Queening for a Day

She didn't say another word, she didn't make a move. She motioned her eyes toward the front door and remained stoic. Bret looked like a deer caught in headlights. He didn't want to go; in fact, he wanted desperately to stay, throw himself at her feet, beg for her forgiveness, and be subjected to her cruel punishments. He wanted her to give him an ultimatum, to say something that would give him the chance to stay. She walked to the door, opened it, and stood aside.

"I . . . uhmmm," he mumbled as he walked past her, too prideful to ask to say, feeling like an idiot for totally fucking up, "Great match. Thanks."

He hailed a cab to take him back to his car and relived every second of the past week in his mind over and over again on his way home. All weekend, he was withdrawn and quiet. He made excuses to his friends why he couldn't hang out and sex with Amanda was nothing more than perfunctory. Every time he closed his eyes, however, he would see Shauntay. He couldn't sleep at night and Monday morning couldn't come soon enough. He watched the clock all morning long and made a beeline for the park. Of course, she wasn't there, and subconsciously, he knew she wouldn't be. He asked one of the homeless men if he'd seen her and waited around for almost two hours before going back to work. All week long he went to the park; all week long, she wasn't there. He was beginning to get depressed, angry at himself for not throwing caution to the wind and taking a chance. She intimidated him and that wasn't a sensation he had ever truly experienced before.

Bret began to fill his time at the park by playing the men there, talking to them, befriending them, observing their chess skills and speculating how they seemed to possess such amazing analytical skills but couldn't get a job. He saw the casual glances from white passersby who belied their true feelings of disgust when he would share his food with them. Over the course of several weeks, he tried to convince himself that he was no longer going there to look for Shauntay but to engage in great chess with worthy competitors. The truth was, he couldn't imagine the day that he would stop looking for her, she'd made a huge impact on him and he was convinced he wasn't going to be the same ever again.

Deeply engrossed in a great game, he felt the breath of her words as she whispered in his ear, "Have you missed me?'

Bret's heart skipped a beat; the palms of his hands broke out in an immediate sweat. It took every ounce of strength he possessed not to fall to his knees and show his devotion to her. He wanted to forfeit the game but it wasn't in his nature, and somehow, he knew that Shauntay would be displeased. He continued playing, glancing around, looking for her but she had faded into the masses. He knew she was there, watching him, he could feel her intense presence. Just as with his first game with her, he was nervous, making stupid mistakes. He lost. He lost fair and square. He scanned the crowd and saw her sitting on a bench about 50 yards away. He approached cautiously and sat down, waiting for her to say something. She didn't utter a sound.

"You were right. About . . . you know . . . you were right. How did you know," he queried, "about . . . me, about . . . you know. How did you know that I would like that sort of thing?"

She moved closer, pressing her leg against his. "I read you." The puzzled look on his face indicated that he needed a more in-depth explanation. "Your game, the reverence you have for your queen, the way you protect her, it speaks volumes about you. I can tell all sorts of things from the way you play. You want people to see you as extraordinarily intelligent, but deep inside, you not only feel average, but there's a part of you that feels unworthy, contemptible even. You are inherently submissive and you are drawn to that part of me that is inherently dominant."

"There's no way you can tell all that about me from watching me play chess," he said indignantly.

"Oh, really? Am I wrong?"

It was Bret's time to remain silent now. He sat staring at the ground. Every time he would look up, she would be staring at him. There was communication in the silence. So many things were unsaid, unarticulated. None of that seemed to matter. Finally, he said, "So, what now?"

"Well, that would depend on what you want." Shauntay was a bit more aloof than Bret would have liked. He wanted her to show interest in him, he wanted her to see him as different, to WANT to dominate him. She stood up, dropped her backpack in his lap, and leaned in close, her lips close to his, like she was about to kiss him. "I'll see you later." With that, she walked away, Bret's eyes transfixed to her ass as she disappeared into the sunshine, gripping her bag like it sustained his life.

That day after work, Bret took out his phone, called Amanda saying that he had to go out of town for the weekend for work, which was not at all unusual for him, and he drove to Shauntay's apartment, backpack in tow. He stood outside her building, terrified to go up but driven to cross the threshold into a new adventure. He knocked, nervous and afraid.

"One moment, please." He heard her movements behind the closed door.

Bret waited what seemed like an eternity. Finally she opened the door completely and stood before him and he literally gasped for air. Shauntay was dressed, or barely dressed rather, in a bright turquoise lace bra that was doing a lousy job of containing her overflowing breast flesh. Her matching garter belt sat atop her hips and the colorful straps went down her slender ebony legs and held her black, silk, lace-topped stockings in place. Her small feet were encased in high-heeled black, patent leather pumps, tasteful and sexy. The most striking feature of her outfit was the chocolate brown strapon protruding from her body. At first glance, it appeared to be about 8 inches long and at least as wide as his wrist. She stood there calmly, stroking it, taunting Bret. He glanced nervously up and down the hallway, terrified that someone would see her, terrified that someone would see him standing there, practically salivating.

"Welcome," she said, "I've been expecting you."

Bret wanted to say something to let her know that she wasn't the one pulling the strings, that he was still in control of his actions, that he understood the dynamics of what was happening, no words would come out. Her comfort level with being so open, standing where anyone who opened their door or came up the steps could see them, threw off his equilibrium. He wasn't in control; she was controlling the game. He was a pawn and she a dynamic Black Queen Bitch. He wanted to appear aloof but if she had commanded that he drop to his knees right there in the hallway and suck that dick, he would have done it without hesitation.

"Come in."

Bret stepped forward but she didn't move to the side. He had to squeeze past her; his body brushing up against hers, the strapon wedged tightly between their bodies as he made his way inside. The room was lit with candles around the perimeter and the furniture had been moved out of the center, creating a void, a playroom essentially.

"Undress!" Her command was so simple and to the point it needed no further instruction.

Bret removed his shoes and socks, placed them neatly under a chair in the corner. He removed his shirt and then t-shirt, and took his took belt off completely, stalling. He took off his watch and placed it in his shoes and hesitated for a second before he unzipped his pants. She was staring at him, inspecting, him, objectifying him like a piece of meat, inspecting him like a slave on the auction block. He lowered his pants and folded them neatly, maintaining the creases. He slid his hand in his underwear and squeezed his cock before he slid them down his legs and stepped out of them and placed them neatly on the pile of clothing.

Shauntay ran her soft hands over his body, caressing him, twisting his nipples causing him to stifle a small moan, rolling his balls between her fingers. She stroked his cock, making him leak precum and turned him around and ran her fingertips gently over his butt. She spread his asscheeks and softly rubbed the tight rosebud of his asshole. This time, Bret couldn't stifle his moans and bent over to give her more access, to show off his slutty nature. He wanted her finger; he wanted to be penetrated. That was not to be her next move.

She grabbed his cock roughly and pulled him to the center of the living room. She made him stand there as she circled him, stroking his cock to full erection and then rubbing her strapon against it. "You like that big, black, dick, don't you?" Bret nodded. "Answer me; let me hear you say it." Bret mumbled in the affirmative but that was the best he could do. He felt like he was high. Shauntay pulled her breasts from the top of her bra, exposing her erect, dark, chocolate nipples. She rubbed them on his torso and he knew better than to reach out and touch them, to drop to his knees and suck them like he longed to do. She rubbed them sensually and then wet her finger and traced her areola. She cupped his balls and squeezed them hard, making Bret cry out in pain and his knees buckle. "I told you to ANSWER ME!"

Bret's breathing was erratic. She placed her hand on his shoulder and pressed gently, signaling that he was to kneel. He was eye level with her fake dick and she rubbed it over his lips. "Mmmmm, yes, I like that black cock."

"Now, Bret, is that any way to show your appreciation? Now, tell me how much you love that dick, tell me how much you crave it."

Inspired to impress, Bret turned up the intensity. "I love that big, black cock. I want to suck you off, I want you to ram it in my throat, make me gag on it. Make me worship it, make me worship you." He began blowing that strapon like a cheap whore. He made love to it with his mouth, licking, sucking, and swallowing it. There was no denying he was enjoying himself as he moaned and drooled all over it. He threw himself into his act, gagging and stroking it. He reached around and placed his hands on her ass, filling his hands with her soft flesh. That propelled him deeper into true sub space and he went even wilder on her strapon. "Yeah, I'm a cock-sucking slut. Give me that hard Black meat. Fuck my face. Mmmmm, yeah, I love your cock." All of his inhibitions were gone. Bret was behaving like he'd always wanted; he was free, free from restrictions, free from societal constraints.

"Bret? Sweetie? Did I tell you that you could suck my dick?" She pushed him to the floor harshly but it wasn't a deterrent to Bret, it was inspiration.

Making himself prone at her feet, Bret begged for her forgiveness. He placed his lips on her stilettos and kissed them. He ran his tongue over the smooth patent leather and pleaded. "Please, forgive me. I'm so sorry. I was so overwhelmed with your beauty, your brilliance, your sheer power." Shauntay removed her shoe, kicking it to the side of the room, and waved her foot in Bret's face. She placed it gently on his lips and he inhaled deeply the aroma, the slightly musky, familiar scent of a sweaty foot that had been encased in leather. It was more intoxicating than poppers for him and infinitely more arousing. He wanted nothing more than to run his tongue over that foot. Her toenails were painted a brilliant turquoise to match her lingerie but remained clearly visible through the reinforced toe of her silk stockings. He licked her sole and then placed her entire foot in his mouth, as much as he could swallow. He worshiped her foot, praising it, praying to it.

She kicked him hard in the side, sending him to the floor, curled in the fetal position. Removing her other shoe, she circled him like a lioness circling her prey, the queen of the jungle stalking, surveying, ready to psychologically devour her helpless victim. Bret's heart was racing and his breathing was labored. She rubbed her stockinged foot over his cock and balls. The threat hung heavy in the air but remained unspoken that at any moment she could kick him in the nuts and make him scream out in agony. Bret waited for what he was sure to come.

To her credit, Shauntay prepared him for the evening of erotic torture. "I own you now, you understand that, don't you, Bret? You are mine to play with, tease and torture, to destroy in any way I see fit. Your screams will be my music; your pleas for my benevolence will amuse and entertain me. I will use your body for anything I see fit and you'll beg for more. I'll allow you to be the filthy, disgusting, lower-than-human scum that you long to be, that you've been craving, needing to release inside you. The need grows stronger each and every year, to be more perverse, to submit to a mistress so cruel, so diabolical that your mind reels with the creativity with which she degrades you. I'm that mistress, Bret. I'm the woman who will turn you into a pain pig, who will make you crave dicks, real dicks; big, hard, black dicks shoved in your tight, white pussy."

Bret rolled his eyes in arrogant disbelief. "Oh, you don't believe me, Bret? You don't think I can control your will, your desires?" Her voice was soft, not annoyed or irritated and it was hypnotic, soothing, arousing. "Well, I'll let you have that today. We are new, you and I; we haven't worked out the dynamics of our relationship yet. You don't know me nearly as well as I know you. When you get to know me, when you understand how mentally sadistic I can really be, you won't disrespect me by rolling your eyes at me. She continued, calmly this time, with her riding crop firmly in her hand. Shauntay gently tapped the tip of it against Bret's throbbing, leaking erection.

"Turn over, on your knees." Bret complied swiftly. Head down against the cool plastic, he stuck his ass in the air, proud to show off his slutty nature. Shauntay rubbed the crop against his nut sack, up the crack of his ass. "Bret, would you be shocked if I told you that I am going to shove ice cubes in your ass and watch you writhe in pain while you're bent over like this?" She spread the cheeks of his ass and rubbed her finger gently over his exposed asshole. Bret wasn't moved. He wasn't truly a masochist so the thought of pain didn't really scare him. "Well," she persisted, "a little cold should be countered with a little heat. You see, I have this chili paste that I'm going to apply to your cock and balls while those ice cubes are melting in your ass and you feel the burning, searing heat up and down the shaft of your cock."

Bret squirmed more. He was intrigued by the sheer novel ingenuity of this powerful woman. He wanted to belong to her; he wanted to be inflicted to her cruel punishments. He was leaking precum as she continued to circle him, to tease him with her feet, rubbing them on his face, across his chest, jerking him off with her feet. She caressed his body with her riding crop, her preferred instrument of punishment for the evening. "Imagine that Bret. Ice cubes shoved in your asscunt, excruciating heat spreading over your cock and balls. I'm going to fuck you senseless, like the little bitch you are. You understand? Is that what you want Bret? Is that the sort of torture you want to endure for me? Your pathetic cock virtually ablaze, your intestines cramping in pain, and getting fucked with my beautiful strapon?"

Bret was moaning uncontrollably now. He was thrusting his ass in the air, desperate to be invaded by more than her fingers, silently shedding tears in fear of what he was becoming, what he was allowing happen to him. "Oh, God, yessssss, I want that. I want you to fuck me, use me, and punish me any way you see fit."

THWAPPP! The first blow of her riding crop came down on his balls without mercy and he cried out, scrambling away from the blinding pain.

"Come back here bitch; get your ass up here."

Bret assumed the position again. This time, he felt the slippery head of her lubricated strapon rubbing sensually up and down his ass crack. Bret forgot all about the pain in his testicles and he started humping back against that strapon, trying to get the head of it positioned so that she could take him; so she could enter him, make him her ass slut. The head of that black dick felt amazing on his hole, in his soul. Bret's mind spun with new sensations. He wanted to get fucked, to become an animal. Shauntay gripped his hips and pushed. The head of the strapon pierced his tight anal ring and Bret moaned out in pleasure and in pain. Her ownership of him was complete. There was no way he was going to let her out of his life. In that moment, he knew he would suck any dick, swallow as many loads of cum as she demanded. He heard himself chanting, "Fuck me, fuck me, ram that black fucker deep in me, make me your bitch, make me your white sissy faggot. FUCK ME. USE ME! OWN ME! Please, I beg of you. I'm begging you Mistress." He was crying uncontrollably, openly now. She was gently fucking his ass, sending outrageously pleasurable sensations throughout his pussy, and savagely fucking his mind, torturing him mentally; the pleasure and the pain melding into one

The transformation was complete. Shauntay knew it. Hence forth and forever more, Bret would crave her. She was the one who knew his desires and would risk his relationships, his job; he would offer his life to be the object of her sadistic ministrations. "On your knees, bitch. NOW!"

Bret scrambled to a kneeling position, his eyes diverted to the floor. Shauntay turned around and put her ass inches from his face. Startled, he looked up, enchanted by the magnificent brown globes of flesh before him. Reaching back, she spread her asscheeks and made her asshole wink at him. He swallowed hard and grabbed his dick and stroked it as he put his nose closer. Without warning, she farted directly in his face, the noxious, rank fumes overwhelming him as he moaned out and stroked his cock that much harder. He inhaled deeply, the gas ambrosia to his senses.

"Lie down on the floor." She pointed and he followed her command. She slid the strapon down her legs and knelt over his face. She rubbed her pussy lips, spreading them, showing Bret her inner, pink flesh. His mouth watered. He wanted to taste her wet cunt, to feel her cum all over him, flooding his mouth with her thick juices. Her pussy was just inches from his face and it took every ounce of strength not to grab her hips and pull her body to his mouth. Shauntay grabbed his cock and gently stroked it as she taunted him. He was out of his mind. Her soft hands felt incredible sliding up and down his hard shaft, eliciting moans of pleasure from deep within his core. She lowered her pussy to his mouth and he tasted her sweetness for the first time.

It was beyond anything he'd ever imagined, better than any pussy he'd ever eaten before. Her juices were slippery and sweet, her lips were thick, and her clit was hard and felt like a small cock in his mouth. She rode his face and rode him hard. She took no consideration for his comfort or his safety; making herself cum and reveling in the fact that his life was in her hands. Putting her entire body weight on him, controlling his light and his air, forcing him to use his tongue to lick anywhere and everywhere she wanted. Shauntay used her big, round ass as a weapon.

She sat back and gave him access to her entire lower region. The smell of pussy and ass together was overwhelming. Bret drove his tongue deep inside her, trying to fuck her asshole better than any cock could. She sat squarely on his face as she stroked his cock. Shauntay was a true Ebony Queen, sitting on her throne, and Bret was thrashing around, gasping for air and ready to cum at any second. She held still and Bret could feel the heat rising up his body; the lack of oxygen to his lungs triggering his fight or flight response. Just as she felt his body go limp, she lifted her ass off his face, flooding his with light and air, Bret gasping and coughing but begging for more. He wanted the warmth and the sensation of her full weight on his face again, he craved it.