Plantation Lullabies

What would make a person spend $20,000 on a week-long session with a pro-domme? Believe it or not, Mistress Emmanuelle, the Black Dominatrix who arrogantly charged the exorbitant fee, was booked solid for eight months in advance with her popularity growing by word of mouth alone. Charles Trenton was intrigued by the concept when he read about her on his favorite BDSM message board. The thread was started by someone who claimed to have been a client of this outrageously strict Ebony Domme whose activities were being touted as nothing less than illegal at best and deranged psychosis in the very worst-case scenario. There was a bit of controversy over the thread because someone claiming to be the head of a bank wrote the original post but it was written in disjointed and barely literate phonetics, raising all sorts of issues over the authenticity of the so-called “facts” presented. Adding insult to injury, the original poster seemed to have posted the same message on several message boards and never stuck around long enough to reply or defend his claims.

Curious, Charles Googled the name “Mistress Emmanuelle” to see if he could find out some more information. With over 500 results, he had his work cut out for him. He eliminated all the results that were for the Russian Domme by the same name and he was down to a little more than 100 links to check out. More than half of them were reposts of the same cryptic message he had already read and the majority of the others seemed to go to random white women claiming to be Dommes. Deciding to narrow down his search by using a few keywords from the original message, he hit pay dirt. One click and he was on www.trueslaveexperience.com.

It was a simple website, a single webpage really, outlining Mistress Emmanuelle’s philosophy. It explained how, in so many instances, white subs claim they want to be enslaved to a Black woman, to be punished for their whiteness without comprehending how disrespectful and ignorant they are of what actual slaves had to endure. She claimed to have a 100-acre plantation that replicated the true slave experience and which had NOTHING to do with sexual subservience or fulfilling some sassy negro/mammy fantasy. She boldly proclaimed, “I make rich white men feel real pain and agony. I decide if and when they eat, sleep, drink, piss, and shit. I administer punishment randomly, indiscriminately, and I do so with extreme sadistic pleasure. If you come to my domain, I will break your spirit and crush it under my stiletto like a worthless bug. I beat and torture the arrogance out of my clients until they can no longer face their pale, pathetic reflections in the mirror.”

Assured that he wasn’t like the men being described on the webpage, Charles read every word over and over, knowing full well that he had no intention of forking over that sort of money. There was a number at the bottom of the page, however, that said that serious inquiries should call for further information. It was too tempting. Always protective of his identity and overly cautious, he got a disposable cell phone that couldn’t be traced and called the 10 digits. Anticipating some sort of voice mail, he was shocked when a woman answered, identifying herself as Mistress Emmanuelle.

She was polite and articulate and she explained