A/N: This story has no descriptive parts, no narrator. It's a dialogue between a Mistress and her submissive. Please comment and let me know if the experiment worked out or if it totally sucked. And just for your information, It's not necessary to understand the piece but I thought that some of you would want to know that this story takes place in the same...
My name is Jolene Brown. I'm a six-foot-tall, good-looking, blonde-haired and green-eyed white woman living in the city of Buffalo, New York. I'm a student at Buffalo State College, majoring in sociology. I basically want to understand people and why they do what they do. I also like to dominate people. Especially Black women. These sexy ladies from the inne...
When Catherine awoke the next morning, she replayed the events that had happened the previous morning in her head. She wondered how her little slave girl was doing and where she had slept that night. Her estate was surrounded by woods on all sides that stretched for miles. She liked her privacy and knew that the girl could not have made it too far. After muc...
Thanks again to jacuzzigirl, whose editing made this a better story. I had three choices. I could go home and drown my sorrows in a carton of Ben and Jerry's. I could order something to eat. Or I could get my wine glass refilled - for starters. I motioned to the bartender, and decided not to decide right this minute. I was looking good. I should have been...
Yasmin Sharif knew that Stephanie Claude was trouble the moment she walked into the Little Mogadishu Restaurant on that particular Tuesday evening, sauntering in with a bright smile and confident stride, like she owned the place. The young Haitian Canadian woman had that unique swagger common to those gals from the City of Montreal, Quebec. A style, confiden...
Millicent was not her original name, but she had heard it in a movie and had adopted it for now. Over the thousands of years that she had lived, figuratively speaking, she had had many names. Not so figuratively speaking, she was a vampire, a succubus to be exact, but unlike most of her kind, she no longer killed her food, but kept it around for a few years...
She steps into the room, taking your breath away. She is wearing a simple, nice pair of jeans and a snug white sweater. From your table in the corner the cold sends a chill up your spine. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself. She gives you a shy smile and sits down across from you. "Hey you..." she says, with far more confidence than she actually has....
I couldn't take it anymore. I continued to think about it so much that it seemed almost like reality. I'm sure she didn't feel the same way. The first time these thoughts occurred, she and I were having a sleepover. We both had insisted that we wanted to sleep downstairs on the floor in our sleeping bags and mountains of pillows and blankets. Truth be told,...
My name is Miranda Hill. A tall, red-haired and gray-eyed, forty-something white woman of Irish descent living in the city of Buffalo, New York. I'm openly gay, and work as a waitress in a restaurant. Life hasn't been easy for me since my divorce from my ex-husband Joaquin. I'm just trying to make it through the hell that is my daily life. Some things you ba...
Sandy stood nervously at the door to the dormitory. She peered at the tatty piece of paper in her hand, dormitory 4B had been scrawled on it in a rather untidy handwriting. Walking down the corridor she stared at the numbers on the doors, 1…. 2….. 3…. Ah there was no. 4. She knocked hesitantly, not sure whether this was the right room, there was no B next to...