Black Queen Takes White Pawn (mid 1990s)
-- lightswitch

(FF, interracial, black female, white female, reluctant, nonconsensual, 
ws, humiliation, violence)

The following is one of my first sex stories, which I published in 
a private BBS specializing in Amazon Women, sometime between 1994 and 1996. 
To my surprise, I was flattered to find it reproduced on a plethora of 
"sex story sites" around the web!  Unfortunately, it had been put 
up without proper attribution.

To rectify that, I present to you: Black Queen Takes White Pawn, 
an early lightswitch story!  (Fans will recognize several thematic elements.)  ;-)

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

Joan sat heavily at the booth and ordered a tequila sunrise. 
Leaning heavily on the table, she watched the waitress walk away.

"God, I can't believe this week!" she thought, letting her eyes
close with fatigue.  "Work, work, work!  But no more overtime! 
The project is over and it's Saturday night!  Maybe I can salvage
something from this weekend."  She kicked off her shoes under the
table and let her toes stretch in newfound freedom.

Her drink came and she took a long pull.  She sighed with bliss. 
Delicious!  And she needed this!  She mused appreciatively about
how lucky she had been to find this place -- only a block away
from work and she had never noticed it before.  Her eyes focused
on her glass.  Empty.  She signalled the waitress for another. 
"I deserve it," she thought with satisfaction.

Several drinks later found her in a much better mood.  She
studied her reflection in the glass.  Attractive.  Nothing
spectacular.  Average height and build.  Shoulder-length blonde
hair.  "Maybe if I were stunningly attractive, I'd have gotten
farther than I have and wouldn't have to work so hard," she
thought with a twinge of resentment.  She glanced down at her
body, hidden in the navy blue suit that served as a uniform for
all of the account representatives at her company.  "Average,"
she sneered.  "Maybe I'm too severe in my appearance?  Or maybe I
just need bigger boobs."  Realizing she was unfairly getting down
on herself, she allowed her mind and her eyes to wander.

She sipped her most recent drink and started looking more closely
at her surroundings.  Nice place.  Low light, subdued music,
quiet clientele...  "I may have found a new 'regular watering
hole,'" she thought gratefully.

Her eyes came to rest on two women at a small table across the
room.  A tall, statuesque black woman in a short jacket was
talking with a large-boned, somewhat homely blonde dressed in
jeans.  "The black one must be some kind of athlete," Joan
thought.  "I've never seen such wide shoulders on a woman
before."  Though slowed by alcohol, Joan realized she was staring
and quickly averted her eyes out of habit.

But she instantly jerked her gaze back to the pair.  The black
woman's hand was on the thick blonde's thigh!  Joan stared in
awe.  "God!  Don't they realize there are people around?!?" she
wondered.  Joan glanced around to see if anyone had noticed the
two deviants.

Almost relieved not to be a spectator to any embarrassing scenes,
Joan saw that no one in the crowded little bar seemed to be
paying any attention to the two at the far table.  Joan sipped
her drink and laughed to herself.  Some people had no sense of
modesty.  She paused and tried to focus her thoughts.  Something
else was nagging at her.  She looked around the bar again, more
carefully.  There was something ... different.  But she couldn't
put her finger on it.

As she carefully examined the room, she was heartened by the fact
that she had an opportunity to try to think about things without
getting distracted by crude advances from a roomful of men with
more hormones than consideration.

"That's it!" she realized.  There were no men in here!  The
groups of two or four at each table were women.  Two couples
circled lazily on the small dance floor ... women!  Joan felt
queasy and she realized her heart was pounding.  "Shit!  I've
been sitting in a gay bar!"

Feeling guilty, as if she were a voyeur, Joan took a quick look
back at the two deviants she had first noticed.  Joan's heart
jumped and she couldn't breath: the black woman was looking
directly at her.  And she was smiling!  Out of nervous reflex,
Joan smiled back and then quickly looked away.

Joan felt ill and her knees went weak.  "Ohgodohgodohgod!"  Her
mind was reeling.  "She probably thinks I'm a lesbian or
something," Joan thought in panic.  "I'd better get out of here!"

She rose unsteadily to her feet and stumbled towards the door. 
"I think I've drank more than I realized," she thought.

As she stood, she became aware of a growing pressure in her
bladder.  "Damn!  Shouldn't have drank so much!" she thought in
frustration.  "I'll never make it home."  She weighed her
embarrassment and discomfort against the steadily increasing
pressure in her bladder.  Her bladder won.  "One quick pit stop
and them I'm outta here," she promised herself.

She pushed heavily against the swinging door to the restroom,
catching herself as she staggered against the wall.  "I've got to
start watching how much I drink," she thought.  "I'm going to get
myself in trouble one of these days."

Inside, the room was small, dingy, and smelled like urine.  The
peeling wallpaper looked beige, but in the light of the single
dim yellowish bulb, it could have been almost any color.  There
were no stalls, just a toilet, a sink, and a paper towel
dispenser.  The floor was tiled in alternating squares of black
and white.  "Rather like a chess board," Joan thought, giddily.

Standing with her back to the toilet, Joan unbuttoned her suit
jacket and slid her panties down around her ankles, preparing to
seat herself.  "I'm glad the light's so bad," she thought, "if I
knew for sure how dirty this thing is, I'd bust before I used
it."

She heard the soft sound of a door opening.  She looked up to see
the black woman pushing the bolt lock into place.  Joan's mind
froze.  She'd never expected anyone else to enter the room -- it
was a BATHROOM for God's sake!

The black woman's voice was smooth and confident.  "Hey baby, you
don' waste any time, do you."  It was a statement, not a
question.  "What's your name, shugah?"

Joan's ribcage felt too small for her lungs.  "The door had a
lock!  I should have used the lock!"  The pressure in her bladder
was evolving into an actual pain.  "Not now," she tried to will
the feeling away.  She looked at the intruder again, summoning
her strength for a possible confrontation.

"Joan," she replied.  Her voice sounded high and tight, even to
her.

The black woman smiled.  "Joan," she said.  "I want you to call
me 'Queen.'  Joan just looked at her stupidly, wishing the pain
in her bladder would go away -- at least until a less
inconvenient time presented itself.  A black queen?  "How fitting
for this dirty little chess board," she thought in fearful anger.

"Ah saw you lookin' mah way," Queen continued, slowly removing
the short, dark jacket she'd been wearing.  Even in this dim
light, Joan could see the rippling, well-defined muscles of her
arms, clearly revealed by the tight tank top the other woman
wore.  "When you smiled back and then came here, I knew whatchu
wanted."  Queen had been moving forward slowly as she'd been
talking and was now only a few inches away.  Joan stared at Queen
like a deer gazing at the oncoming headlights of a speeding
truck.

Queen's hand reached out and gently stroked Joan's blouse-covered
breast.  "Ah got whatchu want, shugah," Queen purred.  "This is
your first tahm with another woman, isn't it?"  Queen was
grinning like a predator, running her tongue along her lip in
obvious anticipation.

This was enough to snap Joan out of her trance.  She angrily
slapped Queen's hand away.  "Leave me alone, you black dyke!  I'm
NOT a lesbian!"

Queen regarded her coolly.  Then she smiled.  A confident smile
that unnerved Joan. 

"Oh," the other woman grinned.  "So THAT'S the way you like it!" 
Joan looked at the black woman in confusion, and decided she was
crazy.  "I'm leaving," Joan decided.  She strode purposefully
toward the door.  "All you have to do is be assertive," she
thought.  "I'm glad that's over."  She glanced at Queen as she
passed.

Like a snake, Queen's hand shot out and grabbed Joan by her
shoulder-length hair.  In a smooth motion, she jerked Joan
backwards, into her arms.  Using the handful of hair as a handle,
Queen pulled Joan's head back and kissed her, fully and deeply on
her mouth.

Joan was too surprised to react.  Her head was still pulled back
hard, allowing the black woman free access to Joan's mouth.  Joan
could feel the larger woman's tongue probing and exploring her
mouth.  She felt helpless and violated by this intrusion and
tried pushing ineffectively against her assailant.

Queen's other hand slid inside Joan's blouse and under her bra,
roughly fondling the white woman's breast.  Joan squirmed
desperately.  The hand slid lower, sliding up her skirt and
coming to rest on her womanhood.

"Why you little slut," Queen husked.  "No panties!"  Joan
realized with fear that her panties were still around her
ankles.  The roaming hand forcibly parted her labia.  Joan
twisted frantically, trying to escape.

"Yessss," Queen hissed.  "You lahk this, don'tchu, you little
dyke."  Joan realized with growing horror that she had, indeed,
reacted to the aggressive treatment: her crotch was damp and
heated.  "No!" she insisted to herself.  "I'm NOT a lesbian! 
This can't excite me!" But as Queen's tongue swabbed the inside
of Joan's mouth and as the black fingers probed deeper into her
vulva, Joan's struggles became less forceful.  She found herself
letting the black woman's tongue and hand have free reign.

Queen pulled her hungry mouth from Joan's.  "Ah knew it," she
murmured.  "You do like it rough!  Well, honey, ahm here to
oblige you."  Without warning, she swung Joan around and slammed
her back into the wall.  Immediately, the larger woman pressed
herself against Joan, pinning her to the wall.  Again, the black
woman's thick, full lips enveloped Joan's thinner lips.  Queen
pinned the smaller woman's wrists and used her thick tongue to
pry Joan's teeth apart.  The black woman again invaded the soft,
moist recesses of her victim's defenseless mouth.  Joan moaned
helplessly, fighting against the pleasurable wetness she could
feel growing between her legs, as well as the now-intense pain in
her bladder.

Without warning, Queen released Joan's wrists and took a step
backwards.  Joan started to open her eyes, but found her head
rocked by a vicious slap to the face.  Another hard slap stung
her other cheek.  "Ah hope you enjoy this as much as ah do,
bitch," Queen hissed.  A series of hard slaps rained down on the
stunned white girl, rocking her head back and forth.  With a moan
of pain, Joan lost control of her bloated bladder.  She leaned
heavily against the wall as she felt the warm wetness spreading
across the front of her skirt.  She could feel the shame burning
her cheeks and didn't dare open her eyes.  The slapping ceased.

"Well, what have we here?" Queen asked in apparent surprise. 
"That puddle looks too big for you to have come.  Did you piss
yourself, white girl?  Huh?  Did Queen make you piss yourself?" 
Joan didn't answer.  The last of her resolve fled before the
growing stain on her skirt.  Her knees buckled and she slid to
the floor, hot tears welling up in her eyes.

"Had enough, girl?  You need any more 'play' or are you ready to
give up what we came in here for?"  Joan whimpered.  "What's
that?" Queen demanded.  "What'd you say, girl?  I didn't hear
you!  Are you ready to put out?"

Joan's tears burned in her eyes.  This black bitch!  What right
did she have to do this to her?!  She was SOMEONE!  She had a
good job and commanded respect!  No horny black lesbian was going
to control her like this!  With a shriek, the enraged white girl
launched herself at her tormenter, intent on clawing her eyes out
and regaining some self-respect.

Instead, she caught a fist to her pretty face.  It felt like
running into a door.  Joan's legs turned to water and she fell
back on the floor, clutching her bleeding mouth and nose.  She
rocked on the floor in pain.

"I guess you need some more foreplay," she heard her assailant
laugh.  "Honey, ah got all you could want.  Nothing gets me
hotter than beatin' the livin' shit out of a white girl afore ah
have mah way with her."

She felt herself being lifted a few inches and realized that
Queen was sliding one of her muscular legs under her.  "You wanna
be my squeeze, shugah?"  Rubbing her abused face, Joan wondered
what the woman was talking about.  She found out.

Intense pressure began squeezing her stomach and lower back.  Her
eyes shot open.  The black woman's muscular legs were wrapped
tightly around her victim's midsection.  With an audible grunt,
Queen lifted her ass off the floor and squeezed.  Joan felt like
her guts would be forced out her mouth and her vision dimmed. 
God, was this woman strong!  Joan's hands rested helplessly on
the bulging, thick-muscled thighs that held her prisoner.  They
felt as hard and as unyielding as the black-and-white tiled
floor.  Another squeeze: Joan would have screamed, but she had no
air.  She could only give a short-lived grunt as the painful
pressure made tears stream down her cheeks.

"Feel good, baby?" the black woman taunted.  "You like being
between mah legs?  Let's you know who your mistress is, don't
it!"  Joan could feel her consciousness slipping.  She tugged
futilely at the two meaty bars of her prison.  To her tired
surprise, the legs came loose.  Joan collapsed on the floor in
relief.

But her relief was short-lived.  She felt a thick leg move under
her head, and another draped itself over her head and came to
rest on her neck.  Even as she realized the other woman's intent,
the two massive limbs began squeezing her neck in a devastating
scissors.

If the body scissors had been bad, this was worse by far!  Joan
bucked helplessly against the killing pressure.  Her air was
easily cut off and the blood pounded in her ears.  "I'm going to
die," she thought wildly.  "This crazy black dyke is going to
kill me!"  Her fingers dug into the hard, unyielding flesh,
marveling at their immense size even as she tried unsuccessfully
to pry them loose from her neck.  She could feel herself
weakening.  The room was getting darker and the walls swam before
her eyes.  Her nerveless fingers slowly slid from the black
woman's legs and she surrendered to unconsciousness.

She was awakened by a stream of warm water in her face.  She
opened her eyes and discovered herself on her knees before the
black amazon.  Queen was holding her head close to her crotch by
a fistful of hair and directing a forceful stream of piss into
her upturned face.

"You back, baby?" she asked, allowing the stream to slow to a
trickle.  "What about it?  You ready to give?"

"Or do want more?"

Joan's shame and humiliation burned sharply in her.  "No," she
whispered.  "No more.  I'll do whatever you want."

The black woman smiled and gave her a hard slap to her damp face. 
"Took you long enough to get worked up, pawn," she sneered.  Joan
fell back heavily on the floor, wishing the black and white tiles
would open up and swallow her.  Queen stepped over the prone
blonde and, grabbing another fistful of hair, pulled her to her
knees.  "Pull mah skirt up, slut," she demanded.

Slowly, as if hypnotized, Joan lifted her black victor's skirt. 
Queen had no underwear.  Joan only now realized this.  The beaten
white girl gazed at the thick, black, thatch of fur she'd
uncovered.  A heavy, musky smell tickled her nostrils.  Mingled
with the sharp tang of urine.  "Another woman is forcing me to
humiliate myself to giver her pleasure," she realized dully.  The
revulsion and shame threatened to overwhelm her.

"I can't do this," she whispered.

But the choice was never presented.  Using the fistful of blonde
hair as a handle, Queen crammed Joan's face into her crotch.  "Do
me, fem," she commanded.  "Please me and I'll let you walk out of
here."

Joan couldn't breathe; her face was jammed into her dominator's
dark, musky cunt.  The heavy odor filled her nose.  Her mouth. 
Her head.  Her head spun as she breathed the larger woman's
essence.  The smell was so intense she could taste it.  She could
feel the slick wetness dripping between her own legs, in
response.  Instinctively, without stopping to think, she poked
out her tongue and took a tentative lick.  Piss and cunt juice. 
The taste of total subjugation.  Final proof of just how badly
she was beaten and how completely she had been dominated.

The taste became even more intoxicating than the smell.  She
found herself eagerly licking her conqueror, pushing her face
even deeper into the hot wetness that smothered her.

However, her molester was evidently not satisfied with merely
having the blonde service her on hand and knee.  She pushed Joan
onto her back on the cold tile floor and, turning to face her
prey's feet, quickly straddled the blonde's face.  Again, the
black woman's hot, hairy cunt smothered the fallen blonde's
mouth; but now her assailant's ass brushed repeatedly against her
nose.  Queen moved her legs to pin Joan's arms and then sat back
purposefully.

The black woman's full ass enveloped Joan's nose and face, as
that relentless, sopping pussy continued to grind against her
mouth.  Joan gave up trying to tongue her victor and submitted to
the violent face fucking to which she was being subjected.  Queen
was obviously beyond reason as she bucked uncontrollably on the
blonde's face.  Joan tried to stay conscious for as long as
possible, relishing her complete subjugation.  But the black
woman's smothering ass and cunt were too much: starved for air,
Joan sank into oblivion.

                      * * * * * * * * * *

The first feeling she was aware of was "cold."  She opened her
eyes.  She was lying on a hard, tiled floor.  A dim bulb showed a
small, dingy room with peeling paint.  Startled, she recognized
her surroundings.  The restroom in the bar!

Flushing with shame, she recalled her humiliation at the hands of
the dominant, black lesbian.  She touched a hand to her chin. 
Her fingertips felt something cold and tacky.  Drying cunt juice,
marking the conquest by Queen.

Joan pulled herself up, leaning on one arm.  The urine on her
skirt had almost dried.  If she left quickly, perhaps nobody
would notice.  She scrambled to her feet and found her purse in
the corner.  "Bitch probably stole all my money," she thought
bitterly, quickly perusing the contents.  She stopped short.  All
of her money was still there.  But so was a folded cocktail
napkin.  With shaking hands, she opened the napkin.  Something
was scrawled on it.

               * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
               * I got your address from your license, my *
               * little slut-slave.   Consider yourself   *
               * captured.  Be ready for more games on a  *
               * regular basis.                           *
               *                                          *
               * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Joan found herself trembling uncontrollably.  Queen knew where
she lived!  She would be back.  Again and again.  Gaining
satisfaction from the continued sexual humiliation of the white
girl.  Joan nervously licked her lips.  The salty, pungent taste
of old cunt juice brought back the intense memories of her
humiliation at the hands of the Black Queen.  The memory made her
crotch tingle.  "Checkmate," she murmured.  "Looks like I lose. 
And win."
