My Brown Sugar Domme

Nis 15, 2024 // By:analsex // No Comment

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Anissa Jolie

When I agreed to meet Princess Tawny, I never in a million years expected that a) it would actually happen, or b) anything would come of it. I’ve had my share of online “dalliances,” even meeting a couple of women for a little fetish fun, but nothing like this… nothing that would so completely consume me and change my world. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

It all began one night while I was surfing the ‘Net, bored out of my mind. I was doing my usual chat room ping-pong thing, bouncing from one room to the next, trying to find people who were both enjoyable to talk with and tolerant of other folks’ sexual tastes (I had chosen my “TastingHerToes” screen name for the evening’s romp, and it more often than not met with a wide range of responses, ranging from disgust to downright belligerence). As the night progressed, I found myself entering rooms with more and more provocative headings, more sexually intriguing, if sometimes slightly masked by more commonly accepted euphemisms. Even online, most people don’t want to PUMMEL others with their interests.

Hence, I ended up in a room entitled “Bossy Black Babes.” The heading alone got my danglies twitching. I’ve long had fantasies involving black women, so I thought I’d enter the room and simply watch the proceedings for a bit, just to gauge the room participants’ honesty and openness. I can spot a phony or a closed-minded dweeb a mile away. And this way I could simply observe for a bit to see if it was the type of crowd I’d enjoy gabbing with. So, in I went. No expectations, just curiosity and a boatload of boredom. Besides, I’m so white I glow in the dark, and therefore expected to be zapped from the room immediately if this was supposed to be a blacks only room. Again, I could only wait and see.

But how incognito can a person be with my kind of blatant screen name? A few folks in the room noticed me on the participants list and when the room announced my arrival, and immediately began with their snide comments and the trite toe jokes everyone always thinks are so funny, no matter how many times they’ve all heard them before. I simply sat back and watched, amused at how small minds seemed to band together. Mob mentality. And the more open-minded in the room kept quiet, so as not to get caught supporting the target of everyone’s jibes and thus becoming a target themselves. Typical online bully and wall flower behavior.

Shaking my head with pity for those sad chatters, I clicked out of the room to continue my search for a desirable group of intelligent folks, when my Instant Message box popped up. The screen name that “spoke” to me as “PRINCESSTawnyToYou.” Her message read, “Don’t mind them. They’re nice enough people, just a little narrow-minded.”

I hesitated for a second, digesting the message. Before I could reply, the message continued, “My name is Tawny, though I prefer PRINCESS Tawny. I love your profile. Everything you like, I like too. Want to discuss it?”

Without going into the conversation’s specifics, it suffices to say that we chatted for the next hour or so, each of us feeling completely comfortable with the other. I read her profile as she had already read mine. We did indeed have much in common, specifically from a sexual aspect. As I caught glimpses of her profile between comments in IM, I saw that she was as kinky as I was, and she reveled in her sexuality, especially her dominant persona. Reading her profile helped me find the courage to ask her questions and reply openly to hers in return. In short, in no time at all we’d hit it off beautifully! No one was more shocked than myself. Luck is not something I have in great abundance – at least not GOOD luck. So, I was wary, trying to read between the lines, capturing yet another sick online fake. But, it didn’t happen. Tawny seemed more real and more adorable with each sentence. Slowly, my reservations – and what few inhibitions I have – melted away.

Over time, the initial IM’s led to many emails, sexually provocative discussions of almost every possible nature. Tawny seemed not only very intelligent, but wickedly imaginative. Her list of sexual fantasies and variations thereof rivaled my own. She seemed eager to delve into the enticing world of erotic role play. Almost anything I spoke of she was willing to try, and vice versa. It was as if our minds and souls were cast in the same mold. And with each chat and email we felt more and more as if we’d known each other for decades.

But, through all of this, we never exchanged photos. I told her I have personal reasons for not putting my picture online, and she was okay with that. However, I described myself completely honestly, with all my physical flaws. She didn’t seem to care. Likewise, I’m not into physical appearance, so I didn’t care that she didn’t send a photo. We accepted each other as we were. Looks, after all, mean very little. The vast majority of sexual arousal comes from what’s in the mind. Appearance, at least for me, has very little to do with it. I’ve known gorgeous women who were about as sexually interesting as a box of Kleenex, and plain women who’ve repeatedly knocked my socks off. So, a lack of photos (which you can’t always trust online, anyway) meant nothing to me. Tawny was obviously incredible, izmit escort even if she looked like Quasimodo.

That having been said, apparently Tawny picked herself up a digital camera at some point. About two weeks before our first meeting she emailed me a photo. In fact, that’s all she wrote in the subject box… just “photo.” Now, even though I don’t consider a person’s looks to be the deciding factor in whether or not I’m willing to meet them in person, I admit I was extremely curious about this woman. And, for all I knew, she’d sent me a photo of her car or a favorite painting. So, again expecting nothing, I opened the pic file…

…and was stunned.

Since I had repeatedly expressed my fondness for women’s derrieres, Tawny, obviously paying close attention, had decided to send me a photo of hers. No, no car or favorite painting. It was indeed Tawny’s round, lovely butt. The photo was a medium shot of her bent over what appeared to be the back of a sofa, her glorious nether cheeks – unashamedly naked – proudly displayed in the direction of my admiring eyes. And that was pretty much all I could see, except for the backs of her thighs from her knees up to that fine bottom. And between those thighs, just a hint of the promise hidden there. Tawny’s oh so desirable ass – and all of its surrounding succulent views – suddenly and unexpectedly mine to view. Teasing me. Enticing me. I have to admit, my penis rose up as if to take a peek for itself, straining against my jeans for a look. Below that rather stimulating photo, Tawny had decided to titillate me further. Knowing the photo would arouse my ardor, and knowing my tendency to be somewhat submissive sexually, she capped off her unexpected gift with the words, “Kiss my ass, white boy!” I could almost hear her chuckling wickedly. As much as that photo did for my libido, my one regret was that I couldn’t see her face in it. Facial expressions can tell us so much about people. Still, I stared at that oh so kissable ass for quite a long time that night. I really don’t even remember my reply to her. Something garbled and incomprehensible, no doubt. I just remember her subsequent response was quite gleeful and she kept reminding me how much my lips would enjoy giving her ass “proper respect.” Ah, the lovely pictures THAT short phrase etched into my brain!

A few days later, a second email arrived with the same subject – “photo.” This time, I shivered with anticipation as I opened it. And I was not disappointed. Tawny once again drove a stake into my heart, striking me deeply where I live. But when I opened the photo file this time I instinctively backed away from the computer screen, such was the extreme close-up nature of the picture. There, filling about two thirds of my screen, were the soft, sweet soles of Tawny’s mischievous feet. Toes splayed apart and her soles literally THRUST at the camera, it appeared as if those lovely feet would break through my screen and wiggle about on my keyboard! They seemed to giggle at me and scream “Play with us!”

I’d never seen a black woman’s feet displayed this way before, despite being a fan of women’s feet for over thirty years. The contrast between the darker flesh along the sides of her feet and the lighter skin of her soles, gave those soles a soft, creamy appearance, so much so that one might want to snuggle up to them and sleep against their softness, or lick them to see if they melted in the mouth like cotton candy.

Encircling two of the toes – one on each foot – were shiny gold toe rings. In the blurry distance, Tawny’s face – at least part of it – was hazily visible. Only from her chin to the very tip of her nose could be seen. Everything above was cut off. But that fuzzy smile was indeed wickedly lecherous. Bright red lips and perfect white teeth, conspiring together to create a lewdly evil grin. That grin made me harden easily as much as the in-my-face feet did. And once again Tawny dug at my soul with her short and to the point words. I could again hear her suggestive laughter when I read, “Worship at my feet, boy, now and forever.”

I masturbated twice that night. And again, my reply to her was probably just so much babbling. Her following email was again filled with pleasure at all the compliments I’d paid her feet, my hormones leading me to tell her I’d be honored to worship her feet day and night, any way she’d let me… and her glorious, bossy buttocks, too! Those promises she very much enjoyed hearing. She filed them away in her sly, cunning brain for future reference.

But, the piece de resistance was her third and – sadly – final photo email. If I had any doubts about meeting with her, that last pictorial tweak of my gonads alone put all of them to rest. Again her subject was simply “photo,” and this time I even went as far as unzipping my pants before I opened it. The other two encounters with Tawny’s photo emails had been excruciatingly frustrating when my trapped penis strained inside my pants and caused eye-popping pain in my nether region. I didn’t want a repeat of that, so I let my already throbbing willy roam free. I even looked down at it before opening the picture, telling the throbbing head, “Prepare yourself. This is probably gonna rock your world!” That assumption proved correct.

This newest photo nearly killed me.

I never in a million years would’ve expected to see what she’d sent. A close-up of her feet was one thing. And her unabashed revealing of her succulent ass another, but this final testicle tease had me wiping drool from my lips. My cock rose up over my keyboard and did its own share of drooling. I actually leaned forward for a second, as if to put my tongue on the computer screen, hoping for a taste of what filled it.

Now, I’ve seen my share of pussy. I’ve diddled it, humped it, put foreign objects into it (don’t ask), and I’ve lapped it ’til my tongue seized up. But this… THIS was a pussy! I was amazed at the clarity and detail of the photo. Tawny’s legs were spread wide, with her magnificent sex FILLING the center of my screen. Almost the entire available area was filled with her shiny, wet slit and the curly hairs surrounding and protecting it.

It was beyond incredible… far surpassing awesome! The darker, outer lips seemed chocolaty-sweet, moist and succulent, teasingly hiding their treasure. But the impish Tawny wasn’t satisfied with keeping her most alluring feature a total secret. No, instead she used two fingers of each hand to open herself up to my grateful eyes. Not to the point where she revealed ALL, but just enough to allow me to view those soft, pink, inner petals, dripping with dew. My tongue actually began squirming around in my mouth at the sight of it, and my penis ached to explore it. If I could’ve eaten my computer screen, I would’ve probably done so, but my mouth couldn’t break through. All I got for my efforts was static on the tip of my tongue.

And yet again, Tawny knew my weaknesses, my desires. Having shown me her dewy delicacy, and knowing my tendency to be orally amorous of same, she once more wrote a caption that had my rod screaming for release. Beneath that drool-inducing photo she wrote, “Good boys who do as they’re told get to eat all the chocolate they want.”

I didn’t have time to masturbate. I ejaculated before I could even run to my bedroom.

Needless to say, my email to her this time was even more incoherent. Every time I tried to write something intelligent, I’d get horny and it came out something like, “Yes, me worship. Me worship pretty feet and pretty ass. Me like eat chocolate for dessert. Please, please, please! Huh, can I, huh?” Me, with an I.Q. somewhere near 125, reduced to babbling like a drugged five year old.

And THAT was when Tawny knew she had me.

From that blithering moment on, Tawny slowly began to take complete charge. In each email, she’d make me tell her EXACTLY how I could worship her. I’d be only too happy to comply, feeling a surge of pleasure just from telling her in detail what duties I could perform for her. She, in turn, would get turned on from reading those details and “correcting” me, making sure that everything I promised was what SHE would enjoy. She was, after all, the one who was being catered to, pampered and “pleasured.” To her way of thinking, if I was going to be her sexual servant, I should do things RIGHT… and “right” meant HER way. Actually, I had no problem with any of it. All her ideas were AT LEAST as much fun as mine. So, I gladly agreed to anything she wanted – which she again stored in her calculating brain.

That was when she told me to call her “Princess Tawny” from then on… and I did, and have since. It was also at this point that she TOLD me we were going to meet in person. Luckily, she lived only about two hours away. And since she realized that our first meeting would be the solidifying factor in our future together – and things still might not work out – she agreed to meet me half way for that first meeting only. If things did work out for us, then from that point on, I would always go to her – period. “After all,” she said in her last email before we met, “my slaves come to me.” That statement stung my male ego a tiny bit, but it made my cock throb so much that my ego didn’t care in the slightest!

We agreed to meet in a public place. She found a restaurant online that seemed about midway between the two of us, got directions from MapQuest, and sent me a copy of them. A date and time that was doable for both of us was agreed upon, and that was that. The date was set. She warned me that when we met in person she did indeed want me to still address her as “Princess Tawny.” Normally, she said, she’d let me just call her Tawny at our first meeting, but she felt as though we’d gotten to know each other so well online that she could bypass that phasing in period and have me start calling her Princess right from the get-go. Besides, she’d seen me write it so many times in email and IM, that she was DYING to hear me actually speak the words! Though it might be a little embarrassing to call her Princess in public, I agreed. I wasn’t about to go rocking the boat at this early stage in the proceedings. Little did I realize, that that tiny concession on my part was phase one of Tawny’s takeover plan.

In our last IM before we met, she noted that she wasn’t going to begin training me right there in the restaurant (other than insisting upon being called Princess Tawny), but she did want to discuss with me VERBALLY everything we’d discussed online. She said that lots of men CLAIM to be submissive, but when it comes to actually PROVING it, they can’t bring themselves to cast off their male egos and do so. In effect, some men TALK good worship online, but can’t allow themselves to perform it in reality. She wanted our first meeting to be a “feeling out:” process, where she heard directly from my mouth all the things I was willing to do for her. She could then tell from my expressions and enthusiasm (or lack thereof) if I was really good “servant” material.

She didn’t have to sell me. I had printed out her photos and masturbated to them on so many occasions that I was chomping at the bit for the real thing. She had lured me in with those provocative photos, wrapped her fingers around my scrotum and squeezed it tight, keeping it in her sole possession. My captive penis ached for her already. Her plan was working to perfection.

And so I could only wait for the big day. The minutes ticked by so, so slowly. And for each minute that ticked by so agonizingly slowly, I could only wonder… what had I gotten myself into? I smiled – and shivered – at the possibilities. When the fateful day came, I fidgeted like a schoolboy. Me, a jeans and t-shirt kinda guy who didn’t think twice about what I wore, suddenly found myself trying on several different pairs of slacks and several shirts to find just the right look. Tawny preferred her men a bit more classy than jeans and tees, so, after an hour of playing mix-n-match, I finally decided on a simple pastel blue shirt and dark pants. I’m no looker by any means, so I figured I’d just do the best I could with what I had. So, my mind reeling and my forehead a veritable dew factory, I got into my car and headed toward my destiny.

I found the place Tawny had picked – called The Beer ‘n’ Steer steakhouse – easily enough, and since I was about fifteen minutes early I waited nervously in my car, dabbing the dribbling dew from my eyebrows. Finally, remembering that Tawny had mentioned that she valued punctuality, and that she also stated that she herself was usually early for appointments – whereupon I had quipped that she might want to check her genetics for an extra Y chromosome – I screwed together my confidence and headed for the restaurant. I remember thinking I was probably going to need quite a few of those promised beers.

Entering the establishment, I gave the perky “seating associate” the name Tawny said she gave when she made the reservation. I said, “Uh… hi. Tawny, party of two.”

The bright eyed girl replied, “Oh, yes, your lady friend is waiting for you inside. Follow me, please.”

I instantly shuddered from head to toe. Even my EAR CANALS started sweating! I was finally going to meet the woman I’d come to know as Princess Tawny. The woman who’s online photos nearly broke my penis all by themselves, forcing me on several occasions to self-gratify and subsequently desperately seek fluid replenishment. The woman whose most intimate parts – at Tawny’s specific instructions – I’d kissed many times, even if only on Xerox paper! The woman who had made no bones about it that she wanted me as her complete, adoring, obedient, unquestioning body slave. She was just a room away. That fact alone caused my body to become a playing ground for a host of chills, shudders and nervous twitches. I was actually going to meet her – in the flesh.

I followed “perky” through a dimly lit room to the farthest wall from the door. She led me to a corner booth. It was still early, and the usual dinner crowd hadn’t wandered in yet. As we approached that corner booth, I could see the form of a woman, her back to me, but only from the top of her head to just below her shoulder blades. She sat straight and dignified, like royalty. Hmmm… how appropriate.

When the young girl reached the table, she pointed to the empty seat and said, “Here you go. Enjoy your meal,” and walked away swiftly. I stood beside the table and looked down at my Princess. And royalty she was.

I could feel myself smiling as she in turn smiled up at me. Her pretty green eyes sparkled. Her lush, red, smiling lips opened just enough to show off those pearly white teeth I’d seen shining so brightly on my computer screen. Her short, sassy hair style seemed to fit her perfectly, as did the low-cut, nearly skin tight – from shoulders to hips, after which it hung loosely from that point down – floral print dress, made of such gossamer material that I thought – hoped? – it might just disintegrate and float away into thin air as so many silky atoms. She was obviously a full-figured woman, but her curves were unmistakable – and stunning. She wore several gold rings on both hands, which brought an instantaneous flash of memory of her shiny toe rings. Her painted fingernails – clear-lacquered and sporting lovely white French tips – likewise brought to mind her toes, which I’d only seen in the photo from their soft bottoms. I wondered if they were painted the same color as those glistening fingers. I was willing to bet they were. And it was only then that I realized that, foot enthusiast that I am, I hadn’t even peeked under the table to look at her feet. A pang of regret stabbed into my chest. Still, I didn’t want to be obvious by leaning back now to leer at her feet under the table. How gauche.

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