Black Master for Arab Woman

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...

"Arwa, you're a strong and beautiful lady, and if you'll have me, I'd be pleased to take you into my care as your dominant," Marcus said, and he gently inclined his head. Arwa looked at Marcus and smiled, pleased with his words and demeanor. When he gently held out his massive hand, palm outstretched, she gently placed her hand in his and nodded firmly.

"Yes, oh yes," Arwa said enthusiastically, and when Marcus eyes met hers, she saw the promise of danger, thrills and much more in them. Arwa's heart skipped a beat, and she knew at once that she'd found...the one. For ages she'd sought a man who was strong, who wouldn't be afraid of her sexuality or her desires, who would respect her and dominate her. Arwa had met a lot of pretenders, fools who either disrespected her or fetishized her Islamic faith and Arabian heritage. She sensed that Marcus Jacobson was not like the others...

"Welcome to a whole new world," Marcus said, as he lightly squeezed Arwa's hand, and gently brought it to his lips. A pleasant tingle coursed through Arwa, and she looked at Marcus and nodded, even as she felt herself grow moist down below. Yup, she felt a wetness begin between her legs. Looking into Marcus eyes, Arwa saw the promise of excitement, and more, and she more than welcomed all of it...

"Yes Master, here I am," Arwa said to Marcus, as she stood before him, naked as the day she was born. Three weeks after their first meeting, she and Marcus finally set aside a time for a session in the basement of Marcus four bedroom townhouse in Brighton. This wasn't easy, as Arwa was quite busy with her accounting studies at Bay State College and Marcus had many responsibilities as a manager with Data Robot. Still, they'd been itching to get together and finally made it happen...

"Arwa, I welcome you as my submissive, know that your body and your mind are respected by me, and your safety is paramount, now, let us discuss safe words and protocol, if you please," Marcus said in a polite but firm voice. Arwa looked at Marcus, who looked sexy in a sleeveless Black leather jacket and shiny dark leather pants. A fine hunk in leather, Arwa thought with a smile.

"Master Marks, I give you the Gift of my Submission," Arwa replied, and when Master Marks gestured for her to come to him, she did just that. Moving slowly, in a deliberately sensual way, swaying her hips this way and that, chest thrust forward, her lips pouting, coyness dancing in her gaze, the submissive went to her master, who welcomed her with open arms.

"I accept your Gift," Master Marks said, and he held Arwa's gaze as she sat on his lap, and was firmly reminded that in all things BDSM, the submissive is the one in control. They'd been talking for some time now, and discussed fantasies and expectations. Arwa was into edge play and sensual domination, and Master Marks, who didn't like to mix sex with dominance, was more than okay with that.

Arwa was a vision of beauty, stark naked, her curvaceous, bronze-skinned body looking at once inviting and forbidden. Her long dark fell over her shoulders, partially obscuring her large, round breasts. In some ways, only a few, Arwa reminded Master Marks of Hollywood actress Salma Hayek, only curvier, and with more ass. Bending Arwa over his knee, Master Marks admired the young Saudi Arabian Muslim woman's fine, thick derriere. With gloved hands he caressed her big round bum, and Arwa purred like a kitten...

"I am yours, Master Marks," Arwa said softly, and he nodded, then began spanking her. Arwa giggled, and then whimpered a bit as he began spanking her in earnest, his strong hands delivering harsh, stinging blows to her thick posterior. As Master Marks began administering some wicked punishment to her big bum, Arwa felt a tingle in her sweet spot, and her pussy twitched with excitement while her dominant showed her what he was made of...

"Arwa, unless you need me to slow down or stop, don't speak unless spoken to, please and thank you," Master Marks warned, pausing for effect. Arwa turned around, her eyes met his, and she saw that he was serious. Nodding, she fell silent, and he resumed spanking her. They'd agreed on safe words, yellow to slow down, and red to stop altogether. After Master Marks spanking left her thick ass cheeks pleasantly stinging, Arwa finally had enough...for the moment.

"Red," Arwa said, and Master Marks stopped, and decided they'd take a break. Arwa sat on a cushioned bench nearby, and watched as Marcus Jacobson headed for the nearby fridge, and took a Pepsi. When he offered her a drink, Arwa took it. As she sat down and relaxed, she realized that her body was sweaty. She hadn't even realized it, but the session had put her through a veritable workout...

"Arwa, my dear, that was excellent, let's take a break for a moment, help yourself to any refreshments you like," Marcus said, and from his change of tone and demeanor, she could tell that he was quite relaxed. After drinking his Pepsi, Marcus headed to a nearby basin. Arwa watched, amazed, as he unzipped his pants, took out his member, and began to pee.

"Oh my," Arwa thought, admiring Marcus manhood as he casually urinated, and then tucked his member back into his pants. Even from a distance, she'd seen that he was well-endowed. Marcus, seemingly unaware of her staring, began washing his hands while humming to himself. Arwa licked her lips, and without even realizing it, she began to masturbate. One hand went to her erect nipples, rubbing them, while the other slid between her legs, and found her clit...

"Arwa Saleh, did I give you permission to masturbate?" Marcus bellowed, easily slipping back into his Master Marks persona. Moving swiftly, he crossed the distance between them and stood over Arwa, who smiled coyly, in clear defiance of him. She held her master's gaze as she continued to masturbate, sliding her fingers into her wet pussy, three at a time, while rubbing her erect nipples.

"No, Master, I guess you'll want to punish me?" Arwa asked, pouting slightly, and from the look on Master Marks handsome face, she could tell a battle was playing out inside his mind. She'd thoroughly researched him prior to approaching him at the BDSM munches and casual meet and greets organized by BDSM aficionados in the Boston area. Master Marks was a good dominant, but the ladies also said he had the dick of death, and she was dying to find out the truth...

"Temptation thy name is woman," Master Marks said, his breath coming out in staccato bursts, and when Arwa moved closer, he flinched...sort of. Arwa grinned, knowing that she had him right where she wanted him. Slowly, tentatively, she reached for his crotch and gently patted the front of his pants, feeling the bulge there. Looking up at Master Marks, Arwa actually stuck her tongue out, fearlessly teasing him...

"Master Marks, anything I can do for you while I'm down here?" Arwa asked in a deceptively innocent tone of voice. Master Marks appeared to be pondering that, and then he smiled almost imperceptibly and nodded. Arwa grinned and then unzipped his pants, freeing his manhood. Out came Master Marks long and thick, deliciously dark dick.

"You're one freaky lady underneath it all, but I like that," Master Marks said as Arwa began tugging on his dick. Upon noticing that he was uncircumcised, Arwa hesitated, and Master Marks cocked an eyebrow. Arwa smiled, and then gently pulled back the foreskin before taking Master Marks into her mouth. Just like that, the submissive grabbed the master by the balls, asserting herself in a most sensually assertive way...

"Master, I'm a proud Arab Muslim woman, wars have been fought over my body, and if you let me, I'll show you why," Arwa paused to say, and with that, she began deep-throating Master Marks dick. Leaning against a nearby wooden post, Master Marks surrendered to the irresistible pull of Arwa's soft lips on his dick. He was in her power now and they both knew it...

"You're on fire, Arwa," Master Marks murmured, and Arwa winked at him, gently massaging his balls while sucking his dick. Caught in the throes of passion, master and submissive tossed caution to the wind and began melting into one another. After she got him harder than a rock, Master Marks grabbed Arwa, lifted the curvaceous gal like she weighed nothing, and placed her on a nearby table...

"You want me," Arwa said, licking her lips and looking Master Marks in the eyes while spreading her thick, sexy thighs invitingly. He paused to admire the beautiful naked woman who lay before him, taking in her lovely face, big round breasts, slightly rounded belly, thick thighs, and that bushy mound that was staring him right in the face. He licked his lips appreciatively and nodded, awash with lustful anticipation...

"You're something else," Master Marks replied, and then he buried his handsome face between Arwa's legs, inhaling her womanly fragrance. No two women smelled or tasted alike down there, and he couldn't wait to sample her goodies. Arwa licked her lips and clucked her tongue impatiently, wishing Master Marks would get with the program. Heeding her needful urging, he began eating her out, sliding his tongue into her. For Arwa, the fun was finally beginning...

"Lick my awrah, lover," Arwa said to Master Marks, and the handsome African American stud did as he was told, feasting on her womanhood. He teased her clitoris with his tongue and stimulated her by thrusting two fingers into her pussy, working his magic on her as best he could. Arwa shuddered as Master Marks tongue tormented her sweet spot in a most wonderful way, and she squealed out loud in pleasure...

"Come ride this dick," Master Marks said to Arwa, as the young woman lay there, still aglow from the munching he'd just given her pussy. Arwa smiled at Master Marks and looked at his dick...hungrily. Arwa rose to her feet and looked into Master Marks eyes, then grabbed his manhood. Raising an eyebrow, she hefted his dick and balls, and nodded. Without another word, Arwa sat back on the table, and nodded at Master Marks.