The Dark Side
Everyone thinks that what they believe is right. It’s the mind’s self-preservation response. Most people aren’t self-aware enough to know what they believe or how they came to believe what they do or if their beliefs are based in truth or not, however, so they fight, argue, and debate things without considering that their core beliefs might be flawed or wrong. People’s beliefs about religion, sex, politics, and race are so deeply entrenched, so inherent to a person’s identity; they just automatically assume that anyone who doesn’t believe the same things they do is wrong. Tapping into that core belief, fucking with it, challenging it is what the very best psychological Dommes do. They can ascertain a person’s core beliefs and manipulate that person’s mind until they are putty: broken and disoriented. That is exactly what happened to David Osterhaus when he encountered a Dominatrix who shattered his world and challenged everything he knew to be true.
On the outside, David didn’t quite have it all but he had enough to be respected by his peers. On the inside, his entire life was a sham. Not a nerd, not a stud, Dave was somewhere in the middle. Standing 5’10”, 180 pounds, hair that was golden blond and curly for the first 6 years of his life was now mousey brown with lots of gray. Any given stranger could stand toe to toe with him and not remember anything particularly remarkable about him ten minutes later. He was 15 years into a 30 year mortgage that he was on track to pay off in 20 on a house that was soon to be an entirely too large empty nest. His wife of 20 some odd years was nothing great to look at; she wouldn’t make anyone break their neck trying to take a second look. Some people might even say she was boring but she was a helluva scrap-booker and she could make a crispy rice treat like no one’s business. Donna was nice enough and well-thought-of in the church and community, meaning, she served her purpose and that was to be a good wife and mother and complete the image of what life was supposed to be like for middle-class suburbanites.
David’s youngest was off to college in a few months, meaning all three children would be in college at the same time, and the thought of paying yet another tuition for the next four or five years almost made him want to get in his car and start driving and never come back. He didn’t hate his job but he didn’t love it either. It was a source of income and little more than that. It more than paid the bills but he had enough debt that he couldn’t retire with no worries either. He had some savings, a retirement account, a few decent investments, a boat, and a classic muscle car he was restoring that gave him what little bit of joy he experienced in his day to day, mundane, routine, incredibly average life.
Almost every day, certainly, every other day, David would head to his neighborhood bar to have a few drinks. It was a Cheers sort of place where everybody knew everybody else’s name and they all wore their Redskin jerseys on game nights. They all sat around and complained that Obama was the worst president in history, why we need to bomb those towel heads off the Earth, and burning faggots at the stake was a popular rallying cry among the patrons. Well, okay, not literally burning people but that was the gist of their sentiments. Most conversations these days were about immigration reform. It wasn’t quite articulated that way. It was more like how those damn illegal wetbacks were taking all the jobs and getting services that Americans, hard-working, tax-paying, English-speaking, real Americans couldn’t get.
If complaining was a sport, the regular patrons of Hadley’s Sports Bar and Grille could form their own team, sponsored by the local hardware store, with uniforms and even a promotional calendar. They complained about almost everything but mostly, how America was under attack by evil forces, and by evil forces, they meant anyone who wasn’t white, male, heterosexual, Christian, Republican, and born in the good, ole’ U.S. of A. White women got a pass as long as they weren’t talking about things like equal pay and reproductive rights and rape and stuff like that AND as long as they weren’t fucking black guys. These weren’t Redneck, ne’er-do-wells who drove pickup trucks and who were missing their bicuspids and incisors. Most of Dave’s “crew” were college educated, married, gainfully employed, and average. Sickeningly average.
When a sporting event wasn’t on, Fox News was always on the TV and very few people of color ever frequented the place so no one there would be offended if a racial epithet or two . . . or three . . . slipped into the conversation once in a while. The sound system at the bar played a constant stream of urban music and it was not uncommon for everyone to know all the words to the latest R&B and Hip-Hop songs, N word and all. Far from the most outspoken lush at the bar, David certainly wasn’t the meekest customer either. He made sure everyone knew that he thought just like everyone else: Trayvon Martin got what he deserved, Donald Sterling didn’t, and basically anything that any Black person stood for, he was firmly on the other side of the argument, regardless of whether it was clearly the wrong moral side or not.
It wasn’t until he left the bar at night that his demons started to haunt him. Mild mannered, unassuming, and painfully mediocre David sought out the extreme when it came to sex. Fifteen years ago, he was content to have a weekly, predictable, lackluster three minutes of awkward humping in the hay with his wife. Today, he was someone who needed more and more perverse stimulation. With the advent of the internet, Viagra, and some recreational drugs now and then, David had become a slave to his desires. It was a symptom of a much larger disease, having access to more than sufficient disposable income and a false sense of superiority and entitlement that told him that whatever he did was justified. His mind could rationalize that anything he did was just fine even though he would rant and rave how those exact same behaviors were fucked up when other people did them.
Intoxicated and horny, that drive home to his run-of-the-mill life inevitably always seemed to take a detour. Rather than going straight home, he would somehow end up on the other side of town. It wasn’t the ghetto by any stretch of the imagination, it just wasn’t the manicured and homogenous suburbs either.
Pulling in to the parking lot of The Rock Hard Cafe, better known as Rock’s with trademark infringement being what it was and all, always gave Dave a thrill. Would he get lucky tonight? Would he go home more frustrated and horny than when he arrived? There was always a chance that he wouldn’t be able to find the thrill that he sought but he was driven like an addict to see if he could. He didn’t want to be seen in such a place, he didn’t want to run into anyone he knew but that added to the danger and the thrill. It was a small town relatively speaking. It wasn’t so small that everyone knew each other but it wasn’t a major metropolis where he could be reasonably assured of anonymity either. If he was thinking with his big head he would only go out on the hunt in the city which was an hour away. If he was being level-headed, he would have only indulged in his lusts where the likelihood of being caught was minimized. David, however, didn’t have that much control over his desires.
Rock’s was a one stop shop. Immediately inside the front door, there was a sex shop with toys, DVDs, lingerie, and sex aides galore. If you followed the hallway to the right you’d find a strip club (if two poles, four sticky sofas, and a rotation of skinny women with C-section scars, platinum blond hair, dark roots, and butterfly tattoos could be considered an actual club) and to the left were video booths, equipped with glory holes for darker pleasures. And darker pleasures were exactly what Dave always sought.
With his $20 inserted, Dave scrolled the video menu for his favorite selections. You see, Dave wanted to see interracial gay action. He got off on seeing white boys used by Black men with enormous black cocks. They offered a few titles from the “It’s Gonna Hurt” series that he had seen time and time again. Castro was the star of the videos and he had five pounds of dick that he used to eviscerate white men’s asses. His mouth watered every time he saw Castro’s huge cock on the screen. He wanted a jet black version of one that big to be pushed through his hole for him to suck. Dave wished there were more hardcore videos offered, something more extreme like he watched at home on the internet. He loved to see white throats pounded and sissy asses sodomized and the look of pain and pleasure on their faces, preferably more pain than pleasure.
Dave LOVED sucking cock. He loved the tang of a raunchy, big black cock; he loved the feel of it swelling in his mouth and the smell of their rank, sweaty balls. Most of all he craved the taste of sticky, thick, salty cum in his mouth. He loved giving so much pleasure to men that they had no choice but to erupt in his throat. He loved being a cock-sucking whore, taking on cock after hard cock in his slutty mouth, swallowing that hot seed, craving more. He never wanted any reciprocation, never needed any stimulation of his own. He loved getting fucked as much as the next closeted white guy who was addicted to big, black cocks but something about knowing that his oral skills, his mouth and tongue could give a real man so much pleasure that they pumped hot cum out their balls into his hungry mouth made him aroused in a way that couldn’t compare.
There was no real action at Rock’s that night. A few other white guys were there, strolling around to see if they could watch some action, but no one was really doing anything which was pretty typical for a Wednesday. One white guy with a decent sized cock stuck it through the hole in Dave’s booth but he was less than interested. He had sucked a few white guys off in his early days of bi-curiosity but ever since he’d been faced fucked by his first Black cock, ever since the first time he had that black meat in his throat, choking him, cutting off his air, and that Black man calling him names and slapping his face, abusing him, he knew, deep in his soul he knew that he would never be satisfied with sucking white cock again. Something about sucking off Black men felt natural to him. He never thought about what it meant, he never contemplated the larger implications. He just knew that black cock turned him on something fierce. He was born to be a white cocksucker for big, really big, black cock.
Dave stayed at Rock’s for about an hour but he figured he could get more satisfaction at home on his computer. The amateur stuff was always more hardcore than the commercial stuff and he had his favorite websites bookmarked for easy access. Walking out into the cool night air, Dave felt the sting of reality. Walking to his car he noticed a flyer affixed to all the windshields. Snatching it from under his wiper, safely inside his own car, he examined it more closely. It was an advertisement for The Dark Side, a BDSM dungeon that was home to several female Black Dommes. They had cliché names like Mistress Ebony and Dominatrix Noire and there was even a Goddess Nefertiti; all wearing leather, latex, and mean scowls on their faces. David scoffed at the flyer, offended at the very concept, disgusted by the idea of Black women thinking they were superior to anyone. He tossed the flyer in the seat next to him and put his car in reverse to back out of the parking space.
As he glanced in the rear view mirror, he noticed the reflection of someone walking around behind him. It was the person putting the flyers on the car windshields. As Dave pulled out of the parking lot, his headlights flashed the person, blinding them temporarily and almost making Dave wreck his car. It was Bryan Manetti, a guy he had gone to high school with. Their sons played on the varsity tennis team two years ago and they would see each other and speak at matches. His wife Rebecca volunteered at the homeless shelter on Thanksgivings with Donna. He knew Bryan well enough to know that he had a good job and didn’t need whatever money he was getting paid to distribute flyers, especially for a disgraceful place like that one. So distracted, so afraid that Bryan had seen him, David almost drove out into traffic in the street. Wanting to distance himself as far as he could from that place and from Bryan, he sped away, not stopping at stop signs or doing anywhere near the speed limit.
By the time he got home, the adrenaline rush of almost being discovered, of almost being caught by someone he knew hit him and he was super horny. He went inside, closed his office door and stripped naked to jerk his cock. It didn’t work, his cock that is. It barely got hard and it would take an act of God for him to cum. But none of that stopped him from pulling it excessively. To David, anything that made sex bad and dirty and wrong was a turn on for him. And the fantasy of being busted with a big, hard, black cock in his mouth by someone he knew was the ultimate in humiliation. And that turned him on.
He spent the entire next day at work on craigslist and several different websites trying to find a cock to suck after work but he had no luck. The drive home was long. No longer than usual but he kept flashing back to seeing Bryan in the parking lot putting those flyers on cars. Stopped at a light, he fished around the floor on the passenger side of his car to find the flyer. He examined it again and dropped it in his lap when the horns from the cars behind him started blowing, signaling him that the light had changed. It felt like lead in his lap. He pulled his car over and examined it more closely. The address was on the other side of the city, in the opposite direction of his job. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood at all. In fact, it was in the trendy and upcoming part of the city where all the new condos and bars and even a Whole Foods were located. He expected it to be in “da hood” where the rest of the ghetto trash was because he was convinced that these black bitches were nothing more than welfare queens with free phones from Obama, food stamps, and 14 kids he was paying for with his hard-earned taxes.
Completely forgetting the fact that he was addicted to hardcore interracial gay action and would suck any Black cock that was put in front of his face, David berated Bryan for his sexual proclivities. “Seriously? Who the hell would let some dumb, fucking Black chick beat on him with a whip or some crazy shit? How fucking lame do you have to be to get off on some fucked up shit like that?” He was alone in his car so no one could hear him but if he was at the bar, with all his friends, and saying the exact same thing there would be a resounding chorus of, “Yeah, that’s totally fucked up,” from everyone there, in stereo. The part of his brain that hated Black people was totally disconnected from the part of his libido that loved Black men. Correction. It would be a stretch to say that he even liked Black men; he really only lusted after what was between their legs, the bigger the better. The human beings attached to them were nothing more than low-life degenerates. It didn’t matter about their income, education, or status, they were all beneath him.
Fridays at work David did even less work than he did during the rest of the week. He probably only really “worked” about 10 hours a week. The rest of the time he surfed the internet looking at porn, took long lunches where he hooked up with guys to suck off in their cars or in the bathroom of gay bars, he flirted with any woman who was in a subordinate position to him, and complained about how hard he had to work. Just for shits and giggles, to break up the monotony of looking for a cock to suck, he would troll Black websites and social media, calling Black people racists, and telling them that they didn’t know anything about the real history of slavery and repeating things he heard on conservative radio as if they were facts. He felt obligated to put Black people in their place. He felt like it was his responsibility, even if he had to make up fake profiles and pretend to be a Black person to do it. That was really ingenious in his mind.
With his office door closed and his cock out, and as that 5:00 hour drew closer, Dave was on the hunt for some hardcore action. Stroking and surfing, Dave clicked on a fetish social website that he hadn’t been on for a while. Logging on, he saw that he had 12 messages waiting for him in his inbox. It was like taking candy from a baby, all he had to so now was sort through them and find someone who wanted to be serviced before he made his commute back to Boringville. The first message he opened was from a guy he had sucked off before and who had two . . . Dave froze. An adertisement for The Dark Side flashed in the margins. The “white” part of his brain cursed, “What the fuck is this bullshit? Who the fuck wants to see this crap?” The part of his brain that had him jerking off at his job where anyone could walk in was . . . curious to say the least.
Black women were non-existent to David. The few who worked for his company were not anyone he would even have a conversation with let alone willingly interact with. He didn’t have any Black friends so he didn’t know any Black wives vicariously. He didn’t look at porn with Black women because . . . DUH, why would he? He didn’t want to see their big butts and big lips and ugly faces. Even the ugliest white woman was prettier than a Black woman Dave thought.
Nonetheless, he clicked on the website. He was just doing it to find out why Bryan would be passing out flyers for them, not because he was interested or anything. He just knew there would be some sort of explanation, like maybe he was an investor and he was taking a 70/30 cut of the profits from those dumb bitches.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m over 18. Let me in already. Jeez,” he mumbled, frustrated as if he didn’t have to go through the same thing on every adult website. The first thing he did was click on the sample videos. “I’ll be god damned! Son of a bitch.” There, for all the horny, perverted world to see, was his friend Bryan being flogged and beaten and sucking a big, black strapon cock. Well, he had his face covered by a mask but he remembered very clearly that Bryan had a port wine stain birthmark that was shaped like the state of Idaho on his left shoulder. It was so odd and so pronounced that he had taken a lot of teasing in the gym locker room in high school because of it. It was Bryan; Dave was sure of it. He watched intently. He clicked on all the sample videos and there were only white men being abused. There was nothing mentioning the clients exclusively being white men on the website. All the women, six in all, merely talked about how they were powerful Black bitches who could break any man, leave him crying in the corner and then begging for more. Maybe, he thought, it was a coincidence that there were only white men pictured.
Indeed, there were pictures, stories, and even a message board on the website but everything directed you to the menu to set up an appointment with the Mistresses of the House. Dave created a profile with no picture of course, and proceeded to ridicule every white man on the website who had the audacity to sing the praises of the Black women. He was more abrasive and offensive to the Black women on the message board, most of whom weren’t professionals Dommes at the club but who identified themselves as lifestyle Dommes. Over the next week, he posted on almost every topic: movies, music, politics, especially politics, even art, he insisted that he knew more than everyone. Trolling the website became his addiction. He couldn’t wait to get to work or get home to log on to the site and degrade the people who had grown frustrated with him. His profile was blocked in less than a week’s time but he had multiple email addresses set up already just for the purpose of creating fake profiles. This wasn’t his first rodeo. Pissing people off on the internet was like a hobby to Dave.
One profile seemed to catch his attention. She identified herself as Mistress Desire but her profile said her name was Desiree’ and didn’t mind being referred to as that. She was a moderator for the site and she was one of the professionals employed at the dungeon. In fact, she was the woman in the video with his friend Bryan. She wrote an awful lot on her personal blogs about race and politics and everything she said pissed David off and annoyed him. He was, however, intrigued by her. He would check her profile every time he logged on multiple times a day to see if she had added anything new. He looked at all her pictures and blogs and contemplated for a hot minute what it would be like to suck a dick in front of her. He hated her, hated everything she stood for, but there was something about her that made him addicted to her more than any other person on the site.
Feeling full of himself, he sent her a message, a rude one in fact, saying he disagreed with everything she said and she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was, but he wanted to have a conversation with her. She responded politely and succinctly, saying, “No, thank you.”
She might as well have said, “Fuck you, fuck your filthy, stinking mother, fuck your entire pathetic, useless life,” because that’s what any sign of rejection sounded like to David. Who the fuck did this uppity bitch think she was? HOW DARE SHE reject him, regardless of the fact that his message had insulted her and she truly wasn’t interested in anything he had to say! David was used to everyone catering to him, whatever he wanted he got and when he didn’t, he threw a tantrum. He fired off another message, this time, telling her what he really thought of her. “You’re fucked up. You don’t know what you are talking about. You weren’t a slave so get over it you dumb bitch.” It went on and on for a few more paragraphs with all the standard clichés white people throw around when they are trying to belittle a Black person: The Irish were enslaved and they overcame it, the Jews had the Holocaust and they overcame it, and the ever-popular, Africans sold each other into slavery. You have to give white people credit. In their efforts to prove that slavery wasn’t that bad and that Black people truly are inherently inferior, they all say the same things, regardless of the lack of merit of their lame arguments.
Her response came quickly. “Let me break you. I’ve encountered lots of white boys like you. Schedule an appointment with me. It will be my great pleasure to take your money and divest you of your racism.”
“I’m not racist! YOU’RE the racist,” he pounded out in response, adding that Blacks were the reason racism persisted, not whites and that he didn’t see color. David could almost type it in his sleep. He had typed it hundreds of times before, maybe thousands over the years. He was racist, the very definition of racist in fact, but as long as he said, “I’m not racist, you’re the racist,” he was assured that he was beyond reproach and as holy and sanctified as if he was sitting at the right hand of God himself.
Her response was succinct. “I see.”
That was it. She didn’t say anything else. “I see? What the fuck could she possibly see? What the hell sort of response was that,” he shouted out loud at his tablet. How was he supposed to respond to that? He was expecting her to be angry and defensive and she wasn’t. He wanted to put her in her place and have the last word but she didn’t give him the opportunity. That fucking bitch!
He created another profile for no other reason than to stalk Mistress Desire. He became obsessed. He commented on every word she wrote, every picture she posted. He made up several other fake profiles, thinking he was really cleaver in doing so, all with the sole purpose of stalking her. She never responded, or when she did, it summarily destroyed whatever empty argument he was trying to make. Finally, with no other recourse, he responded to her email. Two weeks after getting her message, two weeks to the day in fact, he responded by saying, “You don’t see anything, bitch. You are just blinded by your racism and your stupidity.” There, that would put her in her place.
New Message: “I had a cancellation and I have an appointment available on the 16th at 9 pm. If you’d like me to reserve it for you, just let me know.”
“YOU STUPID FUCKING CUNT BLACK BITCH!!!!! I WOULD NEVER PAY YOU TO DOMINATE ME. YOU CAN’T DOMINATE ME YOU DUMB WHORE!!!!!! GET THAT THROUGH YOUR THICK FUCKING RETARDED BRAIN.” The minute he hit send, he regretted his response. Damn, she had gotten under his skin a little. Oh well, no big deal.
The cost for a session with Mistress Desire was $1000 for two hours. She was the most expensive Domme on the site. Everyone else charged in the neighborhood of $300 an hour, which was $280 too expensive for David. And Mistress Desire only worked two weekends a month unlike the other women who seemed to have full-time employment at The Dark Side. David spent almost $1000 on recreational diversions in a week. Alcohol, drugs, paying guys to let him suck them off, toys, website subscriptions, and live webcam shows . . . it added up quickly. The amount of the money wasn’t the issue, it was the fact that he would be giving money to some ghetto chick to get her nails done or buy a gaudy knock-off designer bag, or whatever it was that ghetto women did with their money. His money was too good to give to a black chick, they weren’t deserving of his money and certainly not that amount.
The entire exchange had David on the rail and he called Donna and told her he had to work late that evening. She didn’t question him, she was quite used to it. He grabbed something to eat at a drive through and headed directly to Rock’s to get there early. Every time he went back to Rock’s he would look for Bryan. The arrogant part of him wanted to spit on Bryan; he wanted to show his obvious disgust and anger. Was it even a little bit ironic to Dave that he wanted the exact same thing that was shown on the website from Black men yet he was repulsed by a white man wanting that from a Black woman? It never even crossed his mind. That’s how fragmented his brain was; that’s how deep the compartmentalization of his sexuality was.
Friday nights at Rocks were always sure to be busy and he was almost guaranteed to find some action. Straight Black men, married ones mostly who wanted to get their dicks sucked but didn’t want to deal with the messiness of white women and all the emotional drama that they brought to the table, would come to Rocks to get sucked off by white guys. No muss, no fuss, no reciprocation. David would stay on his knees, just waiting for a black cock to be shoved in his mouth. He didn’t care who it belonged to, he sort of thought about diseases but usually only when he was surrounded by his friends and he was complaining how Black men were so promiscuous and irresponsible. OK, so he wasn’t the most self-aware person, sue him.
Jackpot! As David walked through the dark and sticky corridor he saw the dick of his dreams. Enormous, black, and hard, the guy who owned it was sitting in a booth, the door wide open, stroking his meat and daring anyone who thought they could take it on to blow him. Arrogant enough to assume he could handle a cock that big, he pushed his way through the crowd of white admirers and got down on his knees, ready to worship the perfection before him.
“Come on, faggot, get to work. I need to pump out a week’s worth of cum.”
David was almost light-headed at the concept. Momentarily, he had visions of his mouth being filled to capacity and over-flowing with cum, causing his eyes to almost roll back in his head. Immediately, he went to work. He could barely get his mouth around the whole thing. He wasn’t as great a cocksucker as be believed himself to be, he was, very much like the rest of his existence, just average. The gentleman being sucked grew tired of the half-assed attempt Dave was making and decided to literally take things into his own hands. He grabbed the sides of David’s head and started skull-fucking him to within an inch of his life. He was ramming David’s head up and down, entirely too fast, making him choke and gag and practically suffocate. Spit was flying everywhere. David tried to push himself away, to stop to get some air, and that seemed to annoy his host. What had been a brutal face-fucking before became even more relentless. He was going to pass out. He couldn’t get air. He was going to hurl. He felt the contents of his stomach rumbling and tears streamed from his eyes. The entire time, the guy was hurling insults at him, calling him names.
“Fucking sissy bitch, suck my dick you white cocksucker. That’s right, bitch, eat it, eat my fucking big slab of black meat. Work for that cum. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Dave would have nodded if he had control of his head. He could barely hear the words because his ears were covered and he was being slapped really hard. The sting of the pain was excruciating but it only got worse when some vile form of stomach fluids came gushing out of his mouth and nose and covered the guy’s cock and balls. He could hear people behind him, gasping in shock and horror and arousal. He was the star. In his mind, people were standing around watching him perform, not the black man with the huge cock who was pounding it deep in his throat and providing the perfect dirty soundtrack. Nope, he never even questioned that everyone was standing around jerking off admiring his cock-sucking skills. His own cock was rock hard even without the assistance of his little blue pills. This is the sort of thing David lived for. He wanted his sex to be dirty and shameful and taboo. He tried to reach for his zipper to undo his pants and stroke his little cock but he couldn’t even do that he was being face-fucked so forcefully. All he could really do was try to breath and not suffocate.
An experienced cocksucker if nothing else, he could tell the moment of reckoning was close. He couldn’t really do anything as he was no longer in control so he held on for dear life. The first spurt of cum landed on his tongue, but all the rest were deposited deep in his throat. He wanted to taste the cum but it was not to be. He counted seven, maybe eight pulsations verifying that he would indeed had his mouth overflowing with cum had he been given the opportunity. Just as his head was released, he fell backwards, landing on his flat ass and still a bit disoriented.
He looked around. Some guys were still stroking themselves, others had clearly cum and were cleaning up, and a few others were just there to observe. He got up and thanked the guy and brushed himself off a little and tried to regain his bearings. He couldn’t really high-five anyone or talk about it so he just sort of stood around and tried to figure out what to do next. His first instinct was to go home and furiously jerk off but he wanted to stay and see if he could get another cock to suck.
“Good job.” The voice came from behind him. He turned to see Bryan less than three feet away. He was busted!
Unable to deny his participation in the lewd and lascivious act he had just committed, he immediately went into defensive mode. “Don’t judge me! So what? If you say anything to anyone I’ll tell them all about you and what you do. I saw you on that website and I will tell everyone about what you do.” Humility was a skill he had to work on.
Bryan smirked. “Relax man. I was just trying to acknowledge that you took on a serious challenge and you survived. I’ve seen you here before. Plenty of times. I guess you were busy so you didn’t see me. I’m not trying to start any trouble. It’s just that I’ve seen lots of guys who couldn’t take Derrick all the way down or last until he came and I was giving you a sincere compliment.”
The look of confusion on David’s face was apparent. “Derrick? You know that guy?”
“Yes, we’ve belonged to him for almost 10 years. Well, actually to him and his wife, Desiree’.” Bryan spoke confidently, with no shame or remorse. He spoke as if it was perfectly natural for a white man to say he belonged to a Black couple. There was no doubt that the Desiree’ he spoke of was the woman he had verbally assaulted on the website. Bryan continued, “The first time I sucked Derrick off, I practically passed out as well. Now, I can take him with no problems. OK, I just wanted to say hello. See you around man. Oh, and don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” With that, Bryan walked off in the direction of the open door, undressed completely, and positioned himself in front of Derrick, his cock still slippery with spit and gunk, and began what was to be round two with only a few minutes of recovery time after his first nut.
David looked at the pairing like a scene out of a science fiction movie. His brain was misfiring. Had he heard him correctly? Did he say WE? There’s no way he could have meant his wife Rebecca so who the hell was he referring to? Rebecca was . . . well, she wasn’t the sort of white woman that “fucked Black”. Dave stumbled to his car, disoriented. He couldn’t wait to get home. He was so turned on, so confused, so out of control he whipped out his cock and started jerking off in his car, in the parking lot, not giving a fuck if anyone saw him or not. Recalling how he was used, abused, the sheer humiliation of it all was such a fucking turn on. Fuck! He was stroking his cock furiously. He wanted more. He lived for that sort of treatment.
He came on his shirt and needed to clean up with a stash of napkins from various fast food joints he had accumulated. As he opened the glove compartment, the flyer from The Dark Side fell out. He must have put it in there weeks ago. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number on the glossy cardstock immediately.
“Hello? Yes, I uhmmmm, I would like to well, make an appointment.”
A soft, sexy voice on the other end of the phone greeted him and asked if this was his first appointment. He nodded, forgetting for a moment that she couldn’t see him, the words stuck in his throat. Experienced with callers who were uncomfortable, the voice at the other end of the call asked if he had a preference for who he wanted to see.
“Oh, yeah. Mistress Desiree’ . . . Desire . . . whatever the fuck her name is.” He caught himself. He knew when he was being an asshole, he was just so used to doing it he never felt a need to control it. He knew this was the time for a little bit of decorum. “Sorry, yes, Mistress Desire,” he said a teeny bit more meekly this time.
“I’m terribly sorry, she’s booked for the next six months. Would you like to set up an appointment for someone else sooner or would you rather wait for her specifically?”
“No, no, no! She told me today that she would fit me in on the 16th. She told me that she wanted to . . .” He cleared his throat. He couldn’t say the words. He was frustrated. He couldn’t wait six months. He was entitled and privileged. Everything was a blur of confusion in that moment. His thoughts were coming in fits and spurts.
The young lady on the phone spoke calmly. She explained that she would talk to Mistress Desire when she was finished her session and get back to him in the morning. She asked lots of questions about what he liked, what he wanted, his boundaries and hard limits and things like that, all clearly formed so he could give a simple affirmative or negative response. She explained all sorts of rules, most of whom he didn’t listen to because he was stroking his little cock again. He couldn’t cum again if you paid him but he was still so horny that he was going to pull it until it was raw. He heard something about “no sex” but he figured that was just for legal purposes. If he was going to pay a grand, he was going to get some pussy for sure even though he really wasn’t motivated by straight sex that much. “May I have your name and telephone number so that I may call you back tomorrow and let you know what she says?”
If he had been on a land line, Dave would have slammed down the phone in outrage. He hung up. This time, the drive home was slow and purposed. He didn’t want to go home. What was he thinking? What did Bryan mean, we? What would it be like to be dominated by a Black woman? Could he go through with it? Could she even do it? He wasn’t a pushover. His mind had more questions than he could answer and he knew he had fucked up. In that moment, he wanted to be dominated by a Black woman and he wanted it bad.
The next morning he got a private message on the website from Mistress Desire saying, “I saved the spot on the 16th just in case. It’s yours. All you have to do is call back and confirm.”
The 16th couldn’t come fast enough. Six more days. Every day felt like an eternity. In many ways, it was the first time in a long time David had experienced the sensation of humility. He wasn’t the biggest loser, he was no worse or no better than any of his friends, colleagues, or associates. They were all assholes. All of them had a fallacious sense of superiority and enough arrogance to think that they deserved to control and dictate anyone and anything because they were white and male. It was their birthright. So for David to contemplate someone controlling him, manipulating him even, it was almost impossible to wrap his head around the concept. Sure, he wanted Black guys to degrade him, it got him off; that’s what turned him on. But what if she forced him to do something that didn’t turn him on?
David couldn’t comprehend being in a situation like that but that’s all he could imagine happening. This bitch was going to make him mop the floor naked and whip him like a slave or something, or even worse, make him wear some pink, frilly, panties while doing it. He didn’t want to do that. No, sir! He wasn’t going to do it. There was nothing about that concept that was even remotely arousing to him. OK, clarification. He loved prancing around in panties for Black men but having a woman see him do it? No way, Jose. If he was paying a grand he was going to set the rules. He would gladly suck Derrick’s cock again; he was down for that. He would even get fucked by Derrick. It’s not like he hadn’t fantasized about that almost constantly since their last encounter. He wasn’t keen on the idea of this woman watching him and even the thought of some Black chick fucking him with a strapon wasn’t too arousing for Dave. He didn’t want a woman, any woman, especially not a Black woman seeing him enjoying something like that. He made up his mind that if she did that, if she fucked him with a strapon, he wasn’t going to let her see him enjoying it. He was going to pretend that it hurt and that he was a virgin.
Parking a few blocks away in an attended lot on the big night was a decision David regretted while taking the walk to the street that housed the Dungeon. The Dark Side was located on a tree-lined street, bars and restaurants and a few eclectic shops littered one side of the street and an oddly-distinct brownstone discretely sandwiched between a record store and an art gallery that had been converted from a brownstone on the other. There was no sign, nothing to indicate what was going on inside. He was assured it was the right place however, as he had driven by it almost daily, at all hours of the night and day in the last six days.
The only people he ever saw entering the front door were white men. He figured there must be another entrance in the back where the women came and went. He had a game plan. He was going to get a drink at the bar across the street and decide if he could go through with it. With a little liquid courage, he would approach the brownstone, ring the bell and pretend he was talking to his friend on the cell phone if anyone passed by. None of that was necessary. He climbed the stairs, rang the bell, and a buzzer granted him immediate access.
An African American woman greeted him, seated at a credenza in a sitting room that looked like it was straight out of a 1940s London brothel, complete with floral, Victorian settees and a sterling silver tea set and bone china teacups atop a mother-of-pearl inlayed console table. “Welcome to The Dark Side. How can we be of assistance to you this evening?”
David Osterhaus had never been to a BDSM dungeon before. It was his first time and he had no idea what to expect. He was out of his element to be sure. He wasn’t even submissive, or at least he had never identified himself as such. Sure, he loved sucking off Black men and he enjoyed it when they choked him, spit on him, and called him names but that wasn’t really considered submissive in his mind. That was just . . . being kinky. He wasn’t sure what had drawn him to make the appointment with a Black Dominatrix. He was reasonably assured it was going to be a huge waste of time and money. All he really knew was he had to be there, he had to see what this Mistress Desire was all about.
David stood frozen in the vestibule, afraid to move. Normally, he would have walked in like he owned the place but he was out of his element and this was not at ALL what he was expecting. It was so . . . sophisticated, so posh, so . . . so European. He’d never been in a crack house before but he was half expecting it to be something like that: dark, dirty, except with whips and chains on the walls. This place looked like a scene from an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.
“Sir? How may we help you?”
Dave cleared his throat and said, “Uhmmm, I have an appointment. Uhmmm, my name is Bob Johnson,” having rehearsed what he was going to say a dozen times on the drive there.
“Why yes, Mr. Johnson, I see you have a session with Mistress Desire. She is one of our best. I’m sure you are going to enjoy your experience.” David glanced around more. There was a huge male bodyguard who was seated at a table directly behind the hostess. He looked pretty intimidating but didn’t really fear Black men, he had been on his knees in front of them too many times for him to have a paranoid fear of them. But, he was intimidated and wondered what would happen if he pissed off the wrong person.
There were tons of papers to fill out, forms to sign. The hostess, a pretty brown-skinned women who seemed very congenial and articulate, read special highlighted sections and asked him to initial certain disclaimers and rules. “Now, we’re almost finished. All we have to do is clear up the matter of payment and I’ll need your fingerprints.”
“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot,” David mumbled. He reached in his pocket and pulled out an envelope with cash and slid it across the desk. He glanced nervously around. He had intentionally only put $300 in the envelope knowing full well the cost for the evening was $1000. Consumed with arrogance and an unarticulated disdain for Black women, David was offended at having to pay that much money, even though he had it and some to spare. Sitting there, he felt like an idiot. His plan had some flaws. He had planned on making some excuse and bartering for a lower price. He assumed that because it was only Black women, that they would take whatever he gave them and be happy. Surely, $300 would cover their rent in the housing projects. He had never been to a housing project nor did he know what the rent was for an apartment in one but he just assumed that the $1000 fee was inordinately high and wasn’t going to give his hard-earned, well, easy-earned money to some welfare queen. Sitting there however, seeing the surroundings, seeing the location and the whole set up, he didn’t think that any of the women had ever seen or been to a housing project either.
“Mr. Johnson,” she said, clearing her throat, “there seems to be a problem.” With that, the bodyguard stood up and moved uncomfortably close to David. “We like to respect our client’s privacy so we offer them the opportunity to pay in cash. It’s an amenity we provide at great risk to ourselves but we expect the trust we have in our clients to be rewarded with their loyalty and respect. Now, the cost for a session with Mistress Desire is $1000. This seems to be short quite a bit. Now, we can have you see one of our other very capable Dommes or, if you’d like, you are more than welcome to pay the balance and we can get you settled in within a matter of minutes for your session.
David felt like a tool. He wanted to grab the money and leave and never look back but something held him to the spot where he sat. The man towering over him didn’t look upset or agitated but he was ready to squash any issues that might arise with physical force for sure. He pulled out his wallet and swallowed hard. He hadn’t brought any extra cash, lest he was jumped and robbed, they were Black people after all. He had wanted to avoid using a credit card to protect his identity but in that moment he couldn’t think of anything else to do. If he left to go to a cash machine and get more money, he might chicken out and not come back so he opted to just hand over the plastic.
The woman took his card, looked at the name on it and then at him. David had written “Ask for ID” on the back of his card and he swallowed hard and handed it over without her needing to ask. She and swiped the card and asked for a signature on her tablet. “Your credit card statement will reflect a payment to Jenkins Emporium, LLC. Would you like a receipt, Mr. Johnson,” she queried, without the tiniest bit of pause knowing full well that wasn’t his real name? She handed him the tablet and asked him to place his thumb and forefinger on the indicated areas. David didn’t have a record and he had never been arrested or fingerprinted by any branch of law enforcement so he was relatively comfortable with that step of the process and not overly paranoid about it coming back to haunt him which was pretty rare for him. The bodyguard went back to his chair and continued flipping through the pages of a magazine.
Seemingly, out of nowhere, another attractive young woman entered the room and said, “Follow me.”
David was escorted up two flights of stairs. The young lady pressed a code on a keypad and the door clicked. It was all very high-tech and looked like something out of a science fiction movie and was a stark contrast to the décor of the parlor. She held the door open and said, “Mistress Desire will be with you momentarily. Please, make yourself comfortable.” David walked past her, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air between them, and entered the room. He wished he had some X to drop but he did pay attention enough to the woman downstairs when she said absolutely no drugs and he didn’t want to take any more chances with fucking up after his first little incident.
The very first thing that he noticed was that the room had obviously been renovated from its original layout, with walls taken out and some contemporary updates. The room was sparse, well much more so than the other parts of the house that seemed overly ornate and accessorized. The walls were covered in heavy velvet curtains and there was an armoire full of antique torture devices on full display. The furniture, if you could call it that, was all some variation of custom restraint and torture devices, stockades and the like. A chill went up David’s spine. “Oh my God! This bitch is going to try to take out all her frustrations for slavery on me,” he thought. In that instant, he wished he had read the fine print on all the forms he had signed. “What the hell was I thinking? I’m not even into this shit! Fuck this!” He was ready to grab his proverbial hat and leave. Forget the money it; would just be a very expensive lesson learned. Just as he was about to make a run for it, the door opened and Mistress Desire walked in.
She was not at all what David had expected. First and foremost, she was wearing a coral colored dress, off the shoulder and diaphanous. It was flowing and soft and looked like it could have been seen in the pages of a fashion magazine editorial layout. She had expensive tortoise shell glasses on that were perched half way down her brown, button nose. Her hair was short, and she didn’t look like she was wearing a lot of makeup but David was no expert in that sort of thing so he didn’t really know. His wife only wore makeup to weddings and the office Christmas party and it really only consisted of pink lipstick on her incredibly thin lips.
In her hands was a tablet and she read whatever was on it quite thoroughly before speaking further. “Let’s get the formalities out of the way first, shall we? My name is Desiree’. You can call me Mistress Desire if you’d like. You can call me Desiree’. Before the night is over I’m sure you are going to call me bitch a few times, maybe even cunt if that’s in your regular lexicon. You can call me Goddess, Mommy, whatever makes you comfortable, I don’t’ really care. What you absolutely can’t call me is nigger, or any variation thereof. If you do, there will be consequences beyond anything that your little imagination can comprehend. Understand?” She continued, “I’m going to be your guide this evening. Your safe word for this and every session you have with me going forward will be Quantum. If you want me to stop, say the word ‘quantum’ and I will immediately cease everything and you will be free to go. Do you understand?”
David laughed. It was nervous laughter rather than the condescending “Of course I understand, whatta you think, I’m stupid, you dumb bitch?” comment he was biting his tongue to hold back from saying. She gave him a stern look and made it known that his non-verbal communication skills were not sufficient. He was able to squeak out a, “Got it,” as he sucked his teeth in defiance. He was quite convinced that most of the clients she saw were doormats and pushovers and total losers who let her do anything she wanted and who would beg for more. He was going to show her. He was going to be the one she would never forget. He was just doing this for the experience. He just wanted to see what had made his friend Bryan so . . . weird. If he could get a nut out of it, all the better.
“OK,” she said, “Let’s get started, shall we?” She put down her tablet on a dresser and went to the closet. She opened the door and stepped into the walk-in closet but left the door open more than enough for David to see her unzipping her dress and stepping out of it. She was wearing a black lace bra and panty set and David was shocked that her body was curvy but not at all out of proportion with a big, ghetto booty like he assumed it would be. She was fit and toned and her skin was the color of milk chocolate that seemed inordinately, freakishly inviting in the softly illuminated room. She took a black latex dress off a hanger and stepped into it. After some maneuvering, she was able to pull it into place. Black latex gloves and patent leather boots finished the outfit. She hung up her daytime dress and closed the door. David’s mouth was open the entire time.
“I know, I know. It’s a bit cliché but it really is the only option.” Before his eyes she had transformed herself. Her breasts were pushed up and spilling out of the low-cut neckline of the dress. Her hourglass figure was accentuated and she looked like what one would imagine a Dominatrix looking like. “Now, I won’t ruin my clothes with any messy bodily fluids. Don’t you just hate when you stain your Yves St. Laurent with blood? I hate that.” With that, she scrunched up her nose and made a silly little face and laughed.
David did not see the humor in what she said. Whose blood did she think was going to come in contact with? Certainly not his. He didn’t sign up for that.
“Gourmet!”
Desiree looked at him with a very confused look on her face. “I beg your pardon.”
“I said, gourmet. I don’t want this. I change my mind. I’m saying the safe word. Gourmet. I quit.”
“Your safe word is Quantum, not gourmet.” After a very pregnant, awkward pause, she replied, “It was a pleasure meeting you and do get home safely.” She turned to open the closet door again.
David panicked. He had come too far to go back now. He had to know what made Bryan so . . . so . . . comfortable in his own skin, so unafraid. He had to know what this woman had that was so mesmerizing and captivating. “Ha, ha, ha. I was . . . you know, just kidding.” He was scrambling and trying to think on his feet. “I know it’s quantum. Yeah, quantum, I got it. I was just playing. I just wanted to make sure you were going to keep your word. It was a test . . . yeah . . . like a test.”
“I don’t like playing games. Now, if you want to stay, take off your clothes and wait for instructions. If you want to leave, as I said before, get home safely.
David really wanted to leave. He wanted to go back to Boringville and go to Rock’s and suck off a big black cock and then go home to his boring life and boring wife. But SOMETHING made him stay firmly planted where he stood. He couldn’t even explain it to himself. This was certifiably crazy, even for him.
He pulled his shirt over his head, sort of like a gesture to say, “OK, I’ll play along.” He stood there, motionless, waiting for the show to begin. Surely, he thought, she was going to yell and scream at him for defying her orders. That, he could get into. That was his area of expertise, pissing people off. He didn’t work out but he was in good shape relatively for his age so he wasn’t afraid of her. Then, he remembered the bodyguard from downstairs and rethought and misguided ideas he had of any sort of physical altercation with this woman.
Desiree circled him, the click of her high heels on the parquet floors was staccato yet seemed to be muffled by the thick textiles covering the walls. “I’m not a typical Domme,” she explained. “I’m not going to yell and scream, I’m not going to demand that you do silly things to earn my approval, I’m certainly not going to tire myself out beating you to within an inch of your life. I’m a psychological Domme. I’m going to get in your head, I’m going to break you. I told you that. So, we can stand here for your entire session if you’d like. It won’t hurt my feelings at all. As long as you’re out of here by 11:30, I’m perfectly fine with whatever you’d like. I have a regular client coming in at midnight and my relationship with them goes back to 2004 and I will NOT have you interfere with that session.”
David’s ears perked up. Bryan said that he had belonged to Mistress Desire for a decade. Is that who would be coming in after him? What the hell could she possible do that would make him so devoted to her for so long? He had to stay. He had to experience what Bryan did. He wanted a bigger nut, he wanted something new and more exciting. Stripping completely naked, David stood there, bare, exposed, and vulnerable, erect in both the literal and figurative senses of the word, awaiting further instruction.
Mistress Desire circled David like a lioness stalks her prey: quietly observing and calculating her attack before she went in for the kill. Desiree’ examined David like a farmer would inspect his livestock.
Along with the standard BDSM paraphernalia of floggers and paddles and restraints, Desiree’ had an arsenal of medieval torture devices at her fingertips that she could use to inflict crippling pain on David like he was a serf who had stolen a jewel from the King’s crown if she wanted. In actuality, they weren’t from medieval times at all but the very same torture devices used on slaves in the antebellum land of Dixie. That’s one of the many reasons a session with her was so much more expensive than the other Dommes; she had an attention to detail that couldn’t compare and a knack for irony that rivaled any metallurgist’s. While she was a psychological Domme at heart, and while her techniques and practices centered on getting into a person’s mind and rewiring their thought patterns, she wasn’t oblivious to the fact that pain, coupled with the right doses of pleasure and reward, were integral components in breaking a sub.
“Would you mind?” She handed him a pair of handcuffs and indicated that she would indeed like him to put them on himself. He clicked on the left and then the right one, leaving them loose enough for him to slip out of. Desiree’ smiled. She tightened both cuffs until they couldn’t be tightened any more.
“Hey! That’s too tight!” David was incensed and he began bargaining. “OK, look, I get that I had them on too loose but can’t we find a happy medium?” He was struggling against the restraints, pulling at them as if that was going to make them hurt less.
Desire smiled. “Yes, I can only imagine that they do hurt, quite significantly in fact. But, I can promise you that you will experience a great deal more discomfort before the evening is over.” If only her tone wasn’t so calming and reassuring, if her voice wasn’t so soft and seductive. If it matched the discomfort he was feeling, he could wrap his head around the entire situation. This was strange, unfamiliar territory, uncharted waters as it were. She grabbed a pole and used it to pull a hook down from the ceiling. Before David even had a chance to object, she had placed the connecting links of the handcuffs to the hook and released it and it immediately pulled his arms above his head tautly. David dangled like some sort of kinky, naked piñata, his toes barely touching the floor.
One minute suspended like that felt like an eternity. David screamed. He didn’t yell, he wasn’t speaking in a raised, angry voice, he screamed out like he was afraid for his life. It’s not a sensation many people ever experience and it was one that David had never even imagined he was capable of experiencing. He was more terrified of the unknown than the actual sensation of pain, although, the pain was quite intense. The more he struggled, the more
