Marcus Jacobson is a lot of things to many people, a man of mystery, and that's how he likes it. Born in the City of Milton, Massachusetts, to a Jamaican immigrant father, Lucas Jacobson, and an Irish-American mother, Maeve O'Connor-Jacobson, he is definitely the son of two worlds. A graduate of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology with a Computer Science degree, he's a mid-level manager with Data Robot, one of the fastest growing start-ups in the Boston tech sector.
At first glance, Marcus Jacobson definitely doesn't look like most people's idea of a tech guy or savvy computer geek. For starters, he's six-foot-four, well-built, with light brown skin and curly, dark hair styled into a mini-Afro. He looks like he could line up the defense for the New England Patriots and help Tom Brady win another championship, but he's actually everyone's go-to guy for all things tech.
When not at the office or the gym, Marcus leads a very different life, one which would surprise his fellow M.I.T. alumni and his colleagues at Data Robot. While in college, Marcus discovered the world of BDSM, thanks to his relationship with a certain kinky female professor, and since then, life hasn't been the same for the smart, adventurous brother. Marcus didn't just dabble in BDSM, he embraced the lifestyle wholeheartedly and became Master Marks, Lord of Pain and Sovereign of Torment.
The Boston-area BDSM scene is fairly diverse, and as a tall, handsome and charismatic man of color, Marcus Jacobson has definitely left his mark on it. Ladies of all hues flock to him in his Master Marks persona, and with good reason. Any man can claim to be dominant, but women have an uncanny ability to see right through most men's bullshit. They can usually tell if they're dealing with a man of substance or not.
Marcus Jacobson is the real deal, and he's grown used to being approached by ladies from a variety of backgrounds. Boston is a college town and it's packed with gorgeous women of all shades looking to explore their sexuality. More than a few of them dabble into the realm of BDSM. Marcus is more than happy to entertain them, provided they're on the same page. The latest such lady is truly one of a kind, though...
"Arwa, why is a Saudi Arabian Muslim woman such as yourself interested in serving an African American male dominant?" Marcus Jacobson said calmly, looking at the lovely young woman seated before him. They were inside the Club Café in Boston's Back Bay, within walking distance of Bay State College on Commonwealth Avenue, which Arwa happened to attend.
"Well, I've always been attracted to strong Black men, and of course, this was taboo in Dammam, where I grew up, and let's face it, Africans in the Arab world are a meek bunch compared to the fearless Blacks of America, you fascinate me," Arwa said, smiling bashfully. The young woman leaned back in her chair and sipped her iced tea, a coy look on her lovely face, which was framed by a modest dark blue Hijab.
"If I understand correctly, interracial liaisons are forbidden in your part of the world, especially between Arab women and non-Arab men, am I right?" Marcus asked, looking right into Arwa's lovely brown eyes. Under his soulful gaze, Arwa shifted uncomfortably, even as a not unpleasant frisson coursed through her. Marcus was radiating a certain magnetism which was hard to resist...
"Well, yes and no, it's not that simple, you have to understand that in the Arab world, non-Arabs are treated very poorly, especially Africans, I've never held any hatred in my heart for the people of Africa, I think racism goes against true Islam, but mine is a minority opinion," Arwa said softly. Marcus nodded without saying anything, and Arwa thought he could see right through her...
"Now you're in the United States of America, in Massachusetts, where a Black man, Deval Patrick, is Governor of the whole damn state, how do you feel about such changes?" Marcus asked, and he gently licked his full lips. This casual, simple gesture on Marcus part, which nevertheless conveyed a subtle sensuality, definitely registered with a certain part of Arwa's feminine anatomy. This American brother looks delicious, Arwa thought with a smile.
"I like it here in Massachusetts, and I think Deval Patrick is a good Governor and a beautiful man, if only he weren't married," Arwa replied, laughing merrily. Marcus grinned and stroked his goateed chin, then let his eyes rove over Arwa. The young woman wore a long-sleeved Black T-shirt featuring the late great Biggie Smalls, blue jeans and knee-length Black leather boots. Her dark hair, save for a few wild strands on her forehead, was concealed by her Hijab. Quite the woman, Marcus thought appreciatively.
"Come on, Arwa, in your country, Blacks are little more than slaves, you're disturbed and turned on by the fact that Blacks in America don't take shit from anybody, that's why you're here," Marcus said, matter-of-factly. Arwa's heart skipped a beat, and she felt herself blush, and paused before answering. There was an intensity in Marcus eyes that hadn't been there before...
"Alright, Marcus, that's part of it, I will admit, and so what?" Arwa replied, admiring Marcus boldness, and a little disturbed by it at the same time. In the City of Dammam, Saudi Arabia, where Arwa was born, the local Blacks were meek, seemingly accepting of their second-class citizen status, as non-Arabs on Arab land. In Saudi Arabia, the Blacks, the Filipinos and others who came to the country as workers all knew what to expect. Saudis only respected wealthy Whites, and fellow Arabs. That was it.
"I'm all for respecting cultural and religious differences, but I was born of a Black father and a White mother, I don't buy into the racial superiority bullshit, whether the person selling it is a White man, an Asian man or an Arab person, this brother fears no man, are we clear?" Marcus said, without raising his voice. His tone of voice was even, conversational, as though he were discussing the weather, or last night's Celtics game. Arwa admired his composure, while keenly aware of the intensity underneath it...
"Wallahi, Marcus, you're so different from the Black guys back in Saudi Arabia," Arwa said softly, quietly marveling at him. Marcus casually shrugged, and sipped on his drink. A waiter passing by with drinks on a tray looked at the two of them and smiled, and Marcus met the man's gaze, returned his smile and then once more focused his attention on the young woman seated before him.
"Arwa, I'm a fighter, I had to be, I grew up in lily-White Milton, a rich town with racist tendencies underneath all the liberalism, I wasn't Black enough for the few African Americans at my old school, and I was too dark for the White students, the plight of the mixed-race man, so I learned to fight everybody, regardless of color," Marcus said, his tone rising a bit.
"Wow, that must have been painful for you, Marcus, but it made you stronger," Arwa said, and she gently laid her hand on his. Marcus looked at Arwa's hand on his and nodded gently, though he was surprised by this gesture. From what he knew of observant Muslim women, especially the Hijab-wearing type like Arwa here, they were a touch-me-not bunch in their dealings with men. Then again, a Muslim woman who sought out men in the BDSM lifestyle was probably cut from a different cloth than the rest...
"We all go through stuff in this life, Arwa, it's the challenges that define us best, tell me about yourself please, if you don't mind," Marcus said, changing the subject. Arwa looked at him, surprised by this turn of phrase. If Marcus wanted to go down that route, Arwa would prove that she could roll with the punches, as they say in the American lexicon...
"Not much to tell, Marcus, I was born and raised in the City of Dammam, Eastern Province of Saudi Arabia, my father Abu Saleh was a Shiite, and my mother Mona was of the Sunni sect, if you know anything about Islam you'll know that inter-sectarian marriages are frowned upon, I married a man named Jabber when I was twenty, we weren't right for each other, after ten years we got divorced, he stayed in Saudi, and I'm living here alone now," Arwa said gently. When she finished, the young woman slowly let out her breath, and pursed her lips.
"I can tell there's more to the story, Arwa, but all in due time, tell me, what brings you into BDSM?" Marcus asked, cocking an eyebrow, and Arwa grinned. She'd been expecting just such a question from him. At every munch or casual gathering for BDSM aficionados in the Boston area which Arwa attended, she'd been the recipient of stares, weird questions, and sometimes she was even made to feel unwelcome. That's why Arwa sought out other people of color in the lifestyle...
"Hmm, I'm glad you asked me that, I've been fascinated by BDSM since I was nineteen, I tried to get my ex-husband Jabber to try it, but he didn't like it, he was boring in bed and thought that a lot of things I like were haram or forbidden, that's why we didn't have any offspring, perhaps that was for the best, because I would have been tied to him forever," Arwa said, exhaling sharply.
"Hmm, I see, and in your thoughts, feelings and fantasies, are you dominant, submissive or a switch?" Marcus asked, looking at Arwa with rapt fascination. He'd met a lot of unique women in the world of BDSM, from high-powered White female CEOs of big-shot companies who wanted to get spanked and flogged, to waitresses with chokehold fantasies, from mature female college professors who wanted to get bound and fucked, to feisty housewives with ultra-violent fantasies, and even female professional dominants in search of male dominance. Marcus knew better than to assume when dealing with any woman...
"Mr. Marcus Jacobson, let's get one thing straight, I'm submissive, one hundred percent, I'm not a doormat, I am not looking to be abused, I like consensual dominance from a strong and capable man, I'm not submissive because I'm a Muslim woman or because I wear the Hijab, I am submissive because that's what I am," Arwa said sharply. When she spoke, something hot and powerful blazed in her dark brown eyes, and Marcus grinned, for he definitely liked it, whatever it was...
