Zarina the Dominatrix

Zarina the Dominatrix

A Tale from the BNWO

Jeffery Banks has been a bad boy,

Zarina makes him pay for it, and pay for it, and pay again!

Serena Steele Monroe

© Copyright 2025 by Mary Not Wollstonecraft

NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic, sexual nature. This tale is a work of pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously--any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, real events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Zarina the Dominatrix

A Tail from the BNWO

This happened long, long ago, in a place far, far away called California.

Back then, I called myself Jeffery Banks. I was a single dad of three teens, and for the first time in months, they were with their mother. It was supposed to be a weekend of freedom. The only thing I had planned was a trip to the park with a bag of breadcrumbs for the ducks. Being a single father had chased women away, or it made them desperate for a ring. None of the lovelies were interested in playing my games.

I strolled through the park with my mind on a dominant woman and my head in the clouds. That's when I spotted her--a tall Afro-American goddess in a black, flat, brimmed, equally flat, crowned Stetson and two-toned riding pants. Her tight, pullover Victorian man's shirt clung to the firmest pair of breasts I had ever seen. She wore point-toed cowboy boots with five-inch spiked heels and clutched a riding crop.

Her dark skin was rich and stunning against the green of the grass. Honestly, I couldn't help but ogle her every inch as my eyes worked their way up from those impossibly sexy boots. She smacked the crop into her gloved right hand and snapped at me.

"What are you looking at, maggot?"

"Nothing, ma'am, I'm sorry," I stuttered. Even as my cock twitched and I came close to embarrassing myself.

She changed position, planting the toe of her left boot into the ground and tapping it repeatedly, digging a hole under the toe. All the while, she scowled at me like I was a freak or a pervert. I wanted her, but at forty-five and out of practice, I didn't stand a chance with someone like that. I slinked away, barely holding it together.

The further I got from her, the more my chest pounded. My cock was still straining, and my heart still beat fast. What did a pathetic loser like me think I could do with a woman like her? Even if she was interested, what did I imagine would happen right here in public? I felt myself squirm as I continued toward the pond.

I sat on a bench, opened the bag of breadcrumbs, and several ducks swam in my direction. But I couldn't get her out of my mind. She was young, beautiful, and commanding. I tossed some bread into the water, wondering how many husbands or boyfriends she might have.

"Fucking pathetic," I muttered to myself. Pitiful me wanted to talk to her, but I couldn't bring myself to take the chance. Then I saw her standing by the edge of the pond, beautiful and frighteningly dangerous. I didn't dare look at her. Maybe if I ignored her, she'd forget how pathetic I was and walk away. I sat frozen, but she remained there. She probably had a stable full of willing slaves.

I kept tossing breadcrumbs and heard the click of her heels on the stone pathway.

Once I convinced myself she wasn't going to push me into the pond and drown me, I heard a sonorous, sensual voice.

"What's with you?" she asked.

"What do you mean, miss?" I managed to studder out.

"I mean, you look fit. You're middle-aged, yet alone and lonely. I could see it in your eyes," she replied.

"Are you that certain?" I asked, trying to sound as if she were wrong.

"I can spot a pathetic loser from a mile away," she said, placing her hand on my shoulder. She squeezed hard.

"Loser, that's a harsh word. But I've been divorced for six months, have custody of my three daughters, and haven't gotten my feet under me on the whole dating thing," I said as she continued, squeezing my shoulder with a brutal clutch that drove her fingernails in.

"You lost her because you were passive, and she wanted a man. A real one. Don't worry, sweetums, I specialize in losers." There that word was again, boring to my mind, nerves, and sending a single to all the way to balls and prick. Bending down so that her lips nearly brushed my ear, she whispered, "Now, if you've finished feeding the ducks, come with me," then released my shoulder.

I have a real thing for black women. Especially strong, tall, muscled black women. I watch them in tennis, women's basketball, gymnastics, and track and field. I imagine them in my fantasies, slapping my face, jerking me from here to there, and doing every nasty thing possible to me. And this woman frightened and thrilled me, my favorite combination. After all, as a wealthy, privileged, white man, I owe it to the black race to let their women take out any and all frustrations on me. If only I had the nerve to do so.

I kept tossing breadcrumbs. Unable to think or breathe as my mind spun in a hundred different directions. Was she real? Was she actually speaking to me? Was she going to make my dreams come true?

Was she going to humiliate me and crush my wretched soul? I wanted her so much that it hurt. I wanted everything she could give me, and at the same time, it was impossible. The breadcrumb bag crinkled in my sweaty hands. The ducks swarmed to the edge of the pond. I heard the clack of her heels as she started to walk away.

"Well, your loss," she said.

I stood, dumped the remaining breadcrumbs onto the ground, turned, and ran a few steps before following her at a measured pace, careful not to get too close. I watched her beautiful, tight ass sway as she walked. No, not walked, strutted. Her head turned slightly as she gave me a side-eye smirk.

I was scared to death.

Maybe this was a cruel joke. Possibly, she'd leave me high and dry and feeling even more inadequate than ever. But I'd wanted to be a slave for so long. No one else could give me what I craved. I followed Zarina out of the park.

"I'm Mistress Zarina, a professional dominatrix, and you are?" she asked.

"A bit disappointed I have to pay, but still a willing submissive," I replied.

"Are the kiddies at home?" she asked.

"No," I answered.

I followed her, noticing that she preferred several feet between us until she eventually led me to a black Lamborghini. Once inside, she asked, "What's your name?"

"Jeffery," I responded.

"Well, Jeffy, you pissant, buckle up," she said, firing up the engine as the tires squealed and we sped away at breakneck pace. Pissant, what a glorious insult to hurl my direction.

While driving, we stopped at a traffic light. Zarina cast a sideways glance at me, her expression mixed with irritation and disapproval as she shook her head before focusing on the road again.

Suddenly, she took her hand off the gear shifter and delivered a swift backhand strike to my erect penis and testicles, the impact of her hand resounding sharply; I clenched my jewels and groaned in pain.

"Did I give you permission to pitch a tent?" she asked sharply.

"No," I managed to reply as a tear escaped and tricked down my cheek.

"Baby," she said, not as a term of endearment, but another slap to my manhood, my adulthood. As the light shifted to green, we sped off. The houses and businesses rushed by at an almost dizzying velocity. I glanced at a speed sight, 45, and then to the speedometer, 45... It only felt as though she was speeding.

In a short time, she turned into a driveway and slid inside a garage, and we came to an abrupt halt. The sound of an overhead door grinding shut filled the air, and darkness briefly fell inside the car until the headlights flicked on and the engine sputtered to a stop.

"Get the fuck out and open my fucking door," Zarina commanded briskly, clearly annoyed by my hesitation.

I scrambled to the door and opened it for her; she extended her hand, which I grasped as she stepped out and towered over me. Without warning, she delivered a brutal backhand to my left cheek, nearly sending me sprawling. After slamming the car door, she led me inside a dimly lit mud room. To my right, a flight of stairs descended into a basement, which Zarina pointed toward.

"You first."

"Shouldn't my beautiful and cruel Mistress lead me?"

"Not when I command you to lead," Zarina said.

I so wanted her to slap me again or punch my still-engorged prick. But I'd not irk her further to receive my punishment as a reward. I stepped into the tight opening and down one step. As I cautiously descended, apprehension built that she might push me further. Upon entering the basement, I discovered it was outfitted like a dungeon for play, hinting at the explicit and filthy acts Zarina might perform.

The bread of life for a man like me.

"Strip," she ordered, and I obediently complied. Once I had freed myself of my clothing, I turned to her, and her face shifted to a stern glower.

"You're fucking hard. Did I give you permission? Did you even ask before you allowed this to happen?" she scolded.

"No, Ma'am, I'm so sorry for causing you distress," I replied.

She clutched my prick and weighed, or so it seemed.

"Don't bad for insipid worm," Zarina said. Her fingers slid to my balls, and she cupped them, weighing them as well. "Good sat nads." She twisted them and leered down at me, letting them loose. "Bend over and grab your ankles, feet apart."

Smacking the crop into her gloved hand a threat to do what she said, or else. I complied, and she moved behind me. She delivered a smack on my right ass cheek, relatively light at first. Then on the left, repeated a bit harder. Followed by eight more brutal blows, and then nothing. My cheeks had a grand burn, and I was certain whelps.

I held the position. Far too afraid even to look at my Mistress. Waiting tens of seconds as her gloves eventually fell to the floor before my face. Her booted feet moved in front of me as she walked away. I watched her ass sway and the material of her pants swish with each stride as she strutted to a table like a model on a catwalk.

She picked something up with her hands and turned back toward me. Quickly, I cast my eyes downward to avoid angering her further. She stood behind me, placed one hand on my face, and dug two fingers into my mouth. Bending over me more, she clutched my cock with her other hand and jacked me off roughly, forcefully, almost violently.

I tried to count the seconds to block out the incredible sensations as I reached 378, and I came.

My arms and legs shook as I moaned like a slut and exploded with more force than I ever had in my life. I lay face down on the floor with cum splattered on my stomach. She glared at me, face filled with disgust. She delivered a sharp kick to my side and ordered me to clean the floor with my tongue. To lap up the cum from my hands and knees.

I ate the cum as she looked down at me.

"You're one filthy fuck, aren't you? Is this what you want, to be degraded and punished?"

"Yes," I replied, already beginning to wonder if I had any limits at all.

"Why," she asked.

"Because I'm white and must pay for the sins of my race against your people."

"You're wretched," she said, disappearing up the stairs.

As I ate the cum, she disappeared. Once I finished, I stayed on the floor, squirming in exquisite and helpless frustration.

Zarina reappeared, still wearing her black Victorian man's shirt but without the riding pants--she still wore the boots, though. Sitting on an oversized couch, she pointed at her boots.

"Clean them, wasp."

I moved to her, dropped on my knees on the throw rug, and pressed my lips to her booted left foot. Prayerfully kissed and licked from the tip of the toe to where the V of the top of the leather converged. I reversed the order and repeated on her other foot.

Next, she bent down, took a handful of my hair, and raised her right foot to my mouth. Opening my lips, she shoved several inches into them and commanded me.

"Suck it off."

I gave the best imitation blowjob I could muster. Once Zarina was satisfied, she stood and ordered me to stand. When I rose, I looked her in the eye and received a hard blow to my cheek--a reminder of my previous mistakes.

She sat back down on the divan.

"Eat me out, you odious, white parasite."

I knelt between Zarina's legs and started at the top of her boots. My lips and tongue traced an unyielding path along the insides of her magnificent, muscled thighs. Each kiss and lick ignited a mixture of pleasure and raw apprehension deep within me.

As I advanced toward her smooth, shaved pussy, I felt every moment sharpen my awareness. Her powerful grip on my hair pulled me vigorously into the experience while her sharp insults punctuated the air. Each word fed the intricate blend of yearning and fear I couldn't escape.

My movements, oscillated between her clit, labia, and cunny hole, were dictated by her demands. Every time the toe of her boot struck my balls or cock. I was jolted by a sting of pain that mingled inexplicably with overwhelming ecstasy. Leaving me questioning the boundary between suffering and sublime pleasure.

"Is that the best you can do, neanderthal?" Zarina's voice was like a jolt of electricity. Her words cut through me with the precision of a surgeon cutting a tumor away.

I whimpered, pressing my mouth against the flesh of pussy. Each lick a silent plea for approval. My tongue felt heavy and awkward, and I wondered if Zarina felt the trembling need that surged through me with each hesitant stroke.

"Useless," she said, and I shivered. The heat in my belly knotted into something equal parts shame and want. Her leg shifted, and my heart stuttered as I looked up at her. My gaze traveled to her glowering stare.

My tongue thrusted in and out of her pussy. Tasting her thick juices with a reverence that bordered on desperation. The fear of disappointing her quickened my pace, and I struggled to keep the longing in check as I stuck my tongue as far inside her as my tongue would go.

She intoxicated me. Her scent, flavor, the soft velvet of pussy flesh made my head spin. I could hardly breathe, overwhelmed by the reckless urgency to prove myself, to please her, to feel her heel driving into me once more. I moved my tongue furiously and pushed my head side to side so my nose perturbed her clit, and my chin, wet with her sap, did the same on her taint.

She reclined against the cushions. Zarina's dark eyes fixed on me, her indifference almost convincing. I observed the faint quirk of her mouth. The hint of satisfaction as I lost myself against her skin. Each stroke drove us until I was nothing but raw, pulsing need. Vulnerable and open and entirely hers.

It rolled over Zarnia, a climax so vicious her body shook and bucked into my face. My hands gripped her boots, holding on as to anchor me. As if they'd keep me from dissolving into her strength.

"That's it," she said in sensuous purr, more taunt than praise. The low, vulgar sounds she made tightened my chest. This spurred me to move faster.

I wanted to beg her, to ask her to tell me I was good. To say to me I was what she wanted. I kissed and licked. My tongue fucked, and I tried to hold back the hot, unhinged pleas that trembled in my throat.

"What are you?" She asked.

"Yours, always yours," I spoke into her cunt. Breathed the words into her sweet, succulent, sopping-wet cunt!

The ground seemed to fall away then. I was a stupid little worm, a filthy little cunt-licker, a quivering, hopelessly devoted dog, and with every word Zarina crushed into me, the need only flared hotter, sweeter. Now, I tried to hold still, tried to keep my hips in place to receive the pain I craved. I didn't want to give her a reason to laugh at me. I didn't need to show her just how greedy I was for all of it.

To my joy, she kept urging me onward, kicking her heels into my haunches like I was her stallion.

Zarina was in control. Her toned thighs guided my face, but she was letting me feel it. Letting me feel like I could do this for her. Almost as if I could make her want me. The thought made me dizzy. Caused my pulse to hammer until I thought I'd pass out from the heat and the panic.

She wouldn't let me come. I knew she wouldn't. She'd let me shake and beg and sob against her while she got off on my humiliation and tongue. The thought of cumming left me whimpering, squirming, struggling not to spill too soon.

Suddenly, her body stilled.

"Poor little puppy," she said, a mocking cooing of tenderness in her voice. "I'm done. No squirt-squirt for Bozo."

She put her left booted foot on my chest, pushed me back, and I sprawled on the carpet. Zarina stood, moved between my legs, and dug her heel into my balls. Making me gasp and bite my lip to keep from screaming or cumming. I didn't care if Zarina knew I loved the way it hurt. It was unbearable. I fought not to go over the edge.

"Almost impressive how you didn't pop your gasket and spray again. You were so close to exceptional yet desperate to please me that you didn't get your fun. Get up, my nasty, disgusting pet."

As she instructed, I gazed down at her boots, "Turn around."

I complied, and Zarina yanked one arm behind my back and cuffed my wrists with fur-covered handcuffs. Then she jerked her other hand into place and did the same to my other wrist.

"Now, what should we do next? Some cock and ball torture, nut kicking, what baby, what do you want?" she asked.

"My ass fucked," I replied.

"Mmmm, you are a little freak, aren't you?" Zarina said.

I nodded without meeting her eyes.

"This'll cost you extra."

"No matter the cost. I owe to all the women of your race. All those past black women owned by forebears, raped by them. Punish me for white sins."

She led me to a padded sawhorse and told me to bend over it. I could hardly believe what was happening as excitement overwhelmed me. Honest to god, I'd waited for this my whole life. I lay over the sawhorse for several minutes in sweet anticipatory ecstasy.

Zarina's boots click-clacking as she pranced away from me. I listened to a series of banging sounds until she returned after a stretch that felt like both seconds and hours. Clutching my hair with one hand and my hip with the other.

"Baby boy, this is gonna hurt."

Something fat banged against my sphincter over and over. It broke through and thrust into my guts with violent efficiency. She fucked me with the greased-up rod. I came repeatedly until she withdrew from me. I heard her footsteps as she headed upstairs while I remained frozen, afraid to move yet longing for further punishment. My cum was pooled beneath me between my feet.

When she returned, she said, "Jeffery, baby, you've done it again."

"What?"

"Don't play dumb with me. This fucking card was declined," Zarina said with real anger.

"Take one of the others from my billfold and use it."

When she returned again, she released me.

"How much extra will you pay in tribute to the movement?"

She worked the shirt over her head and let it flutter to the floor. Crossing her arms under the magnificent beasts, she tapped a troubled tune on the floor.

"Is two thousand enough?"

Her eyebrows closed toward each other, arcing in the middle, and the tune became louder.

"Okay, okay, Mistress Z, two thousand each to your two favorite charities."

"And you'll accompany me to the NCBW's Fancy Dress Ball next Saturday?"

"But I have my kids that weekend. You know she won't take them when it isn't her turn." I saw the anger on her face. It wasn't part of our role-play, "Okay, I'll hire your niece to watch the girls." Her face had lighted up. "I'll pay her $200 for the night."

"That's sweet of you, dear. It's a black tux for you and a wonderful Victorian gown for me. Buy them tomorrow. Now, get up and fall to your knees, and clean your cum off my floor."

She turned and sashayed to the stairs, her ass waved bye-bye to me.

"I'll be back, get good and clean, or I'll hurt you."

I lapped at my cum, feeling so entirely hers. I wondered how many others had lain in this exact spot, throbbing and aching and covered in their own juice. How many had moaned like I had and left to quiver while she slipped out of sight?

I devoured every last drop, hoping and fearing she was watching me. What if she had decided I wasn't worthy of her time? What if she left me here, abandoned, with no more pain to suffer or joy to hope for?

A tinkling of metal caught my attention. I rose to my knees, my hand still bound behind my back. It was Zalinia, coming back, still naked, her fabulous body glistening even in the muted light. Dangling from her hand a chain and dog collar. She held it somewhere near the middle, and on the inside, she had the collar attached to it, and on the other hand, she had a leather handle for her to use.

In her other hand was the key to the handcuffs. I don't know why, but I licked my lips. Puppy was her and my favorite pet name she used. And often, I played her little doggy, humping her leg or licking her bare heels. She'd shed the boots, and her heels would be nice and sweaty if she hadn't worn socks.

When she stopped before me, Zarina raised her bare foot and rubbed my nose with bare ball and sole. Heaven on earth, I sucked in the smell and licked the smooth pink ball of her foot and toes.

"Bad puppy," she said, hitting the crown of my head with her heel. A light, loving blow and I ducked my head in shame. She knelt beside me, unlocked the cuffs, and let them fall to the floor behind my ass. I put my hands on the floor and sat in the heeling stance.

Zarina petted my head and ruffled my hair. She scratched my side, and I flicked my foot against her hand, pretending to scratch at an invisible flea. She attached my collar and stood. Zarina stepped forward and tugged the leash.

"Heel, puppy." The leash was short unyielding.

My neck strained against it as I followed the towering woman. Inching my way up the steps, breathless and eager and afraid. She moved with all the strength and fluidity of an athlete. Zarina guided me without a word, and I knew this game.

Mistress, Ma'am, Zarina, was in my head, playing her role and mine with ease. Making me hers before we even reached the bedroom. She was five foot eleven to my pathetic five-seven, and it was hard to keep up. My hands and knees wobbled.

When we reached the plush carpet, caressing soft against my palms, and though she hadn't even touched since we left the basement, I already felt the strength of her hands. She stopped and smacked me, and I felt the unyielding sting of her leather crop on my back.

"Heel, puppy, don't make me drag your sorry ass."

I whimpered and panted and stayed next to her as we moved. We rounded the corner, my collar cutting into my throat, and as much as I wanted to be her dog, I couldn't shake the tremor that raced through me.

I couldn't decide whether to attempt a getaway or surrender completely, to let myself be used and tossed aside like every other time. As we approached the bed, I turned and pulled away. She jerked hard on the leash.

"Bad, dog, bad, bad dog," she said slowly with deliberate anger. Each word was punctuated by a slap of the crop on my head, neck, back, ass, and leg.

The bedroom door swung open, and I crawled inside with my heart pounding against the cage of my chest. I didn't see Zarina drop the leash. But I felt the yank of my hair, her long fingers fisting the strands and pulling me up. Upward until I wobbled on shaky legs, face to face with her disapproval.

Her muscular body loomed above me, all sleek and powerful. I hated how much I needed her to use me. How much I needed the release only she gave me. A slight curl of her lip sent me squirming with embarrassment, with longing.

"You're hard, you nasty, nasty boy," she said, and I couldn't help but look down. She was right. My cock stood at shameless attention, throbbing with every desperate beat of my pulse. Bigger than I remembered.

"I--I'm sorry, Mistress. I should've asked permission," I stammered, my voice mumbled whisper.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Nice cock for a skid-mark waste of flesh." Her words cut deep, that derisive edge sending a thrill of humiliation straight through me.

She released my hair, and I shivered at the sudden loss of control. Before I could catch my breath, she was kneeling, looping leather around the base of my cock and balls. I sucked in a sharp gasp as she pulled the ring tight. Her fingers were deft, ensuring I felt every exquisite moment of the restraint.

Pain, hot and fierce, mingled with the cruel delight that only she knew how to inflict. I moaned, dizzy with the intensity, each heartbeat like an explosion in my chest.

"Puny fool, that should make you last," she said.

Standing again, Zarina towered over me once more. The heat of her gaze nearly unbearable. Light golden-brown eyes bored straight through to the weakness inside. Her strong fingers formed a fist, and with one sudden motion, she shoved against my chest, pushing me backward again and again until my legs collided with the edge of the bed.

I stumbled, helpless, and the sharp sting of her backhand caught me off guard. A flash of white-hot pain sent me reeling onto the mattress. My body jerked and arched as I landed, the ache so complete it bordered on pleasure. The moment stretched, and my mind teetered between resistance and the primal urge to submit completely.

I felt the bed shift as she joined me, the sudden weight of her presence more suffocating than any bindings.

"Is this what you want?" she taunted, the mockery in her voice unmistakable. "You want me to take you, forcibly fuck you?"

I couldn't form the words, my throat tight with longing. Mistress didn't wait for my answer or care if I could muster one. Instead, she moved, a feral grace in the way she straddled me, Her cunt wet and hot as she engulfed my cock in one demanding stroke. My mind buzzed with the onslaught, every nerve ending alive and burning.

"Greedy, pussy boy. Taking everything like a bitch in heat," she said, her hands finding my face, each slap sharp punctuation to her insults.

The raw intensity left me gasping. Unsure whether I was still breathing or if the pounding in my skull was her doing. I felt the weight of her contempt. The complete mastery with which she handled me, each thrust deliberate and merciless.

She squeezed her fingers around my throat, a promise of pain that clouded my vision and sent me skirting the edge of consciousness.

Time splintered. All I knew was the relentless rhythm of her body on mine. Each violent thrust carried me further away from reason. The room spun around me, dizzying, and I wasn't sure if it was real or just in my head.

The conflict was all-consuming. Pleasure and pain. Yearning and fear. I couldn't find the line where one began and the other ended. I didn't want to. Her hips rolled, and then, she'd rise until only the head stayed inside. Thrust herself down roughly on my cock and pounded up and down. Only to return to rolling on my cock.

When she finally let go of my neck, air rushed back into my lungs, sharp and urgent.

"You're less than nothing," she said.

I shuddered at how much I loved how it sounded from her lips. Her cruel proficiency left me hanging on the precipice, my body involuntarily arching and twitching with each violent thrust.

She rose then, leaving my cock exposed, glistening with the mix of our juices, but the brutal pace never stopped. She pushed me into an even more degrading position, forcing my body to fold on itself until I could taste her on me. The world spun again as she forced me to suck my cock, the action as disorienting as it was obscene.

And then she released the ring.

My orgasm was violent and shocking. My vision blurred as I came, thick ropes of cum flooding my mouth and my senses. Sheer, intense sensation ripped through me, each pulse and swallow a frantic attempt to make sense of the pleasure, the humiliation, the pure need Zarina unleashed.

I lay there, completely used. The sticky remnants of what she'd done coated my lips and throat. My heart thudded erratically, and my muscles trembled with aftershocks that refused to subside.

Zarina stood above me and surveyed the wreckage she'd caused. Her disinterest was a final cut, sending a new shiver through me as I fought to catch my breath.

"Bad boy, now, my sick fuck, get out," she said, her voice cold and dismissive.

It was all I could do not to beg for more. Not to plead with Zarina to let me stay. For me to still be her pet. Zarina's puppy dog and toy until nothing of me was left.

I stumbled to my feet, my legs still weak from the intensity of it all. My mind buzzed with the familiar, intoxicating confusion Mistress, Ma'am, Zarina could only create. She had broken me again. Made me hers. I had no idea how long it would be before I crawled back, but I knew it would be too long.

Later that night, I doubled my donations to her favorite political causes, surrendering more of me to my black goddess of the BNWO.

At the ball, I felt so wretched. A small white escort to my tall, young alethic Mistress of pleasure and pain. I felt the eyes on me and understood how worthless they must feel I am. As her good puppy, I figured they'd be wondering why she wasted her time on a piece of excrement like me.

Oh, dear, god, I thought, don't let me get hard. Of course I did, how could I not.