Molly's New Black Master

 

I looked out the window at the New Jersey turnpike, not really seeing anything of interest as rain battered against the windows of the bus. I wasn't quite sure what I was doing or even where I was going. My mind was so fucked up that I could hardly think straight.

It had been a very, very strange couple of months.

It was astonishing to think of how much had happened during that time, how I had changed, or been changed, really, by others. I had kind of liked who and what I was before, but no one had asked me if I cared. They had taken me and twisted my mind into an image that would give them pleasure.

My Black masters.

Alex had started it. He was an important man at my company, and a big, powerful Black man, black as the ace of spades. He was six and a half feet tall with a football player's body. It had been a wild thrill to let him take me, to submit to him, to be used by him, to be... fucked by him, fucked hard.

It had been the most astonishingly wild moment of my life, but it had only marked the beginning. I had allowed myself to be... seduced... by the pleasure and heat and thrills, to be turned into his bitch, his sexual toy, his virtual slave girl. Then his two brothers had joined in, all of them eager to dominate a blue eyed blonde girl almost half their age.

What an innocent I'd been! But before long they'd had me crawling and calling them 'master', and introducing me to every manner of depraved sex. Then they'd made me into an internet whore, selling me on a web site, letting their friends come and visit me and use me - and punish me.

Don't get me wrong here, it had all been... exhilarating. But they had drawn me into it by stages, to the point where I could hardly believe the things I was doing. By the end I'd been little more than a caged sexual animal, used and abused by them and their friends as casually as you'd make use of any toy or 'thing'.

I had become a slave, but more to the sex than to the Black men who used me. The sex had become like... like a drug, and I an addict. I had been conditioned, both body and mind, so that when I was given my fix the incredible pleasure had given me a sense of desperate euphoria I would do anything to get again... and again... and again.

My mind, even now as I tried to focus on what to do and where to go, kept flickering back to mental images, like pictures lit by flashes of lightning, dark, erotic pictures which made my pussy thrum and my nipples tingle.

The images were all of me, of me in freeze-frame positions and situations, outrageous ones, degrading ones, shocking ones which would probably horrify most women. But to me, they just drew up a sense of hunger, hunger to do it again, to feel that wild dark thrill and sense of euphoria again!

I hadn't planned what to do, how to leave, or even when or why. It had been building up within me for days, weeks, that I had to get out before I lost myself entirely and became nothing but an animal, like a bitch permanently in heat, always craving sex, always wanting a black cock inside me.

Lenora felt contempt for me. I'd always known it. She hadn't bothered to hide it. And on many levels, I not only easily understood but agreed. I had become something contemptible, giving up my freedom to others, letting them use me any way they wanted.

Now I was trying to leave that behind me, but those flashing images in my mind kept sending pulses of excitement and need down through my body. The problem was I didn't really want to leave it behind. I wasn't sure what I wanted, but I knew I still wanted a big black cock inside me, still wanted the thrill of being roughly used, even punished.