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?"

After a little more deep breathing I told him, "Yes, we have used white boys before. In fact, that's our specialty. We've done everything, and I mean everything with them. I control the subs, the situation, what happens, and how far things go. They do the fucking. If you want, and only if you consent, we can meet up with them later this evening and I'll see what sort of cock-sucking cum slut you can really be."

Michael swallowed hard. "I'll do whatever you want me to do Mistress. ANYTHING." His desire to please was written all over his face but I wasn't really sure he was up for anything that I would require of him. I thought I would put him to the test however and see just how far I could push him. I certainly didn't have anything to lose and if had regrets the next day, that wouldn't be my problem.

We walked to the car. "I'll drive," I said, and I unlocked the door to my car and held open the rear passenger door. He climbed in and I made sure to buckle him in like he was a toddler in a child seat in plain view of the other restaurant patrons who had a clear view of the parking lot from the deck. Leaning over him, my cleavage was inches from his face. I could hear him inhaling the fragrance of the mango shea butter that I wore to make my brown skin glisten. People stared, some with shock on their faces, others with intense curiosity. I'm sure some couldn't quite figure out what sort of dynamic was going on between us and I'm sure others could only have imagined in their wildest fantasies what was about to happen.

We drove a short distance to the club, less than 15 minutes in fact, and I watched in my rear view mirror how Michael was squeezing his cock through his pants, trying to play with it discretely but more so to make adjustments because he was hard and leaking. He had nothing but questions. "Do they have big cocks? This place we are going, what's it like? Am I going to get to do anything with you? Are people going to watch me do ... you know, stuff? Are you lovers with all of them?" He wouldn't stop asking questions. I answered some and let him wonder about others.

"Jomo and I dated for about a year. We are still great friends and we'll probably get back together in the future but for right now, he wants to concentrate on his career and says he doesn't have time for a relationship. We still love each other and we get together every once in a while and we occasionally fuck like wild beasts, sometimes in front of others just for the fun of it, other times in private because the chemistry is so strong. The rest of the guys observe a very strict 'hands off' policy as far as penetration is concerned but they have both eaten my pussy on more than a few occasions with Jomo there to give his 'permission' sort of. They are both very respectful of that male bond thingie that men have and they don't want to do anything to destroy the friendship so they are cool with just getting together to explore our kinks and not really too stressed about sex with me. Besides, I make sure they get all the pussy they can handle from white bois. I have so many white bois who want to submit to me, we could all get together and they could fuck someone different every night of the week and there still would a line of subs waiting for their turn."

In that instant, a look of fear came over Michael's pale face and made him look even whiter. "Ma'am, If they are going to fuck me, I didn't, prepare for that if you know what I'm saying."

I knew exactly what he was saying but I pretended not to. "No sweetie, what do you mean?"

"Well," he stuttered, "Sometimes, when ... well, what I'm trying to say is, if you are going to tell them to fuck me, they might be offended if I ... how can I put this?"

"Just say it precious, no need to be afraid, just say whatever's on your mind."

"OK," he took a deep breath. "Usually, if I know I'm going to be getting fucked, I will take precautions to be clean, you know, back there."

"Ohhhhh, you mean that your asscunt might be dirty and you will get shit on their dicks if they fuck you?" I've always found the white boys cower at the plain truth being spoken unapologetically. I could see him squeeze his semi-erect cock harder in the rear view mirror. He moaned in arousal as I said, "Well, you won't mind sucking their filthy cocks clean in that case, licking those thick, black dicks covered in your shit, up and down the shaft streaked with brown stains and the engorged heads covered with your smelly crap and their hot sperm from fucking you hard and deep in your dirty shit hole? That won't be a problem, will it? Will you look up at them and show them what a dirty pig you are that you are eager to lick your own foul waste just to get a taste of their sweet, hot cum and feel their gorgeous cocks in your shit eating mouth. That's the price you have to pay, isn't it, for getting three, thick, hard, black cocks shoved deep and hard in your asshole, pounding the shit out of you, making you scream, making that hole gape open, and dumping their hot loads of sperm deep inside you?" He didn't need to answer. He was moaning uncontrollably at that point and his breathing was labored. "I hope for your sake that you aren't too full because you are going to be eating all that nasty packed fudge while they fuck you deep in your shitbox. I better not smell any of your shit so you would be wise to beg them to fuck your mouthcunt the second you think there might be any shit on them. Who knows, before the night is over, you might be so be such a depraved shit-eating pig, that you will be begging my friends to shit in your mouth." I smiled sweetly. "The night is so very young." The fact that a black woman, especially one so sophisticated and classy, was so casually discussing the prospects of him eating shit, and being so graphic about it, almost made Michael cum in his pants.

Michael was sobbing a tearless cry, whimpering like a baby. "Yes, Ma'am," he whispered over and over again as we pulled into the parking lot of the club, wanting, no needing to be subjected to that and more. Coincidentally and totally without planning, Reginald pulled in seconds after us. I left Michael in the back seat of my car, his mouth hanging open, confused and wondering about the possible solution to his dilemma, drooling at the thought of doing what I had suggested, actually he was more aroused about the concept of doing something so nasty in front of people.

Reggie and I both got out of our respective vehicles and hugged in the crisp night air. We caught up with one another as it had been some time since we had last had an opportunity to chat. Michael sat in the back seat of my car and I pointed to him and Reginald casually glanced and we kept on with our friendly banter. I had the child locks in place so Michael couldn't get out of the car without me and he was helpless to do anything but sit there with his veritable nose pressed against the window and stare. Jomo and Matt were car-pooling so we decided to wait for them so that we could all go in the club together.

We didn't have to wait long; it was only a matter of minutes before they pulled in. I'm sure it must have felt like a million light years to Michael however. Jomo and Matt parked and got out and they all did the hugging/kissing ritual with me and the "giving dap" male ritual with each other. Jomo, I guess feeling particularly flirtatious and quite possibly even romantic, pulled me to him and ran his hands all over my full backside, his hands caressing the smooth, chocolate-colored silk of my dress. He put his tongue in my mouth, pressed his soft, full lips gently to mine and kissed me deeply, passionately and I forgot all about anyone else or anything else for that matter for a brief moment.

"OK guys, break it up. I'm in the mood to get my dick sucked now," Matt chimed in. "And little white boy over there looks like he is hungry to swallow my load. Hell, I might even have two loads for him." We all glanced towards the back seat of my car and saw Michael there with his pale face glowing in the night and laughed at him looking like a wild-eyed child imprisoned and seeking release.

I let Michael out of the car and I think he assumed there were going to be introductions and some sort of cordial conversation but my boys didn't give a fuck about him. He was just another slut to be used by them, they didn't care about his name, his likes and dislikes, they simply trusted me to direct the situation and they would go with the flow.

The club was really a swingers club for straight couples but in recent years, they had relaxed their "no homosexual play" rule. So while they didn't actually promote it, they didn't frown upon it either. I guess with so many cock-hungry white bois out there, they needed to adapt and change with the times. Bisexual women were always welcomed at the club so on the last Friday night of every month, they had a "Bi-friendly Party" that was geared towards men exploring their same sex desires. We didn't always use white boys to play with, sometimes we went there to just enjoy some sensual fun. The owners knew that when my boys and I walked through the door however, that there was going to be a super hot show and they would always make an extra large private room available just for us.

Courtney, the goth chick at the door who takes the money and gives out the membership cards and stuff like that, said, "Ohhhh, hi you guys. Long time no see, we missed you last month. Will you be needing a room with a view tonight or do you want something a little more secluded?" She looked Michael up and down with a slight look of disgust and possibly even envy on her face. We all conspired, did a quick vote and decided that tonight we wanted a room with a large window for voyeurs to watch and, if possible, we wanted a room that was large enough to accommodate people on sofas to sit and watch if it was available. I think we got such VIP treatment because people would show up just to watch us play, even on the nights we weren't there, with the hopes that they could see some of the super hot play that we brought to the club. Lots of swing clubs have little enclaves of sex but mostly people just wander around either looking for people who are fucking. With us, we brought our own party favors and would get the party started the minute we walked in the door. That inspired other people to loosen up and do their own things in their own private rooms and even in the public group rooms.

When most people hear that my friends and I are all African, they form an opinion that we are going to be half dressed African savages with beads and spears and doing a traditional Up Down Dance. My friends were all very good looking, if I must say so myself, accomplished, professional and Americanized to a certain extent. While none of us have forgotten our history or where we come from, we've assimilated well into our surroundings and we've flourished in Western society. I think we've all maintained that delicate balance that allows us to remain true to our history and culture but also to take advantage of living in the most industrialized, capitalist nation of the world without becoming enslaved to the dysfunctional and oft times hysterical behaviors that are so rampant upon our peers who denounce our homeland.

We ran the full gamut in terms of skin color, Matt and Reginald were the deepest, most delicious shade of rare African ebony found anywhere on the planet, their rich, dark skin almost casting a bluish hue they were both so dark. I fell right in the middle with a milk chocolate complexion and anyone who knew anything about Kenya could tell by my signature haircut and facial features that I was Maasai. In fact, Matunde and I were both Maasai so we both were tall and our frames were lean. That's not to suggest either of us were skinny. I have the curves that make a woman a Goddess and a man's mouth water and Matt spent many hours in the gym building muscle mass and ate a diet that filled out his frame that was uncharacteristic of Maasai men. Jomo was Luo and Reggie was Kikuyu but Jomo was a mixture of Asian, African, and European bloodlines so his features were "more refined" as they say. Jomo was Obamaesque in complexion. Reginald was the shortest of the bunch at 5'9", Matt was over 6' tall according to my estimates and Jomo was the tallest of the bunch. I, of course, am 5'10" but in heels, I'm almost as tall as my sweetie pie.

I let Matt give Michael a tour of the place, get comfortable with his surroundings while I got drinks for everyone from the bar. The rest of us socialized with the other patrons and danced a bit as well. Because the four of us have such an unconventional friendship, because we are so comfortable with our sexuality, it was nothing for Jomo and Reggie to start kissing me on my neck, undressing me on the dance floor and fingering me to the beat while white people stared in awe of our sensuality. We are all bisexual and not ashamed of that in any way so we turned heads when our play culminated in passionate, sensual eroticism where we were all just a tangle of beautiful bodies licking, sucking and fucking each other without regard to gender. Of course, the other Black people in the club were interested in watching us as well and would often start their own little public displays of affection only appropriate in a sex club inspired by our freedom, beauty, and blatant sexuality.

By the time Matt and Michael came back from exploring the club and going over the rules, I was hot and bothered and ready to play. That had given Courtney just enough time to velvet rope off, The Madison, my very favorite room that could accommodate us in comfort and allow for a few spectators to recline and watch with relative ease as well. We found our way to the room and people started to follow us, mostly regulars who knew that the white boy with us was about to get fucked like no one's business.

As the five of us poured into the semi private room and began to make ourselves comfortable all I could say was, "What the fuck is that god awful smell?" I put my hands over my mouth and nose and I almost wretched because of the foul odor.

"Yeah, that's ole boy. I guess he's so nervous that he's sweating like a pig." Matt's face was scrunched up and he was holding his nose and pointing at Michael.

"God Damn, he stinks like a fucking pig," Reginald said.

"Well, one of you needs to take him to the showers and get him washed because he is going to make me vomit," I said.

Michael made an attempt to defend himself with some lame, feeble excuses but I wasn't hearing any of it. We all trotted over to the shower rooms and the boys did rock, paper, scissors to see who would be the unlucky bastard to have the job of bathing whitey. Reggie lost. "And burn those fucking clothes," I yelled, "cuz I don't want him riding back in my car smelling like a barnyard animal." We'd actually been through this routine before. It was really a ritual in humiliation more than anything else but it was working. Oh, trust me he stunk, but the thrill was in the imagery of him being bathed like a little boy by his big, Black daddy. It seems like the hormones and pheromones of white boys kick into overdrive when they are nervous and it comes out in their pores as a funky smell, regardless of their personal bathing or deodorant habits. And what could be more humiliating than having to be bathed like a child, to stand there and have viewers gather and whisper in not so hushed tones about how embarrassing it must be to have to endure such treatment?

Reggie undressed Michael, taking off his clothes like a father does his child. Michael stood there, trying to cover up everything as it was being uncovered. Naked and exposed, he blushed from head to toe, making his pasty flesh turn pink, and quite honestly, slightly repulsive to me. Reggie undressed and everyone in the room couldn't help but stare. Even the men who called themselves straight, and they were few and far between on a night like tonight, had to take a second look. A perfectly sculpted body and a dick of mammoth proportions, with skin that was blacker than midnight, he was the embodiment of perfection. In contrast to Michael, the two literally and figuratively looked like night and day.

Under the spray of the communal shower, Reggie soaped Michael up roughly from head to toe. He had no choice but to comply and conform to Reggie's commands as he twisted and contorted Michael's body, lifting his arms and washing away the stench from his pits and bending him over and making a huge show of spreading his ass cheeks and fingering his asshole. Michael, struggling to stay balanced, braced himself on the shower wall and thrust his ass backwards, revealing his true slutty nature. As women and men alike, both black and white started to gather in the small communal shower room, Michael moaned loudly as Reggie had three, soapy, thick fingers twisting and thrusting in and out of his asshole. He humped back, his face pressed against the cold shower wall as Reggie gripped the back of his neck and forcefully held him in place as he pulled his cock back, between his legs, and soaped and stroked it roughly. On his tip toes, teetering between shame and pleasure, he grabbed his ankles as he was being milked like a cow. The crowd that gathered was closer now, turned on by the atypical show of a Black man so easily manhandling a white man, almost with disdain. Reggie's cock stood out straight, practically aimed right at Michael's hole and men and women alike who were spectators would have gladly gotten on their knees and sucked off that tower of erotic black flesh.

Satisfied that Michael was not only clean but sufficiently humiliated, Reggie grabbed a couple of towels and dried him off. Holding out his hand, he said, "Let's go." Michael reached for that strong hand like a little boy and padded naked through the nosey, aroused onlookers as Reggie waved his hand and they quickly dispersed like Moses parting The Red Sea. The crowd scurried quickly behind like rats enchanted by the tune of the African pied piper, anxious to see how the rest of the evening would unfold.

Matt, exceptionally horny that evening, started undressing and said, "Move out the way, I need to get my dick sucked now. I'm so ready to bust a nut I can't see straight."

"Oh hellllll naw. I had to wash his funky ass so I get first dibs at whatever hole I want. I want it tight and hot for me." Reggie was already naked and erect and he did have a right to go first. Jomo and Matt nodded reluctantly as Michael looked at me for permission or direction as to what to do.

"What are you waiting for bitch, get on your knees and service my beautiful friend," I commanded. He complied, anxious and ready to get the party started, his heart pounding out of his chest. Reggie stood stoically; his manhood before him, the head glistening with precum as he stroked it to maintain his stiffness. People started squeezing into the room, trying to find a spot where they could see everything. Glancing around, for a brief moment, Michael felt self-conscious. All of these people were going to see him be used, abused, and dominated by three beautiful Black men and a gorgeous Ebony Domme. The tiny part of him that is white, the holdover part of him that had that instinct, that arrogant gene, that little white devil who whispered in his ear and said white men were not, under any circumstances, to be submissive to black men, caused him a few seconds of hesitation. He looked around the room and saw the faces of strangers whose minds he could almost read, that said, "What sort of white man would lower himself to do something like that? What sort of white man could degrade his race and his gender to let those savages use him?" All of those thoughts and apprehensions hastily faded away when he looked in my eyes and I simply motioned for him to do whatever he was instructed to do. He KNEW that his responsibility, his job was to make me proud. It was only then that his true nature, that of a filthy cum slut, took over. The part of him that made him long, no NEED to be used, fucked, abused, and degraded, the part of his being that craved humiliation and cum took over.