A strange (true?) story of a black man paid to cuckold white husbands

Arriving at the hotel room, he can smell the 420 from the hallway. Walking in, the newcomer squeals, "Is this him?"

Both women look as if they've come off the same soccer mom assembly line--one blonde, one a redhead. Keeping his eyes on the new meat taking off her top, David manages to shake the husbands' hands without looking at them.

The redhead has so much energy. "Let's get a look him!" she chirps. Taking his hand, she directs him to stand up on one of the full sized beds. Unbuttoning his shirt, she gropes his pecs, "We gotta a strong one!" she leers, rushing to take off his shirt.

Naked save for a neon pink thong, the blonde joins in, unbuckling his belt. "I told you," she gushes, "he's a BIG black man!"

Pulling down his jeans and underwear simultaneously, the blonde reveals David's thick 10 inches.

"You're right!" the redhead gasps.

"Step back," the blonde suggests. "You have to get a good look at him." David is left standing on the bed, his jeans twisted around his ankles. "He's beautiful, ain't he?"

To David, their dialogue sounds as if it's been scripted for them by a porno studio.

"He sure is," Red agrees. "Six pack abs, and I love the tattoos."

"He should work out on his calves more though," notes the blonde.

"Yeah, why is it most black guys have skinny legs?" Red wants to know.

"You're right! They always have little chicken legs!" the blonde continues, groping his muscles and moving on to his penis, assessing the merchandise as if he weren't even in the room. They discuss the gap in his teeth, how his ears poke out, his muscular backside. "Look at his ass," Blondie crows. "Except for those stretch marks, it's perfect! He has little dimples!" (Red would agree if her jaws weren't already extended to its limits.)

All the touching has made the women horny. They start to handle David with more purpose...and lust. He feels a strange conflict between pleasure and pride. "Look how low his balls drop," purrs the blonde, fondling them. "I love it!"

David is flooded with an ancestral memory of being paraded and priced on an auction block. Watching the witnessing husbands whisper back and forth between one another stirs contempt in his heart.

A voice from the back commands: "We don't have all day." And so the three-way begins....

That was the last time David responded to their text messages. Even rigorous military training and two tours in Iraq had never left him feeling so mechanical, so mindless. The emptiness was overwhelming. "It was as if I'd accidently sold my soul along with my cock," he admits. But the deeper disappointment was that he'd surrendered himself into slavery so casually. The irony of so offhandedly subjecting himself to what his ancestors had endured with no choice was crushing. While the master-slave relationship is a key element of sadomasochism, this was an entirely different equation--one that centered on money, rather than mutual understanding and informed consent.

What erotic force is strong enough to covert jealousy to joy, shame to sexual stimulation? For the men who get off on their wives having sex with other men--or women--the arousal boils down to power and perspective. Despite David's physical and sexual superiority, the cuckolds had power over him, and although it might appear that the wives were being used merely to act out a scene for the pleasure of their husbands, they were still in control.

Were the husbands submissive to their wives, or the other way around? Who's to say? But no matter who was ultimately the top, David was merely an object to them--a living, breathing, humping machine with dark skin and a 10-inch cock. Still, as Eleanor Roosevelt once so sagely pointed out: "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

"I let that happen," Dave laments. "I threw away everything my forefathers went through for a lousy $600 dollars." It's a bitter lesson, and one piece of history he has no interest repeating. If the cuckolds come calling again, David says he won't be home.