The Sigil of the Cactus-Juggler
-- by lightswitch © July 2007

(FF, lesbian), (ir, interr, interracial), (mc, mind control),
(hum, humiliation), ws

With acknowledgments to the inspiration of the short story
entitled “Eve’s Enchanted Ass,” written by one of the best (IMHO)
writers of erotic fiction on the Net today: cactusjuggler.

=================

I lived in a war zone.

Or, at least, that’s how it seemed to me. Rents in the city were
outrageous, which is how I found myself sharing a tiny
two-bedroom apartment with three other women.

Two of them, Rachel and Desiree, were self-centered prima donnas
of the highest order. Unfortunately, they were as gorgeous as
they were stuck-up and bitchy.

Rachel was a stunning blonde who towered over the rest of us at
5’9”. She was perfectly proportioned, with the exception of her
chest, which, of course, was too big.  Naturally, this made her a
hot commodity on the B-circuit of the local modeling industry. 
She was a haughty bitch who believed the world should revolve
around her, and she made no secret that being forced to share a
tiny apartment with three “lesser women” was an intolerable
burden.

Desiree was the other prima donna and yin to Rachel’s yang. 
Desiree was a gorgeous black woman. She stood about 5’7” and had
a figure to die for! Her pride and joy was an absolutely
perfectly shaped ass.  Desiree had a fantastic “bubble butt” –
two divinely rounded ass cheeks that formed absolutely perfect,
mouth-watering twin globes of deep-brown delight.  When you
really examined her, her ass may have been a bit too large for
her figure. But with a backside like that … it was an asset, not
a detraction.

That left Monica. Monica was also a black woman, about my height,
at 5’5”. She was very pretty, but she was also a bit chunky – she
had what I can only describe as a fat ass and big, floppy tits.
Unlike the two prima donnas, however, Monica had a sweet
personality and was always pleasant to people.

Me? I’m white and about Monica’s height, maybe a half inch
smaller. I am fairly slender (thanks, Jenny Craig!) and, I think,
fairly pretty. I’m a brunette with a nice figure … nothing too
big or too small, anywhere, I’m afraid.  All in all, pretty
average, in my opinion.  Being inside at a desk job all day, I
have absolutely no tan, though and hated my pasty, pale
appearance.

Anyway, back to the problem -- It was bad enough cramming four
women into a tiny two-bedroom apartment, but the dynamics of our
situation were what really complicated things.

You see, my three roommates were lesbians. Every one of them, and
they made no secret about their orientation. I was the only
straight woman in the bunch!  Monica didn’t seem to exhibit any
attraction to the rest of us, which surprised the hell out of me
-- if I had been gay, I’d be all over those two! Hell, I was
straight, and I still found them attractive! But Monica explained
it to me, one day.

“You see, Laura,” she had told me, “I am a ‘dominant.’ I like to
be in control in a relationship. I have to have a partner that
submits to my will. Rachel and Desiree …yeah, they’re gorgeous to
look at, but both of them are dominants, as well. And they’re
both bitches.” We laughed.

“Some girls may get off on the idea of ‘topping a top,’” she
continued. “In fact, both Rachel and Desiree both seem to get hot
at that thought -- but I prefer not to lock horns with strong
wills.”  She had given me a suggestive wink, “I want a girl who
spends all her time wanting to go down on me, not expecting me to
go down on her.”

I’d blushed, and hastily changed the subject.

I liked Monica; she obviously had her act together. The same
could not be said for Rachel and Desiree. Those two absolutely
hated each other!

And lusted after each other like minxes in heat.

It was one of the sickest Love-Hate relations I had ever seen.
Each woman was absolutely smitten by the physical good looks of
the other and made no secret of wanting to break the other and
use her as a personal sex toy. But both of them absolutely hated
the personality of the other and were completely put off by idea
of being used *as* a sex toy.

They were always on each other’s case and making sick, vulgar
invitations that made me blush just hearing them.  It seemed to
become a game where they’d try to verbally “top” the other and
keep a running score of perceived victories.

Strangely, this made things relatively easy for me. I was never
hassled. Monica wasn’t interested in me; perhaps because I’d
clearly indicated I was straight. The two prima donnas had no
interest in anyone as mousy as me, having eyes only for
dominating their hated rival. So … other than having to live with
Rachel and Desiree’s constant sniping and crudity, it wasn’t that
bad.

One thing that *was” bad was the sleeping arrangements. At first,
it had looked as if Rachel and Desiree each wanted their own
room, forcing Monica and me to sleep in the living room.
Fortunately, Monica was more assertive than I and was having none
of it.

Eventually, we split up along racial lines – Rachel and I in one
room and Desiree and Monica in the other. I wasn’t positive, but
I suspected that in spite of their mutual lust, both Rachel and
Desiree had some strong racial prejudices, which undoubtedly fed
their desires to sexually dominate each other.  That’s why we
ended up in the rooms we did.

The rooms were small, but were able to cram two twin-sized beds
into each one. Both Rachel and Desiree had half-joked about using
queen-sized beds, anticipating it was just a matter of time
before their hated rivals came crawling into their respective
bed. However, we pointed out that, until such a surrender
happened, that meant Rachel would be sleeping in the same bed as
me and Desiree would be sleeping in the same bad as Monica.

That realization put and end to the queen bed suggestion. I was
mildly offended, but mostly relieved.

One morning, Rachel and Monica were already sitting at the tiny
kitchen table, reading the paper and sipping orange juice, when
Desiree breezed in, later than usual. Somehow, it seemed to have
fallen to me to fix breakfast every morning … everyone else
seemed to think it would lose them stature as a “domme” if they
stooped so low as to “serve” anyone else.  I thought that was
silly and just started taking over such duties to keep the peace.
I didn’t mind, really.

Desiree danced into the room and swung one of her long, gorgeous
dark legs over the chair before sitting down. Monica was in a
light robe, but the other two were in only panties and bras.

I shook my head, sadly. It was a “domme” thing, I realized. Both
were constantly trying to seduce the other – trying to break the
will of the other and make them beg for sex.  Naturally, they’d
both die before they gave in.

“Hey, Desiree, honey,” Rachel purred, smiling sweetly. “Why don’t
you help Laurie with breakfast?”  Rachel made the same dumb
remark, every morning and always found it amusing.

Desiree smiled back, just as sweetly, and gave the same reply she
gave every morning. “Kiss my hot, black ass,” she invited,
standing and displaying her gorgeous derriere to the women at the
table.

Rachel laughed. “I don’t think so, baby,” she bantered, “then how
would you be able to reach over and suck my titties like we all
know you want to do?”

How juvenile.

Monica kept her head buried in the newspaper, ignoring them as
we’d both learned to do. I sighed and tried to change the
subject. “I’m making eggs,” I offered. “How would you girls like
them?”

“Sunny side up,” Rachel shouted, “just like I’m going to be when
this black slut gives in and finally goes down on me, like we all
know she wants to.”

“Scrambled, please,” Monica said, not looking up from the
newspaper.

Desiree ignored my question and gave Rachel a mocking look. “Run
your mouth while you can, sweetheart,” she smiled. “It’s only a
matter of time, now, before that mouth will be busy pleasuring my
pussy.”

There was something about Desiree’s jibe that was … different …
this morning. Like she had some new secret.

Self-restraint was never one of Desiree’s strong suites … just as
it had never been one of Rachel’s.  I wondered if they realized
just how alike they really were, at heart. In any event, after a
few tense minutes, the black beauty couldn’t restrain herself any
longer.

“I’ve got a weapon that’s going to crack through your resistance
and put you where you belong, you blonde bitch,” she announced,
glaring at Rachel. She held up an unmarked cardboard container,
about they size of a video game box. “I’ve got *this*, now!” she
chortled.

“The Sigil Stone of the Cactus-Juggler!”

Monica perked up and lowered her newspaper.

“Cactusjuggler?” she asked. “Isn’t he the one that writes those
hot Internet stories about femdom and facesitting?”  I arched an
eyebrow at her, quizzically.  “Er … not that I’d know anything
about such smut,” she hastily amended.

Desiree gave her a withering look and Monica buried her head back
in her newspaper.

“The Sigil Stone of the Cactus-Juggler,” Desiree lectured, “is a
magical artifact, created by an ancient Mayan shaman. If one
knows the proper rituals, it can be used to control minds!”

Silence filled the air for almost a full minute.

And then the three of us burst out in laughter.

“Magical … artifact …!” Monica laughed, head falling forward as
she pounded the table with one chunky fist.

“Ancient … Mayan … shaman …!” I sobbed, slumping to the floor,
holding my sides.

“Mind control!” Rachel shrieked, clutching her ribs and falling
out of her chair.

We laughed so hard, it hurt. Desiree glowered at us for a while
and then stomped out of the room. But we were utterly helpless,
our bodies racked with laughter.

“I’ll show you!” Desiree shouted angrily from the other room.
“You won’t be laughing after I decipher the ritual!”

“You couldn’t decipher a cereal box, you dumb bimbo,” Monica
hooted. “How are you going to decipher ‘ancient Mayan
rituals?!?’”  Rachel and I howled with laughter.  I didn’t mean
to be mean, but … it was just so damned funny!

* * * * *

Several days passed and Desiree made no further mention of her
‘Mind Control Artifact.’  Monica and I would have forgotten it,
but Rachel wouldn’t let it go.  She’d walk into the room and
suddenly adopt a rigid, zombie-like pose.

She’d facing Desiree. “Yes, Mistress!” she’d intone in a
trancelike chant, raising her arms in front of her, “please let
me kiss your big, oversized feet and lick your nasty, black
pussy!”

Monica and I would try not to laugh, but wouldn’t always succeed.
 Desiree would huff off and Rachel would make a “chalk mark” in
the air, to symbolize that she had scored another one on her
rival.

It had been almost a week and Rachel’s jibes were becoming less
frequent … even the funniest joke can get played out, over time.

Late at night, on the 15th, I was lying in bed. The window was
open, trying to coax a breeze into giving some relief from
another hot, humid July night. I was nude – it would have been
impossible to wear even the lightest of clothing in this
oppressive heat – and wondering if I could get up and turn the
little electric fan to blow more directly on me, without waking
up Rachel.  The bitch always hogged the sole fan we had in the
room.

“Do you think she really has one?”

The question startled me, partly because I didn’t realize Rachel
was awake, and partly because … well, Rachel never really talked
with me. Sure, she talked *to* me, but … only to order me around.
She never really talked to me as a person. It took me by
surprise.

Damn, that meant there was no way to turn the fan without her
knowing.

The beautiful blonde was lying, nude, face-up in her bed, staring
at the ceiling. I could see her perfect, white body, limned in
the streetlight from the window.  A shot of envy lanced through
me. What I wouldn’t give to look like her!

“Do I think she has one?” I asked, in confusion. “Who? Has what?”

Rachel propped herself up on one elbow to look at me derisively.
“You know,” she said. “A magic thingy. Do you think Desiree
really has some magic thing that she could use to … control
minds?”

I laughed, but immediately quieted. Was she was serious?   Was
Rachel actually worried about Desiree’s crazy threat?

“No, Rache,” I reassured her. “There’s no such thing as ‘ancient
Mayan artifacts that control minds.’ She’s just messing with
you.”

The haughty blonde didn’t look reassured. “But what if she *did*
have something like that?” she insisted. “I couldn’t *live* if
that bitch actually gained control of me!”  She gnawed on her
perfect bottom lip.

I could only shake my head. Why was it that beauty and
intelligence seemed inversely proportional in so many people, I
wondered?

A light of realization came over the beautiful blonde’s features.


“At last,” I sighed, “Super Bimbo has realized that this is the
real world and not some Tolkien fantasy.”  Now maybe she’ll go
back to sleep … and I could wait a few minutes before turning the
fan from her towards me.

“Of course!” she muttered. “How could I have been so stupid!?”

There *is* a God, I thought. Rachel has actually acknowledged
reality. I flopped back onto my sweat-soaked sheets and tried to
sleep.

“I’ll have to steal it and use it on *her*!” the clueless blonde
resolved, through clenched teeth.

I sighed. How could someone *so* beautiful be so *fucking*
stupid?!?  It was so ridiculous, I almost started laughing. I
actually had to physically grab my mouth and pinch myself to keep
from bursting out in the scornful guffaws that she so richly
deserved.

I heard her slip from her bed and begin padding over to the door.

This was getting good.  The blonde bimbo was too stupid not to
get caught. The ensuing nude catfight could be entertaining.

I waited a while and slipped out of bed to follow her.

* * * * *

When I got to the open door of Monica and Desiree’s room, Rachel
was already inside. She was nosing through Desiree’s nightstand,
with growing anxiety. “Where is it? Where is it?” I heard her
mutter. “What the fuck *is* a ‘sigil,’ anyway?!?”

I sighed. The way Rachel was thrashing about, she’d be sure to
wake the two sleeping women. I glanced around the room, barely
illuminated in pale moonlight.

Monica was nude, on her side, sweating visibly and snoring
softly. Desiree was also nude, lying on her stomach, her ass
stuck comically up in the air. I almost laughed out loud when I
saw that.

Rachel had stopped bulling through drawers and had a small, pink
book in her hand. I had no idea what she had found until I saw
moonlight flash off the gilt lettering on the front of the small
hardback.

Diary.

She had Desiree’s diary!  Oh man, Desiree would go *nuts* if …
no, *when* … she found out!

Rachel began paging through and finally stopped at an entry. She
began reading out loud.

“July 10,” she whispered, “The package with the Sigil Stone has
arrived.”

“What a *moron*!” I thought. Is it really possible that this
stupid blonde can’t even read with her lips closed!  Gaaaagh! 
I’d rather be Average than be *that* stupid!

“Those bitches all laughed at me,” Rachel read in a soft voice.
”But I’ll show them. I’ll show them all!  I don’t care about the
two plain ones, but I’m going to make that blonde bitch pay! 
She’s going to be my slave before this is all over!”

“Hey! I mentally protested, “Who you calling ‘plain?!?’”

Rachel kept reading. “July 13, I’ve figured out the ritual. I
have to place the sigil stone against the small of my back and
recite the ritual. This will transfer a magical tattoo to me, but
consume the stone in the process. I’ll be able to use the tattoo
to control minds. The victim has to kiss the tattoo. I am going
to put it as close to my ass as possible. Ha ha!  Let’s see
Rachel deal with *that*!”

Rachel frowned in anger, taking a moment to glare at the sleeping
woman with her ass in the air.

“July 14,” she continued, “Problem: I misunderstood the
procedure. Thought she’d already be under control and I could
force her to literally ‘Kiss my Ass.’ But it seems in order to
*establish* mind control, I have to get her to press her lips
against the tattoo for 60 seconds! How the hell am I going to get
that stuck up blonde to kiss it for a full minute?!?”

I could see Rachel’s smug sneer, in the moonlight. “Ha! You
fucked up, bitch!” she whispered. “As *if*!” Rachel continued
reading, muttering the words under her breath.

“July 15,” she whispered.

I realized that this must be tonight’s entry.

“I really fucked up!” Rachel read. “I told Monica about my
situation and she read through all the instructions to clarify
ithem for me. She told me I had *really* screwed up – I should
have transferred the tattoo to *Rachel* while she was asleep!
Then *I* should have kissed it for 60 seconds!  Whoever kisses
the tattoo gains control over the mind of the bearer of the
tattoo!  Oh God … what if Rachel or someone else finds out that I
have this vulnerability?!?  Anyone who presses their lips against
this tattoo for 60 seconds will be able to control me!  I have to
keep this hidden! But it itches like hell and I keep waking up on
my stomach, with the damned tattoo exposed for anyone to see.  I
am terrified and am living in constant fear!”

Rachel paused and tried to process what she had just read.  Then
she smiled.

A cruel, vindictive smile.

She walked over to the black beauty, sleeping on her stomach with
her ass in the air.

I stepped forward. “This has gone too far,” I whispered. “Don’t
do it, Rachel.”

The blonde seemed startled to se me, but regained her composure.

Spying on me?” she asked. “Working for her, now, are you?”

I gave an exasperated sigh.

“Don’t you see what is happening here?” I said. “There’s no such
thing as magic!  You’re being set up!  This is an elaborate ploy
to get you to ‘kiss Desiree’s ass’ … literally.”  I hoped that
was true. But even though I didn’t believe in ‘magic,’ I didn’t
like the idea that one of them might end up controlling the mind
of the other.  The détente we shared was usually tense, but at
least no one was ever a permanent loser.  If one of them ever did
actually get the upper hand like this …

I shuddered.

Rachel considered my warning for a while, but then dismissed it.
“Desiree’s not smart enough to pull off a scam that complicated,”
she decided. “So this is my chance to top that bitch once and for
all … I’m going to make her my personal sex slave!”

It was true, Desiree wasn’t smart enough to pull off a scam like
this.

But Monica was.

But any chance I had to dissuade Rachel from trying to establish
her dominance was now lost. The beautiful blonde leaned over the
sleeping woman’s upturned ass. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she
drew her face closer to that beautiful, dark, round ass.

As she neared, a soft light began glowing on Desiree’s backside –
right at the top of her ass crack. Desiree really had placed the
tattoo well, if her intent had been to put Rachel off!

The glow gained definition until I could clearly see a strange
glowing green symbol, inscribed in a glowing yellow hexagon.

The symbol seemed to be like a cross, with a 90-degree upturn at
the end of each ‘arm.’ I struggled to figure out what it reminded
me of. A squared trident? A bent crucifix?

A stylized cactus?

As I struggled to make sense of it, Rachel bent down and pressed
her lips against the strange, glowing tattoo.  I had to admit, if
I had had a camera, I could have made a fortune with that
picture: A beautiful, nude, big-titted blonde with her lips
pressed against the gorgeous ass of a beautiful, nude,
unconscious black woman!

In spite of myself, I began mentally counting off the seconds.

At about a minute, a flash of green energy sprang from the tattoo
and crackled across the surprised blonde’s face. She looked as if
she was trying to pull back, but the strange green electricity
wouldn’t release her.  Her eyes slowly turned up in her head and
she slumped forward, face sliding neatly between the cheeks of
the nude black woman’s full, round ass.

The energy crackled and faded.  I’d have given my left arm for a
camera! This second shot would have doubled my fortune: A nude,
blonde beauty, slumped unconscious, smothering in the beautiful
full ass of a sleeping black woman!

I gently pulled Rachel off before she asphyxiated. There would be
no way we’d be able to explain *that* to the police!

But what should I do now? “What if all this magic talk *was*
true?” I muttered to myself. “What if Rachel *does* now have
mind-control power over Desiree? That would be a disaster!” I
could already envision the sick, perverted trials the beautiful
black woman would be going through.

“There’s only one choice,” came a voice to my left. Startled, I
spun around, dropping the unconscious blonde, who landed with a
thud, on the uncarpeted floor.

It was Monica. She was sitting, nude, on the edge of the bed,
watching us.

“If Blondie there really does have some kind of mind control
power over Desiree, now, the only way to counteract that is to
have someone else, who isn’t a complete bitch, gain that power
too.”

I was stunned. “Me?” I asked. “No way, I don’t want to control
another person!”

Especially if it meant kissing their ass!

Monica gave me a gentle smile.

“I know,” she said. “That’s why I’m suggesting it: because you
are a good person. I know: I’ve admired that about you. If Rachel
crosses the line and orders Desiree to do something
inappropriate, you can countermand the order. That will be the
only way to save her.”

I was torn. “Why can’t *you* do it?” I begged. Monica snorted.
“Because I’m not as good as you are,” she answered, honestly.
“Those bitches expect me to kiss their asses every day,
figuratively. I ain’t about to do it, literally.”

I blushed at the unexpected compliment and decided that I’d have
to do it.

Slowly, I bent over Desiree’s up-thrust backside. The strange
tattoo glowed as I neared. Reluctantly, I brushed my lips against
the glowing sigil.

Nothing happened.

“You can’t just peck it,” Monica warned. “You have to *kiss* it.”

Steeling myself, I pushed my lips firmly against the sigil, my
lips pushing into the top crease of the beautiful woman’s dark,
full ass.  Immediately, I felt the spot under my lips warm, then
get really hot. My head buzzed and a strange dizziness swept over
me. I tried to pull back, but my lips felt as if they were glued
to Desiree’s ass.

I lost track of time. A pleasurable warmth began spreading from
my lips throughout the rest of my body.  Within seconds, a bright
green light flashed before my eyes and my body was wracked in
orgasm.  I was thrown back, onto the floor.

I lay on the floor, dazed, until Monica helped me up.

“Is that what Rachel had experienced?” I wondered, groggily. “No
wonder she passed out! I only had a toehold on consciousness, as
it was!”

Monica dragged me and the semi-conscious blonde back to my room
and flopped us into our respective beds.  I gave a weak smile of
thanks to my helpful roommate, who waved as she turned to leave
our room.

“Monica is a better person than she lets on,” I thought, letting
myself start to drift to sleep.

I was dimly aware of Monica turning the fan so it blew directly
on me. A wave of gratitude swept over me before I fell into a
deep sleep, dreaming of kissing beautiful, dark, round asses.

* * * * *

The next morning, things seemed to have gone back to usual.

Desiree was already sitting at the tiny kitchen table, in her
usual bra and panties outfit, sipping orange juice. Monica was in
her robe, reading the paper and sipping coffee. Rachel, in *her*
usual bra and panties, breezed in right behind me and sat down,
smiling smugly at Desiree.

I shook my head, sadly. A typical morning, I sighed.

Except, it wasn’t.

“Hey, Desiree, honey,” Rachel purred, smiling sweetly. “Why don’t
*you* get us all some breakfast and give poor Laurie a break,
this morning?”

I could tell by the expression on Rachel’s face that she fully
expected Desiree to fall under her control and do her bidding,
this time.

Desiree smiled back, just as sweetly and gave her standard
retort: “Kiss my hot, black ass,” she said, standing and
displaying her gorgeous derriere to the rest of us at the table.

I was relieved. “There was no “magical mind-control” sigil!” I
laughed, mostly at myself for having been so gullible.

But to my shock, Rachel’s expression went blank. The blonde
stood, walked over to Desiree and dropped to her knees, pushing
her beautiful face into the black woman’s panty-clad ass and
making a loud kissing noise.

“Oh, you think you so funny!” Desiree said, slapping at the
kneeling blonde.

But I knew that had been no joke. Rachel would have *never* put
her face into Desiree’s ass like that … not for any cheap laugh!

Rachel immediately pulled her head back, her face scarlet with
confusion, humiliation, and outright panic.

Desiree turned and saw the crimson-faced blonde, still on her
knees, eyes wide with horror.

“Wait a minute,” Desiree said, realization dawning. “You *did*
it, didn’t you!?!”  The horrified blonde, still on her knees,
scuttled backwards a few steps.

“You *did*!” Desiree crowed. “You kissed my ass! You kissed my
big, beautiful, black ass, didn’t you!?!”  Rachel was shaking her
head in denial.

“When did you do it?” Desiree wanted to know. “Was it last night?
It must have been last night!”

Rachel started crying, tears coursing down her beautiful face.
“This … this is impossible!” she wept. “*You* were supposed to
fall under *my* control!”

A cruel smile appeared on the beautiful black woman’s face. “Come
over here and pull off my panties, white girl,” she purred,
huskily. Again, Rachel’s expression went blank. The blonde
crawled over to Desiree, on hands and knees, and obediently
pulled down the haughty black woman’s panties.

“Now,” Desiree said, turning and jutting her ass at the kneeling
blonde. “You’ve already kissed me ass. Now, finish the job,
Blondie!” The beautiful woman reached back and spread the full
cheeks of her ample, black ass wide, in front of the kneeling
blonde.

“Rim me!” she commanded. “Rim me, good!”

Rachel seemed to struggle and her expression showed anguish, but
her body complied. Slowly, reluctantly, she pushed her face
forward, burying it between the standing woman’s full, black ass
cheeks. Desiree closed her eyes and moaned as the blonde’s head
began bobbing gently.

“Oh, that’s it baby!” she sighed. “Work that tongue, you nasty
blonde bitch! Lick my asshole, you white slut!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Monica’s robe drop open. She
sat with her legs spread wide, unable to look away from the
blonde’s humiliation. Monica’s hand began busily rubbing between
her thick, dark legs as she watched with rapt attention.

I was stunned and unable to move. What was happening, here?!?

“Oh God, this is good,” Desiree moaned, slurring her words as the
white woman’s tongue probed slavishly around the rim of her
asshole. “Lick me, you bitch! You’re my bitch, now, do you hear
me?! My *bitch*!”

The beautiful black woman pushed the blonde’s head back and
turned to face her new slave.

“You’re mine, now, Rachel,” Desiree gloated. “I control you! I
*own* you.  Oh, how I’ve longed for the day I could humiliate
you!” Rachel started to protest, but Desiree silenced her. “Shut
up, you bitch!” Desiree commanded. “And don’t move!  Stay right
were you are, on your knees!”

She straddled Rachel’s head, jamming her pussy into the blonde’s
face. “I think that lovely yellow hair of yours needs a rinse,
Blondie,” she chortled, as she began pissing in the horrified
white woman’s face.

I watched in shock … partly that Rachel was letting Desiree piss
in her face, and partly that Desiree would stand there pissing in
our kitchen!

I wasn’t going to clean that up!

Rachel’s face was frozen in a mask of despair, anger, and
outrage. But she knelt, body rigid with tension, while the cruel
black woman continued to humiliate her.  Desiree kept a steady
stream up for almost two minutes, leaving the humiliated blonde
drenched and leaving a substantial puddle on the tiled kitchen
floor.

“Do it,” Desiree commanded, grabbing Rachel by a handful of
blonde hair and pushing the white girl’s face up between her
shapely, dark legs. “You know you’ve wanted to, ever since you
moved in!”

Sobbing, the beautiful blonde buried her face in the black
woman’s crotch.  Desiree moaned loudly and wrapped one long, dark
leg around the blonde’s shoulders as Rachel began licking her
piss-soaked cunt.

“Oh, you’re good, you little slut!” she sighed, lustily. “You’re
no stranger to pussy-licking, are you, Rachel?!”

Face buried between her black dominator’s legs, Rachel could only
sob as she continued to orally please her new mistress.  “That’s
it, baby! You like eating my pussy, don’t you Rachel. You like
being on your knees, servicing me!” The mind-controlled blonde
sobbed loudly, but was unable to stop her oral ministrations.

Desiree opened her eyes and looked over at Monica and me. “You
were right, Monica,” she gasped, as the blonde’s slavish tonguing
brought her closer and closer. “She was far too stupid to escape
the trap you set.”

That brought me out of my shock. I looked at the chunky black
woman in dismay. “The trap that *you* set?!?” I gasped, looking
at my roommate in shock. “But … but, Monica!  The diary? All of
that … fake? A set up?”

Monica reluctantly pulled her hand from between her legs, where
she had been busily pleasuring herself as she watched Desiree
humiliating Rachel, and gave a guilty smile. “I know, Laura,” she
confessed. “I feel sort of bad about fooling you like that. But,
Desiree promised me my heart’s desire if I found a way to trick
Rachel into kissing that tattoo.”

I’d been used! Deceived! Lied to!

“And what’s your heart’s desire,” I asked, bitterly. How much
money could Desiree have offered? It’s not like she was rich.

“You,” Desiree told me, leaning back and moaning from the blonde
woman’s oral attentions. “She wanted you, Laura.”

I was shocked. Me?

“But … but I told you,” I stuttered. “I’m not gay!”

Leaning back on the kitchen counter so she could wrap both dark
legs around the blonde’s head as Rachel serviced her, Desiree
gave a gasping laugh.

“You are now,” she commanded. Something twisted, painfully, in my
brain.

“I know you kissed my sigil tattoo, too, Laura,” Desiree gasped,
humping herself against the kneeling blonde’s face. “So here are
my commands: From now on, all memory of the Sigil of the
Cactus-Juggler will be erased from your memory. From this day
forward, you now have an insatiable fetish for big black asses
and big black tits. You are a submissive lesbian slut who loves
to be sexually dominated. And Monica is a Nubian goddess, in your
eyes, whom you worship.”

My world shifted and I feel to my knees, head spinning. I was
passing out – falling into a yawning black chasm of
unconsciousness as my mind reorganized itself.

Desiree’s voice became ragged. “Oh fuck, I’m cumming!” she
announced. “I think I’m going to deny little Miss Sunshine here
the gift I gave you, Laura. I’ll control her mind and body, but
let her consciousness remain … so that she can suffer every
second of every day, knowing that I’ve won and I control her.”

* * * * * *

“What happened?” I wondered, as I slowly came to and tried to
regain my feet. Had I slipped on the tiled floor? Had I been
unconscious? I had no recollection of how I’d gotten to the
kitchen. The last I knew, I was … where *had* I been? It was all
so confusing.

I was shocked to find that the kitchen floor looked as if it had
been covered in urine.

What had happened? Had a pipe broken?

Monica was by my side, helping me up. She was so nice!  I had
never met a more gentle, loving, caring person! My “thank you”
caught in my throat as I looked into those beautiful, deep brown
eyes of hers.

God, but she was gorgeous!

Was there a woman alive who was as stunningly attractive as
Monica?!?  Her robe had slid partially open, giving me a
tantalizing glimpse of her huge, chocolate- colored breasts. My
mouth watered as I imagined my lips caressing them with kisses. 
My knees felt weak and I fantasized falling to my knees, in front
of my Nubian Goddess, burying my head between those exquisite
thighs …!

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rachel on her back on the
kitchen floor, her blonde head buried under Desiree’s dark, round
ass.

“Damn!  When had *that* happened?!?” I wondered. I had thought
those two were locked in some dominance struggle!

Desiree smiled at us. “Part of the ritual,” she explained. “The
victim has to go under the dominator’s ass once every 24 hours,
and stay there for 15 minutes, in order to re-establish
dominance.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. Ritual?!?  In any
event, it was obvious that Desiree and Rachel had finally
concluded their intense Love-Hate relationship with the decision
that Desiree would be the Dominant and Rachel would be the
submissive.

“Whatever,” I thought. “What goes on between two consenting
adults …”

Desiree glanced at her watch. “That should be about 20 minutes,”
she announced, rising off the beaten blonde’s face. Rachel gasped
for air as Desiree’s smothering full ass finally raised up enough
for her to get a full breath. The cruel black woman kicked the
prone blonde, viciously, in her side.

“Make us some breakfast,” she commanded. I rushed to obey, but
her voice stopped me. “Not you, honey,” Desiree said kindly. “You
go over and see what Monica wants. Rachel will be doing all the
chores, from now on.”

I thought I saw a look of bitter resentment and absolute hatred
cross Rachel’s face, but she mumbled her compliance and stalked
off.

I’d never understand the Love-Hate relationship those two had, I
realized.

And I didn’t want to.

A gentle hand stroked my hair, drawing my attention.

“That was pretty hot, don’t you think?” It was Monica. One of her
big, dark hands stroked my pale cheek, sending thrills down my
spine. “Who’d have thought …,” she murmured, “Rachel, licking
Desiree’s cunt …”

To my surprise, I found that I thought it had been pretty hot, as
well.

“I think that’s pretty hot,” Monica continued, softly, “… a
beautiful white woman, on her knees, servicing a black woman’s
pussy …”

My heart was racing and I couldn’t breathe. She thought it was …
hot … to have a white woman sexually servicing a black woman?!? 
Was that a hint? Did I dare dream …?”

“Do you think that’s hot, Laura?” she whispered, her lips grazing
my trembling cheek. “Do you think it’s hot when a white woman
drops to her knees and buried her face between a black woman’s
legs?”

I tried to answer, but could only moan as Monica’s full, dark,
lips closed over mine in a passionate kiss. I was in heaven and
was in danger of climaxing on the spot.

Monica was kissing me!  That divine, dark goddess … was kissing …
me! Could it *get* any better?!?

I felt gentle pressure on my shoulders.

It *could* get better!

“Oh thank you, thank you!” I thought, in stunned disbelief at my
incredible good fortune. Acceding to her gentle pressure, I
slowly dropped to my knees, in front of her. “I can’t believe she
is going to let me do this for her!  I can’t believe I am so
lucky!” I thought.

Gratefully, I buried my face between her legs and inhaled the
sweet, heavy musk of her sex. Mine!  Mine, at last!  I started
with long, loving licks.

I buried my face in her sweet pussy and licked for all I was
worth. I tried my best and was shortly rewarded when my dark
goddess clamped her beautiful thick thighs around my head and
screamed in orgasm. The pressure was intense and I thought she
might crush my head, for a while. I realized that if that brought
her pleasure, then I hoped she would!

After catching her breath, Monica looked deeply into my eyes, her
expression one of satisfaction, and my world was complete.

“Do you love me, Laura?” she asked, giving me a seductive smile.
“Do you want to be mine … my personal property?”  I fell into her
arms. “Oh yes! Please! Please take me and find me worthy!” I
cried.

We changed the bedroom arrangement. Rachel and I needed to be
available to our owners whenever they so desired.  Strangely,
Rachel seemed to come to breakfast every morning with tears in
her eyes.

Desiree had told Monica that “the dominator” would need to sit on
her victim’s face for at least 15 minutes, once every day.  So
every evening, precisely at 8 p.m., Monica and Desiree would trot
Rachel and I out and have us lie on our backs, on the living room
floor. From there, they’d straddle our heads, spread their
gorgeous ass cheeks, and sit on our faces for a good half hour –
just to be safe.

Only problem was … Desiree was mistaken.

Evidently, it had to be the dominator *with the sigil tattoo* who
sits on the victim’s face, in order to re-establish control.
After 24 hours without Desiree sitting on my face, all of her
mental commands faded and came undone.

I regained all of my lost memories about the sigil stone.

I lost my imprinted fetishes about big assess and big tits.

And I realized that Monica wasn’t my “goddess” and that I wasn’t
a lesbian.

But I also realized some other things.

I wasn’t a lesbian, but I wasn’t fully “straight,” either. I had
never given into my desires before, but now that Desiree had
forced me to experience sex with a woman, I realized I liked it.

A lot.

I hadn’t lost my interest in men, but I realized I was definitely
bi-sexual.

I also realized that I *really* got off on being sexually
dominated. Monica was a gentle and considerate top, and she
brought me places, sexually, that I had never before dreamed
possible. I loved being “forced” to go down on her and I loved
how she made me cum like a freight train.  I loved being used …
owned … by this thick-bodied, black dominatrix!

So … I kept quiet. I never let on to Monica or Desiree that the
mind control from that first night had worn off. I continued to
act as if I were mind controlled.

And every evening, at 8 p.m., I look forward to Monica settling
her big, beautiful, black ass on my face and smothering me for a
full half hour.
