Worship

The following story is part three of what was to be an ongoing story.  This was the final chapter.  In going through my old writings I came across it and I needed to post it again.  I'm so in love with the Bitch Domme character and her ability to manipulate the white sub.  To me, there is no greater sense of satisfaction than when dominating a white man and he is seething in anger and he wants to strike you, he hates you, but you can see the look in his eyes that his brain is misfiring, that he realizes for the very first time in his life that he is not truly superior, that the white race isn't truly superior.  It's a thing of beauty to see.  

I hope you enjoy. 

Steven had fucked up.  After his failure of a first meeting with me, he sat and stewed and seethed with animosity.  Steven’s actions made him re-evaluate his own twisted kinks.  It was a painful and shameful look in the mirror for him.  He had to acknowledge, if only to himself, that his desires were pathological.  His need for extortion and blackmail, his fantasies of being “outted”, and financially drained, even his obsession with shallow, materialistic women were all indications of him indeed being mentally ill.  He invited women to extort him, he fantasized about his friends and family knowing of his perversions.  He got off on the idea of posting humiliating videos of himself doing repulsive things and sending them out to people with his face showing boldly. 

At the same time, he wanted to pretend to be a victim, to be faultless in his own financial and social demise.  At the end of the day, he loved all of it.  He sent other women money, bought their used undergarments, he continued to make videos all while pulling his worthless cock and checking his account balances, fantasizing that they said $0.00.  In the light of day, when he was out and about among normal, reasonable people, he felt profoundly ashamed of himself.  He waited for the confrontation he knew would come, someone in his family, his superior at work wanting to speak to him and question him about his bizarre proclivities.  In the privacy of his own home, in front of his computer however, he had no such qualms.  He feverishly stroked his tiny, limp cock to the childish insults of materialistic women who needed him to pay their bills or buy them expensive shoes they had no real occasion to wear them, and to their empty threats to expose him as he made endless paypal transactions and purchases. 

Knowing that I was truly above being one of the money hungry, greedy bitches he usually plays with, thinking that he could appeal to my rational, benevolent self, Steven approached me cautiously this time.  He sent me an email with no apology, no tone of contrition or hint of regret for his previous foul behavior, asking me how much it would cost to meet again.  I responded simply, without any fanfare or drama, $20,000 in cash, hand delivered to me in Philadelphia.  True to his nature, Steven responded by trying to negotiate, said he couldn’t afford that much, he even tried to get me to dominate him in exchange for the amount.  After several days without a response from me, he relented and agreed to meet me at the corner of N. 38th and Parrish Streets on Sunday morning, 11 am, and I reminded him that the money had to be in cash. 

Steven, oblivious to the workings of real Black America, showed up on time, thinking we would make the exchange at a small coffee shop or café.  Martin Luther King, Jr. said 50 years ago that the most segregated hour in America was 11 am on a Sunday morning and nothing had changed in half a century.  Wearing jeans and a button down, Steven approached me cautiously as he observed all the church goers, dressed in their Sunday finest, assembling to praise God pass us by and politely but not so subtly stare.  I had donned my best Sunday-go-to-meeting black suit, silk stockings, patent leather pumps.  I extended my white cotton gloved hand and peered from under my veiled black hat.  “Steven, it’s such a pleasure to see you again.” 

“Uhmmm, yeah,” he looked around nervously.  All of his fantasies of being humiliated and sexually shamed in public just vanished and he wanted to run and hide.  This was not at all what he had expected.  He said, “I have the money, can we just get this over with?” 

“Oh, goodness, Steven, what’s the rush?  Let’s go inside, shall we?” One of the ushers, a strikingly gorgeous Black man with an imposing figure held the door for us and wished us a pleasant good morning and handed us a program.  Not wanting to make too much of a scene and slightly intimidated by the whole situation, he stepped inside.  Never in his life had he felt so out of place.  His was the only white face in the sanctuary and he was the only person dressed casually.  I walked to the very front of the church and he felt compelled to follow.  He stood speechless as he stared up at the 40 ft. stained glass representation of Jesus, depicted as he truly was, a Black man with hair of wool.  Steven was angry, outraged; it was an offense to his every sensibility to see a Black man depicted as his lord and Savior.  Every cell in his body was filled with hatred for me.  He started to tell me to fuck off, that he was going to leave, but every head turned just as he began to raise his voice.  The words stuck in his throat before he could get out a complete sentence and he quietly slid into the pew next to me. 

Glancing around at all the beautiful people, happily married couples, single women, all reserved and devout, Steven fantasized about each and every one of them humiliating him sexually.  He waited for the shouting and speaking in tongues and running up and down the aisles he stereotypically expected but it never came.  The Men’s Choir sang some spirited gospel songs and everyone stood and clapped and praised the lord but the entire experience was more sophisticated than savage.  He fidgeted as I ignored him, trying to whisper to me that he needed to go, that he had other plans.  He didn’t listen to a word of the sermon, he was more concerned with deviant thoughts of being gangbanged, kicked, stomped, and used in this holy place of worship. 

There was a call to the altar for prayer and I whispered sweetly in Steven’s ear that he needed to confess his sins.  He swallowed hard and firmly said no, all eyes would be on him and that was not arousing for him.  He didn’t want to play the game my way, he wanted me to conform to his desires; he wanted me to be like the other classless whores he dealt with.  I discretely signaled for my friend, the usher, to escort Steven to the altar.  He knelt before Black Jesus and I knelt beside him.  “That’s it Steven, pray to Black Jesus, confess your sins.  Tell him what a wretched white heathen you are.  Pray for salvation to Black God, Steven.” 

He knelt, with his hands clasped as in prayer but his knuckles were white as he wanted nothing more than to strike me, to shut me up.  I leaned in closer and whispered more softly, “Louder bitch, let everyone know you are a sinner, tell them that you accept Black Jesus as your personal lord and savior, that you know he bled and died on the cross for your filthy, nasty sins.  Don’t you want to be washed in the blood of Holy Black Jesus?”  Tears streamed down his face, his knees ached, rage consumed him.  The congregation clapped, praised God, and cheered for his salvation.  The Pastor prayed, his righteous words punctuated with the staccato of the organ.  They passed the collection plate and I whispered softly, “Every penny of it, Steven, I want you to put every single dollar in that collection plate.” 

His hands trembled as he reached for the envelope in his back jeans pocket and he placed it on the pile of fives, tens, and twenties in the red-velvet-lined brass plate.   He closed his eyes and begged God for forgiveness, to absolve him of his sins, to release him the sexual sickness that consumed him, that prevented him from forming any sort of real, substantial relationship.  He prayed to be normal.  As much as he pretended to be happy as a freak, he deeply wanted to be loved, accepted, and respected by a woman who would love him for something other than his money.  It had been more than 30 years that he had even allowed himself to think such thoughts.  He prayed to the image of a Black man, on his knees, worshipping him, feeling truly worthless and inferior.  When he opened his eyes, I was gone.

He sent me an email, this time with notable humility and respect.  “Mistress, I bow to your will.  I’ve never encountered anyone like you before and I acknowledge and respect that you are nothing less than a true Goddess.  You are my religion and I’m willing to do things your way.  All that I am, all that I have is yours.” 

Copyright 2010 AfroerotiK  All Rights Reserved

You Will Pay

I'm a psychological Domme and I am quite exceptional at it. I employ the most extreme emotional, psychological, and mental torture possible. I'm not against using pain to inflict "punishment" but at this stage in my evolution as a Domme I'd much prefer to use money as part of my repertoire to break white men as white men are so fucking tied to their net worth as part of their identity and self-worth. Of course, money is not the only tool in my arsenal of weapons but it has moved up on my list in large part due to the recent current events that illustrate perfectly how economic disparity, not racial inferiority, has created a ghetto class of people that far too many white men feels is indication of their disposable lives.
 
I'm not a financial Domme, I don't request tributes from random subs; I'm not looking for someone to pay my bills or buy me a purse. I'm not a Pro Domme. I'm not going to do what a white man tells me to do simply because he has paid me. I am, however, the descendent of slaves who labored for centuries for white people while they immorally profited. I'm the great-grandchild of a beautiful, strong, brilliant Black man who worked as a sharecropper and who was cheated by a land owner and made millions while my great-grandfather lived in poverty. I'm painfully aware of white men's privilege, arrogance, condescension, and mental instability and I'm willing to exploit them in multiple ways, not the least of which is monetarily.

Submissive White Men: A Decade Later

I’ve been putting off writing this follow-up piece to White Male Submission for almost a year now.  My love/hate relationship with submissive white men on any given day is tempered by how many cups of Roobois tea I’ve had to keep me calm, exactly how effective I think I’ve been in communicating to them another way to look at their behaviors, and how annoying they insist on being.  Submissive white men love me and I . . . well . . . I don’t hate white men, of the submissive or any other variety, but I’m not fond of the arrogance, lack of empathy, compassion, or concern many of them have for anyone with different experiences than they, or the sheltered, and unjustly privileged existence they lead that allows them to think that the world revolves around their fantasies, and how they manage to think that I owe them my time and attention. 

My very first exposure to the concept of submissive white men began in January of 2000.  I had just quit my job on the corporate plantation and I was starting the new millennium unencumbered by the chains of a nine to five.  In my particular case, I was in retail management so it was more like my nine to nine.  Nevertheless, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life but I knew for a fact it wasn’t making some shareholders rich while I managed to exist comfortably but on an austere budget that allowed for few, true luxuries.  For the first month of my unemployed status, I obsessively visited different chat rooms.  I was new to the concept and yahoo had a chat room for every possible interest.  At first, I joined all the African-American chat rooms and then the political ones.  Next, I ventured to the dating ones for thirty-somethings; and eventually the ones about sex.  I wasn’t interested in chatting about sex with random strangers for my own personal arousal but I can remember, even then, YEARS before the concept of AfroerotiK was even a tiny seed in my consciousness, that I was intrigued by people sharing their fantasies with me.  I wanted to know what made people tick.  I wanted to know what got them off.  I would ask questions and people would confess to me like I was their own personal, sexual high-priestess. 

It didn’t take very long to figure out the patterns of submissive white men.  Everyone told the same story; there wasn’t much deviation in their fantasies.  For a while there I thought I was chatting with the same person because the stories sounded so similar and their lamentations so identical.  Like I said in my previous article, they usually fell into one of three categories: cuckolds, practitioners in female supremacy, and bisexual submissives.  I’m going to suggest that the categories have remained essentially the same but they have grown, morphed into some sort of amalgamation of white male submission where the lines are blurred and the identities aren’t nearly so neatly defined any more.  Cuckolds have become sissies, female supremacists have become black supremacists, and bisexual submissives have become depraved, perverse, degenerates and everyone has ventured over into someone else’s territory to explore and test the waters.  Today, there are financial pay pigs, blackmail addicts, castration junkies, service-oriented subs, and good old-fashioned pain pigs.  The sheer numbers of white submissive men is incomprehensible to me but I can tell you that they are an outrageously large percentage of the population and still growing it seems. 

What do submissive white men fantasize about?  You don’t even want to know. 

Who is the typical submissive white male?  Look around you and you will see one.  They are blue collar, white collar, single, married, educated, degreed, high-school drop outs, middle management cogs, entrepreneurs, law enforcement, those under the law, jocks, nerds, run-of-the-mill Joes, Republican and Democrat and even Tea Partiers, American and European, rich, poor, short, tall, fat, skinny, straight, gay, and in the closet bisexual, muscular, 98 pound weaklings, young and old, ugly and attractive, and the guy next door.  The very guy you think of and you say, “Oh, he would NEVER be one of those guys,” is the same guy who has shared with me filthy secrets about how he wants to be a slut for black cock or a toilet for a group of Black women.  The very person you say is too (fill in the blank) good looking – successful – racist – normal – average – macho – creepy – mousey - conservative to be submissive to Blacks is the exact type who is.   On an almost daily basis, I have men who identify as Dominants in the BDSM world send me messages that say, “I’m a Dom to white women but I secretly dream of being sub to a Black woman, would you train me?”  Am I suggesting that every white man is submissive?  By all means no.  I am suggesting that every type of white man is.  There is no type.  While their behaviors and words are eerily similar, they come from every different background conceivable. 

Are white women equally as motivated by their interracial submission?  I have no idea.  Luckily for me, the white women in my circle of friends are sane, healthy, balanced, exceptional women.  Do I think the white women I call sisters are reflective of the majority of white women?  As much as I would like to believe that, I know in my heart that is not the case.  I do know that there are legions of white women who identify as sluts for Black cock, Black only whores, and those who are sexually aroused by the concept of getting “bred Black.”  I know there are interracial cuckold sites galore with white women who are being joined by their submissive white husbands in their worship and adoration of the mythical big, black cock.  White women are not inclined to seek out my advice or counsel so I have no ideas of their numbers or pathologies.  I can say that Black women are not nearly as motivated dominate as white men are to submit.  I can say that Black men are FAR less likely to be interested in dominating white males than they are white females.  Perhaps because white women have so many outlets for their desires and white men have so few, perhaps white women are more . . . shall we say adjusted . . . with their interracial fantasies.  I wouldn’t even hazard a guess because, again, I don’t communicate with them on any meaningful level so my knowledge of the drives and motivations of white women, submissive or not, is limited.  If the number of interracial porn sites on the internet is any indication, I would say that the numbers must equal or surpass those of submissive white men. 

I wouldn’t be exaggerating in the slightest if I said that I got no less than 50 forms of communication a day from submissive white men.  The actual number is probably twice that and it can go even higher than that on days I post stories or essays I’ve written about the topic.  I remember when I wrote the first article discussing the phenomenon, I would get death threats, literal death threats, from white men who were OUTRAGED that I would suggest that the numbers of white men who were sexually submissive was so high.  It was imperative for them to dismantle my logic by using numbers.  They would come up with these extensive calculations as to why there couldn’t have been thousands of white men who had confessed their secrets to me over the course of several years.  I think there was something reassuring and comforting for them to know that they could assert that there was no way I could have had conversations with 3.2 submissive white men a day (or whatever number they came up with), every day for 365 days a year for three years so there was no way that I could have spoken with thousands of submissives therefore everything I said was false.  White men apparently need to quantify everything empirically for it to have validity and if they can’t, it means their reality is safe.  They would go on to tell me that they were going to kill me and call me every racist nigger bitch in the book.  I threatened their sense of entitlement so completely that they had no issue with threatening to take my life. 

A great many submissive white men are suffering from some form of mental illness.  I’m sure it stems from the fact that they compartmentalize their sexuality so much, being sluts for black cock, servants, and open admirers of Black beauty in front of their computer screens and telling racist jokes in front of their friends and coworkers and never really working to dissolve themselves of the racist mindsets all white people have inherited in this country.  It’s not enough to just say, “My parents didn’t raise me to be racist.”  Your parents might not have but society certainly did.  To divorce yourself from the racist mindsets that lurk behind every facet of society, white people have to do real hard work.  Work that most of them don’t want to do or even acknowledge.  They have been socialized to believe that white men are superior for 30, 40, or 50 years or more of their lives and behind closed doors, they crave degradation, humiliation, they want to do unspeakable things to and for Black people and that fucks with their sense of security, their identity.  This “white guilt” they have for being privileged fucks with their heads.  They want to be punished for their whiteness.  Why?  I have no idea.  But the fact that their lives are these fractured, Add to that a great many submissive white men STILL think that they are the only white male on the planet with their fantasies.  Overwhelmingly, submissive white men cannot conceive of another white man craving to do what they dream of doing, to the extent they crave it, regardless of how many websites they join, how many pictures they look at, videos they masturbate to, or how many stories they read.    If I had a million dollars to burn, I would bet every penny that the white police officers involved in the Skip Gates fiasco and the hoards of white men who rallied in their behalf have volumes of interracial porn on their hard drives and a bajillion interracial porn sites in their browser history.  Why can I say that with such conviction?  That’s how their disconnect manifests itself, their lust for Black sexuality behind doors, their insistence that they are the ONLY white men with such fantasies has to come out in public as, “I hate Blacks and I’m not going to let them get away with being uppity, I’ll show them who is still in charge and put them in their place.” 

There is a magic force, driving, propelling, COMPELLING white men to be sluts and depraved whores for Black sexuality.  It’s true.  There is some force, greater than gravity, greater than centrifugal force and atomic power that is making white men want to behave in such unspeakable ways.  Not only that, but I alone have a magic crystal ball or some sort of magical powers that can explain this strange phenomenon so it makes sense to them.  I know it must be true because on a daily basis, white men come to me, telling me that they are amazed that I understand the mind of the submissive white man so well (as if it’s really difficult and I’ve cracked some sort of secret and ancient code) and they ask me to tell them why they have such submissive inclinations.  I don’t care how many times I’ve said that I don’t have a fucking clue as to why there are so many submissive white men, the only answer that they are prepared to hear  is that there is some cosmic force making them have these sorts of fantasies.  In fact, quite a few submissive white men are quite intent on telling me that there is some Divine motivation behind their fantasies. It seems they NEED to believe that their fantasies are beyond their control because to admit that they find Black women more attractive than the blond-haired, blue-eyed, size 2 model of the week, to admit that they are bisexual and attracted to Black men, is a reality they can’t comprehend.  For it to make sense to them, ordinarily rational, logical white men start ascribing some sort of spiritual/karmic power to blame for their interracial desires.  I don’t think I’m going out on a limb to suggest that until white men start taking responsibility for their desires, owning them, not trying to assert that their lust for Black flesh is because of some alignment of the stars, they will forever be dysfunctional. 

On more than a few occasions, I get letters of admiration from individuals, praising me with my keen insight on race and pledging their undying devotion to the Black race and our superior sexuality, offering to do ANYTHING disgusting they can think of and when I don’t respond the way they want, I get vicious attacks, denigrating not only myself but the entire black race. They call me sick and racist and tell me I need help.  If I ignore them or don’t play their game, then all Black men become illiterate criminals who just want to fuck white women and make babies.  After Obama was elected, the 180 degree switch from singing my praises to hating me would inevitably include some reference to how stupid he really is, how he has destroyed the country, how his wife is a monkey, and how undeserving he is of the office of the Commander in Chief because, of course, he was only elected because “the Blacks” voted for him.  Let a few months pass and those same individuals will be on the AfroerotiK bandwagon again, proclaiming to me privately that my stories touch them in ways no other story has ever done and that I am a Nubian Goddess worthy of only the highest praise.  The flip flop from one extreme to the other is never accompanied by an apology or acknowledgment of their wrong doing.  No, that, as my grandmother used to say, would be too much like right.  They don’t feel they have to apologize for their racist rants or childish behavior because to them, I am nothing more than an imaginary figure in their fantasies.  I’m not a real person who demands the basic tenets of common courtesy. 

I maintain profiles on most of the major Femdom or BDSM related sites.  Almost hourly, I will get some sort of correspondence from a submissive pouring out his little heart to me, telling me how he has dedicated his life to serving the Black race.  When I go to his profile, there is NOTHING there that indicates this devotion and all of his friends are white women or other white submissive men.  When I inquire as to why that is, they usually dismiss my concerns by saying that they just never took the time to update their profile.  It seems white men don’t even want other submissive white men to know that they are submissive to Blacks.  That’s denial to the second power times delusion. 

On the rare occasion when someone sends me correspondence that’s literate and engaging, sometimes just plain sweet, there are times when I’m moved to take the conversations offline.  Sometimes the conversations are sexual in nature, at times, they are not.  In every instance, I reveal myself to be exactly who I am, a complex, intellectual, multi-faceted woman.  I’m not a character in my stories, calling them whitey and demanding that they suck a big black dick for me.  I’m not the sassy black Domme demanding that they refer to me as Mistress and pay tributes or bark like a dog.  I’m the same person I am when I talk to my friends, bill collectors, and men who are romantically interested in me.  Those men who are most invested in the concept of whiteness, meaning those who are the richest, who have benefitted the most by having a penis and pink skin, those who are the most distanced from any sort of Black peer are the ones who will make plans to meet and NEVER contact me again.  They will not text, email, or call to cancel.  They will not respond to text, email, phone call, instant message, carrier pigeon or smoke signal from me.  As one particularly introspective white male sub explained it to me in relation to this particular phenomenon, “I can be attracted to the idea of a high dive off of a cliff. When it comes to do the dive I can become fearful because the cliff is not the idealized cliff of my fantasy but a real cliff. Unless I can deal with real cliffs I will be unable to make my dive.”  I’m not sure if other Black Dommes deal with this particular issue to the same extent as I do or not.  I represent the most dangerous cliff they’ve ever encountered and a dive that puts their reality in danger.  I’m cool with them if I’m just a screen name on a computer screen but to think that an actual person, a human being, a sentient, complex woman is out there and who can get inside their heads with such ease is a leap they aren’t willing to take.    

White men tell me daily, “Oh Mistress, I believe in all that you believe.”  When I ask them what exactly it is that they think I believe, nine times out of ten they will respond by telling me that I’m a believer in Black and female supremacy.  Never, not once in all my writings, not in one single erotic story, article, essay, status update, or tweet have I said, intimated, hinted, or implied that I believe in Black or female supremacy.  I have said that I am Black, female, and outrageously superior but I do not ascribe the trait of superiority to everyone of my gender or race.  I do believe that indigenous Africans were questionably physically stronger and morally superior simply because the form of slavery they practiced was not dehumanizing.  It’s a hard argument for white people to make that they were superior with the knowledge that they treated African life, human life, like it was less than that of an animal’s.  But after two hundred and fifty years of enslavement, another hundred of racism and institutional racism, brainwashing by a set of morals and beliefs that are antithetical to African psychological health, and there is no way we can still be considered collectively superior.  Some of us, by the grace of God, have slipped through the cracks and have proven that even when the playing field isn’t level, we can still excel.  Do I wish that all of us could?  Hell yes.  Do I think that all of us are capable of an excellence that has been systematically kept from us?  I do, but there will need to be such a shift in consciousness, such a transition to a whole new way of thinking, that the possibility remains so remote and obscure as to have very little basis in reality.  I’ve explained that over and over again.  As many times as I can point to places where I’ve outlined exactly how I feel about the concept of Black and/or Female Supremacy, it’s like it goes in one ear and out the other for the white submissive male.  He hears what he wants to hear, he interprets it in a way that fits his worldview. 

I write stories of interracial domination not because I have a great stake in it emotionally but because I recognize the tremendous opportunity I have at my fingertips to educate and enlighten.  I asked the question recently of my white submissive followers and fans, what they liked most about my stories.  Almost without exception, they all lavished the same extensive praise about what a great writer I am.  “You paint such a vivid picture,” I can see every detail in my mind,” “You know the mind of the submissive male so well.”   ONE individual, one out of several dozen responses suggested that it was my unapologetic examination of race that made my stories so good.  That shows how much in denial and delusional white men continue to be about their own sexuality. 

My stories are about race.  My stories examine race from the first paragraph, often times, the very first sentence.  “Scott Clair hated his whiteness.  He wasn’t able to articulate it exactly in that way; he claimed to be coming to terms with his submissive nature and his overwhelming desire to serve the Black race.”  “Did she have a hidden agenda?  Was her desire to dominate white men driven by some racial hatred or need to seek revenge for her enslaved ancestors?”  “For most white people, their knee-jerk, conditioned response at the mere mention of the word reparations is to scream, ‘My family never owned any slaves.  I’m not paying any reparations!  You Blacks need to just get over it, slavery was in the past, let it go for Christ’s sake.’”  Not to acknowledge that my stories are set apart from everyone else’s because of the way I handle race is denial of the highest order.  White writers are stereotypical and one dimensional in their portrayal of Black characters in their tales of interracial domination.  Even the best white writer doesn’t make their Black characters anything more than a tool for a white person to get off on their fantasy.  Their grammar, sentence structure, and story development might be good but they can’t, they aren’t capable of giving color, literally and figuratively, to Black characters they way I can.  In the best case scenario, white writers make the Black characters colorless with the exception of throwing around the N word and the black male always has a big, black cock.  In the worst case scenario, which sadly is the case more often than not, the Black characters are a replication of the very same ghetto dwelling, Ebonic-speaking, lust-driven savage who craves white flesh. 

I write interracial domination stories for white men to get an ugly picture of themselves.  I write interracial domination stories because every once in a while, a white man will write to me and express that he has been humbled and that he is learning to see Black people in a different light.  I write hardcore, explicit tales of Black people dominating white men because I know that if I arouse them with the erotica, if I push their buttons and stimulate their desires, that they will explore more, they will follow me and read my other works, see the pictures, they will be forced to see Black people in a different light.  No, I don’t back down off the subject matters that most people are repulsed by.  I write about heavy scat play, and bareback gangbangs, and make reference to bestiality not because I find any of those subjects particularly arousing, but because the number of white men who share their fantasies with me on a daily basis about those subjects is staggering. 

For submissive white men, several things have remained consistent.  Their submission is still largely sexual.  For them it is about what gives them sexual pleasure, what arouses and stimulates their libidos.  They SAY that their submission is more than sexual, they claim that it’s not about them, that it’s about their servitude to the Black race but their actions don’t match their words.  For them, there is still a disconnect.  They think that as long as they perceive themselves as being degraded and humiliated in acts that aren’t sexual, like housework and holding a door, or giving up their seat to a Black person on the train that means that they no longer have any racist beliefs and that they are somehow exempt from taking any action to rectify their unearned privilege in society.  The vast majority of submissive white men still refuse to accept that they have any unearned privilege and those who do aren’t willing to do anything more than give lip service to the idea that they might actually have to take a stand socially or politically for racial equality.  Most are content to say, “I voted for Obama” whether they did or not, and call it a day. 

Copyright 2011 Scottie Lowe of AfroerotiK

The End of an Era

At different points in our lives we have to examine ourselves and our motivations and decide if we need to change who we are.  Today is that day for me.  For the better part of 15 years or so, I’ve been a Domme.  I am what is referred to as a lifestyle Domme meaning I do not do it professionally but merely for the pleasure and joy I receive from it personally.  More specifically, I am a psychological Domme, meaning I have no desire to inflict pain on anyone, I don’t want or need anyone to do stupid tasks to prove my superiority.  My arousal, my very physical and sexual arousal comes from getting in a sub’s head and fucking with the wiring, making him disoriented, altering his perceptions and his core beliefs.  I take what is arousing and a turn-on for submissives and I use that, I manipulate that in order to get them to a place of arousal where they are more open and receptive to the reality of their true, inherent inferiority.  If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it 100 times.  I do not believe in nor am I proponent of theories of Black or female supremacy but I am Black, female, and infinitely superior.

I have been open and very honest about my domination in my blog and in my AfroerotiK travels for many, many years.  I’ve been open and honest about all of my growth as a person, my sexuality, I have no secrets.  I don’t hide my identity.  I have ONE profile name on every site.  I have never created a fake profile or tried to obscure my identity for any reason.  I have created podcasts discussing all sorts of topics openly and very honestly, and I have written extensively about my personal revelations.  What I do not do is write about my specific submissives and the experiences I have with them.  I feel like if they trust me enough to give me a part of themselves that is so intimate and scary, the very least I can do is keep their experiences between them and I.  I personally have nothing to be ashamed of, however, because I am not at all ashamed of what I do.  I exploit white men’s inherent racism, their fallacious sense of superiority, and their submissive sexual desires in order to make them face harsh realities they might not otherwise experience but by my hand. 

I have been very vocal about ONLY dominating white men.  I do not dominate men of color, any color, because society is set up to oppress them and I will not contribute to that.  I do not and will not ever see Black men as inferior to me.  Even if they are less advantaged than I am, I do not see them as inferior.  I see them for who and what they are: men who have been denied equal access to education, employment, and who have had to compensate in a very racist society by adapting to their environment.  I know that if they had been given the same advantages in education and in society that I have been given, that the strength, beauty, and inherent will of the Black man to excel would, in fact, make them my equals. 

I do not, will not, and have never dominated a woman, any woman.  I have had two or three occasions to have sexually explicit chats with white women and there was clearly blurred lines with domination and submission but I did not have any desire to dominate them.  I am a woman.  To do what I do to a woman would be akin to criminal in my mind.  Even though I don’t feel a sisterhood with white women like I do with women of color, I still respect that they are their struggles have to mirror my own at some point on the spectrum of life and it’s a rule I am very comfortable keeping. 

I have had some wonderful subs over the years.  I can truly say that I have cared for each of them in some way.  Some helped me grow as a Domme, others simply served as toys to express my sexuality.  I have turned down more offers from submissive white men than can be counted.  There was a time when I would get no less than 10-15 different offers from white men a day, every day, 365 days a year, for the better part of half a decade.  My standards are strict but so is my play.  I play hard.  I take no prisoners and I’m pretty unapologetic about it.  I have crafted and created plans specific to each of the subs who have belonged to me.  I have had a few occasions to have one-night stands if you will with submissive white men and with very few exceptions, very few indeed, they have all been pleasant experiences. 

I remember my first foray into domination.  I was completely unaware of anything to do with the BDSM world.  The gentleman who had been pursuing me romantically didn’t say anything about wanting to be submissive at all.  It was not until he was kneeling on the ground in downtown Atlanta, loudly proclaiming for all the midday passersby to hear, that he would do anything for my forgiveness.  Eventually, he would end up in the middle of my living room floor, weeping with joy and exasperation at the trials I put him through.  I was a different woman after that night.  I knew that I could, with my superior intellect and reasoning, get white submissives to a place where I could manipulate their sexuality and their sense of belonging.  I knew that I could hold a dirty mirror up to white men and reveal to them the pathological and deep-seated racism that they seem incapable of acknowledging. 

I studied their behaviors, their responses, their core beliefs and it was apparent that submissive white men held very much the same twisted and disturbed desires to some degree.  Some white men were creepy, some were simple, most were simply self-centered and didn’t give a damn about me, only their fantasy of being submissive to some sassy Black bitch.  Some, the intelligent, serene, worldly ones, I respected and appreciated.  Others, rich, arrogant, and racist, I enjoyed toying with and breaking and throwing away like trash. 

Over the years, I have had coffee and/or drinks with dozens of submissive white men for their applications to belong to me.  Most were painfully average.  White men who no one would think or believe would have submissive desires, middle-class, average white men who were not spectacular, remarkable, or memorable in any way told me that they would do anything for me.  Most, I knew I would never hear from them again, others I knew that they were too one-dimensional to truly grasp that what I would do to them was so entirely devastating, so extreme and cruel, and they were too oblivious to know that they were way in over their heads.  Others, I would think there was potential, that they would be great submissives but they were just too disconnected from the truth, their desires were too compartmentalized.  You see, it’s one thing to sit in front of a computer and pretend and fantasize that you are a depraved slutty pig who will do anything, it’s quite another to live the reality.  Most white men fantasize in extremes.  They want to be the gangbang whore at a party.  Apparently, white men think that Black women frequently sit around at parties where we piss on white men for amusement.  Or they want to be passed around, having unprotected sex with black men with 12 inch dicks. 

White men always act offended and outraged when I suggest that those fantasies, were just that, fantasies and that what I would do to them would be extreme but never insane or dangerous.  When they’re horny, you can’t reason with them; with their dicks in their hands, they swear that they will do anything.  When the reality of their lives resumes in the light of day, they compartmentalize, deny, and run away for months.   They can’t deal with the fact that I might actually be able to transform them to the thing that they want to be secretly.  They run in fear because they know that if they were to submit to me, it would no long be just a fantasy but that I would turn their fantasies into their greatest fears. 

I’ve written many times about the commonalities of submissive white men.  Their behaviors are pretty consistent and delusional.  They are adept at compartmentalizing their sexuality in ways that not one Black person I’ve ever met, as disconnected and detached from any sort of healthy grasp of sexuality as we are, has ever come close to.  White men have a level of arrogance, of entitlement, a belief that they are beyond reproach in a way that is highly disturbing. 

There have been a few white subs I haven’t been able to break.  One, I groomed for five years and he would run away every time we met.  He was so warped he made up a wife that never existed.  I wish I could say he was the only one but he was far from the only one who did that.  White men want to have an excuse, an out.  They actually think that I will fall in love with them or that I will stalk them.  It’s part of their delusion, they think that I would covet and want them, that I will somehow inflict myself into their life, that I will need them to complete me.  I’m patient, extremely patient in fact, and I have had subs who kept coming back time and time again only to get close to the day when I would dominate them, with or without a partner, and they would disappear for several months.  They always come back.  ALWAYS. 

Racism is a mental disease.  Couple that mental disease with the overwhelming desire to submit to Black sexuality, and the need to be racist and offensive in public and private circles to maintain the status quo, to maintain the image that they hate blacks when you in fact they lust after us, when they have done absolutely NO work to rid themselves of their racist beliefs and their inherent sense of superiority, and you have the recipe for internal conflict that sets the stage for white men acting like assholes.  I have experienced far more of that than I would like to.  Obnoxious, arrogant, offensive . . . I’ve seen it all.  I love the ones that say, “Well, if you were truly superior, you could break me of being an asshole.”  White men are racist, mentally ill, they are deluded in their beliefs that they are superior.  Me being superior has nothing whatsoever to do with making them realize the ways of their profound assholery and making them change.  My superiority has to do with my ability to see and recognize their behaviors for what they are and not lowering myself to their sickness but rather staying confident, secure, and sane in my walk on this earth, speaking truth to power, and being the gifted visionary I was born to be. 

I haven’t done that.  I have slipped and fallen and I can’t get up.  I have let a sub and his mental illness break my spirit and my will.  It is for this reason, after deep reflection and self-examination, that I am announcing that I will no longer dominate white men.  I will no longer refer to myself as a Domme, I will no longer engage in any activities personally that require my interaction with white men and psycho-sexually dominating them.  I am not superior to mental illness and his has infected me.  I have wanted him out of my life for a decade.  He comes back, over and over and over again.  He feels entitled to insinuate himself into my life when he wants, how he wants, with no respect or regard for anything other than his own sick and twisted fantasies of being blackmailed and extorted and ruined.  He is a pathological liar.  He has broken my spirit.  I hate him.  I have never hated a sub before in my life.  They aren’t important enough in my life for me to hate.  I hate him in a way that lets me know that he has won, he has broken me.  If I could let him get to me the way he has, I know that it’s time for me to pack it up and move on to the next phase of my life. 

I dread coming to my blog every day; every day I dread the thought of seeing a comment from him.  I feel like I have to be careful what I write because I will incite him to bother and annoy the piss out of me again.  I can’t do that.  I can’t let a white man control what I write.  I gave him the opportunity to belong to me.  I opened myself up and said, “Hey, I obviously can’t get rid of him so I’ll just do what I do best and dominate him.” What an idiot I was.  I can’t dominate insanity.  I knew it was time for me to stop being a Domme when I actually prayed for his death.  When I let myself be that dysfunctional, all because a white man, it’s time for me to let it go.  I have to make peace with the fact that I will never be rid of him and I have to find a way to accept that and incorporate it into my life without the feelings of disgust, anger, and resentment that he has evoked in me. 

I will not dominate white men any more.  I have done it, enjoyed it, and it’s been a great ride.  Going forward, I will have to rethink seriously my involvement with interracial content.  I know that I must continue to write my own particular brand of interracial erotica.  I know that I have opened white men’s eyes, I know that I am the only voice who is approaching it in the way that I do.  I have plans for a series of interracial videos that are unlike anything that can be found on the internet today.  I know I must go through with them because I know I need Black people to see ourselves as truly superior, not just pawns, not just nigger sex objects to fulfill whatever dark continent fantasies white people have.  What I despise at this moment is that every time I come out with new content, I know I will be dragged back down into the abyss of this particular leech and his insane world where he is justified in all the twisted lies he tells, all the immature tactics to get my attention.  He will, as he has done repeatedly and consistently for the last decade, find reason to critique me, feign indignation, arrogance, and outrage towards me, and then sing my praises.  He’s done it since day one.  He’s so warped, he has created fake girlfriends, fake profiles, fake realities just to insinuate himself into my life. 

If I don’t come to some sort of peace dealing with the fact that I will never be rid of him, I will certainly self-destruct.  I want and need to distance myself from the sickness that is white male submission.  Their insanity isn’t questioned, challenged, or addressed in any sort of meaningful way and I am the only one doing so.  I have plans for all sorts of interracial events that will make white men come to terms with the dichotomy that is their racial love/hatred for Black folk.   I can’t even think about executing them because I know that each and every time I do, he will be there, in some way, inflicting himself into my life.  I PRAY for the day I will never hear from him again.  Sadly, I know in a matter of months, he will come back, again, and again, and again.