Black Domme Stories

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Black Domme Stories
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The range of stories published here will be limited only by the experiences and imagination of our members. There are no restrictions on what can be published beyond those in common law in all relevant jurisdictions.

Fast story without any preparation
I am not a story writer but I am needing to put myself out there for any dominant people to...

There is no
doubt in my mind: this institution degraded both master and slave. - Jonah
From Eyewitness to History edited
by John Carey
American
Slavery: Sale of Slaves, Virginia, December 1846
We attended
a sale of land and other property, near Petersburg, Virginia, and unexpectedly
saw slaves sold at public auction. The slaves were told they would not be sold,
and were collected in front of the quarters, gazing on the assembled multitude.
The land being sold, the auctioneer's loud voice was heard, 'Bring up the
niggers!'
A shade of
astonishment and affright passed over their faces, as they stared first at each
other, and then at the crowd of purchasers, whose attention was now directed to
them. When the horrible truth was revealed to their minds that they were to be
sold, and nearest relations and friends parted for ever, the effect was
indescribably agonizing.
Women
snatched up their babes, and ran screaming into the huts. Children hid behind
the huts and trees, and the men stood in mute despair. The auctioneer stood on
the portico of the house, and the 'men and boys' were ranging in the yard for
inspection. it was announced that no warranty of soundness was given, and
purchasers must examine for themselves. A few old men were sold at prices from
thirteen to twenty-five dollars, and it was painful to see old men, bowed with
years of toil and suffering, stand up to be the jest of brutal tyrants, and to
hear them tell their disease and worthlessness, fearing that they would be
bought by traders for the Southern market.
A white boy,
about fifteen years old, was placed on the stand. His hair was brown and
straight, his skin exactly the same hue as other white persons, and no
discernible trace of negro features in his countenance. Some vulgar jests were
passed on his colour, and two hundred dollars were bid for him; but the
audience said 'that it was not enough to begin on for such a likely young
nigger'. Several remarked that they 'would not have him as a gift'. Some said a
white nigger was more trouble than he was worth. One man said it was wrong to
sell white people. I asked him if it was more wrong than to sell black people.
He made no reply. Before he was sold, his mother rushed from the house upon the
portico, crying, in frantic grief, “My son, O! my boy, they will take away my
dear - .” Here her voice was lost, as she was rudely pushed back and the door
closed. The sale was not for a moment interrupted, and none of the crowd
appeared to be in the least affected by the scene.
The poor
boy, afraid to cry before so many strangers, who showed no signs of sympathy or
pity, trembled, and wiped the tears from his checks with his sleeves. He was
sold for about two hundred and fifty dollars. During the sale, the quarters
resounded with cries and lamentations that made my heart ache. A woman was next
called by name. She gave her infant one wild embrace before leaving it with an
old woman, and hastened mechanically to obey the call; but stopped, threw her
arms aloft, screamed, and was unable to move.
One of my
companions touched my shoulder and said, 'Come, let us leave here; I can bear
no more.' We left the ground. The man who drove our carriage from Petersburg
had two sons who belonged to the estate - small boys. He obtained a promise
that they should not be sold. He was asked if they were his only children; he
answered; “All that's left of eight.” Three others had been sold to the South,
and he would never see or hear from them again.
American
Slavery: Punishment of a Female Slave, New Orleans, c. 1846
The author,
Samuel Gridley Howe, was a leading American educator, and a pioneer in the
education of blind and handicapped children.
I have
passed ten days in New Orleans, not unprofitably, I trust, in examining the
public institutions - the schools, asylums, hospitals, prisons, etc. With the
exception of the first, there is little hope of amelioration. I know not how
much merit there may be in their system; but I do know that, in the
administration of the penal code, there are abominations which should bring
down the fate of Sodom upon the city. If Howard or Mrs Fry ever discovered so
ill-administered a den of thieves as the New Orleans prison, they never described
it.
In the
negroes' apartment I saw much which made me blush that I was a white man, and
which, for a moment, stirred up an evil spirit in my animal nature. Entering a
large paved courtyard, around which ran galleries filled with slaves of all ages,
sexes, and colours, I heard the snap of a whip, every stroke of which sounded
like the sharp crack of a pistol. I turned my head, and beheld a sight which
absolutely chilled me to the marrow of my bones, and gave me, for the first
time in my life, the sensation of my hair stiffening at the roots.
There lay a
black girl flat upon her face, on a board, her two thumbs tied, and fastened to
one end, her feet tied and drawn tightly to the other end, while a strap passed
over the small of her back, and, fastened around the board, compressed her
closely to it. Below the strap she was entirely naked. By her side, and six
feet off, stood a huge negro, with a long whip, which he applied with dreadful
power and wonderful precision. Every stroke brought away a strip of skin, which
clung to the lash, or fell quivering on the pavement, while the blood followed
after it.
The poor
creature writhed and shrieked, and, in a voice which showed alike her fear of
death and her dreadful agony, screamed to her master, who stood at her head,
'O, spare my life! Don't cut my soul out!' But still fell the horrid lash;
still strip after strip peeled off from the skin; gash after gash was cut in her
living flesh, until it became a livid and bloody mass of raw and quivering
muscle. It was with the greatest difficulty I refrained from springing upon the
torturer, and arresting his lash; but, alas! what could I do, but turn aside to
hide my tears for the sufferer, and my blushes for humanity?
This was in
a public and regularly organized prison; the punishment was one recognized and
authorized by the law. But think you the poor wretch had committed a heinous
offence, and had been convicted thereof, and sentenced to the lash? Not at all.
She was brought by her master to be whipped by the common executioner, without
trial, judge or jury, just at his beck or nod, for some real or supposed
offence, or to gratify his own whim or malice. And he may bring her day after
day, without cause assigned, and inflict any number of lashes he pleases, short
of twenty-five, provided only he pays the fee. Or, if he choose, he may have a
private whipping-board on his own premises, and brutalize himself there.
A shocking
part of this horrid punishment was its publicity, as I have said; it was in a
courtyard surrounded by galleries, which were filled with coloured persons of
all sexes - runaway slaves, committed for some crime, or slaves up for sale.
You would naturally suppose they crowded forward, and gazed, horror-stricken,
at the brutal spectacle below; but they did not; many of them hardly noticed
it, and many were entirely indifferent to it. They went on in their childish
pursuits, and some were laughing outright in the distant parts of the
galleries; so low can man, created in God's image, be sunk in brutality.

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After I finished cleaning Mistress’ pussy from our delightful session on the big brass bed, she seemed very pleased with me. She told me that, provided I remained as obedient as I had been that day, I would not have to be a puppy dog any more, at least not for the present.

"No more sleeping in the doggie cage, Mistress?" I asked.

"Not unless we need to refresh your obedience training lessons, li’l one," she replied.

I was very pleased to hear this. Sleeping on the bed would be so much more comfortable than on the thin pad in that cage.

"Now, slave Arch, it’s time for you to get yourself cleaned up. There is work to be done, and your training must continue. Get into the bathroom and take a shower. I will be back for you in a little while."
"Yes, Mistress." I went directly to the bathroom, closing the door.

Immediately the door was opened behind me. "You will not close this door without my permission, Arch!" Mistress scolded.

"Sorry, Mistress. I didn’t know, Mistress."
"Yes, Ma’am. May I close the door, Ma’am?"
"No, you may not! I have told you previously, so far as you are concerned, there is no privacy here. Do you understand that?"
"Now, get cleaned up. I’ll be back for you."
"Yes, Mistress." As she left the room, I availed myself of the toilet, then removed my ankle and wrist straps—I could not remove my collar, because it was secured by the little padlock—and turned on the shower. The warm water felt so soothing. I lathered my head with soap. It felt very strange to feel only bare scalp there. As I continued to lather the rest of my body, I began to think about all that had taken place since I first was ushered into the office of ‘Ms. Stella Smith’, if that’s what her name really is. What ever her name is, I thought, she is now Mistress Stella to me—at least until I can find some way to get out of this rediculous situation I find myself in.

I thought about how much different I must look, with my head and body completely shaved, and with a collar locked around my neck and a steel ring around my cock and balls. As I was thinking about that, unconsciously, I held my cock in my hand and began to rub it. The warm lather felt so good, and it made me think about the exciting feeling of Mistress’s velvet cunt sliding up and down on it. In spite of the fact that I’d had an orgasm just a little while ago, it began to get hard again. With warm water running over my body, and my slick, hard cock in my hand, I relaxed, stroking it and loosing all consciousness of where I was and what I was doing—or supposed to be doing.

Suddenly, I heard Mistress’s voice not three feet from me. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" she shouted. "ARE YOU PLAYING WITH MY PHALLUS? YOU DON’T HAVE PERMISSION TO PLAY WITH THAT COCK! I’TS MINE, AND YOU DON’T PLAY WITH IT UNLESS I SAY YOU CAN!"
I was dumbstruck. I didn’t know what to say or do. I let go of my hard prick and stood there staring at her. Water from the shower was cascading over me, and my cock, covered with soapy lather, was pointed straight at her. "I’m sorry, Mistress…I didn’t know, Mistress…I didn’t realize what I was doing, Mistress…I…I…"
"I see you must be taught a lesson, slave. You will be punished for this. Perhaps then you will ‘know’ and you will ‘realize’ what you are doing."
"I’m sorry, Mistress," I said, contritely.

"I’m going to make sure you are sorry," Mistress declared.

"But Mistress, it wasn’t intentional…and I didn’t realize I was doing something wrong. I won’t do it again," I said, hoping she would relent about whatever punishment she had in mind.

"Arch, here punishment for any infraction is administered the first time the infraction occurs and each and every time thereafter. You will be told ahead of time what that punishment will be and when it will be administered. That way, you will have an opportunity to think about the punishment to come and the reason for it. You will be expected to present yourself for punishment at the appointed time and in the appropriate manner. On this occasion your punishment will be five strokes of the strap across your butt. After you have finished cleaning up and getting yourself dried off and your wrist and ankle straps back on, you will come to me and tell me you are ready for your punishment. Is that clear? Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mistress, I understand," I said, looking down at the floor.

Without saying another word, Mistress left the room.

I rinsed the soapy lather off my body and dried myself slowly, wanting to delay the inevitable as long as possible. Then I realized that, because the punishment was inevitable, delaying it just gave me more time to think about it. That was punishment in itself. Finally, I realized that, by telling me what the punishment would be then setting it for some time in the future, Mistress intended to make me fearful by giving me time to dwell on it. I hurried to finish what I was doing and quickly put my wrist and ankle straps on. Then I set out to find Mistress Stella and get the punishment behind me—so to speak.
I found her in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table drinking coffee and talking to Mistress Aurora. They were laughing, and I wondered whether it was at my expense. The only thing I heard was Mistress Stella saying, "…and we’ll have to have Luna test him." Then they laughed again. I wondered what that meant.

I cleared my throat, and, when they looked at me, I said, "Here I am, Mistress."
"Yes, Arch? You have something to say to me?" Mistress Stella said.

I swallowed hard and replied, "Yes, Mistress. I’m ready for my punishment."
"Very good, li’l one." She stood up. To Mistress Aurora she said, "Please excuse me. I must attend to the training of my slave." Then to me she said, pointing to her strap, which was hanging in its usual place by the door, "Bring my strap and come with me, my naughty boy."
Carrying the instrument of my punishment, I followed her back to my bedroom—I was now thinking of it as that. As soon as we entered the room she ordered me, "Kneel at the spanking bench and lie flat on top of it."
"Yes, Mistress," I said, still holding the strap. Attached to the legs at one end of the bench were two padded kneeling posts. They were just at the right height so that, when I knelt on them, I could bend forward and lie horizontally on top. Because of the position of the kneeling posts, my thighs were spread and the tops of them pressed firmly against the end of the bench. There was even a ‘U’-shaped notch to accommodate my cock and balls, letting them hang freely. I assumed the position, as instructed.

"Hand me my strap," Mistress commanded. When I had handed it to her, she caressed the cheeks of my ass with her hand. As she did so, she said, "Now, Arch, extend your arms straight above your head and lie still. Count each stroke aloud so I can hear you—and thank me for each stroke as it is administered. It is, after all, being administered for your education and improvement, and you should appreciate it."
With that, she drew her arm far back and swung the strap forcefully. THWAAACK.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH," I screamed. I rose straight up and grabbed my ass with both hands.

"Oh dear, Arch, I see you will have to be restrained. Lie back down on the bench…NOW!"
"Yes, Mistress." I lay back down and again extended my arms.

Mistress went to the cupboard, opened a door, and got a long leather belt. She brought it to the spanking bench, and, passing it underneath, buckled it over my back just below my shoulders. "Now, we shall start again," she said. "Don’t for get to count the strokes, my naughty slave. She drew her arm back and delivered another blow. THWAAAACK.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH," I screamed again and strained against the belt, followed by, "Two. Thank you, Mistress."
Again, Mistress caressed my ass as she said, "Dear, dear, dear, Arch. Don’t you understand when I said ‘we shall start again’ that meant the count starts at ‘one’, not ‘two’. Besides, I have yet to hear you count ‘one’, nor to thank me for that stroke. Now…we shall start again!"
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH. One. Thank you, Mistress."
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH. Two. Thank you, Mistress."
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH. Three. Thank you, Mistress." My ass was on fire.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH. Four. Thank you, Mistress."
"Good boy. Last one, Arch." I felt the palm of her hand again caressing my ass. She was taunting me. "Are you ready, my slave?"
"Yes, Mistress," I replied, wishing she would just get it over with.

Silence. Nothing. Waiting for the last blow was excruciating. Finally…after what seemed an interminable time…THWAAAACK.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH. Five. Oh god, thank you, Mistress."
Then, playfully, she reached between my legs with the strap and tapped on my balls. "That should help you to remember that all this is mine, and you must have my permission to play with it." Mercifully, before she released me from the bench, Mistress rubbed cool, soothing, lotion on my flaming butt. After that she released me.

As I got up off the spanking bench, she immediately noticed, and I realized for the first time, that my cock was rigid as a pole. She laughed aloud. Sitting on a soft chair, she beckoned to me. "My god, slave, you are a pain slut! Come here, li’l one and kneel beside me." When I was on my knees beside her, she clutched my head to her breast. Holding it there, she gently kissed my naked skull. It was then that I realized she was growing fond of me—and I of her. She held me in this manner for some time, saying nothing and gently rubbing my back. When my cock and I were fully relaxed and the fire on my ass had diminished to dull heat, she said, "Alright, Arch, get your new clothes on and come to me in the kitchen." She kissed the top of my head again, released me, and left the room.

I put on my new harness, dutifully attaching the bottom strap to my cock and ball ring. Then I pulled on the little leather thong and stepped into my sandals. I decided I liked the thong because, at the present time, it felt good to have nothing touching the cheeks of my sore ass.

When I entered the kitchen Mistress Stella was again sitting at the table chatting with Mistress Aurora. "I’m here, M
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