Stella Ch. 01-03

Warning: This story contains graphic scenes depicting pain and humiliation and a scene involving a mother and her 18 year old daughter.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are 18 years or older when in sexual situations.

Dedicated to Rol. It's your fantasy.

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Stella Ch. 01-03

Chapter One

Sweat covered my body. My rock hard abs rippled as I went for one more set of reps with the 20 pound weights as I alternated curls between my right and left hands. I finished my reps and put the weights back in their cradle.

"Nice work Laura," commented my trainer Angie. She gave me a friendly pat on my butt as I headed toward the locker room. Angie was a looker too, with ash blond hair, big tits flattened by her sports bra, and to die for legs that looked great in workout shoes and spectacular in her lace-up gladiator sandals when she left the gym.

I was breathing heavily after the strenuous workout and I was feeling the surge of endorphins from the exertion. I have to admit I half walked, half strutted into the women's locker room. My body was as buffed as it had ever been. I didn't have to look to know that the other women and men in the workout area were watching me out of the corner of their eye, admiring the definition of my muscles and my confident gait. I stripped my clothes off and as I was walking to the showers went past a floor to ceiling mirror. I admired my chiseled physique, 5'9" frame with 17% body fat and shoulder length bleach blonde hair. 190 pounds of pure muscle. Big rounded tits. Overamped thighs and a protruding muscular butt. Guns for arms. No one was going to fuck with me.

But it wasn't always like that. When I was five I was an overweight pudgy girl, the daughter of an overweight pudgy mother. I was picked on from the day I started school until I was a freshman in high school. I still remember in first grade during recess that some of the fourth graders were taunting me about my weight and two girls ganged up to push me down. One of them pinned my arms to the ground with her knees and had her hand over my mouth so I couldn't scream and the other one sat on my legs. Everyone on the playground was laughing at me and it wasn't until one of the teachers ran out from the school to rescue me that I was able to get up.

That two minutes of shame stayed with me until high school, when I decided to join the women's wrestling team. Clayton High School had a great team and a great coach. The coach, Miss Summers, preached physical conditioning, and I was able to trim my weight over the course of my freshman year from 235 to 175. I dominated my weight class in my conference. I didn't date a lot in high school, mostly because most of the boys were flat out intimidated by me. I wasn't a "girly girl," more like the pal that would help you tip over a neighbor's car as a prank rather than someone you'd want to fuck. And besides which, most guys didn't want to date someone who could kick their ass.

I did have a lot of self-confidence in high school but my comeuppance came in the state wrestling championships during my senior year. My conference was composed mostly of white girls such as myself, but in my senior year I finally qualified for state. And at state all ethnicities were represented. I had never wrestled an African-American women, and about a third of the state qualifiers were black. It didn't faze me that they were black, but it did impress me that a number of the qualifiers were flat out built like a brick shit house. I won two of my preliminary matches at the state championships but then faced an African-American woman in the first knockout round. She was probably six inches shorter than me but muscular in all the right places. Within a minute of the match being started she had me pinned. During that several seconds of submission my entire first grade episode in the playground flashed through my mind like it happened yesterday. I was visibly shaken when the match was declared over and I never wrestled again.

I went to St. Louis University and pursued a pre-med curriculum with a concentration in nutrition. After I lost my weight in high school I was able to keep it off through a focus on healthy eating that I keep to this day. It was in my sophomore year that I met Tristan, my future husband and now ex, in my organic chemistry class. He was my lab teaching assistant and we hit it off from day one. We talked a lot after our lab sessions and it was clear that he had a strong interest in me. I did in him as well, as he was easily 6'4" and 250 pounds, and was not intimidated by my size or build. He was quite handsome in a rugged outdoorsy type of way. He always kept a well-manicured beard and dressed casual, but fashionable and not nerdy. We didn't date until I finished my class, but once we started dating it was pretty hot and heavy. I hadn't had real sex with a man (if you ignore the couple clumsy attempts in my senior year of high school). Tris was quite experienced, being 4 years older than me (he was in a post-graduate program when he met me) and by my limited standards a hell of a lover. We had a whirlwind romance and were married when I was 20. By the time I was 21 I was pregnant and had my daughter Natalie before I reached my 22nd birthday. I had to take time off from college to have Natalie but was able to finish by attending part-time over the next several years.

Apparently Tris was too good of a lover, and when I was about 26 I discovered he was having not one, but two affairs. I was of course crushed but at least Tris wasn't an ass about it and promised to support Natalie and me, a promise he's kept. By the time of our divorce Tris was a research scientist for a large pharmaceutical company so he was pretty well off and agreed to a generous divorce settlement including a significant monthly support allowance. That reliable support payment has allowed me to live very comfortably and to work only part-time as a nutritionist with a local hospital. It also allowed me to purchase a three bedroom house.

I've been sexually straight my whole life but to tell you the truth I'm actually open to both men and women at this point. All I really want is a loving relationship with someone that I can connect with on a physical, emotional and intellectual level. For example I'm attracted to my trainer Angie because on a hot scale of 1-10 she's probably a 12, but she doesn't connect with me on an intellectual level. As much as I love training, it's not my whole life. I'm pretty well read and Angie just doesn't have any strong interests outside of the gym. I don't have any really close friends as I have Natalie and it really doesn't bother me that I don't have a gaggle of friends. I'm pretty much of an introvert, except when it comes to the gym.

I of course am crazy about Natalie. She's been the apple of my eye from the day she was born. She's one of the reasons I haven't yet remarried. I try to spend every spare minute with Natalie. You could even accuse me of being overly close with Natalie. She's always looked and dressed in a style similar to me. She's smart as a whip and has always been in great physical condition.

As you're now aware, I'm a fitness buff and the gym I frequent is in St. Louis proper and is about a mile and a half from my house. I live in a gated community in Clayton, which is pretty much all white. When you cross into St. Louis proper the neighborhood is a great deal more ethnically diverse, and predominantly African-American. Although my gym has a large membership roster it doesn't really have an ethnically diverse membership even though it is surrounded by an African-American neighborhood (though that fact doesn't really mean anything to me one way or the other). I go to the gym every day, alternating between weight and cardio and often walk there. Most of the time I don't even bother to shower at the gym and just wait until I get home.

Another life changing event occurred when I was 29. I was walking home from my daily workout and was letting the sweat dry on me as I walked home. I was wearing my usual workout outfit, which was a tight fitting sports bra with a lightweight t-shirt over it and black spandex tights. The ninety degree heat and ninety percent humidity outside wasn't helping my cooldown much so my sweat from the heat was running over my salt-encrusted skin. My eyes were burning from the heat and the sting of my sweat.

For some reason the walk home didn't quite feel right that day. The usually deserted streets in the mid-afternoon were teeming with people. Perhaps it was the heat driving people outside. I was walking past a set of low rise brick faced apartment buildings that were probably built in the 60's. They had large porches in the front with half walls surrounding them. A large group of African-American women, maybe in their 40's or 50's, were sitting on the half walls watching the people walk by. I'm usually immune to my surroundings as I walk home but that day for some reason my antennae were up. As I approached the apartment buildings I could hear the women joking and laughing from quite a distance away. As I got closer I was painfully self-conscious of my size and my race. I just didn't fit in and these women knew it. I braced myself mentally as if I were about to encounter something unpleasant and my worst fears were realized.

One of the women (I would later find out was Stella) seemed to be feeling her oats and called out to me in a voice that could be heard on that entire block. "Hey Blondie, you've got quite a fine white bubble ass inside those tight black pants!" I looked over and noticed that Stella was all of about 5'3" and 120 pounds dripping wet, someone I'd ordinarily be able to break in half without working up a sweat. I should have let the comment pass but my pride got the better of me. I was the cock of the walk. The women and men in the gym stepped aside to let me pass. Now this slightly built woman was trying to get the best of me.

"Shut your fucking mouth or I'll shut it for you. I've taken women twice your size and I don't want to embarrass you in front of your friends."

Instead of cowering as I would have expected the expression on Stella's face went from playful to a fierce scowl. And instead of stiffening my back I was terrified of her glare and basically froze in my tracks. The other women with Stella were howling with laughter at my humiliation.

Stella could sense my panic and decided to press her advantage.

"Looks like big bad Blondie can't talk. Her bark is definitely worse than her bite. I'll bet it's because she's actually in love with old Stella and wants to pull my pants down and kiss my ass!" Stella and the other woman were practically busting a gut.

I found out later that Stella had just been released from a women's detention facility after six months' time served for petty larceny and was just having fun with me until I was the one that decided to make it ugly. However she knew that somehow she had struck a chord deep within me and that in some perverted way I was attracted to her - - that I needed her.

"Come here Blondie. I have something for you."

I never questioned whether I would comply. To the surprise of all of Stella's buddies I walked up to Stella and stood silent and motionless in front of her.

"Hey Rachel, fetch me a piece of paper and a pencil. I need to give Blondie a gift from old Stella." A woman sitting near Stella got up and went into the house. She emerged a minute later with the paper and pencil. That minute seemed like an eternity. Stella and the other woman raked me with their eyes while I stood there like a statue.

I saw Stella jot something down on the piece of paper. She hopped off the porch half wall and stood in front of me. I towered over her yet she held all the cards. The others watched silently as Stella exercised her power over me.

"Open bitch." I opened my mouth.

"Now put your hands behind your back and clasp them together." I complied.

"Here's my address. Hold this envelope in your mouth and keep your hands clasped behind your back until you get home. Then put it in a safe place until you want to visit Stella again so you can worship her sweet ass."

She put the envelope in my mouth and I closed it.

"Now git. Stella's got better things to do than talk to some spandex clad white ass whore." She turned her back on me and resumed her conversation with her friends. I stood there with the envelope in my mouth looking like a retriever. I felt the same humiliation and shame that I experienced on the school yard and in my wrestling match. I knew that somehow I would experience it again. I turned tail and headed home. I walked the rest of the way to my house with the envelope in my mouth and my hands behind my back, much to the surprise of the people I passed on my walk. The shame I felt multiplied.

I got home about twenty minutes later. The envelope was wet with my saliva. I was drenched with sweat, both from the heat and the humidity and the aftermath of my humiliation. My shoulders were aching from having my hands behind my back for almost a mile. Stella's address was still legible. I carefully folded it and put it on the bottom of my underwear drawer. I peeled off my t-shirt and sports bra. I then shimmied out of my spandex tights. My panties were sopping wet. Somehow the deep humiliation at the hands of Stella excited me sexually in a way I hadn't previously experienced. I didn't understand it, but I accepted the fact that deep down I wasn't a queen but instead a pawn. I had deep seated submissive tendencies that took a roughhewn black woman to bring to the surface. I masturbated myself to a satisfying orgasm while running my confrontation with Stella through my mind. After the warm feeling in my pussy faded I decided to lock that memory away. I changed my route to the club and didn't pass Stella's house again.

I set about addressing my real priorities, which were Natalie and my physical conditioning. Before long my incident with Stella was a distant memory.

It wasn't until ten years later, when Natalie was no longer a girl but a young woman, that those memories flooded into my mind like a bad dream. Natalie was going to move into an apartment with a roommate for her freshman year at St. Louis University. I decided to give her my old dresser and buy myself a new one. As I was cleaning out my underwear drawer I came upon a crumpled envelope that had been pushed under the edge of the back panel of the drawer. I knew immediately what it was. It brought a shiver down my spine. Instead of shredding it I took it to my desk and smoothed out the wrinkles with my hand, stroking the envelope as if it was Stella's cheek.

The compulsion to see her again was overwhelming. It wasn't a question of if but when. I had to know if I was truly a submissive.

The next day I went through my usual workout. It was only halfhearted and I barely broke a sweat. I couldn't stop thinking of Stella. I made sure I wore the same type of spandex tights and top I wore during our last encounter. I took the same route I walked ten years ago. I didn't need to look at the address on the house and compare it to the one I memorized. I knew immediately which one was Stella's. I was already sweating.

I went up to the front door and stood on the porch where ten years ago I received Stella's taunts. I was secretly hoping Stella had moved and that the new owner wouldn't know of her whereabouts.

I knocked. I stood there for two minutes with great anticipation. No answer. I strained to hear anything moving in the house. I didn't hear anything. I grew bolder and rapped on the door with my fist.

Suddenly I heard a voice inside. "Who the fuck is pounding on my door?" Footfalls. The knob turning and the door creaking open.

A fiftyish African-American woman opened the door. There was nary a glint of recognition. I was almost a foot taller than her but she didn't seem to care. She said through the screen door, "What do you want?"

My mouth was dry. I wanted to be assertive but I couldn't. It came out in a whisper. "Is Stella there?"

"Speak up. I can't hear you."

I mustered up enough courage to say again, "Is Stella there?"

"I'll get her." She went off and left me standing outside waiting.

Minutes later Stella appeared, the same as I remember with maybe a few more gray hairs. She was wearing a cream colored housecoat and slippers. She scanned me up and down. I'm sure it's not often she sees a very large white woman in spandex tights at her front door.

"I'll be God damned, it's Blondie! I knew you'd come back. I just didn't know it would take this long. How long since we last met?"

"Ten years ma'am."

"You back for more? I thought I told you off good last time we met."

I knew this was going to be an important answer. I paused. "I want to be your bitch."

A big smile crossed Stella's face. My knees were suddenly weak. I stuck out my hand to brace myself against the frame of the door.

"Step back Blondie and I'll let you in." The screen door swung open. I half walked half wobbled into the living room. It was dark. All the shades were drawn. A television was on but the volume was turned down. There was a floor lamp in the corner that was on. The furniture was shabby and covered with clothes. The coffee table held half full ashtrays and empty beer bottles and cans.

Stella barked her first order. She pointed. "Now you go stand in that corner and face it. I'm going to get dressed. Stay there and don't move."

I was directed to the corner next to the television. The television was on my left and an unused fireplace was on my right. I could see a number of cobwebs in the corner. I was wondering what compelled me to be in this strange place.

I couldn't be sure but it seemed about five minutes until I heard Stella reenter the room with two others. They were laughing and obviously I was the object of their derision. I felt a hand on my ass. It was stroking my ass up and down. I couldn't suppress it. I let out a low moan.

It was Stella. "Now Blondie here has got some fine white ass. And she likes old Stella touching her. My, this is one tight ass. You work out at the club down the street girl?"

"Yes ma'am, almost every day."

"Now tell me your name child."

"Laura Davies."

"Give me your fanny pack Laura Davies."

I hadn't anticipated this. My life was in my fanny pack. I felt compelled to comply. I unhooked the fanny pack from my waist, and holding my position facing the corner, handed it behind me to Stella.

I heard the Velcro unzip. I heard Stella rustling through my wallet.

"So Laura Davies lives in Clayton. That's only a mile or two from here right?"

"That's right ma'am."

"Now I see a picture of a lovely girl in there. Is that your daughter?"

"Yes ma'am. That's Natalie's at her 18th birthday party."

"Lovely. I'll bet you Natalie would like to see old Stella as well, wouldn't she?"

Nooooo. Not Natalie. This is my perversion, my compulsion. It's not hers. Never.

"No ma'am, please leave Natalie out of this."

"All in good time." I shivered when I heard Stella say that.

"Now there's some money in here. You know old Stella doesn't work for free. You want to pay me don't you?"

I hadn't considered that either. "Take what you want ma'am."

I heard Stella finger through the bills in my wallet. "I see there is at least $300 in your wallet. Stella ain't greedy. I think you want $100 worth today, don't you?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. Now turn around and strip!"

I slowly pulled off my top. It was already covered in sweat. I looked up to see Stella. She was leering at me, along with two others. I then pulled up my sports bra. My breasts bounced when I pulled it off.