the head of his turgid organ. He grabbed my jaw with his strong hand and slipped his thumb into my mouth.
“Suck it.”
I did as instructed, sucking on his thumb.
“Swirl your tongue around the tip.”
I obeyed.
“Now tickle the underside with your tongue.”
Again, I obeyed, looking up at him, desperate for his approval.
“Now, slide it down your throat.”
I took his thumb as deep in my mouth as it would go.
“In and out.”
I slid his thumb in and out of my mouth, my eyes alternating from looking up at him and staring at his erect penis, which was still bobbing in the air, inches from my face.
“I don’t feel your tongue.”
I swirled my tongue around the tip of his thumb again as I continued sliding it in and out of my mouth. I flicked my tongue along the underside of his thumb as he had instructed me to do earlier.
“Now take it out of your mouth and lick up and down both sides.”
I obeyed once more.
“Now, repeat. Do everything I told you to do, exactly the way I told you to do it, but now, I want you to do it to my cock.”
I felt a tremor of fear and a brief moment of revulsion, but then I obeyed. I eased his engorged flesh between my lips and began bobbing my head up and down, sliding his cock in and out of my mouth. I flicked it with my tongue then swirled my tongue around the head like I was licking a lollipop. I licked up and down the shaft, and finally eased it as far down my throat as I could without gagging.
This was so different from the memory of my assault. Kenyatta wasn’t ramming his cock down my throat, choking me with it. I felt in control. I could feel his organ pulsate, nearing orgasm, and each time I would ease it out of my throat and lick it up and down.
“Stroke it with your hand and lick the tip. Just like that, like you’re licking an ice cream cone. Suck the tip.”
I sucked and licked and stroked until I could feel him about to cum.
“I’m going to cum and I want you to drink every drop. You understand?”
I nodded my ascent as I continued bobbing my head up and down on his tumescent manhood. I tried to hide my panic at the idea of him filling my mouth with his semen, of being compelled to swallow it. I felt myself beginning to hyperventilate. I had to get myself back under control. I was beginning to feel nauseated and feared I would vomit when Kenyatta’s cum filled my throat. That would almost certainly end things between us, I feared.
I tried to distract myself with other thoughts. I thought about how wonderful Kenyatta was. I recalled how his lips felt on my nipples, how his tongue felt on my clitoris. It was only fair that I reciprocate. Kenyatta was nothing like the fat cousin who had raped me in my parent’s basement. I wondered if perhaps his cum would taste differently, if I might even enjoy it. I took his cock deeper, pushing it past my tonsils, choking myself, but not caring, wanting to please my man, and when I felt Kenyatta’s body tense, heard his low, growling, guttural moan, felt that thick, warm, salty, eruption splash across my tonsils, I did as Kenyatta asked. I swallowed it all. That’s when I knew how much I loved him. It wasn’t long after that Kenyatta brought up the subject of the box.
I had already committed myself to the experiment by then, even though my insides roiled at the thought of being locked inside a wooden coffin for who knew how long, so I couldn’t back down. I needed to see it through. But Kenyatta wanted me to know exactly what I was getting into and why. He pulled out a book he’d found at the library when he was a boy. I was surprised by the profoundness of his emotion as he opened the book.
“ Roots had just come out on television and I was so affected by it that I wanted to know more about the slave trade and what had happened to our people two hundred years ago when they came to America. I asked my Mom about it and she took me to the library to look it up for myself.”
He paused. His strong regal face
“Suck it.”
I did as instructed, sucking on his thumb.
“Swirl your tongue around the tip.”
I obeyed.
“Now tickle the underside with your tongue.”
Again, I obeyed, looking up at him, desperate for his approval.
“Now, slide it down your throat.”
I took his thumb as deep in my mouth as it would go.
“In and out.”
I slid his thumb in and out of my mouth, my eyes alternating from looking up at him and staring at his erect penis, which was still bobbing in the air, inches from my face.
“I don’t feel your tongue.”
I swirled my tongue around the tip of his thumb again as I continued sliding it in and out of my mouth. I flicked my tongue along the underside of his thumb as he had instructed me to do earlier.
“Now take it out of your mouth and lick up and down both sides.”
I obeyed once more.
“Now, repeat. Do everything I told you to do, exactly the way I told you to do it, but now, I want you to do it to my cock.”
I felt a tremor of fear and a brief moment of revulsion, but then I obeyed. I eased his engorged flesh between my lips and began bobbing my head up and down, sliding his cock in and out of my mouth. I flicked it with my tongue then swirled my tongue around the head like I was licking a lollipop. I licked up and down the shaft, and finally eased it as far down my throat as I could without gagging.
This was so different from the memory of my assault. Kenyatta wasn’t ramming his cock down my throat, choking me with it. I felt in control. I could feel his organ pulsate, nearing orgasm, and each time I would ease it out of my throat and lick it up and down.
“Stroke it with your hand and lick the tip. Just like that, like you’re licking an ice cream cone. Suck the tip.”
I sucked and licked and stroked until I could feel him about to cum.
“I’m going to cum and I want you to drink every drop. You understand?”
I nodded my ascent as I continued bobbing my head up and down on his tumescent manhood. I tried to hide my panic at the idea of him filling my mouth with his semen, of being compelled to swallow it. I felt myself beginning to hyperventilate. I had to get myself back under control. I was beginning to feel nauseated and feared I would vomit when Kenyatta’s cum filled my throat. That would almost certainly end things between us, I feared.
I tried to distract myself with other thoughts. I thought about how wonderful Kenyatta was. I recalled how his lips felt on my nipples, how his tongue felt on my clitoris. It was only fair that I reciprocate. Kenyatta was nothing like the fat cousin who had raped me in my parent’s basement. I wondered if perhaps his cum would taste differently, if I might even enjoy it. I took his cock deeper, pushing it past my tonsils, choking myself, but not caring, wanting to please my man, and when I felt Kenyatta’s body tense, heard his low, growling, guttural moan, felt that thick, warm, salty, eruption splash across my tonsils, I did as Kenyatta asked. I swallowed it all. That’s when I knew how much I loved him. It wasn’t long after that Kenyatta brought up the subject of the box.
I had already committed myself to the experiment by then, even though my insides roiled at the thought of being locked inside a wooden coffin for who knew how long, so I couldn’t back down. I needed to see it through. But Kenyatta wanted me to know exactly what I was getting into and why. He pulled out a book he’d found at the library when he was a boy. I was surprised by the profoundness of his emotion as he opened the book.
“ Roots had just come out on television and I was so affected by it that I wanted to know more about the slave trade and what had happened to our people two hundred years ago when they came to America. I asked my Mom about it and she took me to the library to look it up for myself.”
He paused. His strong regal face
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