The Pampered Black Queen .  294 pages.  Published 2007
Published by Xlibris at Xlibris.com

Purchases can be made through:


Click on the title of the book to place your order.  For your convenience, the book is also available through Amazon, Barnes and Nobel, and Borders.

CUSTOMER REVIEWS

The following customer reviews are taken from Amazon.com:

The book provides graphic, intimate details in the day to day life of a beautiful black woman and her white love slave.  It should interest anyone involved in or contemplating an S&M relationship or even the curious.  The black queen in the book is a natural dominatrix who demands total submission and obedience from her slave.  In page after page she invents ways to extract his services and insure that she is royally pampered from morning to night.  Its good to be the queen.


By the author's own admission, the plot consists mainly of how this beautiful black woman is going to use and abuse her white slave on almost a daily basis.  Very graphic, very detailed action provides stimulating reading to anyone interested in what goes on behind closed doors in this type of relationship.


The book follows the day to day adventures of a modern couple in suburban America.  She is a beautiful black woman married to an older but physically fit white man.  Their relationship is simple.  She is the queen and as such, does absolutely nothing that could possibly be mistaken for work.  He is her total and complete slave.  Each day brings new and exciting ways for the slave to pamper his lovely, luscious, and completely spoiled queen.  The book is graphic in its dealings with both the pain and the pleasure found in the life style of female domination.
Excerpt

Many, many moments slowly, pleasantly drifted by while she enjoyed and savored every soothing, hedonistic second.  She had heaven on earth at her beck and call.  If she allowed herself, she could easily let go and flood his face with her orgasmic juices.  But she was enjoying the building crescendo in her body too much to release it now.  There was more to come.  This was not the climax of the evening.  Her body trembled with the thought of what she was about to do.  She squeezed the head between her thighs so hard he thought she would crush his skull.  "Check the branding iron."  Her words slipped over her dry lips as nothing more than a husky whisper.
Dreading what he would find, he pulled the iron from the fire.  The end glowed red hot and ready.  "Its ready my queen."  His voice was shaky with fear and the desire to run away to save himself from the agony and pain that was to come.
"Put it back and lie on the brace on your back."  Her voice trembled with excitement and the thrill of her power over him.  The brace was a simple X form that would separate his legs and keep him from squirming and thrashing around.  She could almost see the sweat pouring down his face from the raw fear gripping and playing with his mind.  She smiled as he nervously lie there waiting for her to secure him while she leisurely finished her glass of wine.
Sipping the last drop of her wine, she rose and sensually walked over to her prostrate slave.  She stood over him enjoying the thrill of absolute power and domination.  "What are you?" she asked him.
"Your slave mistress, he answered.
"What kind of slave?"
"A lazy, worthless, insignificant slave mistress," he answered.
Satisfied with his answer, she knelt and bound his legs to the cross bars.  She secured his ankles, his calves, his knees, and his thighs.  She pulled the rope tight, cruelly pinching his flesh.  Then she tied his wrists to the top of the frame.  He was now completely and totally helpless and at her mercy.  She stood over him and began slowly swaying to the music that was softly filling the room with its gentle, soulful beat.  She rubbed her hands suggestively over her breasts, her belly, her thighs, and her sweet sex.  She continued her dance to the end of the song and then placed her foot on his vulnerable crotch.  She manipulated him with her toes causing him to begin to rise in spite of himself.  Her laugh was sinister.  "How many punishment lashes do I owe you?"
"One hundred gracious mistress."
He had laid all of her whips out on the couch for her.  She selected the newest whip with all of the leather lashes hanging from it because it would cover a much wider area of his body.  She playfully dangled the lashes across his face and down his body.  Then the whip rained down upon his restrained form again and again and again.  Her lust and excitement put vicious power behind each savage blow.  At the count of fifty she stopped and again tickled his body with the ends of the leather straps that made up the whip.  And just as suddenly began again with a vengeance until all one hundred punishment lashes had been delivered.
She stood over him weaving her super sexually charged body to the wailing sounds of the rhythm and blues straining through the speakers around her.  She was almost in a trance.  He was frightened by the similarity to voodoo rituals he had seen in movies and on TV.  She walked, no glided to the fireplace as though she was on a stage performing for hundreds of lust filled eyes.  She put the oven mitts on to protect her precious, royal skin and removed the branding iron from the fire.  She passed it over his entire body causing him to cringe in complete, unadulterated fear and panic as he felt the awesome heat from the red, glowing  brand.  She enjoyed the frightened look in his eyes.  The sheer, terrified look of a cornered animal who has fallen prey to the carnivore.  She passed it over him again causing the juices to flow down her legs from her eagerly waiting groin.  She turned and walked back to the fireplace sensually twisting her beautiful, brown ass in the few steps it took to reach it.
She replaced the iron in the fire and refilled her wine glass.  Holding the glass, she stood over her helpless, frightened slave and began undulating to the music again.  The fire in her loins was begging for release but she allowed it to build to even higher levels of intensity.  She danced and sensually rubbed herself until she finished her glass of wine, which had brought her mind to wonderful levels of relaxation but which was not nearly as intoxicating as the exhilaration she was feeling from her ceremony of primeval lust, power, and pain.
She again slowly, sensually glided to the fireplace, put the gloves back on, and removed the iron.  Once again she passed the iron across his face and down his body just to enjoy and savor his fear.  "Beg for it slave," she hissed.  To emphasize it, she passed the terrible device over his body again.  "Beg me to burn and scar you.  Beg me to mark you as my personal and private property.  My dog.  My slave.  Beg for it!"
"Please brand me as your personal and private property mistress."  His voice quivered and the words barely snuck out in an almost inaudible whisper.  But he was totally sincere.  He was ready for the torture to end and to get it over with.
She laughed easily and replaced the iron in the fire.  "Not yet slave.  I'm having too much amusement.  I mean, this is amusing.  I mean I'm having too much fun."  It was the alcohol taking effect.  She decided to give him fifty lashes with the cat-o-nine-tails just because she had the power and the authority and the right to do it.  And it amused and pleased her to do it.  Crack.  Crack.  Crack.  Crack.  Crack.  Crack.  Crack.  Crack.  Crack.  Crack.  Crack.  Crack.  The blows came fast, furious, unrelenting, and sadistically harsh.  It almost sent her over the edge into orgasm before the ultimate act of cruelty and ownership was performed on her slave.
She tossed the whip in the general direction of the couch and stepped meanifully to the fire.  She removed the iron and stood over him, savoring the final seconds of paralyzing fear in his eyes before she pushed the brand into his immobilized, upper thigh.  His scream of pain was almost inhuman as she slowly counted to five.  One, pause, two, pause, three, pause, four, pause, five.  She dropped the iron into the pail of water with a rolling bubbly hiss.  She grabbed her riding crop from the couch and stepped over to her moaning, freshly branded slave.