Every bone in my body tells me that what I am doing is wrong. As a reporter, throwing yourself into your job comes with the territory, but the deeper I go, the more I worry. Now here I am in a man's hand who wants me to call him Master and I'm struggling with the fact that I may not hate it...
He isn't tender. His breath reeks of tobacco as he finds my neck. I can feel the bristled hairs on his chin against my own smooth skin. He pulls me even closer to him as he fumbles with his own shirt. Wrinkled flesh engulfs me when he gets it off. I quiver when I hear him unzip his pants. I can't catch my breath as he spins me around to face him. His eyes blaze into my own with a sense of ownership that cannot be mimicked.
"You're different," he tells me as he runs his fingers through my coarse hair. Even blow dried there is a coarseness that wraps around his thick fingers. He seems to like it as he runs his nose over it.
"I believe your fear," he says slowly taking my chin in his hands, "I love it."
My fear is very real. I had never thought I'd be in this place and what's worse is there are moments when I think I enjoy it. For instance, right now he is blowing along my neck in a way that makes my nipples harden. My body is betraying me.
He is feeling my wetness between his fingers. His hands are overly invasive. More invasive are his fingers in my mouth when he makes me taste it. I've never tasted myself before and with him probing me it becomes less about the taste and more about the lack of choice that comes with it.
"Nigger juice," he tells me. I'm so slick between his fingers. My hips move into him. I can feel the familiar tingling beginning to build between my thighs His large cock is out and naked against my ass. I'm going to cum. I want to cum with the warmth of his cock inside me. He can tell that I'm edging, and immediately stops his touching of me.
"Not yet," he says facing me away from him and placing my hands on the table beside us. Without warning he is inside me. I shudder. I'm choking on my own tongue as I feel him inside me. He is the width of my walls even though he isn't very long. I'm so wet now that I can feel myself leaking down my legs. I want to cum so bad, but I feel like I need to ask permission. I question if I'm ready to ask permission. The consequences for not asking may be greater than I can handle.
"Do you feel me," he leans closer with his mouth just beyond my ear, "beg me for my cum."
