Well, I took my seat near the front and a few moments later, a wasted White guy sat beside me. It was an old friend. I call him Ass. He told me his wife was a bitch and she wasn’t keeping him satisfied. They would always argue and the sex was infrequent. I knew this could only go one of two ways. Either I was about to get solicited for sex, or I was about to get solicited to discipline\beat the shit out of his wife.
About five seconds later, he said, “I want you to beat the shit out of my wife.”
I had to explain to him that I don’t just beat women up because some man would be entertained. I have to have a morally acceptable reason. He asked me, exactly when did I acquire morals. He then went on to explain that she has hit him on many occasions, only because she knew that a man couldn’t hit her back without getting into trouble. He also explained that she “wasn’t performing her duties as a wife.”
I went on to explain to him that I don’t like picking on weak people. I like competitors that are very strong and athletic, and can put up a fight. He explained that his wife used to be an exotic dancer who worked out often. I don’t know if this is true. However, I became very interested in the fight and I believed him when he said she would hit him only because he was a man and had no protection under the law. He continued his case by saying, “I think she might be able to beat you.”
I stayed on the bus and rode past the Hollywood Video to his apartment.
His wife wasn’t there. He told me she would not be home from work until later. So I was alone in a small apartment with some man, waiting for his wife to get home so I could fulfill his fantasies of a Black woman beating up his white wife. I listened to him talk about his economic problems, drug usage, and political issues. Apparently most of his problems were in the past and he was now down to just the economic and relationship problems. I listened as he contemplated whether it would be better for her to see me with him as she came home or if I should hide somewhere and surprise her more deeply.
In discussing where I should hide, he told me the kitchen was the best place. I would be able to hear everything and she wouldn’t see me because, “The bitch never cooks.” As we sat on his bed, he put his hand on my thigh and said, “Those shorts are made for women like you. You’ve got great legs.” I think I should have been concerned but I was too busy getting off on the compliments. As he slapped my thigh and made it shake, he moved closer to me. Then he said, “Sometimes it gets lonely here.” It was about that time that the doorbell rang. He shoved me off of the bed and ran me into the kitchen.
So I stood in the kitchen, behind a wall. Yes, I was in some very short shorts. My shirt was cut the way I like too. My body was very much together and I knew I was working the hell out of those shorts. I started wondering what I had gotten myself into, and why his wife had to ring a doorbell to get into her own apartment. Then I heard her voice as they began to speak.
Their conversation started as she said, “Get on your fucking knees.”
He replied, “Honey, why do you have to be so harsh?”
Then she said, “I said get on your knees, slave.”
I’m very sensitive about issues of slavery. By now I was ready to hurt this bitch. The dialog continued until finally I heard him begging, “no dear! Not that!” Then I heard the sharp and familiar sound of leather striking bare male flesh. He yelled out loud. Then the sound was muffled and I heard him struggle to cry, “Get off of me!” The lashes continued. I didn’t really understand what was happening. All I knew is I was ready.
I went into the main room and saw a tall, strong woman dressed in black leather. Her meat was lean muscle, and she was very feminine. She was holding a leather whip and her knee was in the groin of her partially stripped victim. She wasn’t aware of my presence until I spoke.
“So you’re a fucking dominatrix.”
She stood up and turned to face me. “Shane,” she said, “who is this bitch?”
I could have asked myself if this was really his wife. I could have asked myself if he had actually enjoyed her treatment, or even paid for it. None of that mattered anymore. She had called me a bitch and she knew that comment could only be followed by a bitchfight. Suddenly the plan “Shane” had concocted was very clear to me. He would bring two dominant women together and see who would win a bitchfight between the dominatrix and the stripper. I couldn’t be mad at him. I had other things on my mind. There were two very powerful women in this room, from two different cultures, and we both knew that only one of us could be the dominant woman.
I felt like a wildcat when I came at this bitch. She thought she would stand there in that tight, toned body in that short leather skirt and I, a soft pretty stripper in some short shorts, would just tremble in fear. I came at her and said, “Come here bitch!” She swung the whip at me and the leather clapped against the side of my ass. It hurt like hell. I just stood there, hurt like hell. Then she lashed me again, getting the naked part of my thigh and then my ass again. The pain shot through me and I could feel my ass and thigh shaking as her whip rocked me. Then I got myself together. No white bitch is going to beat my Black ass with a damn whip.
I took this bitch’s arms and moved her back hard into the wall. The whip fell to the ground. I don’t play with bitches with whips. I started driving my fist hard into her guts. Her stomach was solid and she took my blows better than most women. I wanted to get to the essence of her womanhood. I drove my fist hard into her pussy, rocking that leather skirt. Then she grabbed me. Normally I laugh at this but she was able to move me back. My body kept going back until I felt my ass and my back hit the other wall hard. Then she put her fist hard into my guts, over and over again. I felt like I wasn’t at my best. I could feel the pain of the lash still cutting deep into my ass and thigh. She drove her fists up into my pussy and said “this is how you’re supposed to do it.” She was hitting me hard. I tried to swing at her and hit her arm as she drove her fist up into my chest. I felt like my breasts just flew up and my bra was about to break.
I pushed her back and she just rammed me against the wall again. I realized my bra had broken and my shirt was the only thing holding the bra onto me. I felt like I was getting beat up. Then she grabbed my chin and got in my face. Her eyes locked onto mine and she said, “On your knees, slave.” I just looked at her. Then she gripped my breast as she continued to hold my face, and said, “Get on your knees, nigger bitch.”
Now I know motherfuckers don’t like me to interrupt my accounts of these fights to talk about personal feelings but I don’t care. See you can go jack off on your own time but this is my website. I stood there, with my body in this woman’s hands, wondering what she thought she was going to do with me. It was obvious, from the pain in my ass and pussy and the way my breasts got almost knocked out of my bra, that she had a very good understanding of what a sexfight was all about. It was also clear that she thought she could dominate a Black woman against her will. At first it was a show for her customer but now it was much more. She wanted to make me a true slave to a white woman. So I had to educate this bitch about what Black women are all about.
I closed my fingers into a fist and drove my fist hard into this woman’s jaw. Her neck snapped back and then she went back. The man said, “Amber what the fuck are you doing?” As I walked toward the white woman, I said “Shut the fuck up.” What he didn’t understand is in a situation like this, all he could do is pray I don’t kill the bitch. She tried to swing at me again but I caught her arm and twisted it hard. Her body turned around and I folded her arm behind her. She yelled out loud as I held her in place. As I held her with my right arm, I gripped her thigh with my left arm. I gripped her hard and she yelled more. Then I lifted this bitch off the floor. The man said again, “Amber this is going too far.” I asked him, “Didn’t I tell you shut the fuck up?” Then I put this bitch over my head and threw her down.
This “used to be” powerful, sexy dominatrix hit the floor hard. Her legs slapped together as she fell on her side. I looked hard at the man as I ripped the leather bra off of the dominatrix. I continued to glare at him as I took her boots and skirt off. She was crying. The man became silent, suddenly interested in what I was doing. I got up and kicked the naked dominatrix as I leaned over and picked up her whip. Then as I straddled the naked woman, I turned to the man. “So,” I said, “you hire a fucking dominatrix to beat me up? You tell me she’s your wife and she’s being mean to you so I’ll fight and you think you’ll get a good catfight or bitchfight between a Black stripper and a white dominatrix?”
I didn’t wait for his answer. I just took the lash and started whipping the shit out of the dominatrix. As the leather clapped her ass, thighs, back, stomach, and breasts, I told her, “I got your nigger bitch right here.” I rearranged her body and lashed her dormant, dry pussy. It doesn’t matter what else I did or said to her. The fight was over.
The man looked at me and said some bullshit about how I did a good job and I was his heroine, defending him from the dominatrix. I suppose it really was just a good sexfight to him. I think he gave me an incentive to make it good. As I held the breast of the sleeping dominatrix in my hand, I told him, “You better get in that kitchen and cook me something.” He didn’t have any fucking food. So I took the clothes from the dominatrix, put them in the trash, and left.
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