He lowered his asshole, now dripping with cum, sore, and gaping open, down onto Matt’s African spear.  Pain was an aphrodisiac at that point and he loved the feeling of that black meat piercing his, raw, abused hole.  He bounced up and down, furiously, fucking himself on Matt’s cock.  Looking down, he could see the impression of Matt’s cock in his stomach.  Something about that fact made him feel that much nastier.  Throughout the evening, he hadn’t even touched his own cock but the pool of dick snot that collected on Matt’s stomach was no indication of that.  He was producing a steady stream of clear precum and his ass was . . . it was wet, actually wet like a woman’s pussy. 

Not to be left out and ready to get in on the action, Reggie came up from behind, pushed Michael down and lined up the head of his dick next to Matt’s.  Michael’s face was a mere inches from Matt’s face.  In that moment, he wanted to be kissed; he wanted to be the ultimate faggot.  He could feel Matt’s breath on him, their chests were pressed together.  Reggie saw an opportunity, looked at me for my approval and I simply mouthed the words, “Go for it.” 

He climbed on the bed between Matt’s and Michael’s legs and took careful aim.  He lined up his cock alongside Matt’s and started pushing.  It was a tight fit and completely unsuccessful at first.  It didn’t seem like it was going to work but it was Michael who insisted that he not give up.  He begged, in a chant-like, hypnotic prayer, “Fill me up with those gorgeous cocks.  Use that hole, abuse it, fuck me.”  He kept saying it over and over again. 

Finally, after some serious effort, Reggie accomplished his mission.  Michael was impaled on not one but TWO beautiful, black cocks.  It was a tight fit but it was actually Michael who wanted that fuck to be intense and savage.  He started working his ass on them, wiggling, fucking them back.  The smell of sweat and nasty ass sex filled the room.  I grabbed the white woman’s head and forced her to start licking my asshole, making her drive it deep inside to satisfy my own anal desires.  My orgasm was seconds away.  I was witnessing a white body sandwiched between two of the most spectacular black bodies, it was a Black Domme’s dream come true.  Michael was insatiable.  He glanced at me and asked, “Are you proud of me?”

In that moment, I was outrageously proud.  He was the voracious slut that I had longed to own, to use, to control his desires.  “Yes, sweetie, I’m incredibly proud of you,” I said. 

With those words, his eyes glazed over with tears and lust.  He was sobbing and moaning, drooling and chanting, “Fuck, fuuuuck, FUCK!”  Reggie was the first to unload, pile-driving deep and hard, depositing the second load of cum up that nasty fuck hole.  Matt was last.  He began pistoning in and out at a machine-like speed.  Cum from Jomo and Reggie frothed out of Michael’s asshole, dripped down Matt’s cock, covering his balls, creating a wet, nasty sound as he neared his nut.  Michael met each thrust, worked his pussy like a cheap whore.  I was grinding my pussy and ass on the white woman’s mouth, nearing my own explosion.  I grabbed a handful of her brown hair and held tight as I unloaded my cream in her mouth and Matty deposited the third load of the night in Michael’s cunt. 

That was the evening that Michael became my possession.  Even with his asshole gaped and prolapsed, with multiple loads of cum dripping obscenely from it, he wanted more.  He didn’t want or need to cum; all he wanted was to get his pussy and throat pounded, to eat hot loads of jizz.  That was his satisfaction.  He begged and pleaded for more cocks but he was not to get them that evening.  Eventually, he’s come to perform for larger crowds with more men but he’s never been satisfied.  He’s never gotten enough cock, enough cum, enough abuse and I’ve never gotten enough of seeing him perform for me like my perfect pet.

Copyright 2011 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved