Black Lesbian Domination
Copyright© 2025 by LezDom
Chapter 2
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Yolanda, a black Lesbian and her three sisters, who dominates white women and girls and seduces, trains and sells them to a network of dominant and powerful black lesbians
Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Fa/ft Teenagers Coercion Consensual Drunk/Drugged Hypnosis Mind Control NonConsensual Reluctant Slavery Gay Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Slut Wife Incest Mother Sister Daughter Niece Aunt DomSub FemaleDom Humiliation Rough Spanking Interracial Black Male Black Female White Male White Female Anal Sex Analingus Double Penetration First Oral Sex Pegging Petting Babysitter AI Generated
Pam Dawber adjusted the strap of her purse, her knuckles white. The grocery store hummed with mundane chatter – coupons, soccer practice, the price of organic milk. Normal sounds. Normal life. Four kids waited at home, homework sprawled across the kitchen table. Yet her gaze snagged on the cashier’s slim wrists as she bagged oranges. Pam imagined fingers tracing the delicate blue veins there. Heat prickled her neck. *Stop it.
Later, rinsing lettuce at the sink, she replayed the memory unbidden: Yolanda’s low laugh in that sleek, mirrored office, the scent of expensive coffee and ambition thick in the air. Pam had signed papers for her daughter’s portfolio shoot. Routine. Then Yolanda’s hand had brushed hers, lingering, electric. A tremor ran through Pam now, startlingly vivid. The cool water splashed her blouse, darkening the cotton. She dabbed at it, flustered. What was wrong with her?
The doorbell’s chime sliced through her thoughts. Clara’s excited shriek echoed from the living room. “Auntie Raven! Auntie Raven!” Pam dried her hands quickly, smoothing her shirt as she walked towards the commotion. Raven stood framed in the doorway, a vision in tailored charcoal trousers and a silk blouse the color of claret. Her smile was warm, effortless, as Clara launched herself into Raven’s arms. “My favorite niece!” Raven laughed, effortlessly catching the girl and spinning her gently. She held a glossy bakery box. “Brought bribes. Chocolate eclairs.”
Pam’s breath hitched. Raven’s presence felt like cool silk sliding against raw nerves – elegant, controlled, yet unnervingly intimate. Her gaze swept the hallway, lingering on the framed school photos before settling on Pam. “Hope I’m not interrupting dinner prep?” Raven’s voice was smooth honey, but Pam saw the assessing sharpness beneath. This wasn’t a social call. It was reconnaissance. Raven stepped inside, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood. “Yolanda mentioned you were ... settling in beautifully.” The pause was deliberate, laden. “She thought it wise I check in personally. Ensure everything’s progressing smoothly for everyone.” Her eyes flickered pointedly towards the sound of teenage laughter drifting from the den.
Clara clung to Raven’s leg, beaming up at her. “Auntie Raven brought eclairs!” Raven gently disentangled herself, handing Pam the bakery box. “For the children,” she murmured, her tone shifting imperceptibly. The warmth vanished, replaced by a quiet command. “Perhaps we could talk? Somewhere ... quieter?” Pam’s throat tightened. She gestured numbly towards the living room, away from the kitchen clatter. Raven moved past her, the faint scent of vetiver and something crisply metallic trailing behind. Pam followed, the eclairs suddenly heavy as lead in her hands. Instructions. Yolanda’s velvet threats echoed in her mind – the portfolio shoot wasn’t just for her daughter. It was Pam’s initiation test.
In the living room, Raven perched gracefully on the edge of the sofa, smoothing her trousers. Her gaze swept the room – the comfortable clutter of family life, toys tucked under chairs, crayon drawings pinned to the fridge. Pam hovered near the doorway, absurdly aware of her damp blouse. “Your home is lovely,” Raven stated, her smile not reaching her eyes. “So ... vibrant. Full of potential.” She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur Pam felt in her bones. “Yolanda values discretion above all, Pam. And trust. Which is why she’s asked me to oversee ... integration.” Raven paused, letting the word hang. “Bring your husband. Introduce me. Properly.” Pam’s knuckles whitened on the box. Raven’s gaze sharpened. “And your other children. Tonight.”
Pam swallowed hard, the command chillingly clear. Raven wanted proximity. Observation. Access. She forced her legs to move towards the den. “Mark? Kids? Come meet Raven properly!” Her voice sounded falsely bright. Mark emerged first, wiping grease from his hands, likely interrupted from fixing the lawnmower. His easy smile faltered slightly at Raven’s intense presence. “Mark Dawber,” Pam said quickly. “This is Raven Hughes, from Lumina Models.” Raven stood, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “A pleasure, Mark. Pam speaks so highly of your family.” Her grip was firm, assessing. Pam saw Mark’s slight surprise – the compliment, the unexpected warmth radiating from this formidable woman.
The children tumbled in – thirteen-year-old Clara still buzzing, fifteen-year-old Liam slouching with teenage indifference, and twelve-year-old twins Jenifer and Sophie trailing behind. Raven’s gaze catalogued each child with unnerving precision. “Such beautiful children,” she murmured, her smile softening into something dangerously maternal. She focused on Mark. “You must be so proud, Mark. Raising such treasures requires such strength ... and sacrifice.” Pam watched Mark puff up slightly, flattered by her focused attention. Raven gestured gracefully towards the sofa. “Join me? Clara mentioned eclairs...” As the children clustered excitedly around the bakery box Raven opened, Pam felt trapped. Raven had effortlessly commandeered her living room.
Raven rose smoothly, extracting a slim, beautifully wrapped box from her oversized designer tote. The silver paper shimmered under the living room light. “A small token, Pam,” she said, her voice pitched low, intimate, yet audible enough for Mark to hear. “Yolanda insisted. A little ‘welcome’ gift. She felt ... inspired by your potential.” Raven extended the box towards Pam. The weight was surprising, substantial. Fine silk ribbon coiled beneath Pam’s trembling fingers. Mark looked intrigued. “Open it later?” Pam stammered, desperate to avoid whatever lay inside. Raven’s smile tightened fractionally. “Oh, but Yolanda would be so disappointed if you didn’t try it on immediately. She selected it personally. To ensure ... the fit.” The emphasis was subtle, a velvet-gloved fist. Raven’s eyes locked onto Pam’s, unblinking. “Perhaps your bedroom? Privacy ensures the right impression.”
Trapped, Pam felt the eyes of her family – Mark’s mild curiosity, the children distracted by eclairs – like weights. She couldn’t refuse without raising suspicion. “Of course,” she breathed, forcing a smile. “This way.” Raven glided behind her, the scent of vetiver intensifying, filling the narrow hallway like a physical presence. Each step towards the master bedroom felt like walking towards a precipice. The mundane familiarity of family photos lining the walls mocked her. Behind her, Raven’s silence was louder than words, an oppressive anticipation pressing against Pam’s spine. She pushed open the bedroom door, the ordinary chaos of unmade bed and discarded laundry suddenly feeling like damning evidence of a life about to fracture.
Inside, Pam turned, clutching the heavy box. Raven closed the door with a decisive click. The sound echoed in the sudden stillness, sealing them in a world apart. The cheerful sounds of her children faded instantly. Raven didn’t glance at the gift. Her expression shifted, the polished veneer dissolving into predatory command. “Set it down,” Raven ordered, her voice low, stripped of its honeyed warmth, vibrating with a raw authority that bypassed thought. Pam obeyed instantly, placing the box on the dresser with trembling hands. Raven stepped closer, invading Pam’s space, her dark eyes pinning Pam like a butterfly. “Knees,” Raven commanded, the single syllable sharp, final. It wasn’t a request. It was a demand that resonated deep in Pam’s core, triggering the latent, forbidden desire Yolanda had ignited. A whimper escaped Pam’s lips as her legs buckled, sending her crashing gracelessly onto the thick carpet, staring up at the elegant, terrifying figure before her.
Raven gazed down, her expression unreadable, a queen surveying her subject. Slowly, deliberately, she gathered the wine-dark silk of her skirt, bunching the expensive fabric high around her hips. Beneath, she wore nothing. The powerful lines of her thighs, the soft dark curls at their apex, the intimate scent of musk and vetiver washed over Pam, thick and potent. Pam’s breath hitched, her mouth flooded with saliva, a desperate ache blooming deep in her belly. She hadn’t known she could crave something this intensely – this forbidden intimacy offered like a cruel sacrament.
Raven’s fingers tangled in Pam’s honey-blonde hair, not gently. She pulled, guiding Pam’s face forward with irresistible pressure. “Show me what you learned from Yolanda,” Raven murmured, her voice a velvet lash. Pam obeyed instantly, burying her face against Raven’s heat, her tongue instinctively seeking the slick, swollen folds. The taste was startlingly complex – salt, earth, something faintly metallic. Pam lost herself in the rhythm, laving broad strokes against the sensitive bud she found, then delving deeper, her tongue pressing, circling. Raven’s thighs tightened around Pam’s head, trapping her. A low groan escaped Raven, vibrating through Pam’s skull. “Yes ... like that,” Raven hissed, her hips rocking minutely against Pam’s mouth, driving her deeper. Pam moaned in response, the vibrations eliciting a sharp gasp from above. Raven’s fingers tightened painfully, anchoring Pam exactly where she was wanted.
The scent intensified, enveloping Pam completely – musk, citrus-edged vetiver, and the overwhelming tang of Raven’s arousal. Pam’s own need became a throbbing ache between her legs, ignored, irrelevant. Her entire world narrowed to the velvet heat against her lips, the trembling muscles beneath Raven’s skin, the desperate little sounds escaping Raven’s clenched teeth. Pam traced intricate patterns with her tongue, learned instincts from Yolanda’s brief, electric touch flooding back. She sucked gently, then harder, rewarded by Raven’s sharp intake of breath and the sudden flood of wetness coating her chin. Raven’s breathing grew ragged, shallow pants punctuated by guttural murmurs Pam couldn’t decipher. The tension coiled in Raven’s body was palpable, a taut wire about to snap.
A tremor ripped through Raven’s frame, starting deep in her belly and radiating outwards. Her thighs clamped like a vise around Pam’s head, silencing her own choked cry. Raven arched violently backwards, her spine bowing off the bedroom door she leaned against, head thrown back. A deep, shuddering groan tore from her throat, primal and unrestrained, vibrating through Pam’s skull. The taste flooding Pam’s mouth intensified, thick and salty-sweet. Raven’s hips ground against Pam’s face in jerky, uncontrolled motions, riding the cresting wave. Pam stayed buried, tongue working instinctively, drawing out every last tremor until Raven’s body went slack against the door, her grip in Pam’s hair loosening to a trembling caress.
Silence descended, broken only by Raven’s ragged breaths and Pam’s own muffled panting against damp skin. Slowly, Raven pushed herself upright, her movements fluid despite the lingering tremors. She smoothed her bunched skirt down her powerful thighs with deliberate grace, the silk whispering against her skin. Her dark eyes, hooded and sated, fixed on Pam kneeling amidst the discarded laundry. A slow, predatory smile touched Raven’s lips, devoid of warmth. “Satisfactory,” she murmured, the word dripping with condescension. She gestured lazily towards the door. “Clean yourself.” Pam scrambled to wipe her slick chin with the back of her hand, her face burning.
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