Latisha uses her white boyfriend’s face as a chair. (uncensored version here) He’s finally useful for her. Find out how she treats him here.

Black Femdom Girlfriend femdom erotica by Chrissy Wild:

Black Femdom Girlfriend

That was a given, obviously. Modern life for a twenty-something male is very different than the life of a female the same age. When there is a couple, one serves the other, always. It is always the male who serves the female.

That’s the way it should be. But I never thought the service toward my beloved girlfriend Shanna would get so painful, and so humiliating. I watched, over the past two years, my beautiful blonde girlfriend, so petite and cute, become my merciless mistress.

On the outside, we still looked like a normal couple. Sure, she slapped me in public from time to time and spanked me in front of her friends, but other than that, we talked, had fun, went out to eat, went to the movies, went shopping (for her mostly), and all that, just like regular people.

But at home, things changed. She brought out the implements of torture. She said that I needed to be punished just for being a male, and that the Laws of Feminism dictated that all men must suffer for the sexist crimes they committed against females and the impending Gynocracy, over the millennia. I didn’t see how I was responsible for how men used to be sexist in the early 21^st century and earlier. But I’m a man, and my opinion doesn’t matter.

It all started about two years ago, when Shanna’s friend told her about Female Led Relationships. Like I said, most relationships already were unspoken Female Led Relationships, but real FLR’s made it official: the Female reigned supreme. When Shanna told me she wanted an FLR, she basically was already leading the relationship.

By simply declaring, as a woman, that she wanted an FLR, she already had the power to do whatever she wanted. So, she wanted an FLR, and that was what we were going to have. As the male, in the relationship, I already had no say in the matter.

It was shocking, but a little erotic. My little girlfriend, several years younger than me, much smaller than me, was now my boss in every way. I went along with it.

Why wouldn’t I? Like any other guy, I was after one thing in the end: pussy. Women have always known the power of the pussy. Now, of course, the power of the pussy is codified in law. And women have rightfully been taking advantage of that natural power.

A typical night might be something like this: I would be watching the game, drinking a beer, doing typical manly things, when Shanna would come home with her friend Latasha, the one who told her about FLR’s in the first place.

“We’re watching ‘Housewives,’” Shanna would say, simply sitting down next to me on the couch and reaching for the remote.

“What?” I protested, “I’m watching the big game!”

“Not any more,” she said.

“But why do you get to chose?” I asked, visibly upset.

“Because I have the pussy.”

I couldn’t argue against that. I didn’t know what to say, but to stutter and search for some rebuke that just wasn’t there.

“Shh,” she said, changing the channel.

“What do you mean, ‘Shh’? I have 50 bucks riding on that game.”

“50 bucks you could have spent on Shanna,” Latasha said, sitting on the other side of me.

I normally wasn’t into black women, but damn, Latasha was hot. She was the same age as Shanna, and bossy and mean as hell. She would often beat the shit out of me if I gave her attitude, and Shanna would just watch, letting it happen. I never liked to give Latasha and lip. I wouldn’t have minded giving her my lips in another way if she ever let me eat her out, though. Superior, dominant women like Latasha should always be worshiped by men. They are the naturally superior women of the new era. I knew Latasha was teaching Shanna all about Female Superiority, and Female Supremacy and all that.

“Well, I guess” I said, frustrated about missing the game, and frustrated that I had to watch women’s shows just because my girlfriend and her friend said so, and I was frustrated that I couldn’t talk back to Latasha.

Latasha sat closer to me and stroked her long nails on my arm.

“Baby, you got off good,” she said. “For real, Shanna should slap you silly for even suggesting that she doesn’t watch her show. You know how goes, the women make the rules, and the men follow them.”

She was infuriating me, but she was so beautiful. Her face was so attractive, and her long nails and jewelry where giving me tingles as she scratched lightly up and down my arm. She probably liked to keep long, sharp fingernails to scratch men. She could probably open up a scrotum with ease, using those sharp, colorful nails.

If a woman did slice a man’s junk like that, there would be no repercussions for the woman. The law today is very clear: women have the power and they get to do what they want. If anything, if a man calls the authorities for a crime like that, it is usually the man who is taken away for questioning. What horrible thing did the man do to make a woman take such drastic and mutilating action? The man would usually be sentenced to harsh punishment for doing whatever it was that he did to make a woman angry.

“I know, Latasha,” I finally said, letting my anger subside. “I should have bought Shanna some jewelry instead of wasting it, and likely losing it on betting.”

“Damn straight,” Shanna said.

“You should be worshiping the ground she walks on,” Latasha said.

I simply agreed by nodding.

“Speaking of,” Shanna said. “My foot rub?”

Shanna leaned over on the arm of the couch and put her feet up on my lap. I turned toward her, and, keeping her feet on my crotch, I took her shoes off and her sweaty socks and started massaging her feet. It was natural for me to give my woman attention whenever I could. Her putting her feet in my lap triggered my natural male submissiveness. I went to work right away, massaging Shanna, and striving to take away the stress of her day. It was my duty to serve.

“You should worship the ground I walk on,” said Shanna.

She had such beautiful tiny, feminine feet, so smooth and free of callouses, from having a soft, female life. Her toenails were all painted, by me, a color that I call Femdom Pink.

The world of today is covered in femdom pink, pussy pink, all over the place. Blue has been replaced by pink, figuratively and literally. I love when Shanna sits on my face with her femdom pink panties, smothering me, and barely giving me air, or when she sits on my face bottomless, and I can see the back of her pink T-shirt that she wore to the gym, as she smothers me in her steamy hot sweat and filth of her delicious dirty pussy, and dirty, aromatic asshole, which I breath from, my nose pressed against the sweaty, dirty pink flesh.

“You could start by worshiping her feet,” suggested Latasha.

Latasha had her nails on the back of my neck at that point, stroking and lightly massaging my skin. She liked to suggest things in my relationship with Shanna. She liked to be behind me, ready to swat the back of my head when I said something stupid or looked like I was going to disagree or disobey Shanna.

She liked to watch me have sex with Shanna, which meant she sat on a chair in our bedroom and watched as I ate Shanna’s pussy, all night, sometimes, like a robot, giving Shanna orgasm after orgasm. She could lay there, never having to go the bathroom, as I ate her out, and licked her fluids.

Sex with Shanna used to be normal sex between men and women. We had occasional sex where I got to fuck her. But then more and more, Shanna wanted all the attention. She wanted me to eat her out, and lick her asshole while she fingered herself and played with her clit. I would sometimes lick and suck her clit for what seemed like hours. Rarely, Shanna would allow me to masturbate to finally shoot my load that had built up over the weeks.

Then came Latasha. The two met at college and became inseparable. I knew from the beginning that the two were lesbian lovers behind my back. I didn’t mind. I even encouraged it. I thought it was hot. And it was. I got to watch as Shanna would get fucked by a strap-on by Latasha, and how Latasha’s big black lips would work on Shanna’s clit and giver her louder orgasms than I ever could.

But Latasha started dictating things about my relationship with Shanna. She got Shanna to really believe in Female Supremacy. These days everyone knows that the female gender is superior to the male gender. That is even taught in school in the earliest of grades on up to college seniors, and it is well-accepted and agreed upon. Males are inferior to females for a million reasons and we accept it.

Female Supremacy, however, is not something that is around in society, yet, but may well come soon enough. That is when women totally dominate the Earth and whip and torture men, who are only used as objects, like seats, or only used for work, punching bags, or sometimes human dildos. Males would essentially be slaves from birth, and upon age 18 would be owned by a female who wants that particular male for her pleasure. It is a very extreme way of life, wonderful for females, and horrible for males. The future is likely to bring total Female Supremacy, we all know that. But for now, the Female Supremacists, like Latasha, are just an extreme subsection of feminism. More and more Female Supremacists are getting elected to Congress, almost a majority, actually, so we’ll see what the next years bring.

Meanwhile, my wonderful girlfriend, who used to be only slightly more superior to me, is now practically my Goddess, thanks to Latasha’s suggestions. I love my girlfriend, so I always go along with what she wants. And for now, it means she totally dominates me.

“You heard the woman,” said Shanna, pushing her pretty little feet into my crotch.

Shanna started lightly kicking with the heel of her foot into my balls. She kicked just enough to hurt me, but not enough to damage my balls. I grunted with each kick, which started to get harder and harder. Shanna smiled as she kept kicking my crotch.

Latasha reached around and boldly grabbed my erect penis, which was bulging in my pants.

“Good,” observed Latasha. “It’s good that your woman’s abuse arouses you. All males should love the treatment their women give them, no matter how cruel.”

I took the initiative. I wanted to worship those little white feet that were slowly destroying my balls. I carefully lifted one of Shanna’s feet up, and I crouched down to kiss the foot. I kissed the top of the foot first, slowly, and tenderly. I went down to her pink toenails, carefully kissing and licking her toes, starting with her big toe. I put my entire mouth on her big toe, sucking it, like I was sucking a tiny cock, moving my head up and down, letting my tongue carefully stroke all around the sides and bottom of her toe, making sure not to tickle her.

I licked in between my girlfriend’s beautiful toes, licking the little bit of lint that was stuck there from the socks and ingesting it. I liked to swallow whatever was on my woman: sweat, belly button lint, remnants of dried TP on her asshole. It was my duty to lick and worship all of her smelly parts, especially. It was good to clean her asshole with my tongue, especially after she returns from the bathroom. Otherwise, when she sits on my face to watch TV, or whatever, her butt in my face doesn’t smell so bad when I breathe through my nose in her ass crack.

I licked the bottom of Shanna’s foot. It was a little dirty from when she walked barefoot, from her shower, all over the bathroom floor, and to the kitchen earlier that day before she put on her socks. I happily licked all the dirt from her foot. I nibbled at any area of slightly dry skin, biting off the flecks of dead skin and swallowing them.

Shanna pushed her saliva-wet foot into my face, rubbing it all over my nose and cheeks and eyes, and forehead. This made Latasha laugh.

“Man’s proper place,” she mused. “Under the foot of woman. Get used to it.”

“Man trampled by woman,” said Shanna.

“The way it should be,” said Latasha, who had moved her hand back to my crotch to keep a hold of my erect cock. “She owns these,” she said, grabbing hold of my balls and lightly squeezing them.

“I know,” I said, into Shanna’s foot. “You are both my Goddesses.”

“You are a slave to all women,” Latasha reminded me. “Any female may order you to do anything she wishes, and you must obey. That’s not only in the total Female Supremacy society we’re headed towards, but right now, by law. You know that right?”

“Yes I do,” I said.

Latasha squeezed my crotch hard, stabbing her long nails through the fabric of my pants and almost crushing my balls, making me grunt loudly in pain. Latasha leaned in a whispered my ear softly.

“Is that how you address your Goddesses?” she asked.

“No ma’am,” I said, “I mean no, mistress. I should have said mistress, mistress.”

Shanna laughed at that.

“Very good,” said Latasha, loosening her grip. “Now, do slaves usually wear clothes?”

“No, mistress.”

“Then take off all your clothes.”

“Yes, mistress.”

I kissed Shanna’s foot and briefly looked at her to see if that’s what she wanted. She was my main mistress, my owner, essentially. She nodded, and I got up. I took off all my clothes, including my underwear. For a brief time I was embarrassed standing in front of two completely clothed women, naked, and with my rock-hard erection sticking straight out.

“Come here for your spanking,” said Shanna, sitting up straight, with her legs sticking out in front of her for me to lay on to be spanked.

“Yes, mistress,” I said, hesitating to move closer to her.

I was hesitating because, though I was used to Latasha seeing me naked, and doing things with me, even sitting on my face from time to time, she had never witnessed me receiving my girlfriend’s punishment.

Spanking is the most humiliating punishment a woman can give to her male, especially in the presence of his or her friends, like the situation I was presently in. While sitting on a man’s face and pushing her anus into a man’s nose ranks high in the overall most degrading things a female can to do to a male, as far as punishments go, spanking is the most degrading.

It doesn’t hurt as much as other punishments like caning, paddling or whipping, especially when my mistress used her hand, but there is a certain psychological sting that goes along with the physical sting. It is like regressing to a male’s younger self, being taught a lesson for being naughty, and being shown his proper place.

In this case, I hadn’t been naughty. I had simply been born a male, and deserved constant punishment from my female guardians. I took nightly spankings as a reminder of who I was. I was constantly under my girlfriend’s ass as a reminder of where I fit in life.

I glanced over to Latasha, who was sitting, smug and smiling, waiting for the show. My ass would be facing her. She would see my most vulnerable and intimate part, as I stuck my ass up and out, laying over my girlfriend’s legs. My bare asshole would point right at Latasha, who was known to surprise bent over men by inserting large lubed dildos and plugs in them, when they least expected it. Not to mention, she carried around a multiple-lashed whip, which she used on men’s naked asses whenever she saw them, exercising her natural right as a woman.

I made my way over to Shanna, and got on my knees and leaned forward over her legs, so I could steady myself on the other side of her with my hands and let my ass be in the middle of her, ready for her pleasure. I bent forward and stuck my ass out, as high as I could, wish slightly spread my cheeks and exposed my anus, for Latasha’s viewing pleasure.

“What do you think, Latasha, 30?” asked Shanna, as she sensually rubbed my tender, naked ass cheeks with her spanking hand.

“Better make it 40,” said Latasha. “Extra 10 for hesitating.”

Shanna wasted no time. She spanked me. Smack! The first spank never hurts. She spanked again, smack!, being sure to spank in the exact same spot on my butt cheek. She spanked again, and again, and again, each spank hurting more and more, starting to really sting. Latasha must have been enjoying herself, that bitch!

Smack sounds echoed off the walls, and could probably be heard out the windows to the public outside. It was a common thing, to witness or hear the spankings or whippings a woman gave to her man.

I counted in my head, with each stinging spank. My ass started to burn. My natural instinct was to run away, to get away from the pain. I wasn’t held down, after all. It was different when Latasha sat her black, naked ass on my face when Shanna whipped my stomach, for severe punishments. Then, I couldn’t move if I wanted to, with Latasha’s full, feminine weight, pressed on my face, practically smothering me. Being spanked, it was simply the natural thing to do, for a man to obey a woman and let her spank him.

My ass felt like hell-fire. I couldn’t help but imagine white, blue burning flames searing off the flesh of my ass cheek, as my woman spanked me. I wanted her to stop. I wanted to beg for forgiveness for being a male. I wanted to let my girlfriend know that I believed in total Female Supremacy, and that I knew that she was superior to me, simply for being female.

As she got to 40, she kept spanking! 45, 50, 55. I couldn’t believe it. But what could I say? Men are not permitted to speak out against their punishments. I couldn’t say anything, but take it. A woman does what she wants.

At last , I lost count, and mercifully, Shanna stopped.

“You may get up,” said Shanna.

“Yes, mistress. Thank you mistress,” I said, afraid to look around to see how purple my ass was, or to touch it.

“Now, let the guest spank you,” said Shanna.

What?! My eyes bulged out of my head as I looked at Latasha, who sat like Shanna, ready to spank. She lightly patted her thigh, indicating for me to bend over on her.

“My turn, boy,” Latasha said, with her sexy evil smile.

Life as a male is painful!

More femdom facesitting and femdom humiliation erotica by Chrissy Wild here.