A Good Life: Lailah's Story

During the following months, others began to take part in dominating our white servant. I have to say, there is nothing more sensual than watching a white attractive bitch bow down to black power, pleading for mercy, and then hear her scream in orgasmic fury, as her pleas were denied. So Cynthia and I intended to explore this open triad as much as possible. Everyone was free to join us in the exploration of Linda, our main attraction. Some rules did apply, of course, but the stage was open to many things, and Linda rejoiced greatly in her new-found status.

Tied up, dominated and humiliated, she was finally free, free as she had always wanted to be. Odd thing, human psychology. But who are we to wonder, to ponder, probe and question? We are here to embrace, explore and experience.

Or, as Cynthia would say, "to savour the three E: s."

Darling, dear Cynthia, my most trusted and brave fellow Mistress, eager to please me as much as being pleased by me and by Linda, our mutual pale skinned servant, the beautiful woman with the delicate face and long, wavy brown hair.

Our triad now firmly established, we travelled to Spain the following year. Our first stop, Madrid.

The siren call of the corridas had begun to attract even Linda, after some trepidation. She looked forward to them with an unexpected eagerness, knowing how much we loved them, and I suspected it also had lots to do with the fact that more black folks had been encouraged to become matadors, mostly young men, but also some women, which naturally aroused her.

Who could have foreseen that? Social trends move in mysterious ways.

We often watched corridas at home, Cynthia had recordings of many, and while they played out, Linda was eager to please, we didn't even have to order her to do it. She knew the rules and we always managed to orgasm at the height of the performances, like a erotic ritual of worship.

Ours is a good life.

We had arrived just in time, a corrida was taking place later that afternoon, and we entered the stadium, ready for its display of spectacle. The matador of the day was a black woman, Lucia Gonzalez, a mature woman in her late 40s, very attractive, proud and sensual, and she treated the bull like a toy. She moved in the ring like a dancer, stung the bull repeatedly with small knives, and our arousal increased with each stab, her face, even at a distance, lovely to behold.

Her display of power was magnificent, my nipples tingling, hot waves of arousal swept through me, and if it had been possible, I would have had Linda then and there, open to our sexuality. And when Lucia Gonzalez finally killed the bull, her bosom was heaving and her stunning face had become a visage of pure human, black erotic power!!

And I saw before me a field of white bitches, attractive and proud, forced into total submission by aggressively powerful black men and women, white bodies arching in stunning displays of respect and broken pride. Linda looked at me and somehow she KNEW what was going through my mind, smiling in gratitude for what was to come.

*

After the performance we were going to attend a club, which was frequented by black matadors and enthusiasts; the place was newly opened, and the professional dancers, who were there to entertain, were all young, blonde and attractive women. Having mastered the flamenco, they also had another part to play, that of courtesans to the black matadors.

We endorsed the whole thing, naturally, and somewhere in the back of our minds, we had fantasies about Linda being subjected to spanish black majesty. Cynthia had more or less ordered Linda to participate in whatever was about to take place, and before we went there (we made a quick return to our hotel suit to change clothes and freshen up) we had made her undress, lay down on the floor, after which we took turns straddling her face, making her tongue-whip us into ecstasy.

White submission, black dominance.

It was magnificent!

Ours is indeed a good life.

*

The club was filled to the brim with people, of all colors and shapes. The music was loud, but not ear-splittingly so, and the dancers were already on stage, performing, their spanish dresses shaped gracefully around their magnificent young bodies. They may have been blonde, but their hairstyles were made-up in the traditional spanish shape, though a couple has freed their hair to let it flow freely across their strong backs. Backs soon to be arched. Proud these women were, but soon they were all be swept off their feet and taken into one of the many rooms that were hidden behind the purple curtains in the dimly lit rear, there to experience the ecstasy of total submissiveness.

The three of us grabbed the only table left, ordered some wine and recognized many a well known matador. The atmosphere was intense and lively, pulsating like a erotic heart. Suddenly Linda went up onto the floor and began dancing, her command of the flamenco a total surprise to us. As a matter of fact, after only a few minutes she had the attention of everyone at the club, the pros had even stopped performing, while Linda seemed lost in some latin fantasy, moving her already attractive shape in ways none of us had expected.

Cynthia and I looked at each other, and wordlessly asked, "where the hell did that come from?" But we also felt a certain pride in the fact that it was our woman, our submissive bitch, who held the attention of everyone present.

Suddenly two male black matadors, obviously capable of dancing themselves, was up there with her. The men circled Linda, eyeing her with the eagerness that only experience can offer, knowing full well what they could, and would, do to her. Their bodies were like steel coils, ready for sexual action, exploring the submissiveness of Linda, with all the power black men have.

Linda looked eager to experience what was to fill the coming hours. Black bodies would ravish her, penetrate and dominate, barking commands and demanding immediate obedience and respect.

Above all else, respect.

That was the core of our sexuality, with regards to white women. Immediate respect was expected and demanded. In any given erotic situation, failure to obey led to harsh and strict disciplinary consequences, often in the form of being tied up and lashed, while penetrated hard, perhaps with candle wax dripping over the white skin.

I had seen white women being punished by young black men before, at Club Obedience, and nothing was more arousing than white bodies bent into formidable shapes, shapes of sweat-drenched ecstasy. And now, surrounded by the sensual ambience of Club Corrida, this was about to be taken to new heights.

Suddenly the men took Linda under her arms and steered her away towards the back, while the crowd resumed their wild bacchanalia. Cynthia and I rose up and approached the men, who nodded to us, as if to say, "of course you can watch, we saw her came in with you, this is for us all."

We entered a dimly lit room, filled with indirect purple light coming from somewhere. Posters of corridas were everywhere (a tad cluttered, I thought) and a huge bed stood in the middle of this room, ready for sexual exploration. One of the men ordered Linda to strip, slowly, while slightly eerie music started to envelop us. His voice had been soft, yet tinged with authority. Linda obeyed, and slowly, slowly, sloooowly, began to undress, already visibly aroused. She looked straight into the man's eyes, knowing her Master well, and her body was soon for all to see, glorious, feminine and very white.

Made for obeying commands.

Her nostrils were flaring hotly, magnificently. She knew what we wanted, what turned us on. She was ready to be tamed, broken and dominated.

"On your knees, bitch."

The other man, whose broken english made the command even more sensual.

Linda obeyed, gasping slightly.

She was ready for anything!

"Bend forward."

The first man, naked now, body a magnificent dark statueesque display of masculinity.

So, on all fours, she was ready.

The first man grabbed her hair and brought Linda's head back, forcing her to take his magnificent member between her smiling lips. A slap across her cheek wiped the smile off her face, forcing her to focus on her job.

The other man, also naked now, and equally magnificent, walked up behind Linda and slapped her really hard on her behind. Linda gasped and shook. With hands firmly around her waist, he entered her and began to thrust, slowly and deep, really deep.

Everyone moved very slowly, yet we knew that Linda was in the firm grip of some tremendous black power, which at any moment could take things far. Really far.

Suddenly she was ordered on her back, man #1 still between her lips, man #2 again penetrating; in this submissive position Linda arched her back strongly, her beauty straining and bending, ribs, muscles and tendons bulging, moaning and whimpering, totally at the mercy of these men, having orgasm after orgasm, as the penetrating man made sure her clit was properly stimulated (yes, they took pride in making their women enjoy the experience, no matter how brutal), and suddenly the crazy reality of it hit us:

Linda was being sexually dominated by two black male matadors! In Madrid. And they would have their way with her, come what may. The enormity of the whole situation became obvious in all its superb splendour. A dream, a long held fantasy, had come true.

The men (whom we later came to know as Marcel and Tomás) continued to dominate, slap and pinch, their treatment without mercy, and Cynthia and I began to undress and make love, the whole scene almost unbearably arousing. Linda was faced with humiliating treatments, punishments and crushing commands; what little self-control she may have had was broken, and as the men came, and allowed her to come one last time, she was a shattered, sweat-drenched toy, semi-unconscious, having been subjected to the cruelest dominance, a trial by fire, and her ecstasy had known no bounds.

She had been a female bull to these magnificent men, and their "killing" of her self-control had led to her strongest orgasms yet.

*

We met the two men twice again, this time their focus was on me and Cynthia, while Linda was tied to a chair, and forced to merely look on; later, though, we would ravish her, her and another white bitch that the men regularly dominated, a french attractive 24-year old, Angelique, well known in matador circles for a willingness to experience extreme submissiveness, the nature of which shocked even Cynthia and myself. But also aroused us.

We vowed to return, as this was an experience we wanted to repeat. And possibly expand upon.

Did I mention that ours is a good life?