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Her appartment was on the third story It was a smalish appartment, with one bathroom, one small kitchen, and one giant room withe verything else- two beds, a couch a television with a tangle of cords and boxes beneath it. A large trans pride flag hung above one of the beds. I glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.

"That yours?" I had no issue with trans people- one of my few long-term, healthy relationships had been with a trans woman- but it would have been nice to know in advance.

She shook her head. "My roommate. Change into your formal wear. I will change out here, and get our toys out."

She was going a little fast. Nice that she was getting to the point, but it all felt strangely mechanical. "Wait. What is our scenario?"

"I am a recalcitrant ****. You are a plantation owner, disciplining me. You are going to rip my clothes off, thrash me with this-" She pulled out a riding crop, "-and then fuck me while hitting me and calling me slurs. We can improv the specifics. The safe word is red."

I gaped at her. That was way, way too intense of a premise to 'improv the specifics.'

"Really jumping in at the deep end, huh?" I asked sheepishly.

She glared silently as she puled her orange blouse up over her head, allowing her black breasts to spill out, full and firm, held back only by a white bra. "I have an IUD in, so do not worry about that. I was told you had been tested? Leave the paperwork on the bed so I can look it over. I photocopied mine into the app, redacted in the important parts. All of my other partners since then have also been clean."

Not wanting to aggravate her further, I dropped the paperwork onto the bedspread and set off for the small bathroom, to change. I had mixed feelings on her. On the one hand, she was excruciatingly beautiful and down for some weird shit. On the other hand, she had a personality like road-gravel.

I stepped out of the bathroom in my finery, staring down at her. She was dressed quite simply. A plain white cloth wrap, a white headband holding her voluminous hair back. The contrast of the perfect white cloth on her beautiful onyx skin was breathtaking.

"One of my friends is a photographer. He'd sell a kidney to have you model for him."

"Not interested." She said. She gave me the riding crop. The shaft was flexible, and the leather head soft as suede. It would have some kick, if I really put my arm into it, but would probably not deal lasting harm.

"Are you ready to begin?" I asked hesitantly.

"Yes." She said flatly. Her voice was flat, her face was flat, her eyes glassy as a stuffed animal as they stared into mine. She closed her eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out.

When she opened her eyes, she shifted. Her eyes filed with fear, she took a few cowering steps back. She seemed to shrink under my gaze. "M-M-Master! I'd'nt expect to see you so soon!" She said. Her voice was an octave higher, threaded with an accent, and pilled with a landscape of emotion. Her body had not changed, but it was like she had become an entirely different person.

I felt my cock grow hard, tenting my black dress pants.

"Kneel, ****. Do you have a name?" I snarled, putting a cartoonishly thick southern accent into my voice.

She obeyed, kneeling in front of me, hands folded in her lap, head level with my navel, cock throbbing inches from her face. Heart hammered in my chest, goosebumps breaking out over my entire body. This beautiful woman was mine, my ****, my property, and I could do anything I wanted to her. I held the power of life and **** over her, and her flesh was nothing but a tool for my pleasure.

It was intoxicating. I laid a hand on the side of her head, taking a firm grip of her hair but not pulling. Yet.

"Marta." She quietly responded, looking meekly down at my feet.

"Look at me, Marta. Meet my gaze." She did. Her eyes glistened wetly, as though she was about to cry in terror. I felt in my bones the animal, mortal fear dripping from her. "Do you know why I have summoned you?"

"No, Master."

"Your block was producing below quota. One of my overseers asked them why, and they all, to the last, pointed their fingers at you."

Shock. Betrayal. A hint of anger. But mostly, a tsunami of abject terror. Aisha was a masterful actress.

"What?" She asked.

"Yes. Your own so-called 'friends' and 'family', if your kind even have such things, sold you out. They said you were... distracting them." I reached my other hand down, kneading her breasts. Warm, dark skin. My hands were often very cold- poor circulation. The way she jerked when I touched him was genuine shock. "Loathsome Negress harlot, with your body built for sin. Tempting your fellow slaves and your betters both. Stand and strip. I must punish you."

Slowly, reluctantly, she began to unbutton her vestment, one at a time. Very, very slowly. I tapped my foot before stepping towards her. "Fine, I'll do it."

He grabbed the neck of her clothes and yanked, ripping the dress clean open and sending buttons skittering across the floor as she squealed. I cast the wrap, now just a simple cloth square, to to the side. I gazed lasciviously over her body. Full breasts, broad hips, thick thighs, a narrow waist, well-muscled stomach. A goddess of fertility, radiating chained power.

"Such a lewd and sinful body. You are a fountain of temptation. I bet you fuck the other N-" The word caught in my mouth, refusing to leave, so I pivoted. "-Negroes constalty. Taking their seed down your throat and across this body costnatly. How many loads a day do you recive? From your fellow slaves? From your white betters?"

She shook her head, cowering. "I'm not a slut, master. I don't-"

I silenced her with a slap across the face. Even I was shocked by how hard I hit her, the loud slap, the sting and tingle in my hand. Her eyes were wide with silent terror. For a moment, my heart wavered.

Color? I mouthed, barely even a whisper.

Green, she responded. My heart at ease, I slid back into the scene seamlessly.

"I am you master. You will not question me. So. Now for your punishment." I slapped my hand with the riding crop. "Twenty lashes with this switch. All over that pestilent body of yours. But, every time you make a noise, I add five more. This takes as long as it takes. Ready?"

Holding back tears, she silently nodded.

I circled aroudn her, eyeing every inch of her flesh hungrily. Her beauty was mine, all mine. I struck her upon her heart-shaped ass, and she let out a shocked squeal. "Strike one out of twenty-five." Another stroke on the back of her thigh. Another squeal. "Two of thirty. At least try." One, two, three strikes on her back, leaving angry red streaks. "Five." One on each shoulder. "Seven." Three more on her ass. "Ten. A third of the way there."

He circled in front of her. "How do you feel, little whore?"

She nooded demurely. "Grateful for your punishment, Master." She said brokenly.

I nodded. "Ten out of thirty-five" I said, with a cruel smirk. A tear ran down her face as she realised the mistake she had made. I stepped towards her and kissed her on her cheek, before licking the salty tear away. Gripping a firm handfull of her hip-flesh in one hand, I held her close and spanked her repeatedly, whispering the count in her ear. "Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen." I switched hands, and switched ass-cheeks. "Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen." She convulsed and shivvered with each strike, gritting her teeth as to remain silent as her tears began streaming down her face. I lapped them up greedily, salty and sweet.

I stepped back and, gripping the crop, slapped her on a breast. "Ninteen." Two more. "Twenty-one. Past the half-way point. Good little bitch." Another crop-strike, this time aiming for a nipple. She yelped. "twenty two out of forty. You'd have been free now if you could just follow your fucking orders." I struc her thighs and stomach and breasts several more times. She remained dead silent thorugh all of this. Locking her eyes with mine.

"Thirty-nine. One more, and you are free from my punishment." I felt a devious idea crawl through my mind. "Tell me. are you relived that this is almost over?"

The ****-whore opened her mouth but did not make a noise, instead simply closing it again, before nodding. Clever girl, I thought to myself.

"Tell me, how much of a slut are you? How many men have you sucked off? Have you taken in the ass? In the pussy?" She refused to answer. "I said answer me, whore."

"I am not a whore!" She snarled, her fear shot thorugh with rage. He whacked her on the cheek with the crop.

"Forty out of forty-five. So close. How many?" She se stayed silent. I struck her on the breast. "How many?" Silence. I struck her again. "How many?" Whack. "How many?" Whack. "How many?"

"I've lost count" She snarled. "You deny us every form of pleasure, or joy. The act of love-making is the only source of joy we have, the only pleasure you have not denied us. So we do it as much as we can."

I nodded, knowingly. "Forty-three out of fifty. Tell me. Have you whelped yet? Have you born children? I do not believe so. The records do not indicate so."

She shook her head.

"Interesting. You seem like a prime breeding specimine. You would make a fine brood-mare. I can smell how fertile you are. Tell me. How has a whore like you avoided falling with child? Are you good at counting days? Or do you simply deny your studs the pleasure of finishing in your body?"

"Both. I take no chances."

"Forty-three out of fifty-five." I let out a cruel, wolfish grin. "Tell me, is today safe?"

The blood drained from Marta's face, as she realised what was about to happen. "No. No. No no no no no...!"

"Forty-three of nintey. I'm counting each of those 'no's separately. New game. I'm counting thrusts instead of hits. If You can keep quieit long enough, I'll waste my seed on your stomach. Otherwise, I fill you with a mulatto baby."

She tried to run away, but I grapped her by the waist and tossed her screaming form onto the bed. I puled my shirt off, and yanked my pants down, before flopping on top of her. She was already soaked with arousal, her jices thick and viscous, as I sank my cock into her. Her face was controted int terror.

"Oh, delicious little Negress harlot. Your pussy feels so good" I pured at her, eyes locked, as I began to slowly pump in and out of her. I slaped her on the face, and her body clenched around me deliciously. "Good girl. Your body know's it's place, beneath me." SHe began to cry, sobbing and shedding tears, and quickly her count rose beyond what I could keep track of.

"Pleas master" She gapsed betweeen sobbs. "Do not do this! I cannot bear a to carry a child! It would ruin me! I dont want it I dont want it I dont want it!" She shook her head, but I grabbed it, kissing her on the lips as she screamed into my mouth. I tasted her breasts, slick and sweet with sweat.

"You have amazing breasts, and they are goign to look even better full of milk." I caressed her hips. "Such wide hips, prime for carrying and whelping a horde of mulatto children." I kissed her throat "Such a nice voice you have." I nibbled her ear.

"Please! Spare me! Spare me from this ultimate indignity-" I slapped her, then slapped her again on the other cheek with the back of my hand.

"This is ntot an inignity. This is a blessing. You, alone of all my Negresses, is worthy to cary my seed."

I felt my scrotum clenching in preperation, my gigantic balls overflowing with potent sperm. "I'm getting close, harlot." Her pussy clenched in panic as he said this, her fear shifting to despair as her blubbering degenerated into wordless incoherence. I began massaging her clit. "Come for me. I have heard that a simlutaneous climax increases the chance of pregnancy."

We orgasm simultaneously, me shooting ropes of hot, fertile semen into her, her screaming muscular contractions drawing it upwards into her hungry, fertile womb.

In the entire time I do not break eye-contact. I can see the light leaving her eyes as her mind breaks, and resigned despiar claims her.

"Welcome to motherhood, whore."

***

Aisha's eyes were red, though the tears and spasms of her crying had mostly faded. She turned over on the bed, away from me, curling her arms and legs into her chest as my cum leaked out of her. She curled up so tight she almost seemed to shrink.

"The scene is over." She mumbled flatly. "You can go if you want."

I stood there, riding crop in one hand, limp cock, still dripping cum, hanging out. The room suddenly felt very, very cold.

"What about aftercare?"

"I can take it or leave it. You don't owe me anything. We're just fuckbuddies." Her tone was still mostly flat, though seemingly annoyed. But there was something else there, something that he could not quite identify. She seemed... sad. Like she was trying to convince herself of something she did not entirely believe.