Introduction
I lie in my Master's arms. He is so broad and encompassing as I plaster myself against him. I'm shaking from what was sure to be an endless night before he rescued me. He is not the typical hero from the romance novel. Master is an older white male with smoker's teeth and a cane he uses sometimes to offset his growing belly. The only really conventional beauty he has is in his green eyes. They are the same green eyes he shares with his younger brother, but the mind is different. Master only lets me submit if it is the choice I made. He has made it perfectly clear that he doesn't need me. Even though he is scared that I'll leave, I'm sure it is for my benefit more than it is for his own. So when I chose to stay, imagine my surprise when I was nearly taken from it.
Part One
Shara had told me that I would never see Master again, but in my slave heart, I had known different. Master would come for me, I believed deeply. I just knew that he would have known what my choice had been. He had to have known that I would choose him. I had chosen him. So I was not entirely surprised when he showed up with fire blazing behind him. He knew that I wanted him. He knew that I loved him. Mostly he knew that I chose him.
I'm ahead of myself though. Let's start near the beginning of the night. Shara had taken me to a hotel. I finally was able to see something of the city I was in, but it was still rural at best. The hotel she had taken me too was very Norman Bates with a large sign outside saying vacancy. They had un-blindfolded me just before pulling up. I think they wanted me to have hope, but I'm not sure they understood just how much hope I did have.
Michael's hand firmly on my thigh had let me know not to scream. His other hand against my backside told me not to run. I hadn't really thought about either before feeling his hands. His hands could garner so many emotions. I blink back thoughts of his hands over mine massaging my love and pushing me to cum over and through myself for his enjoyment. No, I mustn't think about the softness of his hands. These two meant business. Revenge is the most dangerous motivator on the planet. Shara felt like I had wronged her with Master and Michael had just suffered from an ego shot. Now motivated by revenge, hands could do some terrible things.
Inside the room, it had been freezing. There was mold growing in every crevasse. Something scurried across the room and hid itself under the bed. I instantly began to itch from things that may not be there.
"I'm so cold," I said to deaf ears. They had no reason to listen to me any longer.
"What now?" Michael seemed perturbed.
I cringed at the thought of what they might do to me. If bored enough, Michael can be capable of real damage. Shara was so starved for attention; she might have give up the reigns. To get rid of me might not have caused much suspicion except from my editor who wouldn't really look for me. My only hopeful thought is that Master would know. I didn't know how he would know or that if he did that he would come, but I did have hope.
I had hope as Shara slapped me hard across the face sending me spiraling on to the bed. She was very harsh like a wild animal as she straddled me pressing her knees into my thighs. She kept me spread open and in the midst of all the chaos I had lost my clothes. I had been spread wide open when Master entered calmly and sure of himself.
"What a beautiful sight," Master said bursting through the door.
My breath caught in my throat at the sound of him.
"Let her go Shara," he said angrily to the light brown skinned woman that I use to think of as innocent. The same woman who I thought of as sister had transformed into something maddening and guilty.
She froze at his voice. I think in the back of her mind she too knew he would come. I could physically see her recoil as if she had been hit.
"You came for her," Shara says almost child-like now. Her tiny face stares at the massive man in the doorway.
"Yes," he says taking up a large volume of the room, "I did come for her."
It was hard for Shara to hear him say 'her' and not mean herself. Shara has loved Master for a very long time. It is a different type of love though and Master knows it. He appreciates her. She is a beautiful brown skinned girl, but he never had to break her. I was a challenge. I was the strong black female that chose to submit, even though I had other choices. Shara in a way felt like she had no other choice. She liked the superiority role-play, but she had a hard time separating one white man from another. She would feel connected to any Master, because she thought of herself as lowly. I've never thought of myself as lesser than I am.
Master stands in the doorway as Shara slides off of me. I rushed into Master's arms, knowing exactly who he is. I rush into Masters' arms knowing exactly who I am.
Part Two
Lying awake with the rain pouring just outside the window, I feel reborn. Master's arms are wrapped around me pulling my chocolate skin close to his own pale flesh. My hands are nestled on his chest and his are in my thick black hair.
"I want to tell you something," he says slowly.
A million things run through my mind. I remember the woman who I associated as Master's wife and the eyes of a child, but there wasn't love there. I take a deep breath realizing that it doesn't really matter what he is about to say, I'll love him anyways.
"If you wish to tell me something, then I will listen," I say pushing my naked flesh into him until we are almost one. His soft belly molds against my flat abdomen. One day I have hope that it will swell with his babies.
"My name is Gregory Jones, and this is not my house," he starts, "I've been looking for you my whole life."
This was all a façade he says. He and his brother created this fantasy more for the women than for themselves. He tells me that somewhere along the lines things got blurred. The white woman had given him a child, but she wasn't his wife. His brother had lost his sense of reality all together. He wasn't expecting to meet someone like me, but since he had, he wanted to be himself again. The problem is he isn't quite sure who himself is.
He tells me that he grew up in Virginia in an all black neighborhood, but that no one ever blurred the lines. Good white boys married good white girls. He says it was the eighties when he was in his twenties when he had his first black experience. I place him in his fifties. It didn't really matter how he might be, because I had already fallen in love.
"Her name was Tisha and she was dark and beautiful. She was so independent, not at all like the white women my family and friends were thrusting at me. Everyone wanted me to settle down, but not with Tisha. They wanted her gone because they didn't understand my love for her. One night we lay in each other's arms with my cock placed inside her. I wanted her to have my babies. I wanted the world to see the product two different races could make. My family must have known, because they came for us then," he murmurs distantly.
I can see the pain in his green eyes. I'm enamored by the story. He continues. He continues even thought the pain is etched into his face. His family had been discreet and he had been weak. They dragged her out in the middle of the night and he hadn't fought to hear from her again. They probably didn't hurt her, but he hurt her because he didn't fight for her.
"I remember her nude body so vividly. Her curved hips and ass hit the carpeted floor before her hands had a chance to help her. She looked up at me with deep brown eyes. I knew what she wanted, but I was too weak to give it to her," he says placidly.
He holds me closer now until we are almost one. He knows I won't leave him. The fact that he can be weak gives me strength.
I press my lips to his taking in his familiar tobacco smell. My fear of him was long gone. His eyes ignite against the shadows as we kiss deeper, and more passionately. His hands explore every inch of me and I start to tingle. I feel him harden against my abdomen as her grabs my backside. He rolls me over and lets his weight fall on to me.
