My Perfect Pet

by AfroerotiK

Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult, Consensual, Gay, BiSexual, Fiction, DomSub, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Rough, Humiliation, Swinging, Gang Bang, Group Sex, Interracial, Black Female, Black Male, White Male, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Water Sports, Scatology, Cream Pie, Voyeurism, Public Sex, .

Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Turning my whiteboi into a gangbang slut

There is no such thing as the perfect submissive. There's no such thing as a perfect Domme for that matter either. There is, however, a symbiosis, a precious and delicate balance, an equilibrium that can only be achieved between Domme and sub, involving owner and pet that transcends all other relationships. No vanilla/romantic relationship can compare to the bond that is formed when complete trust and adoration marries with utter depravity and absolute control. When the desires of the Domme perfectly match the perversions of the sub, when the hunger of the filthy bitch satisfies the appetites of the Divine Bitch, perfection in domination and submission is achieved.

I created Michael. I made him from a vision formed from my perverse imagination. When I met him online all those many years ago, he was submissive and eager but he needed to be molded. Without a doubt his blond hair, blue eyes, his transparent pink skin and inherent slutty nature, and, of course, his laughably small but typical white cock made him a prime candidate for my particular brand of racial domination. He had to learn a very expensive lesson after he sent out a racist email about Obama. He had to pay and pay dearly for that little mistake. I asked him how, in fact, he could profess to be submissive to Blacks in private, especially intelligent, articulate, professional Black men exactly like Obama but espouse racist thoughts to his friends and co-workers. He had no answer other than to feign outrage, behave arrogantly, lie, and deny – behavior absolutely typical of white men when they are wrong. Learning that expensive lesson humbled him. He recognized how fucked up he was to profess love and worship of Black men in private, to crave denigration and humiliation from men of African descent sexually and then pretend he was superior in public.

Our virtual relationship started out slow. At first, he provided me with tributes. He did so willingly and of his own free will, with absolutely no coercion or pressure on my part. I think that's what made him stand out from all the rest of the subs who said they desired my attention. I'm not a financial Domme and I don't solicit, demand, or require tributes in any form from subs. So when he voluntarily provided the funds for me to get a brand new laptop, without strings or attempts to manipulate me to dominate him, I found favor in him. It was a thoughtful gesture that made me happy and, in turn, gave him joy in pleasing me. From there, things just seemed to flow naturally. I was dominant, he was submissive, and we understood our roles very well. He wasn't overly whiny and annoying but he wasn't arrogant and obnoxious either. It took us a lot of late night conversations to get to a point where he understood that I needed him to be submissive behind closed doors but that he had to be able to engage me as my equal; the perfect complement to my personality. I needed a sub who was as exceptional in his hunger for depravity as I am and as balanced, sane, and as charming as my vanilla persona is as well.

Today, after lots of bumps in the road, Michael has become all that I had ever hoped for and dreamed of in a submissive. More than his miraculous social transformation that allowed him to perfectly parrot my positions on race and racism in public; I expertly and patiently crafted and molded him into the single-most filthy slut, cum whore, and insatiable queen addicted to black dick I had ever encountered. His boicunt stays wet, throbbing, and ready for fucking at the drop of a hat, like a good whore always is. Even in chastity, he remains constantly aroused and dripping, in a persistent state of horniness. I allow him to maintain his job but he has voluntarily all but given up his regular social life, friends, family, and outside interests for our D/s relationship. Behind closed doors, immediately, from the very milli-second he walks beyond the majestic foyer of my custom home after work, he is subjected to some sort of extreme sexual situation where his nasty butthole is stretched, filled, and fucked relentlessly. Every day is a new adventure to see how far I can push him, to see how many loads of cum he can take, to see what sorts of extreme and nasty things I can think of and to get him to a sub space where he not only enjoys my warped demands but where he craves, needs, and BEGS for more. Honestly, I think his depth of perversion goes beyond my creative scope but for now I keep finding new and innovative ways to add variety to our repertoire of kinky games that seem to keep him satisfied. Well, at least as much as he can be satiated.

Reflecting back, our first meeting was extreme by most standards; it was pretty typical for the sorts of encounters that we've come to share however. I remember very vividly that first Friday evening as we dined at a cute little bistro on the river. Arriving early, he was nervous and fidgeting as he sat at the bar waiting not so patiently. I arrived exactly on time with my usual flair that turned heads when I walked in. I made sure to exaggerate my moves, sway my hips accented by the click of my high heels on the wooden floor. I extended my hand in greeting and Michael stared in disbelief, frozen to his bar stool. If I had said, "BOO!" I'm sure he would have pissed his pants right there in public. His hands shook with nerves as we were seated for dinner and he held my chair. I almost got up from the table and walked away I was so irritated with his inability to have a normal conversation. If the night wasn't so beautiful and the view wasn't so damned spectacular I would have excused myself 15 minutes into the evening. I kept saying, "Take a deep breath," and eventually, he started to relax, to gain control of his nerves and we began having a very pleasant exchange about the intricacies of straight ahead jazz and the wretched scum they call smooth jazz. We were able to converse freely and comfortably about all things kinky, casually discussing things that would have made the people at the next table cringe in horror had they had been listening carefully. In many ways, our friendship was cemented that evening, over amazing seafood and wine and laying the foundation for what would become the ultimate union of Domme and sub.

After an amazing dinner, as we sipped our coffee and slid molten lava cake around the plate with our forks, too full to eat another bite, I said, "There's a club not too far from here, would you like to join me in an evening of play?" He looked like a deer caught in headlights, staring blankly at me, eventually mumbling something incoherent, visibly shaking. You would have thought I would have said, "Would you kiss my ass, right here, right now, in front of all of these people."

"Relax, sweetie," I reassured him, "It's okay, we don't have to do anything. I was offering because there's chemistry between us, because I spoke to a couple of my friends earlier and they said that they would be hanging out and the place isn't far from here. I was just..."

Before I could even finish my thought, he blurted out, "I'll do it." His breathing was labored and it looked like he might hyperventilate any minute. "It's just that ... I didn't ... you know ... I didn't think that we would do anything tonight ... I thought we were just meeting to get to know each other in person." He was hyperventilating.

"Calm down, relax, take a deep breath," I assured him for the thousandth time. I could see that he was anxious and aroused but also a bit overwhelmed at the same time. I did my best to help him settle down. "I have some friends, some male friends in fact, and we get together about once a month to play. We are all connected because we are all from Kenya. Jomo and Matunde, we all call him Matt, they were both born in Kenya but moved to the US when they were small children. Reginald and I are both first generation American. Our parents were born in Africa and we were born in the US but we both lived in Mombossa, Eldoret, and Kisumu for much of our adolescent years, visiting our grandparents and cousins and such and we continue to travel back and forth with some frequency. I met Reggie on the plane coming home and I introduced him to Jomo and he introduced me to Matt." Michael seemed spellbound, captivated, hanging on my every word. "Are you okay, sweetie," I asked, genuinely concerned about him and his state of mind.

"Ma'am, I had no idea ... You know, I've been to Kenya," he said shyly, almost imperceptibly. I went to Narobi and Narok and I was VERY aroused by the concept of submitting sexually to the Maasai people ... it has been a fantasy of mine for a very long time."

We both laughed out loud and shared a moment of pure destiny and coincidence.

I continued on. "Well, like I was saying, the fellas and I all met and related because of our Kenyan connection but we share a fetish connection as well and we all like to get together and play every once in a while. Being who I am, with my following, I'm sort of the group leader of course and we've had some pretty amazing times with me heading up my marauding band of sexy brothas. Tonight, they called me and asked me if I wanted to hang out at the spot. I told them that I had plans and they said if things didn't work out, to swing by. They also said that if things DO work out, that I could swing by and bring them a toy to play with."

"Have you ever, I mean have they ever used a white boy for you Ma'am? I mean, what would be expected of me?"

.... There is more of this story ...

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