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.