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Thursday, March 17, 2011

Say It

Part 1

It was a command that I had no choice to obey.

How did he know? One minute we were typical office coworkers, the next he had me pinned against the copier and was twisting my nipples.

My body responded as soon as he started twisting my tits. Out of instinct or reflex I couldn’t help but start grinding back against the massive Black bulge that was pressed against my ass.

“What are you doing?” As my body humped helplessly against commanding erection my mind tried to process what was happening to me. It was as if I was a puppet and my strings were tied directly to my nipples. All he had to do was tug on them and I dance to his command.

He whispered into my ears. “I am the Master. You are the slave.”

“I don’t understand? Why are you doing this.” His only response was to twist harder, forcing my body to arch more into him, and repeat, “I am the Master. You are the slave.”

This time he pulled out on my tits causing me to gasp in pain/pleasure.

It was like he was tuning me. My body responded differently depending upon how he twisted and pulled and pinched my titties. Pull one way and I would start to violently hump into him. Another and my ass cheeks had no choice but to try and milk his throbbing cock. All the time he kept insistently repeating to me, “I am the Master. You are the slave.”

Eventually my mind snapped.

I needed him inside me. My mind didn’t care about what he was doing, or why he was doing it. I needed him inside me. “Please fuck me. Please.” I was a puppet craving to be filled by its owner.

“Say it.”

“Oh God!” I didn’t care who heard me. I needed to beg. My nipples were the center of the universe and they told me that I needed to be fucked, hard. “Please fuck me. I need you inside me.”

“I am the Master. You are the slave. Say it.”  

It was like I was having an out of body experience. I started to notice every detail. His masculine smell. The feel of his breath on my ear. His dark, thick powerful hands. The wonderful fact that no matter how violently I gyrated he didn’t budge an inch.

“I am the Master. You are the slave. Say it.”

Then my whole world clicked.

“You are the Master. I am the slave.”

Soon we were chanting it together.

“I am the Master. You are the slave.”
“You are the Master. I am the slave.”
“I am the Master. You are the slave.”
“You are the Master. I am the slave.”

All the time my body danced under the command of his masterful hands.

I was beyond the hunger; beyond the need. I just was.

Then he left.

One minute I had all of life’s mysteries open before me, the next I was cast into a dark pit of empty despair.


“Get out your phone.”

I pulled my cell phone out of my pants pocket.

“Now call her, and tell her what you’re doing and tell her that you’re breaking up with her and why you’re breaking up with her, and make it good.”

My hands were shaking as i dialed my girlfriends phone number. As her phone ringed I prayed she wouldn’t pick up.

“Hey stranger! What are you doing up so late?”

I couldn’t speak.


His hand gently slapped my face. “Tell her.” I knew He could slap a lot harder.

“Karen, I’ve got to tell you something.”

“Michael, are you ok?”

“Tell her what you’re doing.” 

I was on the phone with my girlfriend about to destroy my life.

“Karen, I’m on the floor. I’m...” As I started to stutter he tilted my head up and gave me a look that forced the words out of me. 

“I’m kneeling on the floor between Malcolm’s legs.”

“Oh gawd! What’d you do, loose a bet?”

I had to hurry and get it out. “Ever since I overheard Lisa telling you about how big Malcolm’s dick was I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind.”

“But Michael, he’s your best friend.” Suddenly she became serious,

“I can’t be his friend any more. I can’t be his friend and I can’t be your boyfriend any more.”

“You’re breaking up with me? You’re fucking breaking up with me on the mother fucking phone?”

“I have to. I have to right now. I’m sorry Karen, but I’m a faggot. For the last half hour I’ve been kneeling between Malcolm’s legs begging to see his cock.”

“Jesus. Michael, you’re disgusting. This is so fucking gross. We’ve been dating for almost two years, Michael. You certainly didn’t fuck me like a faggot.” 

“Something just switched in my brain, Karen.” As I spilled out my soul I stared intently at Malcolm’s crotch. I could see it bulging, getting a “rise” out of my humiliation.

“I’ve been obsessing out it for weeks. He could tell. He could tell that there was something different about me. That’s because every chance I could I was in my room jerking off thinking about his Big Black Dick.”

“THAT’S where you’ve fucking been?!! Fuck!”

“He says that I’m not allowed to call him by his first name any more. He says that I have to call him Sir from now on. Sir’s been gracious enough to let me kneel between his legs and confess to Him what a submissive white sissy I am. He says that he doesn’t have any interest in a faggot sucking his dick, but that he’ll let me see it, and try to find a Black Master that would be willing to own me and train me to be a good sissy faggot slave.”

“Drop dead, faggot. I hope you die.” And with that last bridge to normalcy was burned. 

“Well, you did it.” As he talked he started to pull down his pants. “Man, I thought you were different.” He was teasing me. “But you’re not.” He was driving me crazy. “Just another fucked up white boy obsessed with Black Men’s dicks.” One the one hand he was driving me crazy with how slow he was going. “Fooling yourself into thinking you’re a man.” On the other I didn’t want this moment to end. “All the while worshipping Black Cock.” This was the most perfect moment of my life. “You’re lucky we found out what a total Black cock slut you were now.” I never wanted it to end. “Imagine how much it would suck if you didn’t learn the truth until you were an old fart.” Sir was right. I was lucky.

“Should I wait?” His jeans were down around his ankles, leaving a massive bulge covered by white briefs.

“I’m thinking I should make you wait.” There it was, so close to my face. I could clearly see the outline of large head and think shaft. I’ve never studied anything more closely. All i could hear in my head was the words, "please no, please no, please no," looping over and over again.

“You don’t want this to end so quickly, do you.” 

I did.

I didn’t.

“I shook my head no.”

“Tell you what. Tomorrow if you do a good job finding you some clothes that really show off what a faggot you are then maybe I’ll let you see it. And while you’re doing that, I’ll ask around for a gay Brother that might be interested in turning out a new white faggot.”

All i could do was stare at the most thing that I have ever seen and say, “thank You, Sir.”

Friday, December 31, 2010


i wrote this story for DaddyK's Humiliating Stories Contests group over at FetLife. The rules for the contest were that it had to be about a woman's humiliating confession to her priest and that it had to be between 700 and 1200 words. I was originally planning on fleshing out the story with descriptive text after I finished the dialog, but I quickly hit up against the word limit and didn't want to take anything out. I am really grateful that they've posted the story as part of their blog page for the contest. 

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been three weeks since my last confession, and I accuse myself of the following sins: I have had impure thoughts, read impure writings, watched impure movies, and have committed impure debasing homosexual acts. Because these acts have been done repeatedly for the last three months I have also committed the sin of omission by not confessing them to the church immediately."

"My dear child, how could this have happened? You've been a member of this church your entire life. Why I married you here 19 years ago."

"I was searching my husbands computer when I discovered that he was visiting a site owned by the dominatrix Perfect Ebony Goddess Alisha. I started an online chat with her under the pretense of confronting her about her destructive relationship with my husband. In order to prove that I was a woman she insisted that I turn on my webcam. When I did she let me ask her questions. I wanted to know why my husband would do all these depraved acts with her when I had an attractive body and was right there for him. "

"What did she say?"

"She said that my husband was an inferior submissive so it was natural for him to submit to a superior Ebony Female, and that he needed a dominant force in his life for it to be complete and that I was not capable of fulfilling that role. I told her that I had a very attractive curvaceous body that my husband loves and that if he needed me to be more aggressive that I could do that."

"She called me a liar. She said that I was just as much of a submissive as my husband and that I was made to serve my superiors. She that having large breasts only meant that I was a cow with huge udders made to be milked by my owners. She said that she didn't talk to liars at that that she was done with me until I was ready to present by udders and moo for my superiors."

"How did this make you feel?"

"I was furious Father. I had never had anyone talk to me this way. But I was also excited. Her words sounded so right."

"The Devil's words always do."

"For weeks I resisted what she said, but I eventually broke down and continuously committed the sin of Onanism. When no one else was in the house I would strip down and kneel on the floor of our bedroom and imagine that Perfect Ebony Goddess Alisha was standing before me and I would pull on my udders and mooo and pleasure myself thinking about her perfect body and her commanding ways."

"Did you talk to her again?"

"Yes. After three weeks I broke down and approached her online. She asked me what I wanted and I unbuttoned by blouse, pulled out my udders and mooed for her."

"Why do you call them udders even here?"

"Perfect Ebony Goddess Alisha has instructed me that this is how I am to refer to them from now on. That since I am a cow I have udders that were made to be milked by my Superiors."

"Does your husband know about your relationship with her?"

"She won't let me. She's actually been very encouraging about my faith Father. I told her that I was a good Catholic and she said that this didn't change the fact that I was a cow. She told me that I needed to go to confession and tell the church everything."

"And have you told me everything?" 

"No Father. She has entrusted me with one of her silver anal plugs. She says that I am her plug holder and that I need to carry her plug inside of me as much as I can. She says that this is a great honor and that I am lucky that she lets me rent out her plug so that I can carry it for her inside my ass."

"How does it make you feel, doing this task for her?"

"It's so wonderfully obscene Father. It's like I was asleep all my life and when I put it inside me a switch is flicked turning me on. At first it was really hard to get in, but now I feel empty without it. It actually makes me sad when I take it out. I time myself for how long I can hold it in for her and update her on twitter. At work it makes me sit up and arch out my udders and I feel so proud. She's instructed me to milk it with my ass muscles. It's like I am caressing it lovingly for her. I'm so lucky that she's entrusted me with holding her plug."

"What else?"

"Even though my husband doesn't know it, Perfect Ebony Goddess Alisha dictates when and how I am to have sexual relations with my husband. At the appointed times I must make my husband kneel and beg for permission to see my udders. Eventually I pull out my breasts and heft them up for him but don't let him touch them. As he begs to suck them I slap him with them as hard as I can, making sure that his hands are behind his back. Then I let him suck on them for at least 15 minutes. As he suckles I tell him that I am a cow that needs to have her udders milked and moo. Then I straddle him and we have intercourse."

"Why do you think she wants you to confess all this?"

"Perfect Ebony Goddess Alisha has said that my faith is important and that it shouldn't interfere with my service to her. I don't know what to do Father. I love my family and I love my church but I have never felt so alive."

"So you need to be sexually submissive?"

"Yes Father."

"Then you need to do it from the context of your marital bed. You must confess what you have been doing to your husband. No matter what his desires are he is head of your household. Your duty first and foremost is submission to him. Do you think that you are a cow?" 

"I know I am a cow, Father."

"And what does a cow say?"


"Then you are his cow. I want you to be waiting for him kneeling and naked and hefting up your udders, as you call them, and confess everything to him. You are his wife. You are bound by God to submit to him. If your husband decides that he wants you both to submit to this woman, than you must obey him."
"The church doesn't have a problem with a couple being kinky, as long as it's done as a loving couple. Your obedience to your husband must guide you in your desires. It sounds to me that he will be more then happy for you both to explore your need for submission together, as a family."

"Oh thank you Father! I will Father!"

"Now onto your penance for lying to the Holy Church..."

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Bounce Bounce Bounce

Do you believe in fate?

When i was about 11 i went to the states fair with some friends. There they had a concessions stand with something called The Grab Bag. Outside of it was a poster exclaiming, "test your luck with The Grab Bag! Win valuable prizes! Only $1." One by one each of my friends paid a dollar and reached into the Grab Bag.

One boy pulled out a Farrah Fawcett poster. A girl pulled out a charm bracelet. Another boy pulled out candy. Then it was my turn. When i reached into The Grab Bag i could tell that the prizes were either bags full of something or things rolled like posters.

Now i really wanted that Farrah Fawcett poster so i grabbed one of the tubes. Pulling it out i removed the rubber band and unrolled my prize.
It was an iron-on decal that said in cheesy letters: BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE.

I was devastated. All of my friends started giggling "bounce, bounce, bounce" under their breath. I looked up at the man with the ZZ Top beard running the stand and begged him to let me try for another prize. He looked down at me with pitty and said, "sure son, that's not going to do you any good."

I handed him the decal and reached in again, desperate to pull out the sexy photo of Farrah Fawcett. What should be staring at my again as i opened up the roll: none other then the words BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE.

Now my friends were laughing out loud at me. "All right son, " the carny said to me, "I'll give you one last chance. Maybe you should try one of the bags. They've got stuff like candy inside them." But I had to have that poster.

As I reached in my friends were now chanting rhythmically behind me, "bounce! bounce! bounce! bounce! bounce! bounce!" i spent a long time feeling around inside the Grab Bag trying to find that magical poster. The longer i felt around the louder their chanting became. "All right son, it's time to pick one." And with that I finally pulled out my prize and unrolled it like a town crier:


My friends all buckled over with laughter. A small crowd gathered around us as I stared horrified at my prize. "Sorry son," the carny said to me with sympathy. "Who else wants to test their fate with The Grab Bag!"

Throwing the decal away in disgust, i marched off to one of the rides, followed by friends gleefully chortling at my expense. For the rest of the evening if you wanted to get a good laugh, all you had to say was, "bounce, bounce, bounce."

But as the evening went on i regretted throwing away my prize. i secretly wanted to run back to the garbage can and fish it out. From then on, at random periods of my life, the words
bounce, bounce, bounce would enter my thoughts and i would think about that decal and wish that i had kept it and ironed it onto a t-shirt. The words were etched into my soul, like a psychic brand. I would imagine wearing it, and wonder what i would need in order to make the words come to life. i did indeed want to bounce bounce bounce, and i wanted everyone to see me doing it.

Friday, February 12, 2010


i am the subject of a post on the absolutely divine Miss D's blog:

It even has a poll!!!

i am so honored i am just giggling and flouncing like a school girl!!!

Wednesday, December 16, 2009


We are all social instruments that vibrate together through that power of our collective ideas. Our minds hear and see and sing along when the chords strike right. Our conscious minds may try to resist it, but our true selves know instantly because our souls come alive craving to join the collective chorus. To resist it is to invite depression and insanity. To embrace it is to become one with the universe.

There are different melodies that weave into an exquisite tapestry. Some are there for us to emulate. Others are made for us to want to wrap around as human counterpoint.

Big-dicked Daddy. i see that and my heart goes "oh my!" But it's not me. i want to interact with that, but that's different than being that, no matter how hard i may try.

Cruel Dominant Goddess. Again, my knees go weak. i am made to be a part of that somehow. i just know it. But still, that's certainly not me.

Limp wristed sissy faggot. That's it! The words make my heart sing. They bounce around in my brain rewriting everything they touch. Just four little words, but within them everything.

Don't they just make you smile? Can't you just see yourself being them? i'm not a big-dicked Daddy, i'm a limp wristed sissy faggot. i want people to see my prancing with my dead sexy limp wrist. i want them to see how good a sissy i am. i want to commune with other limp wristed sissy faggots. i want to sing it from the roof tops!

Join the human symphony. Vibrate. Don't fight it any more. You really don't want to.