Thornton doesn't give her a choice

Dear Diary, (May 23rd, alone in my room before bed)

I had to pick up my account from before because Mr. Thornton insisted that I change for dinner. I am still trying to come to terms with my relationship with the young lawyer. Before sending me to change, Mr. Thornton removed my collar and wiped the tears from my cheeks as if I were a child in need of comforting. I must admit that his almost tender touch helped ease the pain of the moments before, but it did little to alleviate my confusion.

All throughout dinner, Robert and I sat side-by-side at the dining room table and discussed the plans for my upcoming party. It just as it was two days ago when I thought I might come to love the earnest young man.

Still, I had difficulty concentrating, as the motion of his ink-stained fingers as he spoke or the faint smile of satisfaction he got as he wiped his mouth reminded me of the same gestures and grins from earlier.

I may have given the reader of this diary the impression that Mr. Thornton was in fact giving me the option of pleasing him with my mouth. I assure you that this was in no way the case. When I shook my head and tried to rise to my feet, his hand came down firmly on my shoulder as he unfastened the buttons of his trousers.

"Did you suck you other lovers back North like a whore, Miss Diflorentini?" Thornton asked me as he pulled my face closer to his bobbing erection. "Did your mother teach you that important 'Fancy Girl' skill as well as how to spread your legs?" My mother did not precisely teach me about oral sex, but I did a couple times peek into her room when she was entertaining her patrons and saw her on her knees just like this before a gentleman. I had no chance to explain any of this to Mr. Thornton, as he pushed his member, still covered with my own juices into my mouth.

Any attempt to speak was pointless from this moment on as my mouth was effectively gagged with his hard member. For a minute or two I thought it might not be as bad as I feared. Mr. Thornton allowed me to begin slowly, with just the head of his manhood in my mouth. Other than the demeaning nature of the act with me on my knees and him standing above me, I was surprised that I almost enjoyed performing this act of pleasing him.

As I grew bolder in my approach using my hands to stroke his shaft below my lips, I could feel him throbbing against my fingers. I was beginning to see how this act could be pleasurable for both parties when it took a sudden turn for the worse. With his hands in my hair, Mr. Thornton pulled me firmly until his shaft was deep in my throat and my nose was pressed against his waistcoat.

My gags and attempts to push him away were met with an even firmer grip in my hair and a coarse chuckle as he began to push deeper down my throat.

"There, Bianca." He grunted in satisfaction, "that's how a nigga **** serves her white master. Take me nice and deep, girl, and when I cum I want you to swallow every drop - you hear?"

I wish I could report that I was able to somehow work free of his grasp as I had several days ago with my cousin, but I'm afraid that I barely tried to fight him. I found if I just let him use my mouth as he wanted that the urge to vomit was not so strong and that I could even breathe a little through my nose so as to keep from passing out.

I cannot help but wonder if everything Robert has said about me is true. Perhaps, under the polish and veneer of my 'White' speech and dress I am little better than Angelica, the mulatto fancy girl that my grandfather surely used just in this fashion.

When I felt the first pulses of his seed in my mouth I swallowed as best I could, even taking a small amount of pride that only a little of the essence dripped from my lips onto my bare breasts. When he pulled out of my mouth Robert cupped my cheek almost gently and told me I was a natural cock-sucking whore.

I should despise the man ... but then he lifted me to my feet and kissed me like a father might kiss his daughter when she found favor in his eyes. Tonight, he said I could sleep and rest alone in my room and have a chance to recover from the excitement of the day.

One final shameful post script - as I blotted the previous entry and finished the accompanying sketch I found myself wondering if I had exhausted the young man's masculine desires or if he intended to summon Angelica to his bed tonight and that is why I was not needed. It is an odd thing to be jealous of an enslaved girl with no education or skills other than pleasing a man.