Steven Miller's Financial Demise Ch. 02

Slave

Let's just say that our first meeting, between Steven and I, didn't go quite as expected. Well, it didn't go the way he had anticipated; my expectations were exceeded to say the least. I'd made arrangements for us to meet at this fantastic new restaurant named "& Jelly" in New York City. I thought the place was apropos for our initial encounter because it specialized in unique and flavorful unexpected pairings, just like us. He flew in from Miami and I took the train from Maryland. To his credit, he had a car waiting for me at Penn Station and made arrangements for me to stay in a lovely suite in the Midtown Hyatt, nothing extravagant but certainly not The Chelsea Hotel either.

I towered over him. In my heels and standing proud, tall, and strong at not a bit shy of 6'2", it was more than apparent that he felt emasculated as he reached out nervously to shake my hand. It was a dynamic he found arousing however. He loved the concept of a savage African woman who could swing him around like a rag doll and sexually dominate him. I wasn't nearly that crude nor was I anywhere near the manifestation of his one-dimensional Dominatrix fantasies but I smiled as politely as I could, feeling his sweaty palms as we exchanged pleasantries and such.

After we were seated, I ordered the Sacralicious French Toast which was a heavenly combination of challah bread and bacon served with curry butter and plum jelly. I ordered for him; the waitress was clearly amused by that fact as I selected the beef tenderloin waffle with basil butter and mango jelly. Never one to waste time, I asked, "So, what is it exactly you want from me, Steven?"

He'd been prepared for the question mainly because I had instructed him to have an answer ready for me upon meeting. He hadn't really rehearsed what he wanted to say; he opted for an off-the-cuff, almost flippant response. He decided that his best bet was to keep his answer as simple as possible. "Goddess, I want to be your devoted pay pig, slut, and slave."

Almost as soon as the words left his lips, Steven knew he had fucked up. He was well aware of my opinion about the word slave and he looked like a deer caught in headlights fearing for his life. "Submissive, I'm sorry Mistress, I meant to say submissive. I apologize. I didn't mean to . . ."

I immediately allayed his fears. "That's quite alright, Steven, I know it was nothing more than a mere slip of the tongue, just the common use of the colloquialism. Relax. I know you weren't suggesting that you wanted to endure the horrors of slavery that my ancestors endured. No one in their right mind would ever imply that, right? In fact, I'm not even sure I'm capable of being that cruel and sadistic. I would never think of breaking into your quaint little home in the middle of the night, my henchmen and I, and brutalizing your family. I would never put anyone, let alone an innocent teenaged boy through the torture and anguish of having to watch his mother beheaded, her blood draining from her decapitated corpse as I slung her skull across the room by her limp hair. If, and only if I were to enslave someone, I would by necessity have to make them watch their father brutally raped with the blade of a knife until he bled to death, SCREAMING in pain as he watched his daughter raped by strange, sadistic men."

I continued, "It's almost unthinkable to imagine that I would even be capable of shackling you to other young boys, making you drag their weakened and dying bodies hundreds of miles, only to be branded like a piece of cattle, kept in a dungeon for months on end, fed food infested with maggots and other vermin, and not even given any sunlight or clean water, let alone medical care. How horrible would I be if I were to be the sort of Mistress who would transport you thousands of miles from your home to a strange land where you knew no one, where you didn't speak the language, and I beat you for days, weeks even, eight, ten, or twelve hours a day until you renounced your belief in Jesus, until you cursed your God as heathen and, from sheer exhaustion and abuse, renounced your name for one I gave you? I would be one cruel Domme if I was sexually aroused by seeing your reactions as I doused your infected, bleeding wounds with bleach, salt, or anything else I could think of in my wild and vicious imagination."

Steven wanted nothing more than for me to stop with my descriptions. "Of course, I could make you work like an animal, feeding you the rotted scraps from my table so that I could profit from your labor. That would only be fitting as my ancestors, who were real slaves, had to endure that for generations. More than likely, however, I could never bring myself to rip your newborn, infant child from your arms, still covered with amniotic fluid, the umbilical cord still full of blood, and sell them off like a barrel of oil on the stock exchange, only to make you reproduce again and again and again so that I could sell off all your precious children to pad my bank account. I could do that if you wanted, if you REALLY wanted to be my slave Steven."

His hands gripped the arms of the chair, his knuckles were white and his face was red, tears were in his eyes, and he was more than angry, he was sickened. "You fucking bi. . . You know that I didn't mean anything by what I said. How dare you . . ."

I cut him off with his feigned outrage. "Bitch, shut up. My ancestors endured that and more. Fuck you." I was so calm, so nonchalant compared to his labored breathing; it was quite the contrast. All he could think about was the moment he first held his beloved child in his hands and how he would have felt if someone had done that to him. He'd never once thought about the millions and millions of times it had occurred during slavery to innocent Black people, people who had no choice in the matter, whose lives were not their own in any sense of the word. No, when he thought about slavery, he thought about big-dicked, muscular Black men being stud for slutty plantation wives. Occasionally, he thought about the injustice of slavery but never once had he contemplated it like that, never once had the experience been so personal to him, so horrifying.

I continued. "Or Steven, I could make you my submissive. It's very conceivable that I could turn you into my depraved, cum-loving faggot. I could make your asshole the center of your being, craving being fucked, stretched, and used only by black cocks and strapons, my little gangbang whore. I could twist your desires and make it so you crave my piss, shit, snot, menses, and vomit as your sustenance. To belong to me, I would make you my bitch, making you wear my used tampons in your asscunt and training you to take my dog's knot and love it. If you were to choose to be my submissive, if you were willing to give yourself over to the process, I would make you relinquish all your other women and serve only me. That position is up for negotiation if you'd like. There's only one stipulation. I WILL NOT accept tributes and dominate you, it's one or the other."

In the course of less than three minutes, Steven went from outraged to aroused. Our food arrived and Steven sat there speechless. He knew for the first time in his life that he was in the presence of true greatness. "Will you excuse me," I said as I left him sitting there at the table alone and returned to my hotel room, my food untouched, no explanations. The next day, he flew back to Miami and couldn't quite wrap his mind around what had happened to him. For days, he checked his account balances, calculated figures in his mind, obsessed over his finances. He had become overwhelmed with the desire to empty his bank account and give every penny he had to me, to lay at my feet and present himself for me to do with him as I desired. He knew that he could not do both. It was his inexplicable need to pay me that haunted him, his compulsion to compensate me for being a TRUE Ebony Goddess that fucked with his head. For as much as he wanted to do and become all the nasty things I had spoken of, he wanted to see me languishing and luxuriating in wealth and riches while he suffered in poverty even more.