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Archive-name: Samesex/queen.txt


Archive-title: Black Queen Takes White Pawn

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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."


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