The rain falls in huge drops against the plate-glass window. I’m all alone. All around me, darkness, in this home in the country. My client doesn’t usually leave me like this, but he was called away on business. The rain makes me restless.
I’m quite good at vanilla sex, I’m told. I react just perfectly—yieldingly feminine in the missionary position, taking my clients in deep when I’m on all fours. I even kiss them, at least sometimes. I’m a high-paid *********. Pro sex is my forte. But, truthfully, I’ve never been turned on by vanilla sex in my whole life.
That’s what occupies my mind tonight; my deepest, darkest fantasies of being a submissive slut to a well-endowed, strong Black man. How I wish to be kidnapped, violated, ravished, punished and hurt by a dominant man so much stronger than myself. I desire to be completely used, and taught not to resist as he grips my long, brown hair in fistfuls, skull-fucking me in deep, harsh strokes until I choke and sputter. I dream of being tied in a standing position so that he can admire the full beauty of my pale white body, manhandling any part of me he chooses. He’ll whip my body until crimson welts rise on my flawless, white skin, bruise me with tight ropes around my limbs. My Master will slap my face and order me to obey, then do terrible things to me that make my nipples stand tall and hard, and my pussy gush like mad. These are the dark things I long for, but alas, I have no such Black Master who will treat me so cruelly. My doting sugar daddy will return soon to fuck me with just the right amount of ‘sweet intensity’ and ‘sensual diligence.’ Zzzzzz…
I guess that’s why I can fuck men I hardly even know, just because they pay large sums of money. My therapist, with whom I’ve shared the perverse secrets of my submissive need for Black cock, says I don’t enjoy ‘vanilla’ sex because there’s no real intimacy in the fuck-for-money business. And I know that’s so true. My cunt tells me so. My body is wasted without a Master to take complete ownership of it. Occasionally, I confess my secret need to be humiliated and tortured to boyfriends I hope might understand. They try to accommodate me, tying my ankles spread-eagled to the bedposts, blindfolding me, placing clamps on my nipples, and then fucking me raw as I scream “No, no, no!” But they’re either afraid of hurting me, or too obviously not truly into what they’re doing. I thank them for trying, but what I want is a Nigga cock that throbs when it ‘sees’ me tied up, so subservient and pained. Will I ever find my Black Master to torture me just because it gives him pleasure? I would do anything for him; swallow his cum, let him ass-fuck me hard and rough, allow him to pimp me out to the lowest dregs in town for his entertainment.
On rainy nights like this, I long to kneel naked at my Master’s feet before a toasty hearth on a woolen rug. He can protect me from all the harm in the world, and in return I am his unlimited-use White sex bitch. My mouth, ass, and snatch are there for him to grope, penetrate, and abuse as he pleases. I will submit with total honesty, heart, body, and soul.
If I ever get the chance to truly express my submissive side, I know I’ll be the ultimate object of his pleasure. There’s no cruel act of torture I won’t suffer; no feat of humiliation I won’t proudly endure for the satisfaction of the man who owns me. I’ll never say no to anything my Black fucker requires of me…
I own a box of toys that I carry with me at all times. I keep two pairs of handcuffs (one for my ankles, and one for my wrists), a stainless steel dildo for pussy or anal stuffing, a braided black-leather bull whip and a PVC corset that cinches my waist perfectly, molding me into pure eye candy for my Master, my hourglass figure tantalizing to look at. Taking my box from my overnight case, I admire its menacing contents, my brain wild with frustrated anticipation. I forget for a moment that I’m all alone in this world. My fantasy life is my reality, teasing me with promises of joy.
In one of my most delicious fantasies, I’m walking along through a dark parking structure en route to meet with my sweet vanilla boyfriend. I wear sexy, high heeled sandals and a flouncy, baby-doll dress. A red-vinyl G-string barely hides my pussy beneath the skirt.
Suddenly, from behind, an arm wraps around my chest, and a hand slips across my face. I struggle for breath as a strange, medicinal vapor invades my lungs. I struggle to remain conscious. The last thing I remember before I black-out is a light on the ceiling of the garage. My hole oozes slippery cunt lube. Delicious torment awaits!
I awaken in a haze of confusion. I am in a spotlight, surrounded by shadows. My pretty dress has been stripped away, and I lie naked, face-down in silk-encased pillows. My wrists are cuffed behind me with cold steel manacles cutting ruthlessly into my flesh. My ankles, also imprisoned by the bite of metal, are pulled up toward my ass. I hardly feel the harsh metal embrace of the handcuffs, or the hard, thick invasion of the shiny forged-steel cock that’s been buried deep between my ass cheeks. These sensations are drowned out by the pulsating excitement of my engorged clit and cunt-lips. My stomach and thighs swim in a puddle of my own liquid arousal. I’m strangely calm and curious at the prospect of the torturous activities awaiting me.
Slap! I’m introduced to my captor when his palm lands stingingly across my pretty, rouged cheeks.
“Good morning,” he growls with a hint of good humor in his voice. “I see you’ve decided to join us.”
He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, I look up to behold this man, my evil kidnapper, and meet the eyes of a dashingly mature male. Glints of silver pepper his deep-black hair, a youth of smoldering good looks still obvious in his weathered visage.
“Look what I found in the parking garage,” he continues with playful sarcasm. “Open up,” he demands, tilting up my gaping mouth to drizzle a long tendril of spittle onto my tongue.
I plead and babble about my boyfriend, as tears begin to roll down my cheeks.
“I’m sure he’d love to see you now,” teases my sadistic captor.
With a quick tug across his zipper, my kidnapper’s glistening maleness is thrust into my face.
‘Suck it, you bitch, You know you want it. Or you wouldn’t have been taunting me earlier with that swishing little behind of yours.”
He fucks my mouth roughly, but I’m determined to show him that no cruelty can faze me. I hungrily lap his rock-hard rod, even as he hits the back of my throat with his thrusts, making me gag and further flooding my mascara-coated eyes. I muster up spit to keep his cock good and lubed.
“Good job, bitch,” my captor applauds. “If you endure my next act of torture in a proper fashion, perhaps I’ll reward your hungry, little pussy.”
I whimper with fear when my kidnapper reveals a long, black bull-whip that he snaps forcefully toward the far, shadowy part of the room.
“Get ready to be marked,” be barks. “I wouldn’t want to send you back to your boy-friend without proof that you’ve been cheating on him.”
The whip cracks, its tip snaking against the soft flesh of my back and glutes. I cry out in pain. My ankles and wrists are secured past all hope of escape. As burning welts rise where each lash hits my flesh, however, I know in my heart that I would never try to get free. I’ve been waiting for this for so long, I realize that my tears are really from gratitude. I raise my buns to meet the flicks of the whip, offering new targets.
This man has stimulated and aroused fear in my body that I’ve always dreamed of. I withstand the next ten lashes in a haze of blissed-out surrender. My cunt runs slippery with goo in anticipation of a good, rough pussy-fucking.
When my captor finally slices his cock into my tight, dripping slit, I give myself up to his hard thrusts, squeezing my cunt muscles tight, as if to milk the jizzm from his pole.
“Permission to cumm!” I wail desperately. Waves of orgasm rip through my body, up and down my spine, radiating from my super-heated snizz…
Fantasies, alas are constrained by reality. Being kidnapped and ravished by a seasoned sadist has yet to occur in my life. So I resume my habitation in the here-and-now for the time being. I gingerly handle the whip I’ve wrapped around my leg in an effort to feel its brutal closeness. I suck on my metal-veined dildo, lubing it up for later use in my lower regions. I even succeed in clasping shut the wrist-cuffs on my wrists attached to the shackles around my angles, entirely on my own. I really am caught now, but what a delectable way to spend an evening alone, amongst my own vivid thoughts, rain on the window pains and an aching in my cunt.
I’m quite good at vanilla sex, I’m told. I react just perfectly—yieldingly feminine in the missionary position, taking my clients in deep when I’m on all fours. I even kiss them, at least sometimes. I’m a high-paid *********. Pro sex is my forte. But, truthfully, I’ve never been turned on by vanilla sex in my whole life.
That’s what occupies my mind tonight; my deepest, darkest fantasies of being a submissive slut to a well-endowed, strong Black man. How I wish to be kidnapped, violated, ravished, punished and hurt by a dominant man so much stronger than myself. I desire to be completely used, and taught not to resist as he grips my long, brown hair in fistfuls, skull-fucking me in deep, harsh strokes until I choke and sputter. I dream of being tied in a standing position so that he can admire the full beauty of my pale white body, manhandling any part of me he chooses. He’ll whip my body until crimson welts rise on my flawless, white skin, bruise me with tight ropes around my limbs. My Master will slap my face and order me to obey, then do terrible things to me that make my nipples stand tall and hard, and my pussy gush like mad. These are the dark things I long for, but alas, I have no such Black Master who will treat me so cruelly. My doting sugar daddy will return soon to fuck me with just the right amount of ‘sweet intensity’ and ‘sensual diligence.’ Zzzzzz…
I guess that’s why I can fuck men I hardly even know, just because they pay large sums of money. My therapist, with whom I’ve shared the perverse secrets of my submissive need for Black cock, says I don’t enjoy ‘vanilla’ sex because there’s no real intimacy in the fuck-for-money business. And I know that’s so true. My cunt tells me so. My body is wasted without a Master to take complete ownership of it. Occasionally, I confess my secret need to be humiliated and tortured to boyfriends I hope might understand. They try to accommodate me, tying my ankles spread-eagled to the bedposts, blindfolding me, placing clamps on my nipples, and then fucking me raw as I scream “No, no, no!” But they’re either afraid of hurting me, or too obviously not truly into what they’re doing. I thank them for trying, but what I want is a Nigga cock that throbs when it ‘sees’ me tied up, so subservient and pained. Will I ever find my Black Master to torture me just because it gives him pleasure? I would do anything for him; swallow his cum, let him ass-fuck me hard and rough, allow him to pimp me out to the lowest dregs in town for his entertainment.
On rainy nights like this, I long to kneel naked at my Master’s feet before a toasty hearth on a woolen rug. He can protect me from all the harm in the world, and in return I am his unlimited-use White sex bitch. My mouth, ass, and snatch are there for him to grope, penetrate, and abuse as he pleases. I will submit with total honesty, heart, body, and soul.
If I ever get the chance to truly express my submissive side, I know I’ll be the ultimate object of his pleasure. There’s no cruel act of torture I won’t suffer; no feat of humiliation I won’t proudly endure for the satisfaction of the man who owns me. I’ll never say no to anything my Black fucker requires of me…
I own a box of toys that I carry with me at all times. I keep two pairs of handcuffs (one for my ankles, and one for my wrists), a stainless steel dildo for pussy or anal stuffing, a braided black-leather bull whip and a PVC corset that cinches my waist perfectly, molding me into pure eye candy for my Master, my hourglass figure tantalizing to look at. Taking my box from my overnight case, I admire its menacing contents, my brain wild with frustrated anticipation. I forget for a moment that I’m all alone in this world. My fantasy life is my reality, teasing me with promises of joy.
In one of my most delicious fantasies, I’m walking along through a dark parking structure en route to meet with my sweet vanilla boyfriend. I wear sexy, high heeled sandals and a flouncy, baby-doll dress. A red-vinyl G-string barely hides my pussy beneath the skirt.
Suddenly, from behind, an arm wraps around my chest, and a hand slips across my face. I struggle for breath as a strange, medicinal vapor invades my lungs. I struggle to remain conscious. The last thing I remember before I black-out is a light on the ceiling of the garage. My hole oozes slippery cunt lube. Delicious torment awaits!
I awaken in a haze of confusion. I am in a spotlight, surrounded by shadows. My pretty dress has been stripped away, and I lie naked, face-down in silk-encased pillows. My wrists are cuffed behind me with cold steel manacles cutting ruthlessly into my flesh. My ankles, also imprisoned by the bite of metal, are pulled up toward my ass. I hardly feel the harsh metal embrace of the handcuffs, or the hard, thick invasion of the shiny forged-steel cock that’s been buried deep between my ass cheeks. These sensations are drowned out by the pulsating excitement of my engorged clit and cunt-lips. My stomach and thighs swim in a puddle of my own liquid arousal. I’m strangely calm and curious at the prospect of the torturous activities awaiting me.
Slap! I’m introduced to my captor when his palm lands stingingly across my pretty, rouged cheeks.
“Good morning,” he growls with a hint of good humor in his voice. “I see you’ve decided to join us.”
He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, I look up to behold this man, my evil kidnapper, and meet the eyes of a dashingly mature male. Glints of silver pepper his deep-black hair, a youth of smoldering good looks still obvious in his weathered visage.
“Look what I found in the parking garage,” he continues with playful sarcasm. “Open up,” he demands, tilting up my gaping mouth to drizzle a long tendril of spittle onto my tongue.
I plead and babble about my boyfriend, as tears begin to roll down my cheeks.
“I’m sure he’d love to see you now,” teases my sadistic captor.
With a quick tug across his zipper, my kidnapper’s glistening maleness is thrust into my face.
‘Suck it, you bitch, You know you want it. Or you wouldn’t have been taunting me earlier with that swishing little behind of yours.”
He fucks my mouth roughly, but I’m determined to show him that no cruelty can faze me. I hungrily lap his rock-hard rod, even as he hits the back of my throat with his thrusts, making me gag and further flooding my mascara-coated eyes. I muster up spit to keep his cock good and lubed.
“Good job, bitch,” my captor applauds. “If you endure my next act of torture in a proper fashion, perhaps I’ll reward your hungry, little pussy.”
I whimper with fear when my kidnapper reveals a long, black bull-whip that he snaps forcefully toward the far, shadowy part of the room.
“Get ready to be marked,” be barks. “I wouldn’t want to send you back to your boy-friend without proof that you’ve been cheating on him.”
The whip cracks, its tip snaking against the soft flesh of my back and glutes. I cry out in pain. My ankles and wrists are secured past all hope of escape. As burning welts rise where each lash hits my flesh, however, I know in my heart that I would never try to get free. I’ve been waiting for this for so long, I realize that my tears are really from gratitude. I raise my buns to meet the flicks of the whip, offering new targets.
This man has stimulated and aroused fear in my body that I’ve always dreamed of. I withstand the next ten lashes in a haze of blissed-out surrender. My cunt runs slippery with goo in anticipation of a good, rough pussy-fucking.
When my captor finally slices his cock into my tight, dripping slit, I give myself up to his hard thrusts, squeezing my cunt muscles tight, as if to milk the jizzm from his pole.
“Permission to cumm!” I wail desperately. Waves of orgasm rip through my body, up and down my spine, radiating from my super-heated snizz…
Fantasies, alas are constrained by reality. Being kidnapped and ravished by a seasoned sadist has yet to occur in my life. So I resume my habitation in the here-and-now for the time being. I gingerly handle the whip I’ve wrapped around my leg in an effort to feel its brutal closeness. I suck on my metal-veined dildo, lubing it up for later use in my lower regions. I even succeed in clasping shut the wrist-cuffs on my wrists attached to the shackles around my angles, entirely on my own. I really am caught now, but what a delectable way to spend an evening alone, amongst my own vivid thoughts, rain on the window pains and an aching in my cunt.
