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Chapter Ten
♠
The Reminiscent
Mason watched his girlfriend from a low seat beside the window as she gazed at herself in the small mirror above her fridge, pulling tufts of jet black hair back in her little ringed fingers. He had originally demanded her to live alone at college–no roommates–and she followed through. No one would take his high school sweetheart away from him, or so he thought at the time.
In spite of all his best efforts, she had somehow slipped through his fingers. He contemplated this as he watched her from behind.
Natasha looked so gorgeous there, even when she was dressed so simply. Her thin black leggings hugged her wide ass tightly, and her dark red hoodie wasn’t low enough to cover it.
Mason’s eyes traversed the curvature of her thighs all the way around her hips. It was a magnificent and almost humbling view to have, all to himself in that moment.
“I’m going out with him tonight.” Her words cut through the air like a knife right into his heart. He could feel the tension build up in his body like a coming implosion.
A sharp feeling hit his hand–his right fist had clenched, driving his thumbnail into his finger. His eyes, however, did not move, only remained fixed upon his girlfriend’s perfect body.
She said it so casually, just fixing her mascara like it was nothing. Finally, she hesitated and turned ever so slightly, but did not face him. “He’s coming to pick me up soon.”
“No,” Mason finally found the word. Natasha whirled around with half her eyes undone.
“I already called him,” she blustered, “He’s coming to pick me up soon.”
“I was excited to see you today, until now,” Mason curtly replied. Natasha only shook her head one way and turned back towards the mirror.
Her hands resumed the work they had been doing on her eyes, as if he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even entered the room. The fingers on his left hand dug into the side of the seat like blades.
“If it makes you feel any better, we can come back here later, and you can watch.” She said the last segment of her sentence so meekly, so softly, like she wanted to say more, or she really wanted something else. Mason shook his head from behind her eyes.
Finally, he found the strength to stand. He moved fast, closer to his girlfriend.
A hand landed around her waist, and another at her chest. “I want you… all to myself,” Mason breathed into her ear, his voice scratching along the way out of his quivering lips. Her hand stilled in the air beside her eye.
Her green eyes stood still in the mirror, as well, almost finished but not quite. The sun descended further below the horizon behind them. Those lovely eyes moved slowly upwards and then her hands followed down to peel Mason’s grip off of her body.
His hands hovered in the air now, listless and wanting. Another flick of mascara, and her eyes were done.
“Kiss me,” he said, staring at her reflection in the mirror before them. She said nothing for a moment too long.
“Maybe later… when we’re done.” That was her only answer. Mason stepped back once, but didn’t turn his gaze.
“What do you think I am?” he asked her, more loudly than he meant to. His bottom lip continued to quiver after the words left his mouth. How he still had command of the wheel steering himself, he did not know.
Her hands landed on the sides of the fridge hard. “My… boyfriend,” she answered as she drew a stick of gloss to her lips.
His hands hit his sides and he felt himself at a loss for words yet again. He just stood there and watched her gloss her lips in a thin pink sheen, her mouth open in a circle. The imagery in his mind’s eye danced between his own cock between those thick lips, and a larger black one in the same place.
Finally, the lip gloss was capped, and she set it down. He found the words to say, “Is this how a boyfriend is treated?”
Natasha swung her head a bit on her neck and pursed her lips together before murmuring, “If he’s white.”
“What?” Mason pressed her.
She whirled around and penetrated him with her glare. “I said, if he’s white,” she repeated, much louder this time.
“Do you forget yourself, Mason?” she said so sharply it cut through him again. She took a slow step to him but her glare did not falter.
His own stance remained unmoved, as well. “Have you forgotten me?” he said to her, not with anger but in great concern.
“Never,” she spat, somewhat to his surprise.
A hard rap was heard on the door behind her. His hands moved at lightning speed to grab her own. She didn’t resist, didn’t even quiver in his grasp.
“I won’t let him take you. I don’t want to,” he said, almost stammering.
“Mason-” she started to say something. He didn’t care.
“I don’t want to,” he said solidly.
“Mason, I need this,” she said anyway.
“I won’t!” he insisted. His grip around her little ringed fingers became iron.
The tan of her knuckles faded into white. He looked down at each of the silvery ardahan escort little rings. She had originally worn the thin one on her right ring finger for him.
Suddenly, her fingers slipped through his own and he found himself gripping his own empty fists again.
Natasha whisked right up to the doorway and held it open at its side. Darius was standing there, his bulky black body showing in a dark tank-top, and his dreadlocks hanging loose around his shoulders.
Natasha’s entire demeanor softened and heated up simultaneously as he stepped in the room. Mason stood there and watched as his girlfriend turned to the black man with great excitement and held his cheek in her left hand and his chest in her right. “Kiss me,” she breathed lustily at Darius, and kiss her he did.
It was slow and long, their lips pressing together right before his eyes in a stinging moment that lingered as if it were suspended out of time itself.
Finally, their lips unlatched and she turned to one side to eye him. Darius looked down at him as well, but his own gaze did not falter in the light of their glares, hers devious and his disdainful.
He only walked up to his girlfriend and grabbed her hand again. Her glare sharpened before his large black hand shoved him backwards; he almost fell on the floor. “Don’t touch her like that,” Darius said in his low black tone as Natasha slinked out behind him and he stepped up to where he had pushed Mason back to.
A lightning bolt of a slap hit his face before he could react whatsoever to the blow. Another hit his left cheek during the very next instant. His nose sputtered and tears broke from his eyes as he was hit.
With a sniffle, he turned disoriented to face Darius, but those black hands wrapped around his wrists and he was dragged out to the hallway like a pile of used trash. The next moment, the door slammed shut in his reddened face.
He rushed to turn the knob, but heard it click locked just as his hand hit the metal. Knowing it was useless, he fell to his knees, sliding against the locked door of his girlfriend’s room, defeated.
Remembering this as he knelt beneath Fiona’s feet, Mason felt he should’ve known the truth back then. Perhaps that wouldn’t have happened if he had submitted to her further–no, not perhaps, he knew that now. Now, in a moment so debased and degraded, he realized he had already been defeated long ago and all that was left was to accept it.
Now that he had been sissified, dominated, placed under the heel of these big black-only mistresses to be ground up into a shameful refraction of who he had once been long ago, he came to an understanding of his position at the bottom. There was no escape from this aside from through it, and so he resolved to take it to its end.
♠♠♠♠♠
Brendan knelt on the floor at the foot of his own bed, where Savannah and Damian lounged in each other’s arms atop the covers. They had interrupted his gaming to make him watch them fuck.
Savannah had never been impressed by what she found in his bedroom; he was always playing video games, or browsing threads on the internet, but the worst was when she found him watching porn; interracial porn, of course. This made her determined to give him a live show that he would never forget, and the show became at least a once a week occurrence, right there in his own bed.
Now, they were both naked, basking in the afterglow of their lust right on top of his bedsheets. He sniffled and sputtered, but they didn’t seem to care or notice.
Savannah’s whole thick body was on open display, her fat milky titties spread loose and sitting upon her creamy belly, her thick thighs and wide hips bare in all their pale and curvy beauty. Damian’s large black hand grasped her left shoulder, his muscly arm around her back holding her tightly to him.
He was naked as well, sitting tall upon the bed with his muscle-bound body and his still-hard footlong black cock sticking straight up onto it. He moved her head into his to kiss her, and Brendan sniffled once again as he watched helplessly.
Finally, she turned to look at him. Her blue eyes shined right through his skin to strike his heart; she had to have known what she was doing to him. “That was so good,” she practically moaned out at him, “Better than you could ever give me.”
Damian chuckled softly at this and caressed her arm. “In fact, stand up and strip down. I want you to see how poorly you compare to my lover,” she said now.
He hated when she called him that; it always stung like nothing else ever could. Brendan felt his face turn red with shame, but he stood up reluctantly anyway.
He took his tee shirt off first, letting it fall to the already messy floor carelessly. The comparison was already enough to make his girlfriend giggle; his flabby, furry, weak body was nothing like the masculine build of the black man.
“He’s a good boy when I’m around,” Damian gloated with a demonic grin. Savannah only giggled ardeşen escort more viciously at him. Next, his shorts came down around his little chicken legs and he stepped out of them.
His face only burned with redder shame as he slowly stripped himself of his clothing, the only thing shielding him from complete debasement.
He had almost cum handsfree simply from watching, much to his own chagrin, but his cock pulsed hard in his boxers still. Savannah was already laughing even though he hadn’t taken them off yet.
“Ah, ah, ah!” Damian said in a mocking tone towards him, “Socks too. Cucks don’t wear socks.”
Savannah’s giggles grew sharper at that. Brendan begrudgingly followed orders, pulling each sock off of his feet before his boxers. Even Damian’s feet were bigger than his own.
Finally he drew his boxers down. His little boner popped out right away, standing right at attention towards Savannah’s bare, pale, thick beauty.
Both of them fully laughed at him now that he stood naked before them. The contrast truly was stark; Damian was big, muscular, really built like a man, where Brendan was weak, thin but flabby, and truly ugly in comparison.
Savannah paid no attention to his little boner whatsoever, only reaching down to stroke Damian’s longer, blacker cock instead.
“You’re not even half the man he is,” she said to him. She was correct, as even his erect dick wasn’t half the length of the black man’s.
Damian chuckled again and added, “You’re not a real man at all, are you, whiteboy?” Brendan lowered his gaze but couldn’t find the words to answer from within the wave of shame they were washing over him.
“You’re right,” Savannah said after another shower of mirthful giggles. “A real man wouldn’t just kneel there on the floor while his own girlfriend gets fucked.”
They both laughed again and Brendan heaved a sigh of relief as he stood there. His silence at the man’s question luckily hadn’t earned him some sort of punishment.
“Now, he’s still hard…” Savannah said salaciously. Brendan audibly gulped, fearing already what was coming next. “I think he should finish in your mouth.”
Brendan just stood there, eyes wide and wet, cheeks flustered, ultimately helpless to them. Damian was already getting up off the bed and stepping around towards him. Before he knew it, those manly black hands were forcing him down to his knees by his shoulders.
His vision spanned the full breadth of Damian’s rock-hard chest and abs until he was face-to-face with his massive cock. He felt the black man’s hands drift from his shoulders to the back of his head as soon as his knees hit the rugged floor.
His mouth seemed to open on instinct as his face was drawn closer to the big black cock within the very next instant. One more second and the full thickness of his cock was sliding in and out of Brendan’s lips at an increasingly rapid pace. He merely closed his eyes and took it, like a totally debased bitch.
To his own surprise, he didn’t gag at all as the perpetual thrusts of black cock ran through his throat. Some saliva dribbled in the midst of the ravaging down to his beard fur. At least he didn’t have to put any work in; he only had to keep his mouth open to be used as a slot for his girlfriend’s black lover’s fat cock.
It seemed like many minutes passed of just that. Finally, Damian held Brendan’s head down so his cock penetrated the full length of his neck and released a deep and manly grunt.
The poor boy felt a rush of cum spray right down his throat, straight from the source. As the black man slid his long dick out from between his lips, some of his cum spilled out from his mouth and coated his beard hair.
Damian soon turned around and took his place on the bed beside Savannah once again, without saying so much as a word about what he’d just done. Brendan’s vision cleared and shifted towards his girlfriend.
She moved a lock of loose orange curls aside with her left hand and continued rubbing her pussy with her right. It seemed she enjoyed seeing her lover dominate her boyfriend more than he had thought.
Brendan heard the bathroom door creak open, sending him falling out of this memory of sucking cock for the first time. He was still laying sideways, crumpled and bound on the floor of the shower stall, and all he could smell was urine.
“Phew, it fucking reeks in here,” called Fiona’s voice from the doorway as she stepped in. He struggled in his utter debasement to look up at her sideways from the floor.
As she stepped ever-closer, he realized she did somewhat resemble his girlfriend–just rounder of face and form. Soon enough, one of her pale hands landed on the faucet above him and a stream of water followed upon his skin. “I’m not dealing with that stench all week. Clean it up, bitchboy.”
♠♠♠♠♠
Eleanor crept across the narrow hall within her two-room apartment, from her bedroom to the wider living space. She checked the bathroom on the way; arnavutköy escort it was pristine, just as she had ordered Matty to accomplish. She knew she would find the little sissy in the other room, but she didn’t expect “her” to be wearing Eleanor’s own dark magenta dress–standing upright, no less–striking poses and blowing kisses in the mirror of her front-facing phone camera.
Eleanor had allowed the makeup, just some black eyeshadow, eyeliner, and wine red lipstick–she had even applied it herself–and the old little bra and thong she might’ve discarded had Matty not followed through on her submission, which she was assuredly still wearing under the dress she had pilfered, without permission.
The sissy’s thin, gaunt face glowed in the light of her phone screen within the otherwise rather dark apartment, until Eleanor approached her close enough to make her smile twist into a fearful frown.
She grabbed Matty’s wrist and wrested the phone away, then slapped her across the face with about half her left hand’s strength. She was determined to make the sissy’s fears warranted.
“I didn’t give you permission to wear my dress!” she shouted with some rage she could not fully explain nor understand at the time.
“I’m sorry, Mommy-” Matty started to stammer.
“And you’re supposed to be on your knees,” Eleanor continued, ignoring her pleas.
“Take it off and kneel. Now,” she ordered sternly.
Matty pulled the dress off over her head–careful not to mess up the makeup, as Eleanor noticed–and smoothed “her” long hair out around her pale little face as she lowered herself to her knees on the wooden floor. Eleanor took a moment to snatch the dress and bring it back to her closet.
She knew “no” was a foreign word to Matty when it came to her; it wasn’t potential disobedience that bothered her so much, but she couldn’t quite discern what bothered her so much in that moment in the light of that truth.
With a heaving sigh, she hung up the dress and stepped hard right back up to her sneaky little slave, towering over “her” shivering and shamed form. Sure enough, the little black bralette and magenta panties she had allowed the sissy to wear were still planted firmly on her body, in just the right places. Not even a bulge from underneath the panties was visible; absolutely pathetic.
Matty knelt beneath her, eyes on the hardwood, hair over face in disgrace. “You’re not a woman,” Eleanor said sternly to her kneeling slave as she crossed her arms on her chest above her.
After a second’s deliberation, Matty whipped “her” head up and protested, “I am, though,” in a meek, pained little whimper.
Their eyes locked together. Eleanor bent down to face her little slave now, deciding to be just a touch more careful and watching the sissy shiver in her proximity, so delicate and deliciously weak for her.
“How can you tell?” she asked, innocently, wanting a genuine answer.
“Because it hurts,” Matty murmured like a toddler.
“You’re right,” Eleanor said with a smile.
She caressed Matty’s hair and she seemed to freeze at the touch of her holiness. It was still just a bit out of order, but Eleanor fixed that for her.
Her painted lips were smiling, but her wide hazel eyes remained sad. Her left cheek grew pink with the natural blush of Eleanor’s handprint.
With a brightening of her own smile, Eleanor stood up straight again, and of course Matty stayed put on her knees below her. Eleanor proceeded to turn around and bend back over, putting her fat ass–still covered by her black leggings–right in Matty’s little face with great and lustful elegance.
“Do you love me?” Eleanor asked expectantly.
“Yes, Mommy,” Matty said, moving in to plant a kiss between her big bubbly cheeks.
“Do you worship me?” Eleanor pressed on, expecting more.
“Yes, Mommy,” Matty answered before she felt the kiss on the right side of her ass.
“Do you serve me?” Eleanor finally asked, though she knew the answer to that question by now.
“Yes, Mommy,” Matty said so predictably before the final kiss was placed right on Eleanor’s covered left ass cheek.
“Good.” Eleanor whirled back around to face her slave again, smiling even brighter this time. “Get flat on your back, my sweet little slave,” she ordered.
Matty did as she was told instantly, unfolding her almost totally bare little body backwards until she faced the ceiling.
Eleanor then stripped herself of her leggings, letting her fat ass bounce out freely as she stepped out of them and proceeding to remove her thin black thong, as well. She moved to straddle over Matty’s weak little face, hovering above it for a moment until she finally lowered down on top of her, slowly.
Smothered beneath the heavy weight of Eleanor’s godly ass, Matty could no longer say a word. She only got straight to licking, her skilled tongue traversing the space between her fat ass to soon lick up her hole.
“Mmmh… that’s right, worship your queen,” she said so strongly as the tongue-worship continued more voraciously on her asshole. She soon rubbed it back and forth on top of Matty, letting her little sissy-tongue rake her hole over and over again. It always made her feel just like a queen should to ride her slave’s face and force her to worship.
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