Broken In By Black Cock, Part 8
Herein lies the first half of the final day of Melanie's ownership by Maurice and Gina. This day is a two-parter with Part 9 to follow, which concludes their story.
Warning: This story contains Non-Consent, interracial and lesbian sex, BDSM, as well as verbal and physical humiliation.
As always, this is a fantasy, and is not meant to reflect or inspire any real-world attitudes or activities. If any of that isn't for you, please read no further.
***
Day 7
Melanie Clyde sat bolt upright, thighs pinned together, shoulders back against a seat that shook and lurched erratically, jostling her from side to side, rustling her blonde curls with each shudder.
In front of her stood a man whose face she could not see. Her eyes were locked instead upon his crotch, positioned exactly at her eyeline and uncomfortably close to her pretty face. Her gaze lingered on the bulge straining against the thin material of his slacks, the weight of it against the zipper; the cock of a man who was not her Master.
Mel was aware her breath was coming a little faster than usual. She felt heat at her cheeks. The subway carriage was packed, all those standing crammed in like sardines; there was nowhere else for this man to go. And yet his positioning felt somehow personal. As if he knew precisely what he was doing to her.
Could others on the carriage see? See how she could not tear her eyes from the outline of his manhood? See how her cheeks blushed and her lips pouted and parted, ever-so slightly? Could they guess, at the heat and slickness that was forming between the legs she pressed so tightly together?
She had another fear, too. The man was stood above her at such an acute angle, she was afraid that if he looked down he would see what lay across her throat, beneath the cream cashmere turtleneck she had paired with a navy suit jacket and skirt - more conservative than what Maurice and Gina usually allowed her to wear to work, because of what it concealed. A black leather collar, subtly embossed with letters, B-L-A-C-K C-O-C-K W-H-O-R-E. A private reminder of her ownership, and the reason she dare not turn or relax her head from its position against the backrest.
Unable to move her head away from the cock bulging inside its owner's pants, Mel forced her eyes to the side instead, desperate to quell the desire that was already threatening to consume her.
Her gaze was caught by the man's hand, resting half-curled against his thigh. Dark, African skin protruding from the cuff of a well-tailored shirt. His fingernails were immaculately manicured in a way that spoke of wealth, but the fingers themselves told a history of harder work. Long and lean, bulging outwards at each thickened knuckle, narrowing to almost the bone's width between. These were fingers she could imagine wrapped around her throat, pushing her chin up to meet his mystery gaze, rubbing the prominent letters of her choker. Or cool against the warm skin of her waist, slipping up under the cashmere of her top, then down, teasing at the waistband of her suit skirt...
Mel shook her head slightly, trying to rid herself of these thoughts. She was on the way to work, she couldn't be like this all day -
couldn't.
She was already worried about her workday, having taken two days off sick last week and having been barely present for the rest. And her mind was already soaked in the haze of sleep deprivation.
The whole of the previous night had been a pink fog of slavish desire. She had abandoned her own apartment, the one she had shared with her fiancé, the decision made forever in the blink of an eye. Taking with her only a handful of clothes hastily-packed into a holdall, she had fled like a thief in the night. Maurice had driven them back to Gina's apartment, which he had long-since commandeered as his own. Mel had sucked his cock the whole drive over while Gina stroked her hair in his lap. She hadn't used her hands, just sucked and lapped blindly at the head like a kitten on the teat.
Back at Gina's apartment they had fucked for hours, long into the night. Maurice and Gina both claiming their stake in Melanie's finally-willing body and mind, positioning and molding her like putty.
It had culminated with Mel laid flat face-down upon Gina's mattress, thighs parted, with Gina herself draped over her in the same position; Maurice alternating colossal strokes between the two women until finally, with a thrust that shook the entire bed, he shot his seed inside of Gina.
Mel had gotten only an hour or so of sleep in that same position, her Master's jism trickling out of her Mistress to pool and dry upon her own inner thigh.
She had awoken again that morning with Maurice's cock already between her lips and she had sucked him feverishly. She had begged him to fuck her again -
begged
him to seed her as he had Gina - with tears in her eyes and her fingers slipping frantically in and out of her swollen pussy. He had only laughed as he pushed her towards the shower, insisting that today, Monday, she must go back to work.
"Perhaps, Melanie, you will find someone else in your workday to give you what you desire."
And now here she was, rattling through the subway, agog at the sight of some poor commuter's package through his pants.
The humiliation of that morning raised more blood to her cheeks. Her insides twisted and burned like lava. She had never been turned down sexually like that in her life. She wanted nothing more than to feel her Master's cock spurting in her, his seed coating her insides, planting life inside her, marking her as his forever. And he had said
no.
Why would Maurice not cum inside her? Why would he not seed her, as he did to Gina so frequently? She felt a pang of jealousy towards the petite, half-Asian woman. Was she not as attractive to him as Gina? Did he think she was somehow not
worthy
; good enough to suck his cock, for a quick fuck, but not to potentially carry his child?
Or - and she trembled at the thought - was Maurice only interested in the chase? Now that he had her, now that she had submitted to him in ways she had not thought possible, was he no longer engaged - might he even leave her? Kick her out on the street? Her lip quivered at the thought; what would she have left if her Master did not want her?
The subway took a sudden turn as it hurtled through its tunnel, sending another passenger lurching into the back of the standing man in front of her. He swayed precariously, his hips moving in waves as he tried to keep his feet and his crotch pushed forward, brushing against Melanie's face.
She felt his shaft press against the tip of her upturned nose. The head of his flaccid, black cock tugged at her bottom lip as it moved over it with only the thinnest layer of cloth between their flesh. Mel stifled a whimper. She knew in that moment that all it would have taken would be for him to release his zipper, just a tiny amount, or to cradle her chin in his long fingers and she would have wrapped her lips around this stranger's meat like a starving woman offered a steak.
The moment passed. The stranger regained his footing and stepped backwards from her, stammering deep-voiced, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry Miss. Are you okay?"
She looked up at him, into the deep, dark unfamiliar eyes.
No, I'm not okay. I don't know if I'm going to be okay ever again.
And she saw his eyes widen, flicker down from her face as if catching a glimpse of something at her neck, and now the train was stopping - her stop - and she pushed past him, muttering "excuse me", not daring to look up at him as she burrowed for the exit, her thighs slipping against each other beneath her skirt as she went.
***
Mel caught herself, panting, against the door of her office building, having just run the block from the subway station.
What the fuck had just happened to her?
She had been ready, absolutely 100% ready and willing, to suck the cock of a complete stranger in full view of a crowded subway car, based purely on the colour of his skin and the proximity of his genitals. Thank god he had no idea what had been going through her head.
Mel, you've got to snap out of it. Get it together girl. You can't go through life like this.
She swiped her door pass and pushed through the rotary door on trembling legs. She could feel her pussy leaking into her panties like a faucet not fully closed.
Somewhere in the back of Mel's subconscious, where she was not fully aware of it, a memory of Maurice's voice was rumbling;
" You find some nigga dick when you're in heat. Any brother, if your Daddy's not around. Any black meat will do."
The building was still dark, with only the minimal overhead lighting that was left on overnight. Fuck. Was she early? What time had she left Gina's? She tried to wrack her brain but the last 24 hours were still a haze. Clearly it was morning, based on how busy the subway had been, but equally obvious was that it was well before her usual working day.
A uniformed security guard at the front desk was the only person in sight. He nodded at her as she moved towards the elevators. A White guy, thank god, or she didn't know what she would have done. Her pussy pulsed another trickle of juices into her panties at the thought.
The elevator
ping
-ed at her floor. Mel focused on getting to the corner desk, the quiet one behind the partition. There, with any luck, she could lose herself in her work for the full day. Cancel any meetings, avoid any interruptions -
temptations -
from her colleagues, and pull her mind from the heat throbbing between her thighs.
So intent was she on her beeline to the corner that she failed to notice the giant orange refuse sack still perched on one of the desks. Missed entirely the rustle of movement in the corner office. Until a female voice sounded behind her.
"Well, well. If it ain't Mau's little blonde whore."
Mel turned around and found herself looking up into the face of a tall woman with perfect, near jet-black skin and impeccable bone structure, but wearing no make-up and with her hair scraped back into a scraggly bun at the crown of her head. She wore shapeless, dirty grey workwear with a corporate logo at the breast, and even in flat ugly shoes she was several inches taller than Mel, who at 5'8" was herself tall compared to most women.
It took Mel a moment to place how she knew this woman. Then, when the realization hit her, heat shot up into her cheeks. This had been the woman with the stylish afro and orange bikini at the pool party Maurice had taken her to - only two days previously but it felt like months ago. Mel had been told then that she was cleaning staff at Mel's office, but even so it was hard to tally that glamorous Amazon with the janitor stood before her.
"I was kinda hopin' I might run into you on a Monday morning, slut. Pick up where we left off. But 'chu here early. Must be gagging for it."
Mel blushed deeper. The last time she had seen this woman, she had been sat atop a poolside bar, pushing Mel's face between her legs, forcing her to eat her pussy as she held Mel's engagement ring over her swollen clit.
"You do recognise me, ri', Mel?" The woman was chewing gum, tilting her head to one side as she considered Mel.
Mel nodded, but with a sudden surge of embarrassment she realised she had
forgotten the woman's name.
She had eaten this girl out, felt her shudder to orgasm beneath her tongue, but she couldn't remember what she was called.
The woman seemed to realize what was happening. She stepped closer, invading Mel's personal space, and twisted a curl of Mel's hair around a long, ebony finger.
"So who am I?"
Panic rose inside Mel. Her jaw worked helplessly but no words came out.
It began with L. Lana? Laquisha?
She didn't dare guess. Getting it wrong would be worse.
