tagBDSMMichaela and Jacob (A BDSM Romance)

Michaela and Jacob (A BDSM Romance)

byelianaliora©

Michaela was the most tired she had ever been in all of her 42 years. Or at least the most tired that she could remember. Her entire life seemed to be catching up to her at once – and she longed for a reprieve of some kind. But she couldn't envision what form it would take, and didn't dare pray for rest because she knew too well the maxim "be careful what you wish for." Praying for rest could mean the end of her business, or worse – eternal rest. So she fanned herself with the morning newspaper as she made her way through the already-drenching humidity of a Philadelphia late-summer morning to her shop to open for the day.

It was 1763 and finally peace was settling into the colonies following the long French and Indian War. But a postwar depression came with the peace and Michaela's millinery wasn't doing as well as it had in the war years. There had been so many soldiers who needed clothing; so much British specie to pay for it. To say nothing of privateers coming in, their pockets loaded with booty, wanting to look like the gentry class status their conquests had purchased for them. She had had to hire extra help meet orders on time and make deliveries. Business had boomed but now things had slowed to a trickle. She had to let some of her workers go, which had upset the local free black community that depended on successful community business owners like Michaela to give a leg up to others. But as bad as it felt for her to walk into church every Sunday and see their scornful faces, it was nothing compared to the fear and anxiety that gripped her every day; the fear that she could lose the business altogether – and then what? At 42 she could hardly pick up and start again. And Philadelphia had plenty of other milliners to choose from -- as would New York or Boston or wherever else she might choose to move to. Clothing, sewing, fabrics – it was all she knew. A skill she had acquired from almost a decade- long apprenticeship. Her mother had been the servant for a Scottish farmer in Lancaster County. By the time her mother was 24 she had also borne him 3 children. When her mother died giving birth to a fourth child, their father had all of his children "bound-out" to trades rather than face the community scorn of raising them as his true-born children. Her two brothers went to Philadelphia and into the merchant marine; Michaela was apprenticed to a milliner. She was a naturally gifted seamstress, and by the time she was ready to start her own shop she had established a reputation for quality clothing. She also had brothers who, because of their merchant connections, could acquire fabrics at cheaper prices (sometimes flat-out stolen) than her competition.

There was one other option that might have changed her personal fortune that Michaela had always shied away from: marriage. It wasn't as if she hadn't had her share of offers – she was an eligible free black bachelorette. And it wasn't as if she had never been tempted; she felt the same stirrings under her petticoat that every woman felt. Stirrings that caused her to abuse her cunt almost nightly). But English common law was clear: all property of a woman transferred automatically to her husband when she married. Michaela was determined never to take that chance; never to put her safety and security in the hands of a man who might say he loved her but could walk away with (or gamble away) everything. So she had never married; never had children (although she loved them; she doted on her nieces and nephews spoiling them rotten when times were good). She had sacrificed her own personal happiness for a lifetime of security. But now even that sacrifice seemed to be in vain and with no love to come home to; nothing but her own fingers to pleasure herself with . . . no wonder she felt like she could sleep for a century.

Michaela had nearly finished her Monday morning routine: quick inventory of fabrics, make sure orders are ready for delivery; answer correspondence. She was ready to begin cutting the fabric for the hats the Covington family had ordered for their twin girls when Mr. Harris walked in with a man she had never seen before. He was tall, older (she guessed around 60), well-built with deep brown eyes that seemed to look right through her. Mr. Harris was one of her regular white customers; she had built up a strong clientele with the nouveau riche of Philadelphia who wanted to look the part but couldn't afford the more elite English or French milliners in the city. Michaela could produce the same quality but cheaper and her reputation had spread. She rose to greet Mr. Harris, curtsying slightly while Harris tipped his cap. "Good morning Ms. MacGregor. I would like to introduce you to Mr. Jacob Hallam. He's a cousin newly arrived in the city from Charleston. He's undertaking a voyage to Canada in a few months and needs to be outfitted for their cold winters."

Michaela curtysied toward Mr. Hallam who smiled slyly and tipped his cap. As a milliner, Michaela didn't make full suits of clothing (only male tailors did that) but she did make cloaks, hats, hoods and muffs – all necessary for Canada's bitter cold winters. Harris turned to Michaela. "So – can you accommodate us, Ms. MacGregor? Can you keep my cousin warm?"

Michaela smiled and responded, "Always happy to serve a good client like Mr. Harris or a cousin of his. Will this be on Mr. Harris' account, or . . .?"

Suddenly Hallam chimed in, "No – I will pay in cash."

Harris turned to Michaela and said, "Excellent! Well, shall I leave you to it? I have an appointment and must take my leave."

Hallam, looking at Michaela, said, "I am sure I am in good hands."

Michaela wasn't sure what was more erotic: the way he was undressing her with his eyes or the way his words promised something far more than a business transaction. Her mouth suddenly went dry and she croaked out, "My assistant Charles is out on a delivery. Until he gets back can I show you some of our heavier woolen fabrics?"

Hallam, looking puzzled, said to Michaela, "Why do we need your assistant present?"

Michaela looked toward the curtained area in the back of the store, blushed, and said, "To take your measurements. We are alone in the shop. It wouldn't be proper, er . . . it's not considered appropriate for me to, er . . . ."

Hallam smiled and said calmly but forcefully, "I am a busy man Ms. MacGregor. I too have appointments. I don't have time to wait for lackeys. I won't stand on ceremony if you won't and your reputation is safe with me. Shall we?" and with that Hallam pointed her toward the curtain in the back. She didn't know why, but Michaela felt compelled to do as he wished even though she knew it was dangerous – and a little scandalous.

After Michaela entered the small curtained room with the full-length mirror, Hallam closed the curtain slowly behind them. He stood in the center of the room and Michaela became aware that she was having difficulty breathing. It wasn't the closeness of the space or the pressing of her corset on her curvy frame; it was the fact that Hallam seemed to command so much of the space. She fumbled with the tape a bit and asked him to extend his arms outwards. She refused to look at his face, avoiding those penetrating eyes. With his arms extended he watched her work and asked her seemingly innocuous questions about how long she had owned the shop, how long she had fitted Harris, what she thought of the late war. She answered politically but briefly, keeping her eyes focused on the tape. Then Michaela needed to measure his chest. She stood in front of him and indicated she would need to wrap the tap around his back. He smiled and told her to proceed. Michaela wrapped her arms with the tape around him, and discovered she was shaking. The smell of him (natural musk and . . . sandalwood?) was intoxicating; she almost felt woozy. She managed to take his waist measurement and was starting to feel relieved this humiliation would soon be over. But then Hallam interjected, "I'll need a pair of trousers to match the cloak."

Michaela looked him square in the eye and said, "Then Sir will need to see a Tailor. I'm a milliner – I do not make men's trousers."

Hallam's eyes suddenly turned steely, pinning her with their intensity. "And how will the trousers match if they are made by someone else?"

Without missing a beat, Michaela answered, "I'll give Sir a bolt of the same fabric to take to the tailor – or have it delivered if it pleases you."

"No. You will make them both or you will make nothing – understand?"

However uncomfortable she felt, this was business and she needed this sale. And it wasn't as if she had never made trousers before – she'd made several for her own brothers or for friends. "Yes Sir. Very well." She stepped back, took a deep breath, and asked him a question hoping to avoid what was inevitable. "Mr. Hallam? Do you know what your inside leg measurement is?"

Hallam just shook his head slowly side to side. "Um, I really think we need to wait for my assistant . . . ."

"I told you – I am a busy man. Take my measure now or forget the sale. I am sure I can find another tailor in this city."

Michaela took another deep breath, gathered her skirts, and crouched down on her knees. Her eyes were level with his crotch. In barely a whisper she asked, "Do you dress left or right, Sir?" Suddenly she saw his pants start to bulge in front of her; she could see the outline of his cock begin to protrude against his trousers just above her right eye. It shocked her, but it also aroused her and it took all of her strength not to reach up and stroke Hallam's bulging cock; to free it from his pants and demand that he put it inside her now wet cunt.

From above she heard a voice say slyly, "Well?"

"Left, Sir." She took the measurement as quickly as she could and stood facing him again feeling shaky on her feet.

"Finished?"

"Yes Mr. Hallam – finished." Suddenly the measuring tape was snatched from Michaela's hands and thrown around her like a lasso. Hallam used the tape to pull her toward him and she felt herself being pushed up against the mirror behind her. The full weight of Hallam was on her and before she knew what was happening he was kissing her. "Kissing" wasn't really an accurate description – his tongue had launched a full-scale invasion of her mouth, and Michaela – pinned by the tape he was grasping tightly, could do nothing but let the enemy advance. She did, however, trade him volley for volley with her own tongue, moaning deeply into his mouth. What was happening to her? Kissing some strange white man in the dressing room of her store?! Allowing herself to be molested this way?

Suddenly he broke off the kiss and said breathlessly, "Enough, wench. I just wanted to take your measure. Turnabout is fair play."

Michaela, unable to help herself, leaned in to try to kiss him again. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. "Mmm – someone is a lusty wench, isn't she?"

Michaela couldn't respond. How could she? "Answer me," he said firmly.

"Yes . . . Yes Sir." Hallam smiled and lightly touched Michaela's cheek. When he pulled away it gave Michaela enough space to gather herself and remember their purpose for being in that room to begin with.

"I should have the coat cut in a week; you'll need to come in for another measurement. And then a week after that for the trousers."

"Very well – one week." And with that he turned, opened the curtain, and walked out of the store. Michaela's corset had never felt so tight, nor her cunt so wet. She could feel her arousal soaking her breeches as she doubled-over trying to catch her breath and process all the new emotions sweeping through her.

It was the longest week of Michaela's life for more reasons than one. That night of the kiss, Michaela hardly knew what to do with herself. She had a knot of desire in the pit of her stomach that wouldn't go away. Not even her own fingers could quench it. And what was more was her shock at how quickly she had given in to Hallam – a complete stranger. Not just a stranger – a white southern stranger! For all she knew, he might even be a slave owner. Ten minutes and she nearly gave herself to him completely in the dressing room of her own store? She dare not look in a mirror for fear of not knowing the stranger staring back at her. She determined the next day to start work on his clothing; to have that suit finished as soon as possible to rid herself of him for once and for all. Work – it had always been her salvation. The next day Michaela was at work on a warm woolen cloak for Hallam when an idea struck her: Canada. With the war being over and Britain now controlling Canada, there might be a market beyond Hallam. She quickly paused in her work and dashed off to the printers to place an advertisement. In three days she had all the business she could handle and was able to hire back her employees. But as the end of the week got nearer, she became even more anxious and that knot got more unbearable. That weekend she barely slept a wink. She just couldn't keep her hands out of her cunt either, thinking about what would happen on Monday when Hallam came to collect his suit. Sometimes she rubbed her clit slowly, remembering how his tongue felt in her mouth. Other times she rubbed fast and hard remembering how his big cock bulged in his pants. And she always came thinking about that hard white cock inside her. Once, for the first time, she actually put a finger inside her cunt. Not deep, but just enough to feel what it might be like. And then she licked her finger, tasting her arousal. She had become so wanton in only a week; she hardly knew herself.

Monday morning she was on pins and needles waiting for Hallam to walk in. The cloak was well on its way to being perfect – one of her best. She wanted him to love it, and she wanted to see him in it. And out of it. But the morning passed, and no Hallam. She busied herself with other activities that often kept her in the back of the store. Every time the shop bell rang she practically sprinted to the front of the store to see if it was him. Afternoon arrived and her employee Jack asked her if she wanted to join his family for tea but she declined – she didn't want to take the chance she might miss Hallam. Michaela did have to leave briefly in the later afternoon to escort her niece from school, but when she returned only Sally was in the back room. The time came to close up the store and Michaela was puzzled. She looked over to where she had hung his cloak cut-out that morning – it was gone! She turned quickly to Sally and asked her what had happened to it? Sally told her, "Mr. Hallam came in while you were out. Jack took his measurements. He left the cloak in the fitting room for you." Michaela felt suddenly bereft. Utterly bereft – as if all the wind had been knocked out of her. She couldn't remember ever feeling so lonely and empty. Other than to use the privy in the back alley she had only stepped out for what – 30 minutes? How was it that those were the 30 minutes he decided to make an appearance? Surely he had not been watching? Waiting? Such a ridiculous thought! After she closed the store, Michaela walked home feeling exhausted again. It was one of the times she wished that instead of letting the space above the store for extra income she had chosen to live there rather than walk the 4 blocks to her small home near Printer's Row. (She often wished this especially on blistery winter nights as well.) She wanted to crawl into bed and never get out again. There was no knot of desire, no twinges in her cunt – just emptiness.

She was across the street from her house when she saw the horse at the post outside her door. Then she saw the man casually leaning in the doorway. It was Hallam. When he saw her approach he stepped into the street to greet her, tipping his cap. Michaela froze, not quite knowing how to react. She was elated and angry and shocked all at the same time. How did he know where she lived? "Good evening Ms. MacGregor. I wanted to compliment you personally on the fine cloak you are making for me."

"Thank you, Mr. Hallam. I was expecting to see you at my shop today – not my private home. This isn't proper. How did you find out I live here?"

Jacob responded, "I've been asking about you." Seeing the look of alarm on Michaela's face, he continued, "Don't worry – I was discreet. I will tell you more, but if propriety is a concern, perhaps this conversation is best continued indoors?"

Michaela hesitated briefly. Surely she was not about to let a lascivious stranger into her home? But her curiosity got the better of her; and thoughts of his cock bulge still danced in her head. So looked up and down the street and seeing no one she moved past him to unlock the door, trying to act nonchalant. He followed her into the house and closed the door behind him, grabbing her by the back of her neck and kissing her. God how she had craved this! With no hesitation her hands found their way around his waist, and her tongue lapped eagerly at his. When he finally came up for air, he pushed her away from him and looked at her. "For a such a saucy wench you have led a sheltered life. Still unplucked, as I understand it?" Michaela blushed and felt embarrassed. Jacob gently touched her burning red cheek and said, "I know you never married; no one has ever seen you with a steady beau. You're a spinster. You have your work and that's all, am I right?" Hearing it out loud like that had a strange effect on Michaela – she could feel the tears start to form involuntarily and she tried to turn away from him. But Jacob grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. "The work isn't enough, anymore is it?"

"No – not it isn't," she choked out.

Jacob kissed her and said, "I have what you need, but you're going to have to beg for it, understand wench?" Michaela realized this was a point of no return. If she opened this door there would be no closing it; if she became this person there would be no way back. And still she dropped to her knees in front of this strange man and saw his bulge growing again just like it had in the shop.

She looked up into his eyes and said, "Fuck me Sir – please fuck me with your hard cock."

Jacob looked down at her and said, "Why should I waste my cock on a black whore like you?"

The words tumbled out of her from a place inside she didn't even know existed a week ago. "Because only your fuck can satisfy a whore like me. Only your seed will quench my hunger." Jacob closed his eyes and pulled Michaela to her feet. He whirled her around and bent her over the entryway table. Jacob quickly hiked up her skirts and roughly pulled down her underclothes. She heard a buckle and a rustle and then she gasped when she felt his hard cock inside her tight wet cunt.

She gasped more as Jacob plunged himself in deeper, thrusting. Then suddenly he withdrew his cock. Michaela was relieved of her virgin pain but felt that horrible emptiness again. "No! Please! Sir – don't stop – fuck me!" She felt the sharp sting of a hand on her ass. Then again on the other cheek.

"Black whores get fucked when Sir says they get fucked, understand?"

"Yes Sir!"

"Good." Jacob spanked her hard a few more times and said, "Mmm – I'm going to enjoy this; being the first one to see this beautiful ass turn pink." Then he ordered Michaela to stand up and untie her corset. Her hands were shaking, but she complied immediately. She could see in the hallway mirror she was facing that behind her Jacob was stroking his cock watching her. When her corset tumbled to the floor and her breasts bounced in front of her, Jacob's hands left his cock and he started to pinch and squeeze her nipples while sucking on her neck. "Mmm – you taste almost as good as you look. Down." She bent over and she felt his hard white cock inside her wet cunt again. She moaned from the pain and the fullness. He thrust hard and deep, but slowly. Almost too slowly. After each thrust he taunted her with his words. "How did a whore like you get such a tight cunt?" And, "A slut like you should be selling your cunt, not cloaks." And he made her tell him that she was a whore, a slut, a black wench who craved only white cock. And she did, and she meant it, but she didn't understand how or why. "Touch yourself slut, and cum when I tell you to – and not before." Desperate for relief, Michaela began to rub her clit furiously; Jacob started to thrust faster. "Now. Cum now!" She could feel Jacob's hands grabbing tight to her ass cheeks, and she came loudly, but not as loudly as Jacob who put his arms around her to steady himself during his climax. She could feel him breathing heavy on the back of her neck. He slowly stood, pulling her up with him. They were both out of breath.

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