Courtney's Ebony Goddess

Prologue

"Courtney! Courtney, come here this instant!"

Miss Tomyka sounded very impatient, so I knew I had better get out to the pool in a hurry! I stopped preparing her lunch and headed outside, stopping to check my reflection on the way out. My maid's cap was perched atop my head. My crisp black uniform fit perfectly, my cleavage spilling over the top of the ruffled bodice, and was offset beautifully by my little white apron and the mounds of ruffled petticoats that bounced saucily as I walked. I turned around and looked over my shoulder to make sure my stocking seams were straight. I had learned the hard way that droopy stockings or crooked seams were pet peeves of my mistress. Miss Tomyka feels that if one is to be a uniformed maid, one has a responsibility to wear the uniform well - a lesson she has reinforced on more than one occasion using methods that can only be described as "creative."

When I reached the poolside lounge chair in which Miss Tomyka was sun bathing, I asked "Yes, Miss Tomyka," as I bowed my head and curtseyed.

"Courtney, how many times do I have to tell you that my comfort and convenience are your primary responsibilities? It's hot out here and I have been waiting twenty minutes for you to come outside and refill my drink!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Tomyka," I said as I clasped my hands and stared at the ground.

"If you want to be my maid, you're going to have to do a better job of it!"

"Yes, Miss Tomyka"

"And you do want to continue serving as my maid, don't you Courtney?" she said with a sly grin.

"Yes, Miss Tomyka"

"I thought so. Now, run along like a good girl and fill this pitcher with iced tea. You may also bring out my lunch when you return."

"Yes, Miss Tomyka."

I curtseyed and turned to go.

"Oh, Courtney?"

"Yes, Miss Tomyka"

"Please put five demerits into your punishment book. We will discuss this further during your weekly review."

"Yes ma'am."

As I clicked away on my gleaming patent heels, heading back to my chores with the drink pitcher on a serving tray, I thought to myself how strange it was that just a short time ago our positions were reversed - and stranger still that I had begged Tomyka to trade places with me.

Chapter I

I had it all. Not only was I born to wealth and privilege, the fates had given me the gifts of great beauty and talent. I'm a drop-dead gorgeous blue-eyed blonde who learned early the power afforded by that money and beauty.

My talent is as a singer and dancer. So much so that I'm an internationally famous pop princess who has reigned at the top of the music charts for the past few years. My name is Courtney Lancer. Unless you've been living in a cave for the past few years, you know who I am. Your kids certainly do.

My rise to superstardom was as effortless as as everything else in my life. It's always felt to me that I was destined to succeed in whatever I chose to undertake.

One day, I lay by the pool, sunbathing in a lounge chair. I had just come off of a wildly successful six month tour. The HBO special of my performance in Las Vagas was one to the highest rated shows in the history of the network. I was taking a few months off from my hectic schedule of recording and performing to recharge and relax.

"Tomyka! Tomyka, please come here," I called.

Tomyka McKnight was my personal assistant. She had not been working for me long. After several years, my previous assistant said she was tired of the whole pop princess whirlwind and left my employ to get married and settle down.

Tomyka had been referred to me by one of the dancers in my show. It seems she was at loose ends after the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. Her job in New Orleans no longer existed because her place of employment had been destroyed. Tomyka was one of the the thousands of people evacuated from the hellish conditions in the Superdome and sent into Texas.

The dancer in my show was Tomyka's cousin. He was aware that my previous assistant had moved on and suggested that Tomyka might be a good fit for the open position.

"Courtney," he said, "she's beautiful, educated, organized and energetic. Her whole world has been turned upside down by Katrina. Right sow she's a refugee, but I'm telling you, this girl is a class act. I'm sure she'd do a great job managing everything you have to deal with."

I liked her right away. Even though she had been forced to flee her home with only the clothes on her back and had been through hell during the immediate aftermath of Katrina, she still radiated intelligence, class and beauty. Her presence was downright regal. With her posture, bearing and piercing eyes, she reminded me of nothing so much as a Nubian queen visiting Egypt at the time of the Pharos.

Tomyka quickly became an invaluable part of my entourage. She did a great job of organizing my impossible itinerary. There were always a lot of balls to keep in the air at the same time -recording sessions, rehearsals, guest spots on TV shows, endorsement deals (last year I made more $millions from the Barbie dolls, lunch boxes and tee shirts that bear my likeness than I did from record sales) - you name it, I had it going on.

Each morning Tomyka would come to me, looking every bit the efficient assistant and lay out my schedule for the day. I was able to accomplish more than ever thanks to her organizational skills. I rewarded her handsomely for her efforts and even asked her to move into my home so she'd always be nearby when I needed her.

I had bought a lot more house than I needed - a mansion on what can only be described as an estate several acres in size. My accountant told me it was a prudent move - either buy something or see the money disappear into Uncle Sam's black hole.

It was lonely to live by myself in a palace. During the day, Carman, the cook\housekeeper and Jorge, the driver\groundskeeper were around but they left after work, leaving me alone in the huge house at night. Sure, I could have gone out, or entertained, but I was tired after my recent tour and wanted to rest for awhile. Home was where I wanted to be, and I was very happy to have Tomyka under the same roof while I recharged.

"Yes, Miss Lancer?"

"Hello, Tomyka. I've signed the stack of papers you left with me. Please take them and be a dear? Please bring me something to drink. And for goodness' sake, please call me Courtney. I think of you as a friend, and we live under the same roof!"

"No, Miss Lancer. I am your employee. A show of respect is appropriate. I'll be happy to get you a drink."

As she walked from the pool back to the house, I reflected on how lucky I was to have found Tomyka. She did a great job as the personal assistant I had hired her to be, but also took it upon herself to cook and clean, not waiting for Carmen. If she saw something that she thought needed doing, Tomyka did it.

As pop royalty, I was surrounded most of the time by insincere sycophants - hangers-on angling for a piece of me in order to benefit themselves. Tomyka was a breath of fresh air.

As she returned with my drink, Tomyka did not look like the personal assistant in a crisp business suit that usually greeted me in the morning. This being a Saturday, she must have decided that something needed cleaning, because she was dressed in a simple housecoat, with a kerchief on her head, wearing rubber gloves.

"Thank you, Tomyka. What in the world are you doing that requires rubber gloves?"

Tomyka laughed, "I'm sure I look like something the cat dragged in. My bathroom needed a touch up."

"Why not just wait for Carmen? I pay her to be the housekeeper, not you. You do enough during the week. Come sit by the pool and relax."

"I'm sorry, Miss Lancer. It wouldn't feel right. You are the lady of the house, and lounging by the pool is your place. My place is to be working." She smiled and returned to her work in the house.

I don't now what came over me in that moment, but as I lay there I began to feel aroused at the thought of serving Tomyka. To go from being the "lady of the house" stretched out poolside in luxury, to being the person at the bottom of the pecking order. Suddenly, scrubbing and serving while Tomyka lay by the pool became very sexually exciting!

I laid there actually trembling as I imagined surrendering power. After actually orgasming, I knew I had to act on my feelings.

I found Tomyka on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor in her bathroom. As I stood there with my hands on my hips, my long legs gleaming in my stiletto heels, I asked her to let me trade places with her.

Tomyka seemed confused at first, as if she didn't understand what I meant. I explained that I wanted to play a game - that it would feel deliciously naughty to me to make believe she was the mistress and I was the servant.

She still seemed skeptical until I told her that this was something that was turning me on and that I would pay her a ten thousand dollar bonus if she'd play with me and boss me around.

"Well, Courtney," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "you can start by finishing this bathroom. First though, we have to find you some appropriate clothing. My maids are not permitted to prance around in gold bikinis and come-fuck-me pumps!"

We went upstairs into my suite. As we entered my walk-in closet, it occurred to me that it was bigger than Tomyka's apartment.

As it happens, we are both the same size. As she scanned my closet for something to wear, she undressed. She handed me the housecoat, her kerchief and the rubber gloves.

"You're going to work, and you're going to look the part. Get out of that bathing suit and into my cleaning clothes. I've had a DVD from Netflix hanging around for a month, that I've been meaning to watch. Please set me up in the entertainment room with a snack and then clean my apartment. And you had better to a good job," she said.

"Or what?" I asked.

"I'll think of something. By the way, as you were getting changed, I was happy to see that the rug matches the curtains. An ebony goddess such as me should only be served by a natural blonde! Perhaps one day I will take the amber fleece that sits so proudly between your thighs and keep it as a souvenir. Wouldn't it look great under glass like a pressed flower? We could hang it in the main foyer. It would make a great symbol of our relationship. Hmmm, I'll have to give the matter some thought. Now, off with you!"

I blushed at Tomyka's reference to the "amber fleece" between my legs, but I loved the bossy tone she was taking with me. She was playing her role very well, seeming to understand how to press my buttons. Being bossed around and spoken to as though I was a silly subordinate that she had little patience for made me very excited - a fact demonstrated by the growing wet spot in the panties I had just put on.

After queuing up Tomyka's DVD and serving her a snack, I set about scrubbing her bathroom floor on my hands and knees, made her bed and vacuumed her apartment, all the while relishing the thought of her lounging in the home theater in one of my designer ensembles as I performed my menial tasks. I can't explain why, but the reduction in status from princess to plainly dressed cleaning lady made me tremble with sexual excitement.

When I finished my chores, I went to see my new mistress in the home theater and told her I was done.

"We'll see," she replied.

"Not bad for a first attempt, but I expect a better job as you become more accustomed to your new responsibilities."

"Yes, Tomyka"

"When we are playing our little game, you will refer to me as Ms. Tomyka. Is that understood?"

"Yes,... Ms. Tomyka."

"Very good, Courtney. Now, if you don't mind I want to finish my movie. Please make yourself busy."

As I got down on my hands and knees and began scrubbing the floor my field of vision was filled with the sight of Ms. Tomyka's long, gorgeous legs gleaming as she wore the pumps I was wearing earlier. It was a mirror image of the earlier scene - and thinking of it made me orgasm again.

Thus began my descent into sexual slavery. Chapter 2

For several weeks, this became our routine: As soon as Carmen and Jorge left for the day, I would strip and leave my clothes in a pile wherever I was (Ms.Tomyka's orders!). The next day Carmen would find the pile of clothes wherever I had left them. She would mutter under her breath about what a slob I was becoming and how I was taking advantage of my employees.

"That spoiled brat needs to be taught some respect," Carmen said one day. If she only knew!

After stripping I would then explore the house in the nude until I found Ms. Tomyka. Sometimes this entailed searching outside. If I found Ms. Tomyka in the back yard, I would stand before her at attention and wait for her instructions. If I was unfortunate enough to find her in the front yard - I'd have to crawl behind the hedges to keep out of sight - I would squat behind the bushes and call to her as quietly as I could. After I got her attention, she would laugh and tell me to stand in front of her at attention - in the front yard - or sneak back into the back yard and cut a switch. I would have to wait outside in the nude nervously twirling the switch in my hands until Ms. Tomyka decided to come into the back yard and put a few stripes across "the best ass of the decade" as voted by the readers of Maxim.

If I found Ms.Tomyka inside the house, after presenting myself at attention I would usually be commanded to kneel before her and worship her feet for several minutes. I would then be sent to dress in my work attire and then complete whatever cleaning assignments Ms. Tomyka specified. Many nights, as Ms.Tomyka lay about (in my clothes!) reading a book or working on the computer, I, attired as a cleaning woman, did just that.

Carmen commented more than once that a chore she was used to doing seemed to have been completed already. "Madre Dias!", she said one day, "the marble foyer at the foot of the grand stairway looks as though it's been scrubbed by hand!" Tomyka grinned at me as I blushed a deep crimson. Carmen got a quizzical look in her eyes, then just shrugged and moved on to her day's tasks.

My new Mistress did not restrict my duties to mere housework. On some evenings I became her Lady's maid. At such times I would be attired not in a plain housecoat suitable for scrubbing on my hands and knees (the only way Ms. Tomyka would allow a floor to be cleaned), but in an elaborate black satin maid's uniform. I was responsible for bathing my Lady, brushing out her hair and attending to her manicure and pedicure.

I was used to being on the receiving end of manicures and pedicures, and so had to learn how to do both up to Tomyka's standards. Between the internet as a source of information and Ms. Tomyka's hairbrush as a source of motivation I soon learned what I had to know. When she felt motivation was needed, Ms.Tomyka would use the hair brush with which I brushed her hair on me - but not in the same way I used it on her! Suffice it to say, I frequently had a very difficult time sitting on "the best ass of the decade"

"Wonderful job, Courtney," Ms. Tomyka said one day as I was working on her toes.

"I think it would be very beneficial for you to spend a month or so as a stylist in a nail salon. I want you, you spoiled little bitch, to know what it is to serve the spoiled women like yourself who frequent upscale salons. Their grating air of assumed privilege and the haughty way they treat "the little people." We'll have to disguise you, but I can just see it now - Courtney Lancer taking the bus to work carrying her lunch in a brown bag! What delicious humiliation! It would be great if your boss was some shrill little Korean lady who treated you like shit, humiliated you in public and gave you all the rotten jobs in the salon. Just think how well you'd be able to relate to your audience after such an experience! I'll have to give this some thought. For now, please remove your clothing and meet me in the home theater. I want to sit on your face while I watch a movie."

I spent quite a bit of time under Ms. Tomyka's beautiful bottom. When it comes to oral sex, I've sometimes felt that God put the playground too close to the bathroom. Despite my initial reluctance, after many hours of practice I became quite good at cunnilingus. It took awhile to get used to eating ass. I didn't like tonguing Ms. Tomyka's tight little rosebud at first, which is why she insisted on it. Afterwards she would always call me "ass breath" which made me cringe.

Suffice to say, Ms. Tomyka has expanded my limits. I will now blow, lick, suck or tongue any body part on any person when commanded to do so. More than one random guy walking down the street at night has had the experience of a stunning blonde stepping out of the SUV that pulled up along side him and being asked if she could give him a blow job. The guys must be too stunned to recognize me - so far nobody has asked, "Say, don't I know you from somewhere?" Maybe because it's so out of context...they're used to seeing me on TV, not squatting between parked cars with their dick in my mouth. Some of the cell phone pictures the guys have taken are bound to wind up on the internet, so I hope Ms. Tomyka tires of humiliating me in this way soon. Chapter III

One night as I kneeled before Tomyka she told me to stop sucking on her toes and sit back on my haunches before her.

"I've decided to make a few changes," she said."

"When we are within the confines of this estate, you will be a 24\7 slave. Henceforth you are not permitted to wear clothing. Tomorrow, I will explain the new guidelines to Carmen and Jorge as you sit obediently at my feet in the nude. Going forward, Carmen will be my assistant and you will obey her as you do me. As for Jorge...I suppose being a typical male, once he realizes that Courtney Lancer is at his beck and call you will probably be ravished in every hole you've got on every inch of this property."

I immediately rebelled. I stood up and stepped away from Tomyka.

"No!" I shouted as I stood up and backed away.

"I've enjoyed playing our little game, and I'm grateful you indulged my submissive fantasies, but I am not going to let our kinky play time extend into my day to day life!"

My Ebony Goddess snapped her fingers and pointed towards her feet. I immediately fell to my knees, crawled to her and began showering her beautiful feet with kisses.

"You silly thing," laughed my mistress. "Did my cousin Darnell ever tell you exactly what my job in New Orleans was, prior to Katrina? I was employed by the Louisiana State Department of Health as a licensed hypno-therapist. I used hypnosis to help patients deal with anxiety, phobias, weight loss, smoking cessation and all sorts of issues. I am a very skilled hypnotist and a very keen observer of human nature."

"It was inevitable that you come to me and tell me you wanted to be a slave. The "naughtiness" of giving up your power and privilege to serve a black woman is very titillating, isn't' it? For the supposed top of the pyramid, a blue-eyed blonde beauty, to be at the beck and call of someone supposedly at the bottom of the food chain, a black woman."

"I don't know if it's due to some sort of sense of collective guilt, or what, but it happens all the time. When a spoiled and pampered blonde princess spends any amount of time with a strong African-American female, submissive feelings always emerge. It's as if the white girl folds in the presence of the strength emanating from a black woman. There are literally thousands of white woman who are slaves to their Black Mistresses. You'd never know it, but many a porcelain blonde from the upper class suburbs spends time with her face beneath the ample ass of her housekeeper."

"Think about the strength of the Black race! What other group of people has been so mistreated throughout history? Any other race of people would have been destroyed by the experience of slavery and Jim Crow. What did the Black race do with its pain? We combined the cultures of Africa and the Caribbean to give the United Stages it's only indigenous art form - Jazz, Blues and Rock and Roll. Without us, you bland white bread racists would still be listening to Lawrence Welk!"