My Black Secretary Owns Me
By Aramis
I am not a gambling man, but I was so sure of it. I was so sure that my Chicago Bears were going to beat the Raiders in that Super Bowl that I began to brag about it at work.
My executive assistant, Deniece, is a lovely, 30ish, African American woman from Oakland, and it turned out that she is a major Raiders fan. Her family even has season tickets. We are not in Oakland or Chicago, but we carried our football loyalties to our current homes.
So the Friday before the big game, I said something like, "I just know the Bears are going to cream those sorry Raiders, who have no running game." And Deniece looked at me from her desk, and said, 'Oh yes? Would you care to bet on that?"
"I'll bet you a dollar-an-hour raise if Oakland beats the Bears," I said, thinking I was generous.
She shook her beautiful head and smiled. "No, i don't want your money. I want your freedom. If the Raiders win, I want you to be my total slave for the next month, outside of work."
"I won't do anything illegal," I said, taking the bet because I knew she would not win.
"You will do as you're told, but you won't have to worry about that. If you do, my brother in law is a cop. And if the Bears win, then I'll be your slave for a month, too; same conditions."
"YOu've got a deal," I said.
She pulled out a tape recorder from under her desk that had been running. "And I've got a witness," she said.
The Bears lost, 32-14. How humiliating.
Immediately after the game ended, the phone rang. "Hey, boy, this is your new owner Deniece. Be ready to serve me right after work tomorrow. YOu will not be going home after work, you'll be coming home with me, just so you know. Man, am I going to have fun bossing around my boss!"
Then she hung up. What had I gotten myself into? Deniece was nice, considerate, an excellent worker, with high standards, and as I said, was very attractive, single with no kids. The next day I went to work and tried to pretend nothing had happened. But she did nothing of the sort, and told some people about our bet and that I had lost! I thought that was in poor taste, but she won the bet and I couldn't really say anything.
As soon as the clock hit 5:00 P.M., the office emptied out, leaving me and her. "Take my briefcase and my bag and follow me to my car," she ordered. "You will walk behind me like the servant you now are!"
The drive to her home was not long but she gave me instructions. She was all business.
“You are to call me Master, and I will call you whatever I damn well please. I do like the sound of the word, ‘slave,’ though. I will thoroughly enjoy having a white man doing my bidding!! After all my race has been through at your honky hands, and your male hands, it will be sweet cream indeed to extract some payback!”
She looked over at me and smiled and her teeth fairly gleamed at the prospect of humbling me in ways I could not imagine.
“You are not to speak unless spoken to, or given permission. All women are your superiors, and if my sister comes over, or one of my neighbors, you do what they say, because that’s what I say. Any disobedience on your part, any hesitation to do what I command, any laziness or even the hint of an attitude problem, will be met with punishment. Am I clear? You will obey everything I tell you without complaining, or I will get out the whip I used to use on my old boyfriend and beat you even after you’re crying for mercy. Actually, I hope you DO cry for mercy, because that just gets me hot and aroused, and I’ll beat you some more while I cum!”
I said nothing.
When we pulled into the driveway it was around 5:20 p.m. and the sun was setting. She led me on the walkway to the front door, and then stopped. I stopped.
“Get down on your knees,” she ordered. Even though it was in public, I did so. Her curvaceous rear end was in front of my face. I had a feeling what was coming next.
“My neighbors are just coming home. I want them to see I have a new boy toy in my possession. Kiss my black ass, and don’t stop until I tell you!”
I leaned forward and began to kiss her butt, one check and then the other, and again and again. I heard her chuckle with satisfaction. I heard a car door slam nearby.
“Deniece, what’s this I see?” I heard a female voice call out.
“This is my boss, finding out who the real boss is! He bet me the Bears would beat the Raiders and he has to be my slave for the next month. Ain’t it grand seeing a honky kiss ass?”
“When can I get some?”
“I’ll let you know if he’s worth sharing,” she replied. “I wanna make sure he’s a good slave before I let anyone else use him. I don’t know how good he’s gonna be yet.”
She eventually ordered me to stop and on my knees I followed her into her house. The neighbor, another black lady, gazed in amused amazement. “I want you to kiss my ass, too,” she said to me as I entered the house.
Deniece put her things away, fixed herself a drink, and then in the living room sat down in a recliner, bringing her feet up. I was still on my knees.
“Slave, get in here! Now, what do you think I want you to do?”
I looked at her feet. “Take off your shoes?”
“I want you to beg me for the honor of kissing my shoes and licking them clean, first,” she said. “Beg me!”
“Please, Master, please let me have the privilege of kissing your beautiful shoes. Let me kiss them and let me lick them clean, because they are dusty and the things that house your feet should be treated royally. Please, Master, I don’t deserve it, but please show me mercy and let me kiss your shoes and lick them clean!”
“Not too bad for a first try,” she mused. “I suppose it will do for now, but later I want to see some tears when you beg. All right, honky, get busy and kiss my shoes!”
She cackled with delight as I covered her black pumps with fervent kisses. I kissed the vamp, the sole, the heel, all over, and then did the other shoe. She started telling me how good it felt for her to have a white man humble himself at her feet like this, and how she was going to love having this done for the next month. Then her tone changed, as I finished a round of kissing, and she said, “Lick, boy!”
I licked where before I had kissed. “I like your enthusiasm,” she said. “You seem to like licking my shoes. I wondered how you’d react to this. Maybe we can make this last longer than a month, hmmm?”
I didn’t say anything, I just licked with a passion. She had nice shoes, and I didn’t notice until now that she had not worn any hose or stockings; the shoes were on her bare feet. “Lickin’ the sole of my shoe, my my, finally the white man learns his place in the world,” she said with a regal sigh. Suddenly she flexed her feet without my expecting it, and her shoes were sloughed off. Her black bare feet were before me as I knelt before her.
She smiled again, as I looked at her with some trepidation. “Behold your gods!” she said. “You were born to be beneath my black bare feet, slave boy, and now you get your first chance to worship my feet! Kiss them. And thank me.”
I leaned forward again and inhaled the musky aroma of shoes freshly liberated from leather pumps. Her skin was dark, and smooth, and demanding of homage. “Thank you,” I said quietly as I began kissing her bare feet.
I kissed like a lover kisses the face of his beloved. I kissed reverently, lovingly, slavishly, but not slobberingly. I found myself saying, “Thank you,” more than once, breaking the not-spoken-to rule, but she didn’t mind.
I found out why. She had fallen asleep!
Should I or shouldn’t I? Now was my chance to escape. But she had the tape recording, and I didn’t want to leave. I was falling in love with Deniece in all her sexy dominance. Should I or shouldn’t I . . . lick her feet? She hadn’t told me to do that yet. I had to finish the shoe kissing before I started the shoe licking. Would it be the same for foot kissing and foot licking? She might applaud my adoration if she woke up and saw I’d gone to the next level of worship.
So I began to press my tongue against her arch. Against her heel. On her full sole. And then she woke up. Angry.
“Slave!! I did NOT give you permission to lick my feet yet! Now I’ll have to turn your white ass red.” She got up, got her shoes back on, and stormed out of the room. When she came back in, she had that whip she was talking about, and she was not smiling.
My executive assistant, Deniece, is a lovely, 30ish, African American woman from Oakland, and it turned out that she is a major Raiders fan. Her family even has season tickets. We are not in Oakland or Chicago, but we carried our football loyalties to our current homes.
So the Friday before the big game, I said something like, "I just know the Bears are going to cream those sorry Raiders, who have no running game." And Deniece looked at me from her desk, and said, 'Oh yes? Would you care to bet on that?"
"I'll bet you a dollar-an-hour raise if Oakland beats the Bears," I said, thinking I was generous.
She shook her beautiful head and smiled. "No, i don't want your money. I want your freedom. If the Raiders win, I want you to be my total slave for the next month, outside of work."
"I won't do anything illegal," I said, taking the bet because I knew she would not win.
"You will do as you're told, but you won't have to worry about that. If you do, my brother in law is a cop. And if the Bears win, then I'll be your slave for a month, too; same conditions."
"YOu've got a deal," I said.
She pulled out a tape recorder from under her desk that had been running. "And I've got a witness," she said.
The Bears lost, 32-14. How humiliating.
Immediately after the game ended, the phone rang. "Hey, boy, this is your new owner Deniece. Be ready to serve me right after work tomorrow. YOu will not be going home after work, you'll be coming home with me, just so you know. Man, am I going to have fun bossing around my boss!"
Then she hung up. What had I gotten myself into? Deniece was nice, considerate, an excellent worker, with high standards, and as I said, was very attractive, single with no kids. The next day I went to work and tried to pretend nothing had happened. But she did nothing of the sort, and told some people about our bet and that I had lost! I thought that was in poor taste, but she won the bet and I couldn't really say anything.
As soon as the clock hit 5:00 P.M., the office emptied out, leaving me and her. "Take my briefcase and my bag and follow me to my car," she ordered. "You will walk behind me like the servant you now are!"
The drive to her home was not long but she gave me instructions. She was all business.
“You are to call me Master, and I will call you whatever I damn well please. I do like the sound of the word, ‘slave,’ though. I will thoroughly enjoy having a white man doing my bidding!! After all my race has been through at your honky hands, and your male hands, it will be sweet cream indeed to extract some payback!”
She looked over at me and smiled and her teeth fairly gleamed at the prospect of humbling me in ways I could not imagine.
“You are not to speak unless spoken to, or given permission. All women are your superiors, and if my sister comes over, or one of my neighbors, you do what they say, because that’s what I say. Any disobedience on your part, any hesitation to do what I command, any laziness or even the hint of an attitude problem, will be met with punishment. Am I clear? You will obey everything I tell you without complaining, or I will get out the whip I used to use on my old boyfriend and beat you even after you’re crying for mercy. Actually, I hope you DO cry for mercy, because that just gets me hot and aroused, and I’ll beat you some more while I cum!”
I said nothing.
When we pulled into the driveway it was around 5:20 p.m. and the sun was setting. She led me on the walkway to the front door, and then stopped. I stopped.
“Get down on your knees,” she ordered. Even though it was in public, I did so. Her curvaceous rear end was in front of my face. I had a feeling what was coming next.
“My neighbors are just coming home. I want them to see I have a new boy toy in my possession. Kiss my black ass, and don’t stop until I tell you!”
I leaned forward and began to kiss her butt, one check and then the other, and again and again. I heard her chuckle with satisfaction. I heard a car door slam nearby.
“Deniece, what’s this I see?” I heard a female voice call out.
“This is my boss, finding out who the real boss is! He bet me the Bears would beat the Raiders and he has to be my slave for the next month. Ain’t it grand seeing a honky kiss ass?”
“When can I get some?”
“I’ll let you know if he’s worth sharing,” she replied. “I wanna make sure he’s a good slave before I let anyone else use him. I don’t know how good he’s gonna be yet.”
She eventually ordered me to stop and on my knees I followed her into her house. The neighbor, another black lady, gazed in amused amazement. “I want you to kiss my ass, too,” she said to me as I entered the house.
Deniece put her things away, fixed herself a drink, and then in the living room sat down in a recliner, bringing her feet up. I was still on my knees.
“Slave, get in here! Now, what do you think I want you to do?”
I looked at her feet. “Take off your shoes?”
“I want you to beg me for the honor of kissing my shoes and licking them clean, first,” she said. “Beg me!”
“Please, Master, please let me have the privilege of kissing your beautiful shoes. Let me kiss them and let me lick them clean, because they are dusty and the things that house your feet should be treated royally. Please, Master, I don’t deserve it, but please show me mercy and let me kiss your shoes and lick them clean!”
“Not too bad for a first try,” she mused. “I suppose it will do for now, but later I want to see some tears when you beg. All right, honky, get busy and kiss my shoes!”
She cackled with delight as I covered her black pumps with fervent kisses. I kissed the vamp, the sole, the heel, all over, and then did the other shoe. She started telling me how good it felt for her to have a white man humble himself at her feet like this, and how she was going to love having this done for the next month. Then her tone changed, as I finished a round of kissing, and she said, “Lick, boy!”
I licked where before I had kissed. “I like your enthusiasm,” she said. “You seem to like licking my shoes. I wondered how you’d react to this. Maybe we can make this last longer than a month, hmmm?”
I didn’t say anything, I just licked with a passion. She had nice shoes, and I didn’t notice until now that she had not worn any hose or stockings; the shoes were on her bare feet. “Lickin’ the sole of my shoe, my my, finally the white man learns his place in the world,” she said with a regal sigh. Suddenly she flexed her feet without my expecting it, and her shoes were sloughed off. Her black bare feet were before me as I knelt before her.
She smiled again, as I looked at her with some trepidation. “Behold your gods!” she said. “You were born to be beneath my black bare feet, slave boy, and now you get your first chance to worship my feet! Kiss them. And thank me.”
I leaned forward again and inhaled the musky aroma of shoes freshly liberated from leather pumps. Her skin was dark, and smooth, and demanding of homage. “Thank you,” I said quietly as I began kissing her bare feet.
I kissed like a lover kisses the face of his beloved. I kissed reverently, lovingly, slavishly, but not slobberingly. I found myself saying, “Thank you,” more than once, breaking the not-spoken-to rule, but she didn’t mind.
I found out why. She had fallen asleep!
Should I or shouldn’t I? Now was my chance to escape. But she had the tape recording, and I didn’t want to leave. I was falling in love with Deniece in all her sexy dominance. Should I or shouldn’t I . . . lick her feet? She hadn’t told me to do that yet. I had to finish the shoe kissing before I started the shoe licking. Would it be the same for foot kissing and foot licking? She might applaud my adoration if she woke up and saw I’d gone to the next level of worship.
So I began to press my tongue against her arch. Against her heel. On her full sole. And then she woke up. Angry.
“Slave!! I did NOT give you permission to lick my feet yet! Now I’ll have to turn your white ass red.” She got up, got her shoes back on, and stormed out of the room. When she came back in, she had that whip she was talking about, and she was not smiling.
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