Archive-name: Amazon/myblamis.txt

Archive-author: 

Archive-title: My Black Mistress





     I first met Amalie at a party at a friend's house, and was

immediately struck by her height and beauty.  She was standing

alone at the far end of the room, the only black girl at the party,

and she was obviously not having a good time, so I went over to her

to begin a conversation.  I'm a slender 5'9" in my built up shoes,

and even in her flat heeled pumps, at an even six feet, she towered

a good three inches over me, but she was so lovely and feminine I

hardly noticed the difference in our height.  Light skinned and

with wide, high cheek bones, she had strong, even features framed

in naturally kinky hair coffered in a large afro, and the long,

slender column of her throat curved gracefully down into wide

shoulders and a slim figure that you couldn't help but want to put

your arms around.  On top of that, she was so cultured and charming

that before I realized it I was suggesting that we leave the party

to go somewhere else and get to know each other better.  She

readily agreed, and we spent the next few hours exploring each

other in a small, intimate cocktail lounge, after which I drove her

home.

     My first look at her house came as something of a shock.  She

owned half of a duplex on the edge of the black section of the

north side, on the side of a hill a good six or seven stories above

the street.  The only access was a cement stairway that rose

steeply up from the sidewalk to the front stoop.  I took one look,

knew I'd never make it and said so.  She laughed and said, "Then I

guess we'll have to say goodnight from here," and bent her head to

kiss me warmly on the lips.  I put my arms around her waist to

return her kiss with equal fervor, and was immediately surprised at

the hardness of her slender body.  It was almost like holding a

warm statue; there wasn't an ounce of fat or softness around her

waist.  When I commented on it, she laughed and said, "After all,

I have to stay in shape just to climb those steps."

     We saw each other regularly after that, and each night we

would say our goodnights on the sidewalk.  Finally, one Friday

evening, after several months, I was stretching up for our

goodnight kiss when she said, "I think it's time we got a little

further along, don't you?" and then, before I realized what was

happening, put her long, slim arms around my waist and shoulders

and pulled me against her, mashing my body to hers so tightly that

I could barely breathe.  I gasped as I was bent backward and her

open mouth descended to capture mine in a crushing french kiss

that, had it not been for her supporting arm behind my neck, would

have torn my head right off my shoulders.  Instinctively I started

to struggle, pushing against her with my hands as hard as I could,

but her arms were like steel bands around me, and I couldn't budge

her.  Even worse, she hardly seemed to notice my efforts at

resistance until finally, as the world was starting to spin around

me for lack of air, she relaxed her grip on me, and I collapsed

against her, gulping oxygen into my tortured lungs.

     Holding me upright at arm's length, she said quietly, "You

know, baby, I'm starting to get serious about you.  I might even

marry you, if you measure up.  In any case, it's time to find out

if you're the kind of man I think you are.  So get ready for some

surprises, baby.  I'm taking you up to my house."

     Gripping my right wrist in her slender left hand, she pulled

me forward and stooped to wrap her other arm around my thighs. 

Then she straightened, lifting me bodily off the sidewalk and

draping me over her right shoulder like a sack of laundry.  Quickly

the hand holding my right wrist guided my hand and arm around her

back and under her armpit where she could grip my wrist with the

hand that also imprisoned my legs.

     I gasped, "Amalie!  What are you doing?  Put me down!" and

again tried to struggle.  But I was helpless as, with a low

chuckle, she carried me easily up the long flight of steps to her

front door, unlocked it with her free hand, and carried me inside. 

And to my amazement, she wasn't even breathing hard from the

effort!

     "Now I'll put you down, baby," she laughed, and with a casual

shrug of her shoulders tossed me off her shoulder to land flat on

my back on the floor of her living room several feet away, knocking

the wind out of me.  While I lay gasping for breath, she casually

locked the front door, shrugged off her coat and walked over to

straddle my chest with her long, slimly muscular legs.  When she

thought I had sufficiently recovered by breath, she suddenly turned

so that she was facing my feet and sat down on my chest, shifting

her weight backward and covering my upturned face with her slim,

hard derriere with such force that I was literally trapped between

her buttocks and my air was all but completely shut off again.  As

I tried to mouth muffled protests I felt my ankles being seized in

a steel grip, and my shoes and socks removed.  Realizing what she

was doing, I redoubled my efforts at resistance, but to no avail as

she casually unbuckled my belt, unzipped my fly and removed my

trousers, and then my shorts, leaving me naked from the waist down.

     Rising, she turned and quickly seated herself on my stomach. 

Imprisoning both my wrists in one slim, long fingered hand, she

undid my tie and unbuttoned and removed my shirt, and then my

undershirt.  Then she leaned back on my stomach and, crossing her

arms over her bosom, gazed down at me speculatively.

     "Amalie!" I was finally able to stammer. "What in hell are you

doing to me?"

     She laughed lightly.  "Why, I thought it was obvious to you,

baby," she replied.  "I picked you up and carried you up here,

tossed you on the floor and undressed you."  She paused to let that

sink in and then continued.  "I'll spell it out for you, baby.  I

told you down on the street that I was getting interested in you,

and I want to see what kind of a man you are.  Well, now we're

going to find out.  You see, lover, if we're going to have any kind

of a long term relationship, there's one thing we have to get

straight right off the bat, and that's that I'm the boss!  More

than that, I'm gonna own you!  You're gonna be my slave, my little

playtoy and love doll, to be used any way I see fit.  Why?  Because

I'm a woman, a black woman who is taller, stronger and smarter than

you, and you're nothing but a poor, inferior white man!  I'm

superior to you in every way, and therefore you're gonna be subject

to me in every way.  Got the picture?"

     My head reeled in disbelief from her words, and I twisted

desperately under the surprising weight of her slim body. 

"Amalie!" I protested.  "This is crazy!  Let me up!"

     "Sure, baby," she chuckled and rose off me.  Then, bending

down, she slid her hands around my waist and, in a display of

physical strength that was incredible for such a slender, lovely,

feminine woman, lifted me bodily off the floor to set me on my feet

in front of her.

     Without my built up shoes, she now loomed over five inches

above me.  My eyes barely reached to her chin, and suddenly she

seemed somehow bigger, more powerful, and more menacing.  As I

gaped up at her, frantically trying to cover my privates with my

hands, she put her fists on her hips and gave a low laugh.  "Oho! 

I thought there was less to you than met the eye!  It would seem

that you've been wearing elevator shoes all this time.  Well, never

mind, honey.  I'm going to throw them away 'cause I like you better

without them.  You might as well get used to looking way up at me,

'cause by the time I'm finished with you you're going to look up to

me in every way!  Now, let's inspect that little body of yours to

see if you measure up to my standards!"

     Before I could resist, she seized me around the waist again

and, without any display of effort, lifted me off the floor to hold

me at arm's length while she ran her eyes over my naked body. 

Forcing my hands away from my crotch by simply spreading her arms,

she licked her lips with anticipation.  "Mmmmm," she murmured. 

"Nice.  Soft and white, big enough in the right places, and no body

hair...very nice, indeed."  She turned me in her hands until my

back was to her and tilted me to one side so that she could hold my

weight in one hand while she ran her other hand over my bare

buttocks.  "Cute little buns, too," she added.  "I'll have some use

for those later.  For now, I think you'll do just fine."

     Setting me back down on the floor in front of her, she put her

hands on my shoulders, her long fingers extending behind my neck,

and said, "Time for me to change and begin your training, baby.  I

suppose I'll have to put you on ice for a few minutes to keep you

from trying to run away--as scared as you are, I think you might

even try to get out of here without any clothes on!"

     Up to this point I had been too amazed at the ease with which

she had handled my weight to even try to struggle or protest. But

now I straightened and raised one hand to shake a forefinger at

her.  "Amalie," I snapped, "this has gone quite far enough!  I--!" 

That was as far as I got.  Her fingers pressed down on the back of

my neck, and almost immediately I went numb from the neck down.  I

could open my mouth, but my vocal cords were frozen and I couldn't

speak.  I could only gape up at her in helpless terror as she

gripped me to keep me from falling and the picked me up in her arms

and carried me over to the divan to lay me down on my back and

arrange my lifeless arms and legs on the soft cushions.

     "Don't worry, baby," she reassured me, patting my cheek.  "The

numbness is only temporary.  In a few minutes you'll start to get

your feeling back and, although it will be uncomfortable at first,

pretty soon you'll be as good as new.  Be back in a sec.  Don't run

away!"  With a chuckle, she disappeared into the bedroom.

     My head reeling, I tried to consider my predicament.  Although

my body and voice were paralyzed, my brain was still functioning

after a fashion.  Despite what she had done to me, I still found it

impossible to believe that I had been so easily overpowered by such

a slender, lovely, feminine, young woman.  She couldn't possibly be

as strong as she seemed, notwithstanding what she had done to me. 

It had to be some kind of trick.  Maybe she knew some kind of

martial art that enabled her to use leverage to make it appear that

she was stronger than I.  After all, I was a grown man!  No girl,

and certainly no girl as slender as she was, could be as strong as

she seemed to be!  As soon as feeling returned to my body, I would

take matters in hand and settle this thing between us.

     Feeling did start to return, and Amalie had been right.  It

started as a prickling sensation in the tips of my fingers and

toes, and gradually increased in intensity and spread until it felt

as though someone was sticking needles in every inch of my body. 

I tried to cry out, but my voice was still partially paralyzed and

I could only croak incoherently.  At that point Amalie returned

wearing a brief halter, a short skirt that barely covered her

womanhood and high heeled boots that had to be at least five inches

in height.  She came over to sit down on the divan and run a hand

over my chest and stomach, and then down between my thighs to

fondle me intimately.  "Starting to feel better, baby?" she asked

with a grin.

     I couldn't answer her, and could only lay there and suffer the

indignity that she was inflicting on me until I could move again. 

I endured the pain as best I could, and even when I felt that my

arms and legs were functional I lay motionless, waiting until I was

fully recovered before making my move.  But she saw through the

ruse, and after several minutes gripped my wrists and pulled me off

the divan to my feet.

     "Don't try to play possum with me, baby," she warned me.  "I

know how long it takes for the feeling to come back."

     I stood up as straight as I could and glared up at her lovely

face, now almost a foot above my own.  "All right, Amalie," I

retorted, "let's understand each other right now!  I don't know

what you're trying to do to me, but it won't work.  I'm getting

dressed and I'm leaving here right now!"

     She pursed her lips.  "Really?  And how do you propose to do

that?"

     I looked around for my clothes.  They were gone.  "All right,"

I snarled.  "Where are they?"

     "I put them away.  You won't be needing them for a while."

     "Dammit!"  My voice was tight from the helpless fury I felt. 

"I want those clothes.  Now, tell me where they are or I'll... I'l-

l..."

     She grinned.  "You'll what?"

     I gritted my teeth.  "Amalie," I said hoarsely, "I've never

hit a woman in my life, but so help me..."

     Her grin widened, and she said, "I wouldn't advise you to try

to hit this woman, baby.  Have you forgotten already how easily I

handled you a few minutes ago?  I could break you in two if I

wanted.  You're like a child compared to me.  I can do anything

with your soft, little body I want to."

     "Oh?" I snarled.  "Well, we'll see about that!"  And with

that, I swung a roundhouse right straight up at her jaw.

     Her left hand came up sharply and caught my fist in midswing,

stopping it so abruptly I was jarred to my toes.  Instantly, her

long fingers closed over my fist and tightened, crushing my coiled

fingers into my palm.  My fury turned to sudden fear as I tried to

yank my hand away, but her grip was too tight, and then agonizing

pain from the pressure of her fingers went coursing down my arm to

my shoulder.  In desperation, I grabbed at her fingers with my free

hand, trying vainly to dislodge them, but they were like steel

bands slowly crushing my fist into a useless ball.  I looked up at

her pleadingly as, a smile decorating her lovely face and her free

hand resting casually on her hip, she gazed down at me with amused

contempt.  "I warned you," she said simply and tightened her grip

on my fist even more, simultaneously bending it backward and down

so that slowly, inexorably I was forced to my knees in front of

her.

     "Now, baby," she said softly, "you're where you belong,

kneeling before me, worshipping at my feet, paying homage to the

woman who before this night is over will own you, body and soul. 

Now is when your training starts, baby.  And I will start by

teaching you what it will cost you every time you try to rebel

against my authority.  For your first lesson, you will get a taste

of my feminine superiority by giving me the 'kiss of submission'."

     I barely heard her words.  I was writhing in agony from her

grip on my fist and the way she had my arm bent back over my

shoulder, and my head was swimming.  Dimly I was aware that she had

stepped forward, straddling my body with her long slim legs, and

then her free hand gripped my hair and forced my head back so that

I was looking up under her short skirt into the kinky bush of her

womanhood.  I gasped as, through the pain, I realized what she was

about to make me do, and inwardly I cringed, my stomach curdling at

the thought.  Suddenly the pressure on my fist was released and my

hand freed to drop and hang lifelessly at my side, my entire arm

numbed from the pain she had inflicted on it, and she was moving

forward again, this time to lock her thighs around my neck and

force me backward and off balance.  I felt a sharp pain in both my

ankles and realized that she had trapped them between the heel and

instep of her high heeled boots.  I was completely helpless as my

face, with my head now held in both her hands, was slowly and

inexorably forced up into her bush.

     The next several minutes were sickening, as she vigorously

massaged herself with my face, ramming my nose and mouth into the

suddenly swollen lips of her womanhood.  I could hear her gasp and

moan with pleasure, and then the womansmell of her desire enveloped

me.  I tried to raise my useless right hand to resist, but the

prickling sensations in my arm told me it was only just  beginning

to come back to life.  My left arm was wrapped around her right

thigh, straining vainly to relieve the pressure on my neck, but she

ignored it and continued her ritual masturbation with my face.  I

was struggling to breathe.  My nose was completely blocked, and I

dared not open my mouth, for her juices were beginning to flow as

she reached one plateau of pleasure after another in her ascent to

her final orgasm, and only by tucking my lower lip up into the roof

of my mouth and sucking air in under my upper teeth was I able to

breathe at all and still keep her juices out of my mouth.  And then

her entire body erupted in a writhing explosion of ecstacy that

threatened to twist my neck off my shoulders, and my face was

flooded with sticky goo.  Dimly I heard a moan that rose in pitch

to become a scream of delight as she reached her climax and then

stepped away to let me collapse in a heap on the floor.

     Instinctively I rolled over on my stomach, nauseous from the

ordeal and trying to wipe her juices off my face on the heavy

carpet.  Then I felt a hand take my shoulder, and I was forced over

onto my back, and a damp towel gently wiped my face clean.  I

opened my eyes to see her take both my wrists and force them

together behind my head, where she could secure them in the grip of

a single hand, and then her other hand was sliding under the small

of my back.  I still have trouble believing what happened next.  I

felt the pressure of her hand under my back suddenly increase, and

then I was being lifted bodily off the floor as, with a single,

fluid motion she stood up to raise me and hold me with her single

arm fully extended, high over her head, my face inches from the

high ceiling, both my wrists still imprisoned in her single hand

for balance. 

     "Ta da!" she proclaimed. "To the victor belongs the spoils. 

And you, baby are the spoils.  Now that you've learned how I take

pleasure from puny little men who think they can resist me, it's

time for your second lesson--a little demonstration of the kind of

punishment you'll get every time you get out of line!"

     Still holding me high over her head, she carried me across the

room to a stool and sat down on it, lowering me slowly until I was

lying across her thighs.  Then I felt her hands around my waist and

I was being lifted again and turned over to lie face down over one

thigh while the other locked my own legs firmly in place.  Again my

wrists were gripped by a single hand, and my hands forced backward

over my head.  Only then did I realize what she was going to do to

me.  She was going to spank me!  A grown man, she was going to

spank my bottom like I was a naughty child!

     "Amalie!" I gasped.  "No!  Not that!  You can't do that to

me!"

     She chuckled.  "I can't?  Who's gonna stop me?  Not you,

certainly."

     Her hand came down across my bare buttocks with a force that

sent searing pain shooting through my body.  I screamed and writhed

furiously to escape the vise of her grip, but my thighs were locked

between hers and my wrists imprisoned behind my neck, and I was

helpless.  Again and again her hand descended on my unprotected

bottom, and with each blow my body was enveloped in a mind numbing

agony until my head was reeling and I could only lay limply across

her lap, sobbing uncontrollably.  Only then did she stop.  I felt

her hands around my waist, lifting me and turning me over on her

lap, and then her arms slid underneath me, and she stood up,

lifting me with her and cradling me in her arms like a small child

as my body shook with unrestrained grief.  Then she began to rock

me gently in her arms, cooing to me as if I were a baby.

     "Did the big, strong man get his bottom spanked like the

naughty boy he really is?  And by a girl, besides!  Did that mean,

ol' Amalie make her big, strong man cry?  What a poor, helpless,

li'l baby you are!  There, there, li'l baby, snuggle up to Amalie,

rest your li'l head on Amalie's shoulder and cry your pore, li'l

heart out, baby, while Amalie rocks you and makes your soft, while

li'l bottom all better.  Don't you like being cuddled in Amalie's

arms?  Sure, you do!  I'll bet you never realized before that a

girl could pick up and spank a grown man, but now you do, don't

you, li'l sweetums?"

     Her cooing taunts, rather than calming me, had just the

opposite effect.  Something snapped in my mind.  I heard myself

scream, and then I was writhing and twisting in fury, trying

futilly to escape the vise of her arms.  I heard her laugh, and

then my arms were pinioned to my sides and my legs locked together

as she held me, scarcely noticing my efforts, and continued to

tease me until I was completely exhausted and lay sobbing limply in

her arms.

     "Aw, what's the matter, li'l baby?  Don't you like being

carried around in Amalie's arms?  Go ahead, baby, give it all

you've got!  Is that the best you can do?  Maybe Amalie should

tickle you to make you struggle harder!  Why, if I wasn't looking

at you I'd barely know you were struggling at all!"

     When I could struggle no more, she shifted her arms, lowering

me until my head was tucked against her shoulder, and looked down

into my eyes.  "Satisfied, now, lover?" she smiled, and then

lowered her head to capture my mouth with her own in a crushing

french kiss.  I tried to squirm away, but her upper arm held my

head in place, and the pressure of her kiss prevented me from

turning it.  Then I felt her shift her grip on my legs, tucking

them under her armpit and leaving her hand free to wander over my

lower body, gently massaging my blistered rear.  To my amazement,

held helpless in her arms, her tongue exploring the inside of my

captive mouth at will, I began to feel the faint stirrings of

desire.  Almost without thinking, my arms, which were now free,

crept up around her neck and back in abject surrender to her

embrace, and in response her arm tightened around my chest with rib

cracking force.

     "You belong to me, now," she whispered.  "You're mine, to do

with as I wish.  Say it!"

     "Amalie, I--"

     "Say it!" she demanded. "Say those words to me now, or I'll

put you over my lap and spank you again, sore as you are!"

     I lowered my eyes, knowing I had no choice.  "I belong to

you," I said softly.  "I'm yours, to do with as you wish."

     Her arms tightened around me even more, so that I could hardly

breathe.  "Now," she replied triumphantly, "you are truly mine, and

everything you have will be mine, too.  I'm going to marry you, and

you are going to sign over everything you own to me.  I will

control everything in our marriage, even your body, and eventually

even your mind.  Now, I'm going to give you lesson number three--

I'm going to show you how good being subject to me can be.  I'm

going to make love to you, and you are going to experience ecstacy

like you have never known before!"

     Still holding me cradled in her arms, she carried me into her

bedroom and laid me down on the bed.  Stripping off her brief

outfit, she threw herself down on top of me, her hard, slender body

and her small, firm breasts pressing me into the bed as she covered

my face and body with her lips, passionately kissing and biting me

while her hands probed, squeezed and fondled me intimately.  The

desire that I had begun to feel as I was held in her arms now

exploded within me, and my penis grew stiff and hard with a

throbbing erection.  Suddenly, I no longer cared about being so

easily overpowered, spanked and carried about by this slender,

lovely girl.  All I wanted was for her to take me inside her and

make me a part of her, and when she finally did I thought I was

going to climax right then and there.  But somehow she held me

back, controlling my body with her hands in a way I still don't

understand while she enveloped me with her own magnificent body,

working herself up and down on my rigid shaft through each plateau

of pleasure until the eruption of her final orgasm.  Only then did

she let me come, her gasping scream of "Now!" somehow acting as a

trigger as her convulsing womanhood caressed my penis and carryed

me upward with her on wave after wave of incredible ecstacy that

lasted a seeming eternity.  When it was finally over, my body felt

completely drained, and I could only lay prostrate beneath her

while she continued to work me, extracting the last bits of

pleasure from me.

     For the remainder of that evening she continued to use my

body, to play with me as though I were her personal toy, to

demonstrate how helpless I was against her.  The strength of her

slender, shapely body was unbelievable, and I slowly came to

realize that I was like a baby compared to her, that she could do

anything with me she chose, and I was absolutely powerless to stop

her.

     As her first demonstration, after I had recovered from her

lovemaking and she had replaced her brassiere and panties, she

simply picked my naked body up under one arm, tucking me securely

under her armpit with my face to her rear, and proceded to tickle

my ribs unmercifully.  As I screamed with laughter and thrashed

about helplessly in her grip, she ignored me and actually stifled

a yawn with her free hand, giving me a sharp slap on my already

blistered rear and letting me drop to the floor only after I was

again exhausted.  Then, after letting me recover for several

minutes, she reached down and, placing her hands around my waist,

effortlessly lifted me off the floor and stood me on my feet in

front of her.  

     Holding up both hands in front of my face, she said quietly,

"Look at my hands, baby.  They can control you, make you want me or

fear me as I choose.  They can crush your, soft, white, li'l body

like I did to your hand a while ago, or they can administer

pleasure or pain with equal ease without damaging you in any way. 

How?  Here, I'll show you."  I felt her hands on my body, gently

probing, and then my mind exploded in a blinding flash of momentary

pain that coursed from my right side through the rest of my body

like a white hot poker.  I heard myself scream and felt my legs

buckle, but she held me up and continued to probe me until another

stab of incredible agony, this time from my left side, doubled me

over.   My torment ended with a third and final stab from the back

of my neck that numbed my entire body and left me hanging limply in

her hands, held erect only by the pressure of her fingers around my

waist.

     "Nerve centers, baby," I dimly heard her tell me.  "Just the

right kind of pressure, and the pain is excruciating.  They're all

over your helpless, li'l body, and I know them all."

     My mind was reeling.  "Amalie," I begged, "please.  No more."

     She gave a low laugh.  "Oh, there's lots more to come, baby. 

I'm not half finished with you yet, but I think you'll find the

next part a little more enjoyable."  Still holding me erect, her

hands again began to probe my body, stroking and fondling me until,

to my amazement, pangs of sexual desire began to course through my

loins.  As my penis stiffened, she bent down and gripped it firmly

with one hand, pressing down on its tip with her thumb until it

collapsed, and then slid her hand between my thighs to encompass my

crotch.

     I still have trouble believing what happened next.  I felt

pressure on my crotch and then I was lifted bodily off the floor,

my entire weight held securely in the palm of her single hand, and

tilted backward as she put her other hand behind my neck for

balance.  My jaw dropped in abject amazement at this demonstration

of her unbelievable strength, and then, as she gazed down at me

with placid amusement, I felt her hand tighten imperceptably around

my testicles, and my body stiffened in sudden fear.

     "Have any idea what I could do to you now, baby, if I wanted?"

she chuckled.

     "My God, Amalie!"  I blubbered.  "Please!  Don't!  Not that!"

     With a low laugh, she relaxed her grip and began to massage me

gently, again awakening pangs of sexual desire within me.  My penis

stiffened against the pressure of her palm, and within minutes,

held helpless off the floor in the palm of her hand, I was a

writhing mass of ecstacy and desire.  Still holding me in front of

her, my weight resting in the palm of her single hand, she carried

me back into her bedroom and laid me down on the bed, holding me

there with a hand on my chest while she continued to massage me,

bringing me right to the point of orgasm before shutting me off by

pressing her thumb down hard on the tip of my penis.  Then she laid

down next to me, wrapped her strong thighs around my knees and

imprisoned both my wrists back over my head in the grip of a

single, slim hand.  As her free hand again encompassed my crotch,

she lowered her head to capture my lips in a crushing french kiss.

     "Now, baby doll," she murmured, "Amalie's gonna have some fun

with you.  I'm gonna play with my little love toy."

     I had no chance to reply.  For the next half hour I was

subjected to the most exquisite, erotic torture I have ever known. 

Her free hand wandered over my body at will, alternately tickling,

poking, pinching and fondling me as I writhed and twisted helpless-

ly in her steel grip.  One moment I would be cringing and screaming

in laughter from fingers probing delicately at my tender armpits

and ribs, the next thrashing about in helpless futility as those

same fingers poked and screwed into my navel, goosed my bottom and

pinched my buttocks and the nipples of my chest only to stiffen

into a raging desire as she fondled and massaged me intimately and

covered my defenseless body with love bites and kisses.  I lost

count of how many times she repeated that cycle.  I only knew that

after a while I was barely conscious of the gentle violence she was

doing to me and that she was in complete control, able to do

whatever she wanted with me and force my body to respond in any way

she wished.  Even when she finally released me, removed her panties

and rolled over on top of me to take my erect penis inside her, I

felt almost nothing until my mind exploded into a crashing orgasm

that enveloped my body and carried me for a seeming eternity to

unbelievable heights of ecstacy.

     That was too much for me.  I fainted, remembering nothing

until I woke up the next morning to see her leaning over me

grinning, her right hand firmly encompassing my crotch.

     "Wha--what happened?" I mumbled groggily.

     She chuckled.  "You passed out on me, baby," she told me.  "I

must say I was a little put out with you for doing that, but I

figured you needed the break--after all, it was your first

experience with me.  For the future, however, we're going to have

to work on your endurance.  Can't have you fainting on me before

I'm finished with you, can we?"

     I cringed.  "My God, Amalie," I whispered, "you're not going

to do that to me again, are you?"

     She nuzzled my cheek.  "Honeybuns," she replied softly, "I'm

gonna do whatever I want to with you whenever I want to do it for

the rest of your life, and there's not a damn thing you're gonna be

able to do about it, 'cause you're my soft, li'l, white slave boy,

and I'm your big, strong, black Mistress who can wipe up the floor

with you any time she feels the urge.  Right, baby?  Got the

picture now?

     Knowing she was right, I could only close my eyes and nod

submissively.

     "Good!  

     A few days later we were married in a small, private,

specially designed ceremony before a black justice of the peace she

knew, attended by a few of her friends who shared her views on the

inferiority of men, during which I was forced to kneel before her

and promise to be her husband and slave forever.  When we were

pronounced mistress and slave and I was instructed to give my

mistress the "kiss of submission", she stood over me while I raised

my lips under her skirt to bury them in her bush and work her

womanhood until she orgasmed.  Then, taking me by the back of my

neck and my buttocks, she lifted me high over her head, turned to

face her friends and proclaimed, "This man is now mine forever!" 

Then, lowering me to cradle me in her slim, strong arms, she

carried me out of the small chapel to her car and drove to our

reception at her home, where for the rest of the day I was forced

to serve her and her friends and to endure all kinds of indignities

at their hands.  But that night, after everyone had left, she

carried me to bed and consumated our marriage in a way that I'll

never forget.

     It has now been over five years since that fateful week, and

I have fully adjusted to being Amalie's slave-husband, and am

hopelessly in love with her.  She is not a cruel mistress unless I

get out of line, and even then the worst I have to endure is a

sound spanking, but she does go out of her way to continually

demonstrate my physical and intellectual inferiority to her, both

privately and in public.  Often when we go to costume parties she

will dress as an Amazon warrior and will force me to wear a short

tunic and a sign proclaiming me as a slave she has captured in

battle, complete with collar and chain by which she can lead me

around at her pleasure.  And when we are alone she is constantly

overpowering me in some way, sometimes using only one hand to more

fully demonstrate how helpless I am against her, or picking me up

and tickling or fondling me while she laughs at my puny efforts at

resistance.  Surprisingly, I have come to love these sessions, for

the feeling of utter helplessness in her hands invariably arouses

me to the peak of sexual desire, and with it the realization that,

since she is my superior in every way, I should be grateful to

serve as the slave and love toy of My Black Mistress.



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