A Little Something Between Mary and Mr. X
(part 1)
...............
Mary was a pretty and petite young lady -- and an adult despite what some might think looking at her -- who wanted nothing more than to be treated like a Doll by a strong man.
She ended up under the Control of a man whose name will remain anonymous for now. But for the purposes of this retelling we will call him... Mr X.
He was rich and strict, handsome and fit, and his tastes in females ran heavily to the submissive, to BDSM & All Things Erotic & Primal. He could punish them and mark them and dole out pain and humiliation in equal doses -- when it made sense anyway and a girl seemed to Need it -- but was relatively humane overall, and sane.
Mary also was black and Mr. X was white, and while the color differences were certainly an extra spice to the dynamic between them it was not primarily about race, or about any old fashioned African-American Slavery or Southern plantation fantasy. It was more about... strength vs vulnerability, power vs fear, improvisation & excitement vs boredom or the mundane. About safety & predictability as much as it was about trying to sate -- for a while -- a frankly insatiable lust. About satisfying The Female Mind as much as her own body. About handling the little Animal inside her as much as giving her a big thick cock impalement which itself would inevitably lead to an insemination of his eager mate's tight, hot, gripping vaginal sheath.
In fact, if you were to imagine some lurid fan fantasy about Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner becoming a Thing one long enchanted night (or weekend, or year, or for forever) in the ultimate logical culmination of their Inferno-level romantic chemistry on display in the film, The Bodyguard, then, well, you would have a sense for The Thing going on between our little Mary here too and her own Mr. X.
But we digress.
Instead let us dive in to a scene between them now. Playing out one night, at home, behind closed doors.
It involved Mary being stripped nude, of course. And her nipples clamped with swinging weights. Her wrists cuffed together behind her own back. Her ankles chained far apart as she stood in the middle of a room, such that it would be impossible to close her legs no matter how much she tried. Blindfolded, also -- to heighten her sense of anticipation. To instill in her, perhaps -- Mr. X undoubtedly hoped -- a kind of fear that can make any girl's pussy wet. And right then Mary's hairless quim was *soaking*, its fluids running down her legs.
And where was Mr. X this night? Behind her, of course. Just out of Mary's sight. All the better to---
*SMACK!*
A small red rubber cat-of-nine tails had swung up from beneath her crotch and bit sharply into her wet slit, causing a momentary shock and agony.
She yelped.
And began to cry.
She could not help it. Mr X made her *feel* things, made her feel All the emotions, something the feminine soul seems to crave above all else.
She sobbed openly now. *Why does he strike so hard?* she wondered in terror.
