Hi, I am Samuel. Last year, I was a normal 21-year-old straight man. The son of two Lawyers with a degree in finance. I had just received a job offer from BNP Paribas in Paris and was looking forward to starting a new life in Europe, to settle down with a wife and a couple kids. Today, I am the husband to a stronger man. I man I have come to love, a man I live to submit to. This is my story.
We knew something was coming. It had been two years since St Piere had declared independence from France and racial tensions continued to grow. Simmering resentment led to open calls for deportation or Haitian style violence. Many French people had fled, packing up their possessions, selling their homes for a fraction of its fair value, and running back to the Metropole. My parents refused, they had built their law firm from scratch and believed themselves impervious. That was until that day.
President Lurel had signed the "reconciliation and reconstruction act". It gave non-blacks two options: abandon your home and leave the island within two months; or face five years in jail. My parents immediately took it to court. By the time that two-month deadline was up, they were up to their necks in paperwork as the police banged on our door. Hauled before a judge, they were immediately sentenced to hard labour. I was given another option. Turns out that there was another clause. At the judge's discretion, young men and women were allowed to stay if they agreed to be wed to a local.
I knew what this meant, I was going to be married off to some government bureaucrat. As I agreed, I pictured the minister for families, a young black woman with long curly hair that went down for her petite butt. I wouldn't mind being her husband, I thought.
The bailiff ushered me into a small room with a large mirror on one side and a metal table in the middle. He threw me a duffle bag full of my clothes and urged me to get ready. I am 170cm, on the slimmer size, with blonde hair and, despite my short, neat beard, people always think I'm younger. I go to the gym, but not enough to build up any serious muscle.
After putting on a shirt, smart trouser and putting on aftershave, I was ready to meet my future wife. I heard a knock on the door and a man entered. He was 195cm, late 30s, and strong. He introduced himself. Marcus, the minister for education, was going to be my husband. I was presented with my options again: hard labour or Marcus.
Now this is where I confess that I wasn't as straight as I had presented. It all started on Pornhub, where I realised that as great as the girls where, a big cock added something extra. So, I started seeking it out and began to stare more and more at the men. I began to empathise with the women. I began to fantasize about being in their place. On my knees as a real man unloaded the sticky treat that I had worked hard for.