My Perfect Pet

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Turning my whiteboi into a gangbang slut.
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AfroerotiK
AfroerotiK
1,010 Followers

There is no such thing as the perfect submissive. There's no such thing as a perfect Domme for that matter either. There is, however, a symbiosis, a precious and delicate balance, an equilibrium that can only be achieved between Domme and sub, involving owner and pet that transcends all other relationships. No vanilla/romantic relationship can compare to the bond that is formed when complete trust and adoration marries with utter depravity and absolute control. When the desires of the Domme perfectly match the perversions of the sub, when the hunger of the filthy bitch satisfies the appetites of the Divine Bitch, perfection in domination and submission is achieved.

I created Michael. I made him from a vision formed from my perverse imagination. When I met him online all those many years ago, he was submissive and eager but he needed to be molded. Without a doubt his blond hair, blue eyes, his transparent pink skin and inherent slutty nature, and, of course, his laughably small but typical white cock made him a prime candidate for my particular brand of racial domination. He had to learn a very expensive lesson after he sent out a racist email about Obama. He had to pay and pay dearly for that little mistake.

I asked him how, in fact, he could profess to be submissive to Blacks in private, especially intelligent, articulate, professional Black men exactly like Obama but espouse racist thoughts to his friends and co-workers. He had no answer other than to feign outrage, behave arrogantly, lie, and deny - behavior absolutely typical of white men when they are wrong. Learning that expensive lesson humbled him. He recognized how fucked up he was to profess love and worship of Black men in private, to crave denigration and humiliation from men of African descent sexually and then pretend he was superior in public.

Our virtual relationship started out slow. At first, he provided me with tributes. He did so willingly and of his own free will, with absolutely no coercion or pressure on my part. I think that's what made him stand out from all the rest of the subs who said they desired my attention. I'm not a financial Domme and I don't solicit, demand, or require tributes in any form from subs. So when he voluntarily provided the funds for me to get a brand new laptop, without strings or attempts to manipulate me to dominate him, I found favor in him. It was a thoughtful gesture that made me happy and, in turn, gave him joy in pleasing me. From there, things just seemed to flow naturally.

I was dominant, he was submissive, and we understood our roles very well. He wasn't overly whiny and annoying but he wasn't arrogant and obnoxious either. It took us a lot of late night conversations to get to a point where he understood that I needed him to be submissive behind closed doors but that he had to be able to engage me as my equal; the perfect complement to my personality. I needed a sub who was as exceptional in his hunger for depravity as I am and as balanced, sane, and as charming as my vanilla persona is as well.

Today, after lots of bumps in the road, Michael has become all that I had ever hoped for and dreamed of in a submissive. More than his miraculous social transformation that allowed him to perfectly parrot my positions on race and racism in public; I expertly and patiently crafted and molded him into the single-most filthy slut, cum whore, and insatiable queen addicted to black dick I had ever encountered. His boicunt stays wet, throbbing, and ready for fucking at the drop of a hat, like a good whore always is. Even in chastity, he remains constantly aroused and dripping, in a persistent state of horniness. I allow him to maintain his job but he has voluntarily all but given up his regular social life, friends, family, and outside interests for our D/s relationship.

Behind closed doors, immediately, from the very milli-second he walks beyond the majestic foyer of my custom home after work, he is subjected to some sort of extreme sexual situation where his nasty butthole is stretched, filled, and fucked relentlessly. Every day is a new adventure to see how far I can push him, to see how many loads of cum he can take, to see what sorts of extreme and nasty things I can think of and to get him to a sub space where he not only enjoys my warped demands but where he craves, needs, and BEGS for more. Honestly, I think his depth of perversion goes beyond my creative scope but for now I keep finding new and innovative ways to add variety to our repertoire of kinky games that seem to keep him satisfied. Well, at least as much as he can be satiated.

Reflecting back, our first meeting was extreme by most standards; it was pretty typical for the sorts of encounters that we've come to share however. I remember very vividly that first Friday evening as we dined at a cute little bistro on the river. Arriving early, he was nervous and fidgeting as he sat at the bar waiting not so patiently. I arrived exactly on time with my usual flair that turned heads when I walked in. I made sure to exaggerate my moves, sway my hips accented by the click of my high heels on the wooden floor. I extended my hand in greeting and Michael stared in disbelief, frozen to his bar stool. If I had said, "BOO!" I'm sure he would have pissed his pants right there in public.

His hands shook with nerves as we were seated for dinner and he held my chair. I almost got up from the table and walked away I was so irritated with his inability to have a normal conversation. If the night wasn't so beautiful and the view wasn't so damned spectacular I would have excused myself 15 minutes into the evening. I kept saying, "Take a deep breath," and eventually, he started to relax, to gain control of his nerves and we began having a very pleasant exchange about the intricacies of straight ahead jazz and the wretched scum they call smooth jazz. We were able to converse freely and comfortably about all things kinky, casually discussing things that would have made the people at the next table cringe in horror had they had been listening carefully. In many ways, our friendship was cemented that evening, over amazing seafood and wine and laying the foundation for what would become the ultimate union of Domme and sub.

After an amazing dinner, as we sipped our coffee and slid molten lava cake around the plate with our forks, too full to eat another bite, I said, "There's a club not too far from here, would you like to join me in an evening of play?" He looked like a deer caught in headlights, staring blankly at me, eventually mumbling something incoherent, visibly shaking. You would have thought I would have said, "Would you kiss my ass, right here, right now, in front of all of these people."

"Relax, sweetie," I reassured him, "It's okay, we don't have to do anything. I was offering because there's chemistry between us, because I spoke to a couple of my friends earlier and they said that they would be hanging out and the place isn't far from here. I was just . . ."

Before I could even finish my thought, he blurted out, "I'll do it." His breathing was labored and it looked like he might hyperventilate any minute. "It's just that . . . I didn't . . . you know . . . I didn't think that we would do anything tonight . . . I thought we were just meeting to get to know each other in person." He was hyperventilating.

"Calm down, relax, take a deep breath," I assured him for the thousandth time. I could see that he was anxious and aroused but also a bit overwhelmed at the same time. I did my best to help him settle down. "I have some friends, some male friends in fact, and we get together about once a month to play. We are all connected because we are all from Kenya. Jomo and Matunde, we all call him Matt, they were both born in Kenya but moved to the US when they were small children. Reginald and I are both first generation American. Our parents were born in Africa and we were born in the US but we both lived in Mombossa, Eldoret, and Kisumu for much of our adolescent years, visiting our grandparents and cousins and such and we continue to travel back and forth with some frequency. I met Reggie on the plane coming home and I introduced him to Jomo and he introduced me to Matt." Michael seemed spellbound, captivated, hanging on my every word. "Are you okay, sweetie," I asked, genuinely concerned about him and his state of mind.

"Ma'am, I had no idea . . . You know, I've been to Kenya," he said shyly, almost imperceptibly. I went to Narobi and Narok and I was VERY aroused by the concept of submitting sexually to the Maasai people . . . it has been a fantasy of mine for a very long time."

We both laughed out loud and shared a moment of pure destiny and coincidence.

I continued on. "Well, like I was saying, the fellas and I all met and related because of our Kenyan connection but we share a fetish connection as well and we all like to get together and play every once in a while. Being who I am, with my following, I'm sort of the group leader of course and we've had some pretty amazing times with me heading up my marauding band of sexy brothas. Tonight, they called me and asked me if I wanted to hang out at the spot. I told them that I had plans and they said if things didn't work out, to swing by. They also said that if things DO work out, that I could swing by and bring them a toy to play with."

"Have you ever, I mean have they ever used a white boy for you Ma'am? I mean, what would be expected of me?"

After a little more deep breathing I told him, "Yes, we have used white boys before. In fact, that's our specialty. We've done everything, and I mean everything with them. I control the subs, the situation, what happens, and how far things go. They do the fucking. If you want, and only if you consent, we can meet up with them later this evening and I'll see what sort of cock-sucking cum slut you can really be."

Michael swallowed hard. "I'll do whatever you want me to do Mistress. ANYTHING." His desire to please was written all over his face but I wasn't really sure he was up for anything that I would require of him. I thought I would put him to the test however and see just how far I could push him. I certainly didn't have anything to lose and if had regrets the next day, that wouldn't be my problem.

We walked to the car. "I'll drive," I said, and I unlocked the door to my car and held open the rear passenger door. He climbed in and I made sure to buckle him in like he was a toddler in a child seat in plain view of the other restaurant patrons who had a clear view of the parking lot from the deck. Leaning over him, my cleavage was inches from his face. I could hear him inhaling the fragrance of the mango shea butter that I wore to make my brown skin glisten. People stared, some with shock on their faces, others with intense curiosity. I'm sure some couldn't quite figure out what sort of dynamic was going on between us and I'm sure others could only have imagined in their wildest fantasies what was about to happen.

We drove a short distance to the club, less than 15 minutes in fact, and I watched in my rear view mirror how Michael was squeezing his cock through his pants, trying to play with it discretely but more so to make adjustments because he was hard and leaking. He had nothing but questions. "Do they have big cocks? This place we are going, what's it like? Am I going to get to do anything with you? Are people going to watch me do . . . you know, stuff? Are you lovers with all of them?" He wouldn't stop asking questions. I answered some and let him wonder about others.

"Jomo and I dated for about a year. We are still great friends and we'll probably get back together in the future but for right now, he wants to concentrate on his career and says he doesn't have time for a relationship. We still love each other and we get together every once in a while and we occasionally fuck like wild beasts, sometimes in front of others just for the fun of it, other times in private because the chemistry is so strong. The rest of the guys observe a very strict 'hands off' policy as far as penetration is concerned but they have both eaten my pussy on more than a few occasions with Jomo there to give his 'permission' sort of.

They are both very respectful of that male bond thingie that men have and they don't want to do anything to destroy the friendship so they are cool with just getting together to explore our kinks and not really too stressed about sex with me. Besides, I make sure they get all the pussy they can handle from white bois. I have so many white bois who want to submit to me, we could all get together and they could fuck someone different every night of the week and there still would a line of subs waiting for their turn."

In that instant, a look of fear came over Michael's pale face and made him look even whiter. "Ma'am, If they are going to fuck me, I didn't, prepare for that if you know what I'm saying."

I knew exactly what he was saying but I pretended not to. "No sweetie, what do you mean?"

"Well," he stuttered, "Sometimes, when . . . well, what I'm trying to say is, if you are going to tell them to fuck me, they might be offended if I . . . how can I put this?"

"Just say it precious, no need to be afraid, just say whatever's on your mind."

"OK," he took a deep breath. "Usually, if I know I'm going to be getting fucked, I will take precautions to be clean, you know, back there."

"Ohhhhh, you mean that your asscunt might be dirty and you will get shit on their dicks if they fuck you?" I've always found the white boys cower at the plain truth being spoken unapologetically. I could see him squeeze his semi-erect cock harder in the rear view mirror. He moaned in arousal as I said, "Well, you won't mind sucking their filthy cocks clean in that case, licking those thick, black dicks covered in your shit, up and down the shaft streaked with brown stains and the engorged heads covered with your smelly crap and their hot sperm from fucking you hard and deep in your dirty shit hole? That won't be a problem, will it? Will you look up at them and show them what a dirty pig you are that you are eager to lick your own foul waste just to get a taste of their sweet, hot cum and feel their gorgeous cocks in your shit eating mouth. That's the price you have to pay, isn't it, for getting three, thick, hard, black cocks shoved deep and hard in your asshole, pounding the shit out of you, making you scream, making that hole gape open, and dumping their hot loads of sperm deep inside you?"

He didn't need to answer. He was moaning uncontrollably at that point and his breathing was labored. "I hope for your sake that you aren't too full because you are going to be eating all that nasty packed fudge while they fuck you deep in your shitbox. I better not smell any of your shit so you would be wise to beg them to fuck your mouthcunt the second you think there might be any shit on them. Who knows, before the night is over, you might be so be such a depraved shit-eating pig, that you will be begging my friends to shit in your mouth." I smiled sweetly. "The night is so very young." The fact that a black woman, especially one so sophisticated and classy, was so casually discussing the prospects of him eating shit, and being so graphic about it, almost made Michael cum in his pants.

Michael was sobbing a tearless cry, whimpering like a baby. "Yes, Ma'am," he whispered over and over again as we pulled into the parking lot of the club, wanting, no needing to be subjected to that and more. Coincidentally and totally without planning, Reginald pulled in seconds after us. I left Michael in the back seat of my car, his mouth hanging open, confused and wondering about the possible solution to his dilemma, drooling at the thought of doing what I had suggested, actually he was more aroused about the concept of doing something so nasty in front of people.

Reggie and I both got out of our respective vehicles and hugged in the crisp night air. We caught up with one another as it had been some time since we had last had an opportunity to chat. Michael sat in the back seat of my car and I pointed to him and Reginald casually glanced and we kept on with our friendly banter. I had the child locks in place so Michael couldn't get out of the car without me and he was helpless to do anything but sit there with his veritable nose pressed against the window and stare. Jomo and Matt were car-pooling so we decided to wait for them so that we could all go in the club together.

We didn't have to wait long; it was only a matter of minutes before they pulled in. I'm sure it must have felt like a million light years to Michael however. Jomo and Matt parked and got out and they all did the hugging/kissing ritual with me and the "giving dap" male ritual with each other. Jomo, I guess feeling particularly flirtatious and quite possibly even romantic, pulled me to him and ran his hands all over my full backside, his hands caressing the smooth, chocolate-colored silk of my dress. He put his tongue in my mouth, pressed his soft, full lips gently to mine and kissed me deeply, passionately and I forgot all about anyone else or anything else for that matter for a brief moment.

"OK guys, break it up. I'm in the mood to get my dick sucked now," Matt chimed in. "And little white boy over there looks like he is hungry to swallow my load. Hell, I might even have two loads for him." We all glanced towards the back seat of my car and saw Michael there with his pale face glowing in the night and laughed at him looking like a wild-eyed child imprisoned and seeking release.

I let Michael out of the car and I think he assumed there were going to be introductions and some sort of cordial conversation but my boys didn't give a fuck about him. He was just another slut to be used by them, they didn't care about his name, his likes and dislikes, they simply trusted me to direct the situation and they would go with the flow.

The club was really a swingers club for straight couples but in recent years, they had relaxed their "no homosexual play" rule. So while they didn't actually promote it, they didn't frown upon it either. I guess with so many cock-hungry white bois out there, they needed to adapt and change with the times. Bisexual women were always welcomed at the club so on the last Friday night of every month, they had a "Bi-friendly Party" that was geared towards men exploring their same sex desires. We didn't always use white boys to play with, sometimes we went there to just enjoy some sensual fun. The owners knew that when my boys and I walked through the door however, that there was going to be a super hot show and they would always make an extra large private room available just for us.

Courtney, the goth chick at the door who takes the money and gives out the membership cards and stuff like that, said, "Ohhhh, hi you guys. Long time no see, we missed you last month. Will you be needing a room with a view tonight or do you want something a little more secluded?" She looked Michael up and down with a slight look of disgust and possibly even envy on her face. We all conspired, did a quick vote and decided that tonight we wanted a room with a large window for voyeurs to watch and, if possible, we wanted a room that was large enough to accommodate people on sofas to sit and watch if it was available.

I think we got such VIP treatment because people would show up just to watch us play, even on the nights we weren't there, with the hopes that they could see some of the super hot play that we brought to the club. Lots of swing clubs have little enclaves of sex but mostly people just wander around either looking for people who are fucking. With us, we brought our own party favors and would get the party started the minute we walked in the door. That inspired other people to loosen up and do their own things in their own private rooms and even in the public group rooms.

AfroerotiK
AfroerotiK
1,010 Followers