Sugar Daddy Buys Black Loverbyblacklovr©
For a while in college I dated an older man who was quite successful as a businessman of some sort (never did find out what exactly he did...). Remembering my time with him made me start to think about what it is to be a whore. We think that only women who take money for sex are whores, but don't most women trade favors for sex in some way? Maybe its not as clear when its sex for love, or sex for security, or sex for a home, or just sex for sex, but why is the exchange of money rather than the exchange for other rewards so categorically different?
As I am now, how should I feel being married to a man who makes the money in the household--despite the fact that we don't measure our love in terms of financial contributions, it of course is always something that women find themselves having to consider. I think it one of the constants of gender that men can get women by having enough money and power to be attractive, whatever their looks, and women can be attractive in their need to be protected and cared for--there are white knights all around who just love to rescue women in need, and women play them for all they are worth. What is being exchanged there?
Back in college this older man I dated (no, I don't think the word "dated" is right--in the context of thinking about sex and exchange, to use the word "date" for what I did for him is too reminiscent of the euphemism that prostitutes use when they ask potential johns if they want a "date"...)... I regularly "met for sex" with an older man. I guess you could call him my "lover," although I definitely did not feel any form of "love" for him. I was a poor college student and having a sugar daddy take me out and give me expensive gifts seemed like winning the lottery.
This man would take me to posh restaurants and then to a very nice downtown Boston hotel, where he would proceed to use me in every which way, albeit quite conventionally. At first he was very gentlemanly, both in public and in the hotel room, but then he became increasingly perverse in private. Some of what he introduced me to was quite tame--he liked rimming a great deal and we would usually begin with me licking his asshole until he was erect enough for me to give him a blowjob--but some of the kinkier things he did were surprising, at least to me at the time.
He liked that I was young and innocent and in need of corruption, and sometimes when he wasn't up for sex (this was before Viagra...), he would have me "perform" for him by masturbating with various objects--wine bottles, umbrellas, a post on one of the beds! He ordered room service and would eat desserts and sushi off my breasts and out of my pussy. He loved to see just about anything inserted in my pussy and, eventually as time went by, up my ass too--the remote control for the TV, his cigars, the blow dryer from the bathroom, and he would even bring along objects that he had seen in the weeks between our meetings that he thought I should use to fuck myself.
I must have made myself come with more of a variety of objects in the months I saw him than the rest of my life combined! Once, he had me fuck myself with two huge flashlights, one in each hand as I shoved one in my ass and another in my cunt, and he turned out the lights and watched the bright circles dance crazily around the room like searchlights as I rammed the flashlights in and out. I have to admit that it was fascinating to lie in the dark and see the spotlights swirl and tremble as I came!
About four or five months after we had started "seeing" each other--I was going out with a number of guys my own age at the time, of course--I had told him over dinner about one of the college students I was dating. I didn't realize it then, but somehow this angered him (looking back I think he must have felt suddenly inadequate...).
When we were in the hotel room later, he couldn't get an erection, even after half an hour of my trying every trick I had learned so far in terms of fellatio technique. Instead of having me perform a masturbation show for him as we normally did, he called for a bellhop. I crawled under the sheets because I was in my stockings and bra, but he told me not to get dressed.
When the bellhop came, a very polite young black man who sounded from his accent like he was from the French Caribbean, he asked the bellhop if he thought I was sexy. I couldn't tell if the bellhop was blushing because his skin was a very dark brown, but he looked uncomfortable as he answered yes.
My lover then asked him if he would like to have sex with me, and that he would be paid $200 if he did. The bellhop immediately agreed--I'm sure he just thought of this as an unusual way to earn a tip! I was shocked, and was not really sure I wanted to do this. I somehow thought that my older lover would have been too possessive to have thought of doing this--he had shown some flashes of jealousy at times, but it was only later that I connected what he was doing now to my descriptions earlier at dinner of dating younger men.
The bellhop quickly undressed (except for leaving his socks on, which I thought was ludicrous--why do men leave their socks on when they have sex--do they think it's equivalent in sexiness to women wearing their stockings or high heels?). I suppose you are expecting me to say that he had a monstrously large black cock, but in fact it was normal sized, although very dark. He didn't know whether to kiss me, so he didn't, and stood awkwardly by the side of the bed.
My older lover told me to begin sucking the bellhop's cock, and so I did. After a while of this, he told me to get on my hands and knees on the bed and for the bellhop to fuck me but to stop before he came. The bellhop was tentative, and so I never got to the point of being horny enough to really enjoy it. Still, the rhythm of being fucked doggy style eventually lulled me into familiar feelings, especially since his large hanging testicles would slap my clitoris each time he thrust inside me, and I began sensing the tension in my thighs and stomach that signaled an oncoming orgasm.
Before I could come, my lover told the bellhop to pull out and put himself in my ass. He hesitated at first, not sure if he should, but with a firm "Do it!" from my older lover, he began pushing his cock into my ass. I wasn't lubricated at all, and my pussy had not really gotten so wet that his cock was slick enough to slide in, so it burned.
I slipped off the quiet climb towards an orgasm that I had been on, and uttered a few "ows" to indicate that it hurt. This seemed to please my lover, who began taunting me, asking me "if I liked the young man fucking my ass?" I didn't answer, and so he went on, asking if I liked black cock (he didn't use the word "black" however, and instead used the "n-word," which for some strange reason shocked me, even given the oddity of the whole situation of an older white man paying a young black man to ass fuck the young half-white college student that was his "kept woman").
Hearing the insulting "n-word" made the bellhop angry, and he began fucking me more aggressively, perhaps no longer feeling as passive about the situation he was in, now that my lover had used a racial epithet, or perhaps he was just getting close to coming and hearing that word actually hadn't bothered him.
Before he could come in my ass, however, my lover told me to turn around and suck the "n----r" cock off. I did as I was told, my ass continuing to burn even after his cock pulled out, and I was shocked that I was tasting the slightly sweet taste of my own asshole as I sucked his black cock. He was extraordinarily hard, and must have been very close to coming. As I bobbed my head up and down, cleaning my own filth off him with my tongue, my older lover asked me "if I liked tasting my own shit on his n----r cock."
Somehow, this jolted me into realizing how hurt and angry he must have felt to be so mean to me, and I could hear a hint of pain and insecurity in his voice even as it was mocking me for being so dirty that I would lick my own shit off this young black bellhop's cock. I have to admit that I did feel truly like a slut at that moment, and all the times that he had given me a handful of fifty and hundred dollar bills as I was leaving the hotel room to catch a taxi, telling me to "buy myself something nice," suddenly felt to me exactly what they were--payments for sex, and not the kindness of an older man for a young woman without means.
"Drink up his sperm, whore, lick his n----r come."
The edge in his voice had begun to sound sinister, and I was not enjoying any of this at all. The bellhop had just begun to shoot at that moment, thrusting his hips forward and forcing the tip of his cock awkwardly into my throat, so that the jets of his come triggered my gag reflex. I coughed and his cock slipped out of my mouth and as he continued to spurt, grunting loudly as he did, his sperm shot all over my face.
His cock might have been normal sized, but he shot more sperm than any man I had ever known up to then, and, now that I think about it, ever since. I coughed uncontrollably a few more times as his come continued to spray into my hair, and then it was over.
He paid the bellhop his $200, but as I started to reach for the box of kleenex next to the bed he told me to stop, that he wanted me to keep the sperm on my face. I was puzzled, not knowing why he wanted this. The thought occurred to me that he wanted to clean it off me himself, or perhaps he was going to lick it off my face, but I was wrong.
As the pungent sperm began to cool and dry, becoming more liquid and running and dripping down my face even as it crusted, he told me that he wanted me to leave the room with the "n----r sperm" all over my face and to show the world what a "little n----r loving slut" I was. I was shocked and hurt at the meanness of his words. I did indeed feel exactly that way at that moment, and was incredulous that he had so deliberately made me feel so awful.
I began to cry quietly, staring at him in disbelief, the tears mingling with the gooey sperm as it liquefied. Seeing my tears seemed to soften him, and I could see the shift in his face as he looked at me with sympathy. He began apologizing profusely, saying that he was just a stupid old man, and asking if I could ever forgive him. He held me as I continued to cry, trying to sooth me like a father would a daughter, and for the first time I understood just how fucked up my relationship (if you could even call it that...) with him was.
I eventually stopped crying, and he kept telling me to forgive a stupid old man, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was a whore. He emptied his wallet and put all of the bills directly into my purse, not even bothering to try to give it to me directly (I would have refused it). I didn't want any of his money, that night or any other, and never saw him again after that, even though he kept calling me for several weeks.
I eventually pulled the wad of bills out of my purse (this was months later--I had just left the purse in my closet as it was...), and counted almost a thousand dollars. I gave it to a local women's shelter and donated the purse and the expensive clothes he had bought for me to wear that night to a charity.
This happened so many years ago, but even as I try to understand that night, and my relationship to this older man, as well as to my burgeoning fetish for black men, I cannot help thinking that it exposed something deeply disturbing in my own psyche...