The Dominator (Post-Script, Part II)

Elizabeth lived a simple life now. Servitude, to her Master Broadus. Her thick leather collar no longer chafed her skin, the thick iron ring perpetually attached to a heavy chain.

She was bossed around by everyone. The sons and daughters she'd born by Broadus. Even Katie, Aaron and Emily, all slaves in their own right, were above her. She, a daughter of privilege, was now the most baseborn woman she'd ever known.

Her Master came into the main room, smoking a cigar, his big belly undulating. She licked it, unbidden, her soft tongue pushing between the rolls, tasting musk and bits of old skin and detritus. She was long past the point of sitting in judgment of him or herself. She cleaned her Master like he was a golden God.

Her mouth glided up to his nipples, pursing and suckling at them as if she were a babe, then up to the thick patch of hair in his armpit. That she ate like a pussy, making soft squelching sounds as she licked up the sweat, more and more focused on it, like a cat around its nip.

"Enough," her Master grunted softly. He yanked on the chain, and Elizabeth immediately collapsed before him, on her knees, in front of her Master's glorious Black cock. And then she serviced him, as she did every morning, the lowest of slaves.