Aramis
02-20-2003, 8:51 PM
"Aaaaughh!" I bellowed as the whip slashed into my bare back. It was wielded by my Master, Ms. Lambert, who held my fate in her hands and at her feet. I was in her back yard compound, fenced in so no one could see, and the sun was setting. Torches were lit all around, helping the electric lights provide ample illumination. I was suspended from a tree branch, tied up, naked and at the complete mercy of my Master, Keesha, Dr. Sanders, and two other black female workers at the college.
"Say 'thank you may I have another,'" Keesha reminded me with a sadistic laugh.
"Thank you may I have another," I gasped. My Master was all too willing to grant my request.
It hurt. It is one thing to fantasize about being whipped, it is quite another to experience it. Each time my back felt like it was lit on electric fire. Each time the women roared in appreciation that Whitey was finally getting his. It was payback, big time, or at least the start of payback.
The other women took their turns. Each time I had to beg to be beaten, for the privilege of having them punish me. I saw one, Keesha, finger herself to orgasm while she watched Dr. Sanders apply the whip to my butt. She genuinely found it sexually arousing to see Whitey be whipped. In some ways I think Keesha, the young executive assistant to Ms. Lambert, the most radical, raunchy, vicious and sadistic of the bunch.
When they were all done, and I was a bruised, even bleeding mess, they cut me down. My hands and legs were tied, so I was going nowhere. Nowhere, that is, until Keesha walked up to me, presenting herself in front of my face, and said, "Whitebread, what do you see?"
"Your feet, Ma''am." I answered.
"You mean, my HOLY feet, honky!!" she corrected me. "Now I want you to thank me for showing you your place and beating you like you deserve. Worship my feet!!"
I began to cover her dark bare feet with weary but sincerely devoted kisses. Her raw dominance turned me on. Then as I kissed and kissed, then licked the tops, one of the other two ladies came over and got on my back. She didn't exactly jump up and down, but she flexed her weight on my back, up and down, without walking on me. Her feet were close to my shoulders, pushing my face harder into the feet of Keesha.
"Don't go pushin my feet, boy," Keesha reprimanded me. "Be nice, or we'll make you hurt some more. Maybe you leave you suspended out here all night if your Master says so!"
The other woman, heavy set, like Oprah used to be in her heavier days, came over and she got on my back barefoot too.
"White boy underfoot, white boy underfoot," she chanted, as she too undulated her weight on me, making it hard to kiss Keesha's pretty, plump, royal black feet without clipping them with my chin or face.
Suddenly, Keesha stepped away, and the other dominants stepped off my back. Here came my Owner, carrying something. It was a rod -- no, there was orange at one end. It . . . it was a brand!! She was going to brand me!
"Lick my feet, boy," she said as she approached. I immediately did as I was told, having been taught well by her the past several weeks. "Thank us all for whipping you as you deserve."
"Thank you for whipping me. I deserve it. As a white man who has benefitted from the oppression of black women, it is time to turn the tables and make us your slaves. It is time for you to beat us and own us for your profit and pleasure. I can never pay back what my race owes you. Thank you for making me your slave and allowing me the honor kissing and licking your divine bare feet. May you always allow me this honor!"
"You want to always me our slave, white boy?" my Master asked seriously.
"Yes, Master. It is the way it should be. It was born to lick the dirt from your feet, to massage your soles with my tongue, to clean in between your toes and to suffer pain for your entertainment!"
"Then you SHALL be my slave, until I decide otherwise," she decreed. "Keep worshipping my feet, slave, while Dr. Sanders brands you."
Very much afraid, yet driven by a slavish crazy desire, I kept on pressing my lips to my Owner's lovely, shapely feet, and then I felt a hot, unbearable pain on my buttocks. I was branded!!
"Now you are truly my property," my Master said. "My slave, not just for four years, but for as long as I say, maybe for the rest of your life! I can do as I wish with you. You know, I have family with a plantation in Louisiana. They could use a field slave working the crops in the day, and to rub their feet at night. Maybe I will sell you to them!"
I began to cry, and covered my Master's feet with tears and kisses. "Oh please don't sell me," I pleaded. "I love you!"
"We shall see," the Master said as she stood over me as I adored her feet. "But at least you can be assured that with this branding, Dr. Sanders will let you pass your course with her. I think you should kiss her ass 100 times in gratitude . . . while I beat your ass some more!"
Dr. Sanders presented herself to me, and Keesha yanked me up on my knees. "Kissy kissy, white boy," Dr. Sanders said yet again. "Oh, how I love the feel of a white man's lips on my big black ass!"
And how I loved the feel of my lips on her big black ass too.
"Say 'thank you may I have another,'" Keesha reminded me with a sadistic laugh.
"Thank you may I have another," I gasped. My Master was all too willing to grant my request.
It hurt. It is one thing to fantasize about being whipped, it is quite another to experience it. Each time my back felt like it was lit on electric fire. Each time the women roared in appreciation that Whitey was finally getting his. It was payback, big time, or at least the start of payback.
The other women took their turns. Each time I had to beg to be beaten, for the privilege of having them punish me. I saw one, Keesha, finger herself to orgasm while she watched Dr. Sanders apply the whip to my butt. She genuinely found it sexually arousing to see Whitey be whipped. In some ways I think Keesha, the young executive assistant to Ms. Lambert, the most radical, raunchy, vicious and sadistic of the bunch.
When they were all done, and I was a bruised, even bleeding mess, they cut me down. My hands and legs were tied, so I was going nowhere. Nowhere, that is, until Keesha walked up to me, presenting herself in front of my face, and said, "Whitebread, what do you see?"
"Your feet, Ma''am." I answered.
"You mean, my HOLY feet, honky!!" she corrected me. "Now I want you to thank me for showing you your place and beating you like you deserve. Worship my feet!!"
I began to cover her dark bare feet with weary but sincerely devoted kisses. Her raw dominance turned me on. Then as I kissed and kissed, then licked the tops, one of the other two ladies came over and got on my back. She didn't exactly jump up and down, but she flexed her weight on my back, up and down, without walking on me. Her feet were close to my shoulders, pushing my face harder into the feet of Keesha.
"Don't go pushin my feet, boy," Keesha reprimanded me. "Be nice, or we'll make you hurt some more. Maybe you leave you suspended out here all night if your Master says so!"
The other woman, heavy set, like Oprah used to be in her heavier days, came over and she got on my back barefoot too.
"White boy underfoot, white boy underfoot," she chanted, as she too undulated her weight on me, making it hard to kiss Keesha's pretty, plump, royal black feet without clipping them with my chin or face.
Suddenly, Keesha stepped away, and the other dominants stepped off my back. Here came my Owner, carrying something. It was a rod -- no, there was orange at one end. It . . . it was a brand!! She was going to brand me!
"Lick my feet, boy," she said as she approached. I immediately did as I was told, having been taught well by her the past several weeks. "Thank us all for whipping you as you deserve."
"Thank you for whipping me. I deserve it. As a white man who has benefitted from the oppression of black women, it is time to turn the tables and make us your slaves. It is time for you to beat us and own us for your profit and pleasure. I can never pay back what my race owes you. Thank you for making me your slave and allowing me the honor kissing and licking your divine bare feet. May you always allow me this honor!"
"You want to always me our slave, white boy?" my Master asked seriously.
"Yes, Master. It is the way it should be. It was born to lick the dirt from your feet, to massage your soles with my tongue, to clean in between your toes and to suffer pain for your entertainment!"
"Then you SHALL be my slave, until I decide otherwise," she decreed. "Keep worshipping my feet, slave, while Dr. Sanders brands you."
Very much afraid, yet driven by a slavish crazy desire, I kept on pressing my lips to my Owner's lovely, shapely feet, and then I felt a hot, unbearable pain on my buttocks. I was branded!!
"Now you are truly my property," my Master said. "My slave, not just for four years, but for as long as I say, maybe for the rest of your life! I can do as I wish with you. You know, I have family with a plantation in Louisiana. They could use a field slave working the crops in the day, and to rub their feet at night. Maybe I will sell you to them!"
I began to cry, and covered my Master's feet with tears and kisses. "Oh please don't sell me," I pleaded. "I love you!"
"We shall see," the Master said as she stood over me as I adored her feet. "But at least you can be assured that with this branding, Dr. Sanders will let you pass your course with her. I think you should kiss her ass 100 times in gratitude . . . while I beat your ass some more!"
Dr. Sanders presented herself to me, and Keesha yanked me up on my knees. "Kissy kissy, white boy," Dr. Sanders said yet again. "Oh, how I love the feel of a white man's lips on my big black ass!"
And how I loved the feel of my lips on her big black ass too.