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Black Man One Ch. 01

By: Weak_White_Wimp



I would have never believed in a million years that my life would eventually come to this. 

Like most professional and moderately successful straight white men in their late 30's and beyond, having a beautiful younger wife has always been somewhat of a status symbol. The term "trophy wife" has been overused and exaggerated to the point of nausea, yet it is difficult to describe this particular type of relationship in any other way.

Many of us middle-aged white men, if not all, tend to use our good fortunes to "wow" and "woo" a beautiful, young white woman into the prospects of a better life. We have to use everything in our arsenal to impress them, to keep them happy, and to keep them from leaving us for black men.

This includes tall tales and flat out lies. 

Yes, this is quite true. It is rather difficult and humiliating for us white men to admit that young black men are taking over in so many areas of the world. It is especially humbling to see them taking over so many of, what we like to refer to as "our" women, and doing this rather easily and with such little effort. 

It has become rather embarrassing for us middle-aged or older white men to see the multitude of beautiful white women, of all ages, flocking to black men and falling to their feet. In public, we see it everywhere. We see it in malls, beaches, restaurants and clubs. We see it on television and in the movies, and this seems to increase ten-fold with each and every passing year. 

Yes, white men do notice it. We try to ignore it, or pretend that it's not really what it seems to be. But, much to our own embarrassment we notice it. 

We can easily see how white women so eagerly submit to a black man, regardless of how they're spoken to and how they're treated. We can see so many of the prettiest white girls with 2 or 3 black babies, or more. It doesn't seem to dissuade millions of white women as long as they can belong to a black man, and be in a black man's world. 

It doesn't seem like us white men can do anything about it, either. The truth is that we can't. 

Despite our futile attempts to keep our women "shielded" from what we see and what we obviously know, I have learned that eventually it will happen. White women will eventually come to realize how superior black men have become in our society, and how weak and inferior us white men have become to them. 

This is not by choice, or preference. This is not about fantasy or fetish. It is simply a degrading and demoralizing fact that us white men must contend with. No. We do not want to accept this fact. Many of us have refused to accept it all our lives. However, eventually it becomes too overwhelming for us to deny. My true story is merely a capsulized version of this so-called phenomenon.

My name is Richard, and I am now a 46-year-old white male professional in the high-end corporate sector of computer programming. Many would refer to us as "geeks" with shy, introverted and more timid personalities. For the most part they would be right. 

Despite my current 6'4" tall, 195 lb. frame and moderately athletic frame, I am not much of an athlete. Not at all. But, I suppose that I am considered to be quite intelligent with more degrees than most. My looks are average and I have a career that produces more than a comfortable salary. This has been a result of a strict upbringing, education and a successful military career. 

To step further back for a moment, I will say that I was more of the shy "nerd" type all through high school. Computers were a relatively new business in the 80's and I became addicted to them right away. I had no long term girlfriends, only "sympathy dates" for school dances and proms, usually set up by my younger sister or a fellow computer geeks sister's girlfriend. 

It wasn't until my freshman year of college at the age of 18 that I finally took my nose out of all those books and began to really notice girls. I began to notice them in a different way.

My shy demeanor prevented me from persuing a girlfriend up to that point and, despite the few "sympathy dates" provided for me I remained dedicated to my studies. 

In junior college, this feeling changed. Thoughts of the military and their computer programming curriculum intrigued me. I had made up my mind to enlist after my first 2 years of college. But, I did not want to leave school a virgin as I began to admire the feminine form even more. 

Like most young men, my fascination for cheerleaders was front and center. I began watching them intently as they strolled around the school in their short little cheerleader skirts and tight cheer sweaters. 

"Wow. What have I been missing?" I asked myself. 

As I began to pay more attention to them from a distance, I suddenly realized that my chances to be with them were very slim to none. It really and truly seemed that every single one of these white cheerleaders was dating one of the black athletes from the Track or Football teams. Not most of them. All of them were. 

At the time, I was perplexed by this because the entire college was no more than 3 per cent black. Although the sports teams were closer to 80 per cent black, there was less than 100 african american guys in a school of about 2,900. 

"Why were all these pretty white girls dating these black guys when there are so many of us white guys here?" I recall asking myself numerous times. 

Regardless, it was the very first time I would "notice" this type of interracial relationship. It felt strange, almost embarrassing to be honest, and I quickly passed it off as being somewhat of a regional thing that was happening in this particular part of the state. Still, there was something very curious and humbling about it. 

Halfway through my freshman year of college there was a dance event being held. It was a formal dance advertised by the college, and it seemed to resemble a traditional prom. Once again, I was provided with another "sympathy date." This time from my sister who "had a friend" from nearby college that wanted to attend this dance so badly. And, she was a cheerleader!

When my sister told me about her friend, Cindy, and then showed me her picture, I nearly fell to the floor. It felt like I was looking at a young Christie Brinkley in a cheerleader's outfit.

"Wow!" I gulped, quietly. 

Cindy was one of those unique beauties. Blonde, wholesome, a terrific body and the most perfect face I had ever layed eyes upon. 

"Wow!" I thought, again. 

"I'd do anything to take her to this dance." I shouted, in silence. 

Cindy was absolutely stunning with a 5'6" tall, 118 lb. rock solid body and large, supple breasts. Her blonde hair and pretty blue eyes could make any man she looked at melt like a chocolate bar on a hot grill in the summer. 

Eagerly, I jumped at this opportunity and spared no expense in finding the best tux for myself, and the best corsage for her. I even rented a limo and chivalrously purchased her dress and shoes. She looked so beautiful that I could hardly contain the thought of finally losing my virginity. I knew this would be the big day for me. All the preparation, effort and expense that I went through for her would be appreciated. Then, she would allow me this opportunity to be with her. 

"Maybe this will go even further?" I secretly hoped. 

But, this would not happen. 

Many may not believe that what happened next could be true. But, it is. 

Half way through the dance, Cindy excused herself to go to the ladies room. The music was playing and I sat there watching the crowd and beaming with confidence of having one of the prettiest blonde girls in the area as my date. I could feel the envious stares from so many other guys in the room throughout the night, and my confidence was building to a level I had never felt before.

But, as time continued to pass and Cindy had not returned, I began to worry. I looked at my watch and noticed she had been gone for 35 minutes. That is when I decided to go to the rest room area and wait just outside the doors for her. 

I stood there for another 10 minutes waiting for my beautiful, blonde date but she did not emerge from the ladies room. As several other girls went in and came out it became obvious to me that she was not there. Curiously, I scanned the area and could not find her. Part of me was upset, and the other part concerned as I decided to hit the men's room myself before heading back to the table. 

That is when I found Cindy. 

As I entered the men's room, there was a long row of about 8 bathroom stalls set off to the side of the wall urinal section. As I peered down that row it was clear that the end stall had something going on. 

Yes, it was blatantly obvious that there was a girl in that stall, and she was on her knees. The end of her dress and the high heeled shoes stuck out into the small aisle enough for me to notice they belonged to Cindy. It was the same dress and shoes that I had purchased for her a few days before. 

I do not know why, but I found myself walking towards the end stall to make sure that this was my date. As I drew nearer, I could smell the scent of weed and see the door to this stall was wide open. When I arrived and stood at the door I was shocked. 

There, on her knees before this young and darker skinned black stud athlete was my beautiful blonde date. Unbelievably, she was sucking on his very large black cock. This athletic black guy was casually and nonchalantly standing above her with one of his fists clenched and entangled in her blonde hair, controlling her head. His other hand was free and holding the lit joint that he was smoking. Cindy's arms were down at her sides as she knelt before him, subserviently, as she continued almost slurping on his cock.

I couldn't believe this was happening. It almost appeared as if she was being forced to do that. 

The black guy just looked back at me like he didn't have a care in the world. He extended his arm to me to hand me the joint in a gesture to take a "hit" of it. At the time, I don't think he even knew it was my date that was sucking on his cock? I simply nodded a "no" and refused the joint cigarette he was offering. I looked down at my beautiful date sucking a black man's cock. 

"C-C-Cindy?" I mumbled quietly, in humiliation.

She made a soft attempt to turn her head towards my voice, but the black stud simply pulled her by the hair back in place. Obediently, she continued sucking on his cock as he grinned back at me in the most obnoxious manner. 

I wish I could say that something else happened, or that I defended the honor of my date and swept her away. Unfortunately, nothing like that happened. Cowardly, I just turned and almost ran away. I did not stop for anything and headed straight out to my car, humiliated beyond anything else I had ever experienced. 

Degraded, I drove home with that image of my beautiful blonde date on her knees before a black man and sucking on his cock. To me, it was unreal. It was something that didn't excite me in any way. Not at all. It was simply a demoralizing event that I wanted to forget. 

I never seen or heard from Cindy again. 

After that, I had very little desire to date. That image haunted me for so long and I lost all confidence and courage to ask another girl out. For the next year and a half, I focused on my studies again. Then, I entered the military a virgin at the age of 20. 

"Things will be different there." I told myself. 

For awhile things were different. But, this is not even the beginning of the story I am attempting to convey. 

end.   

Black Man One Ch. 02



My military career was challenging. The workouts were exhausting but somehow I got through it. For a period of time I even learned the sport of boxing, which was basically pushed upon many of us by our staff sergeant. I was 28 at the time. Staff Sergeant Williams seemed to have a way to persuade us to do anything. He was really tough on us. Generally, he "picked on" the ones that needed "additional conditioning," to use his own words. 

I was one of those pushed into Boxing Training because I would become fatigued so easily half way through even the basic workouts. In a sense, it felt like more of a disciplinary action although I am quite sure his intentions were all good. The others in the Boxing regimen volunteered because they all loved the sport as much as our Sergeant did. And, they would compete against other military divisions and keep score. 

To them, it was friendly competition amongst men to prove their masculinity. The matches were only 3 rounds each, which doesn't sound like much to anyone who has never been involved in the sport. But, it is tough to do. For me, it became yet another source of humiliation and feeling defeated by the black man. 

After 6 weeks of training with weights, sparring and conditioning I was told that I was ready to have my first "real" boxing match. One of the trainers had always tried coaching me to use my taller 6'4" height and long arm reach to my advantage, especially against the shorter boxers.

That first boxing match was against a 22-year-old black soldier who was about 5'9" tall, but powerfully-built. He beat me soundly. The one-sided fight was humiliating, but the trainer tried to encourage me. 

"It takes a lot of time to learn this. Keep trying. Keep learning." he always told me. 

Under the pressure of the Sergeant, I continued trying this sport but things were basically the same. All the boxers I would fight against were much shorter than I was. Unfortunately for me, though, they were all physically-gifted black men between the ages of 18 and 25. 

In a period of 14 months I ended up losing all 19 of these 3 round boxing matches, ending my military boxing career with a 0-19 record. It ended mercifully when the black Staff Sergeant Williams was reassigned. 

Some of his last words to me were, "You best give it up, boy." He said. 

Thankfully, I did. I still kept in shape throughout my military career, though. I learned a great deal about nutrition and computer programming. I was fortunate to be able to travel to other parts of the world during this time. I lost my virginity in Germany, and even had a few relationships along the way. None of them were as serious as I had hoped for, but they were experiences that made me feel good about myself for awhile. 

In my 14th year, I broke my collarbone in a routine obstacle course drill. I couldn't believe my luck when I was given the option to heal and then retire with a full pension. I was 34 and returned home, where I took a position in the private corporate sector of computer programming. 

Things went very well in that area. I was making a great deal of money and didn't have anyone in my life to spend it on. But, it wasn't for lack of trying. I joined a dating site and spent the next 4 years on it trying to find "the right woman" for me. 

Between the ages of 34 and 38, I had written to and looked at profiles of thousands and thousands of attractive white women in their 20's and 30's. However, I had only actually met and "dated" about 20 of them. None of them would last more than a few dates before they stopped answering my calls.

With half of them, it seemed like the dating stopped after the first or second time we had sex. I didn't fully realize this until much later. In my mind, I was pretty good at sex and possessed an average 6 inches with an average thickness. I wasn't really "small" down there. 

Of course, I talked myself into believing there had to be other reasons why things didn't work out with these attractive women. I am sure there were in most cases. Still, I continued. 

The more humiliating part of this whole online dating site was the ever-increasing number of white women who would designate their preference in a man's race as "any" or "black." In those first two years, the number of them seemed to double. In turn, the number of women with a straight preference for "caucasian" men seemed to be diminishing at an alarming rate. 

"Gosh. Things are really changing in the world." I often thought.

"Why are there so many?" I would ask myself. 

In my third year on this huge online dating or meeting site I began to expand my search to other women too. Previously, I had always looked for women who were single with no children between the ages of 25 and 35, which was closer to my age. Now, I was turning 37 and starting to look at women who were single or divorced "with" or "without" children between the ages of 21 and 40.

I think the number of white women who notated their racial preference in a man as "any" or "black" quadrupled. This is not an exaggeration at all. 

Even more humbling was the fact that there were so many white women with a child or children from a black man. There, staring me right in the face were their photos proudly displayed for all to see. The prettiest and most polished blonde, brunette and auburn-haired white women with one, two or three black children. I swear to all that will read this story that there was even a few white women in their late 20's who had 4 or 5 black children. 

"Geez! Doesn't any white woman prefer us white men anymore?" I thought.

"Have all women dated black men these days?" I wondered.

By this time, I had already began to realize that it was impossible to compete against a black man's masculinity and win the affection of a beautiful white woman. Like most of us white men, we know this as the humiliating truth. Many of us tend to ignore the fact that black men intimidate us, and make us feel like "pussies" around them. We avoid the subject entirely and pretend that it doesn't exist. 

This search continued on for another year before I came across an amazing-looking blonde woman who was 26 years old. Her name was Juliana, and her profile was a sight for sore eyes. 

Juliana was 26. Her profile described herself as somewhat of a computer geek, too. She was 5'4" tall and 120 lbs., with brilliant natural blonde hair and a 34D-23-35 figure. Her preference in a man was "white" and she was from Kentucky, but now living in the same state as I was. 

I literally stopped dead in my tracks as I viewed her profile and continued to read more. 

She named the town she was raised in, in that state, and mentioned she had just moved here near the city a month ago. She had attended only two years of college, and she was a struggling model and waitress with no children. 

Julie mentioned she got along best with older men, and was looking for a "better life" with a successful man who could afford to travel and show her the world. 

"Wow. That sounds like me?" I thought, hopefully. 

As I continued reading, I saw that young Julie also preferred "strong, very masculine men" but she also buffered that phrase to say that this was not the most important quality in a man as far as she was concerned. 

"Gosh, I can be that too." I thought. 

I grew more anxious to read about her as I began to look up the demographics to the city she mentioned growing up in, and where she attended school. Embarrassingly, I will admit that the main reason for this inquiry was to see if Julie had grown up in a white or black region. After all the profiles I reviewed and the experiences I had, I just "had to know" if this beautiful blonde woman had ever dated black men.

Defeatedly, I knew deep down inside that if she had dated black men in the past then I would stand little to no chance of impressing her.

The demographics for that entire region was overwhelmingly white. More than 98 per cent, actually. I felt a since of relief as I clicked onto the section to view her other photos. 

Julie was even more gorgeous in those next dozen pictures. One of them was her as a 21-year-old cheerleader, which was taken 5 years before. Most of the other photos were current, but the few in her little frilly cheerleader outfit sent chills down my spine. 

"She is the perfect woman!" I gasped. 

Yes, Julie was perfect to me. I can also guarantee that there is no man alive today that would not be attracted to her. She was that beautiful. 

She seemed smart, cheerful, friendly and loved computers. Her petite, trim waist and incredibly large breasts made my jaw drop. Her shapely legs, perfect smile and pale complexion were right out of the pages of a Scandanavian Model Magazine. Her soft, bluer than blue eyes in those photos made me "sigh" in utter disbelief. More importantly, she liked slightly older white men who were successful. 

"I have to go all out for her." I thought. 

"I have to meet her!" I told myself. 

So, I did what most white men would do in order to gain the attention of a beautiful white woman. I exaggerated and even flat out lied.

Many would not understand why us white men in our 30's and 40's feel compelled to "fib" about ourselves to get a younger woman. But, it really is the demoralizing truth. Black men seem different. They could care less. Their natural boldness, confidence and aggressiveness combined with their natural physical superiority and dominance are enough for them. It's like they know they can easily get any white woman to kneel before them and worship their black cocks like they were gods. It is more difficult for us white men. 

Immediately, I went to my profile and edited it more in the direction of the beautiful blonde woman's pereferences. I added to my already high salary, and mentioned my days in the military. I added that I was a successful boxer to show my false strength and masculinity, and I exaggerated my toughness in other sports, where I used to date cheerleaders. Yes, I wanted to show her that pretty cheerleaders would date me, which was another lie. I even mentioned that I was "well-traveled" more than just my days in the military. I described myself as a former athlete turned computer geek who was a chivalrous gentleman with a passion to protect a woman and defend her honor at all costs. 

In reality, I was a big white sissy who had become intimidated by black men. I was a timid weakling who had lost the only date he ever had with a cheerleader to an aggressive black man. And, I was a tall white wimp who had lost every boxing match he ever had to a stronger and more masculine black man.

I was also a white coward who had to look up the demographics where a woman was raised to make sure she hadn't ever dated a black man before. 

"She didn't have to know all that." I reasoned. 

Pathetically, I altered my online profile in an attempt to compete with any black guy that might see hers. I wrote a note and asked her if she would like to meet. Hopelessly, I hit the "send" button. 

And, it worked. 

The next day, she responded with a return email. She wrote that she couldn't believe how perfect I sounded in my profile, and she suggested we talk on the phone that night. 

My hands quivered as I dialed her number. Here was this beautiful blonde woman wanting to talk to me. We talked for hours as I continued to overstate my obvious athletic ability. 

"Oh my god. You were a boxer? That must have taken a lot of strength?" she asked. 

"Oh, yes. It did. It was quite a workout. Especially in the military where there is much harder competition." I answered.

"Really? Were you good at it too?" she asked. 

"Oh, yes. I was very good. I never lost a fight." I bragged, lying through my teeth. 

"Wow, that's great!" Julie said. 

"How many fights did you have back then?" she asked. 

My thoughts were running rampant. I couldn't believe how much she was interested in sports and athletics, and my former military boxing career. To me, she was talking entirely too much about the subject. But, wanting to impress her I continued along. 

"Well, over 50 I would say." I lied, as the humiliation of my 0-19 boxing record crossed my mind. 

Julie seemed impressed as she asked me if I had been into any other sports. Again, I lied to the beautiful younger white woman. I mentioned that I was involved in some martial arts and played a little basketball. More lies. 

"That's great." she said. 

"Yeah, I can see basketball in you since you're so tall." she commented, reading from my profile. 

"You're 6'4" right?" she asked.

"Yes, well 6'4" and a half but I just used 6-4 for my profile." I answered. 

Julie continued talking. She stated that I looked younger than my 38 years at the time, and asked if I still worked out alot. Of course, I answered that I did as often as I could considering my career. 

All in all, the beautiful blonde woman was impressed. We talked for hours that first night, and for an hour everyday for a week before we decided to meet. She told me how excited she was and especially liked the fact that I loved to travel, and could afford to. 

I spent the next 9 months in this courtship, taking Julie on an extended weekend vacation every month, and 3 longer ten day vacations outside the country. I lavished her with gifts and worshipped the ground she walked upon. She was treated like an absolute princess and I spent many thousands of dollars on her bills, clothes and old student loans. I even paid for her younger sister's college tuition that school year. 

I didn't mind. I had the money. A lot of it, in fact. I saved a great deal and was getting a military pension while working in a field that paid outrageous salaries. I had convinced Julie to quit her waitress job after only 4 months of dating and return to school to finish her degree. Financially, I had made her the happiest woman. She didn't have to worry about a thing. Physically, things seemed to be going okay as well. 

Looking back, it was probably only moderately satisfying to her. In my mind, though, I was her knight in shining armor and a sexual dynamo. But, I am sure this was far from the truth. 

Early on, Julie wasn't able to have an orgasm. She always said that was "okay" because it just takes awhile to feel comfortable with someone. For the first two months, there were only a few orgasms that were "small ones" in her own words. 

"Oh, they're great though. I always have small ones anyway. They're still intense small ones." she would say. 

Back then, her words pleased me. I was so proud of the fact that I had worked my way up to having sex with her 3 times a week for 15 minutes each time. And, she conveyed a satisfaction that made me happy at the time.

During this entire courtship, I continued living those little white lies about my athletic prowess of the past and how I still managed to stay in shape. Julie seemed impressed and would talk about it more than I felt comfortable with. But, I couldn't go back now. It was too late. 

Still, I felt intimidated by black men and I went way out of my way to keep my new girlfriend away from seeing too many black men. In public, I would "steer" her sight away from the multitude of interracial couples I would notice in the malls, restaurants or clubs. All of them were masculine black studs with the prettiest white women any one of can imagine. At home, when a show or a movie on television depicted a black man and a white woman I would do my best to change the channel quickly. 

Once, when flipping through the channels and a boxing match came onto the screen to show a black fighter against a white fighter, I changed it desperately. 

"Wait. Don't you want to see that?" she asked.

"Didn't you used to fight like that?" she questioned. 

"Oh, yes. Of course, but I don't wanna watch that now." I told her, my face turning red like a beet. 

The truth was that I didn't want to watch the white fighter getting beaten up by the black fighter, which seems to happen 100% of the time. I didn't want my beautiful, blonde girlfriend to see it either. 

Admittedly, I continued to shelter her young and impressionable eyes from the obvious manner in which so many black men were with white women, and defeating us white men in the process. 

After 9 months, I purchased a 2 carat diamond ring for Julie and proposed. She accepted. We would be married within 6 months and all seemed right in the world. It was for the time being. 

But, being married now meant that I could lose my new wife to a black man rather than just losing another girlfriend, or fiancee. I continued living my lies of masculinity as I worked hard to please Julie as a husband and provider.

Our honeymoon was brief because of work restraints as we spent only 5 days in England. But, we agreed to take a vacation within a few months later at a more tropical resort. My new blonde wife loved the beach and laying out by a pool. Despite her paler skin tone, she did not burn. I suppose some people are like that. 

It was great that Julie wanted to go to the Virgin Islands, and to a beach resort. I remember thinking that not too many black men went to the beaches, as far as I knew. But, the last time I had actually been to a beach was probably 15 years beforehand. It was a fleeting thought, but one that did cross my mind back then. 

I was not prepared for what I was about to see when we checked into this exclusive beach resort. 

My new wife of 4 months was anxious to get to the beach, but she wanted to unpack our things and put them away before that. She also wanted to do her beautiful blonde hair and trim herself before she put on her new bikini. 

That is when Julie pulled out the swim trunks she had purchased for me before the trip. 

"Here, put these on and I'll just meet you down there in a few." she said. 

The beach trunks weren't very masculine at all. As a matter of fact, they looked more "pansy" to me than anything else I ever wore. They were a pastel shade of orange with a bright yellow face of Bart Simspon on the fronts and backs.

"Geez, honey. These aren't very cool." I complained. 

"Oh, stop fussing. They're cute." she said. 

I changed and headed down to the beach entrance to wait for my new 27-year-old wife. Being 39 now, it would be nice to have such a beautiful young blonde wife on a beach with me for the first time in my life.

As I exited the hotel I passed the edge of the pool area where it met the beach entrance. This entrance was merely a small, wooden gate leading to the beach front. I stopped there and waited, holding our beach towels over my arm.

When I glanced towards the pool area just 50 feet off to my right, there were about 7 couples sitting and hanging around the pool and pool bar area. Three of these couples were very athletic and darker black men with the prettiest young white women one can describe. Two of those black men were dressed in speedoes and the other in a more masculine pair of black shorts. 

"Geezuz. Here too?" I thought. 

When I peered out to the vast beach area there were at least another 6 couples of black men with beautiful white women. Granted, there had to be more than 50 couples scattered about this large part of the beach, but the interracial couples really stood out from the rest. They stood out blatantly.

One couldn't help but notice how demure these pretty white women were around their black boyfriends. It felt humbling to witness this on a beach in the middle of a resort, and nearly in the middle of nowhere. 

Suddenly, Julie arrived from the hotel room.

"Hey, you. Ready?" she asked, standing there in her snow white bikini and smaller beach bag. 

"Oh, sure. Let's go this way." I said, steering her in the direction furthest to the left side of the beachfront. 

We walked for a few moments before Julie stopped. 




Black Man One Ch. 02



"Let's just lay here. I don't want to walk too far from the resort." she complained. 

I simply gave in and we set our towels down onto the hot sand. There weren't too many other couples close to us at all and the closest ones were all white couples, mostly in their 30's. Perhaps, a dozen other couples were in this 50 square yard beach area and spread out. 

My beautiful blonde wife immediately layed down and shut her eyes, covering them with her dark shades. She was breathtaking in that little white two-piece bikini. I sat up and curled my knees up to my chest to relax as I looked out into the ocean about 150 feet away from us. 

It couldn't have been more than 15 minutes when I noticed yet another black guy walking along the shoreline. Believe it or not, there were three young blonde women with him. He was dark skinned with shorter dreadlocks and wearing board shorts, and he had to be about 25. He was almost pure thug, in appearance. The three blonde girls looked more like college coeds in their early 20's, and all three of them were absolutely gorgeous creatures dressed in the prettiest little bikinis I ever saw. 

"My gawd. This guy has three of them?!" I asked myself. 

My tension grew as I watched this young black stud turn up to beach and head towards our direction, the three beautiful blonde coeds tagging along behind him. I looked over to Julie, who was fast asleep and unaware of the curious scene I was beginning to witness. 

I watched as this young black man strolled confidently into the middle of this sandy beach area about 80 feet from us, and then stopped. The girls put towels and a chair down and it had been decided where they would be laying out. In awe, I watched as this muscular black man peeled down his board shorts to reveal a little brazilian male bikini, in a teal color. He just turned and ran back out to the water to refresh himself as the girls puttered around setting things up. 

It seemed rather arrogant of him to simply "plop" down in the middle of about a dozen white couples in that way. All were a fair distance away, but he was still right in the middle of all of us. 

Minutes later, the black stud arrived back at the beach towels after cooling himself in the ocean water. I had been noticing the exquisite young bodies of those 3 blonde coeds in their tiny bikinis when he showed up again. He was dripping wet and his flimsy bikini was bulging in front like he had an eggplant inside. His dreadlock hair was soaked and he shook it wildly to clear the water from his head. 

Unbelievably, I watched as one of the blonde girls placed a towel around his muscular, dark shoulders. She then began drying his back and the back of his ass clad in those bikinis with another towel. He lifted one of his feet to the blonde girl sitting in the sand before him, and she immediately began to clean the sand from his feet with a smaller towel. The third blonde girl was opening a bottle of Corona beer and putting a lime wedge inside it and then handed it to him.

"What the heck?" I gasped. 

"These were the most beautiful white girls in the world?!" I thought.

"What are they doing with him?" I asked myself.

Looking back to my new wife, I was relieved to see that she was still asleep. It would have been embarrassing for her to witness this scene and see the way those 3 pretty white girls fawned all over him like that. 

I continued to watch in humiliation and amazement as I recalled Julie having a small pair of opera-sized binoculars in her purse. I wondered if she had brought them down to the beach. I reached over and found them in the front pocket of her beach bag. My curiosity was to see the faces of these 3 pretty blonde girls more than anything else. I couldn't believe they were all with a guy like him.

"They're probably all just college friends. That's all." I reasoned. 

"They have to be." I tried convincing myself. 

One of the blonde girls began setting up a beach chair as I began peering through the small binoculars. I scanned the horizon and somehow locked on to one of the other white couples in the area. The white man was trying not to look, his head was down almost in shame. The white woman was actually staring right at that young group of four, and especially the black stud.

I began looking at the other white couples. In each instance, it was the white woman who was literally staring at the black man and his 3 white women with seemingly great interest or intense curiosity. Half of the white men were passed out and asleep in the sun while the other half had this hapless and ashamed look of defeat coarsing through their faces. 

I imagine they all felt like I did. 

I peered back to the young black man and the 3 blonde girls to see that they had set up the beach chair. The black stud was sitting upon it now, and facing the sun in our direction. All 3 of the white girls were sitting upon the backs of their legs literally "at" his feet. 

Uncanningly, two of these pretty white girls began massaging the black stud's bare feet while the third one sat there patiently, her hands resting upon the front of her thighs. One blonde girl massaged the left foot of this black stud while another massaged the right. He simply sat back with his shades on sipping on a bottle of Corona beer. His massive cock was so obvious to anyone looking in his direction. It bulged outward and upward in those tight, stretchy speedoes.

The sight of this was unreal to me. 

At that time, Julie was getting back up and she lifted her shades up to her head. She "squinted" in the bright sun, then simply turned over onto her belly to catch the sun on her back. She had not seen a thing. 

As my wife settled into position, I peered back towards the three pretty blonde girls who had their backs to me, two of them still massaging the black stud's feet subserviently. Four of the other white couples were suddenly leaving as I tried to magnify the binoculars to see the girl's faces when they turned to their sides. 

"Gosh, they really are all so beautiful." I thought. 

As my view panned down their flawless, milky white bodies I caught the obvious image of their tattoo, which was perfectly positioned in the middle of their lower backs just above the bikini line. They all had the same tattoo. It was a black spade symbol with the letter "Q" dead center in the middle of it in their own flesh tone, as the black ink traced around it. 

"What is that for? Their sorority or something?" I asked myself. 

My eyes grew weary from the binoculars and I lifted them from my eyes. Two other white couples were getting up and leaving as well. Like me, I am sure they were humiliated beyond reason as they watched this young black stud and his 3 white girls serving him. It was totally embarrassing to witness such a bold, callous display. I knew I had to get out of there as well.

Quickly, I awakened Julie and told her I needed to leave because I wasn't feeling too well. I lied about this as well, and her concern grew as I basically rushed her away from this area and the image of black superiority that I did not want her to see. I was fortunate that she didn't notice any of it. 

Hours later, I pretended to feel better and we had dinner. But, I had to spend the entire week of vacation thinking of ways to avoid that group, and trying to keep her away from seeing too many black guys with white women. I was on edge the entire vacation and even had the hardest time keeping an erection during the few times I had sex with my new wife, Julie. She was okay with it, though. She had thought that I had a mild form of food poisoning when I lied about a belly ache. 

A week later our vacation was over. Finally, we were able to leave this resort. 

This was just the beginning of our marriage, and already I was so paranoid and insecure. I don't know how else I could have explained it except insecurity, especially when black men were around.

end.



Black Man One Ch. 03



The next few years went by rather uneventfully, yet I was always insecure and in a constant state of anxiety about my beautiful blonde wife being approached by a black man. Those who do not understand will say that I am pathetic, which I know that I was, and still am. But, those who truly understand this will be able to sympathethize with me. 

As Julie finished her degree during these next three years, I was always asking about her classes and the study groups she joined. I was asking for the same reasons. Luckily, there hadn't been anything significant going on and the fear of losing her to a black man began to subside in small amounts. 

I was 42 now, and Julie had just turned 30. Our marriage had gone fairly well during this time despite the fact that we were only having sex about once a week. Julie didn't seem too concerned at the time, but it was obvious to me that this had become more of a task for her than anything else. We were in a "rut" so to speak, and I wasn't sure how to get out of it. 

The money was there for us to go on more vacations, but I was insecure about many of the places Julie wanted to see. Places like Jamaica and Africa were greeted with a "no way" attitude from me. Of course, I gave the stock answer all the time.

"Maybe next year, honey?" I would say. 

Things went on like this for the next two years as I continued to notice the astonishing increase in the number of interracial relationships in the community, and in the state. All of them were black men with white women. A sense of defeat loomed over me and probably all white men as the numbers continued to increase, as they continue to increase today, expodentially.

The realization that a little more than 12% of americans are black and over 70% are white came to mind. I continued questioning all the reasons why this was happening. Why were there so many white women with black men? 

"Surely, it had to be more than just the size of their cocks?" I asked myself.

I found it increasingly difficult to avoid. Humiliatingly, my beautiful younger blonde wife was just beginning to notice it too. She noticed a few of our divorced female neighbors were now with black men, and had black children. 

She made another comment during one of our visits to a beach. We were sitting there minding our own business when a black and white couple emerged and sat down to our left. They had a biracial and black child with them and the young man, who was about 20, was standing there in a bright yellow speedoes swimsuit. The bulge in the front pouch was embarrassing enough for me to see, but when my own wife made a comment about it that made things even worse.

"Would you ever wear a suit like that, honey?" she asked, casually. 

"What? No way. Why?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing. Well, it can be sexy sometimes. Maybe you'd like to wear one for me once, huh?" she asked, with a hint of sarcasm. 

I ignored that comment and wanted to leave so badly as she began small talk with the white woman, talking about the "cuteness" of their baby. I know it was all rather innocent, but I needed to leave, and we did. 

It was about this time 2 years ago that I was offered a position with a new corporation. This position was in another state and carried with it a salary much higher than the already high salary I was making. 

It seemed all too good to be true.

To me, it was an opportunity to move away to another place, and settle down with my beautiful wife of 5 plus years. I had turned 44, and Julie was now 32 and looking as young as the day I met her. She was excited about the change in scenery as well as the more than comfortable salary I would be making. She always wanted to start her own little business in a fresh new place, and this appeared to be a great opportunity for both of us. 

Before we moved, I researched the demographics of the city and the community. I also made several visits to the corporate offices to feel my way around weeks before the start of this position. The new company was very helpful in providing information on which areas to purchase a home, but I was not ready for a larger home just yet.

Not during the first year of employment in a state that was foreign to me. 

Besides, the condo market was much better and I had all but decided on that before I made my way to the desert state of Arizona.

On one of my visits, a future colleague mentioned an extremely exclusive, small but upscale condo community during lunch. His name was Phil, and he was a 39-year-old married white man with 2 teenaged girls. This condo community sounded too good to be true, It was about 30 miles from the corporate office in a larger city.

"Well, why don't you live there?" I asked him.

"No way. It's far too expensive for my blood. There's no way you can afford something like that." Phil stated. 

I told my future colleague that I needed to find a place in 2 weeks. I wanted a place to move into before I started my new job and didn't want my wife and I to be living out of hotels while I worked. Despite Phil's reluctance, he gave me the name of the place and the name of the small, upscale suburb it was in. 

"You can look, but I'm telling you it's really expensive." he warned, sarcastically.

After lunch in the cafeterria, I headed back to hotel do some research. I found the website and perused the community. I also pulled up the demographics and noticed the ritzy suburb had layed out a nice chart. They even charted community by community within that suburb. 

The suburb of 335 was 96% white-caucasian, 2.9% latino, 1% asian, and .01% black-african american.

When I looked at the condo community, it had only one line. 100% white-caucasian. 

"Wow. This seems like a nice place." I said to myself. 

Back then, my racist mind was not about hatred at all. It was clearly more about respect for the black race and their noticeable and obvious sexual prowess with white women. To me, it was uncanny how easily they could get a white woman in bed. It was just something I wanted to keep away from myself, and from my young blonde wife.

I made a call and drove out that afternoon. The place was even more emmaculate than the pictures on their website. I was awed by the detail put into this building as I stood there waiting for Margaret, the condo association manager. 

The small condo building contained only 14 units, which were set in a squared "U" shaped 2 story building around a huge pool area. There were seven units on the second floor and seven on the ground level. The parking lot was set off and outside to the right side of the building facing in. 

The pool area was absolutely huge. 

A large, pristine marbled deck area surrounded the entire pool while a small, in ground jacuzzi bordered one side. This area also had a small 4-stool Tiki-styled bar shaded by palm trees. As a matter of fact, the entire pool area was surrounded by lush palm trees for added privacy.

"Wow. This is amazing." I said to Margaret. 

The building manager simply smiled.

"Yes, it's really quite private. The rest of the suburb is about a quarter of a mile away. It really is in the middle of nowhere." she said. 

"That's good. Very good. It's just what I wanted." I replied. 

The interior of these condos was even more impressive. Margaret showed me the only remaining condo left for sale. It was the condo apartment on the end and on the second level. One side wall faced the neatly paved parking lot suited for less than 30 cars, while the kitchen wall faced the pool area. As a matter of fact, all the condos had their kitchen areas facing the pool.

A nicely sized workout gym area was neatly set off to the side of the back entrance that led to the pool area. A simple passageway that led to the outdoor marbled deck.

The 1800 square foot condos were massive, and impeccably detailed with white carpeting in the bedrooms, oak floors in the living areas, and white and tan marble floors in the kitchen. Each unit also had two bathrooms with a built in jacuzzi. 

When Marget told me the price of $279,800.00 for the unit I was shocked. Yes, it was quite high for a condo and it would carry a rather large mortgage even with the six figures I was planning to put down. 

"There are association fees as well. About $500.00 a month, and the taxes are the highest in the entire region." she warned. 

She was right. So was Phil. The taxes, alone, came to just over $1,100.00 a month. With the mortgage, taxes and association fees this exclusive condo was far more expensive than I had imagined. Yet, they were still only half of what the average houses were a quarter of a mile away. 

"What about the people here?" I asked.

"What are they like?" I probed. 

Margaret was hesitant, but helpful in answering my questions. She was sure about all the residents in the condos except for Condo number one. 

"Well, there are 12 other couples here. You'd be the 13th." she began.

"All six figure professionals, I do believe. Some are in the computer industry. There are two couples in their very late 30's and the other ten couples are between 40ish and 50ish." Margaret continued as I scanned the apartment.

"Really? I'm in the computer industry as well." I returned, excitedly.

"Oh, that's great." Margaret exclaimed. 

"The other unit, which is unit one, I'm not too sure of. It was owned by a single woman in her 30's, but I haven't seen her in 2 months. She was the only single resident here." she explained. 

"Oh, what happened?" I asked. 

I could see the mid 50's woman searching for the answers. 

"I'm not too sure. I know she had a boyfriend for awhile." Margaret began to explain. 

"I do know she got pregnant and said she was going back home to Kansas to be with her parents." she continued, trying to recall. 

"I think her boyfriend took over the payments because the bills are still getting paid. But, I have never actually seen him, to be honest." she said.

"Oh, well maybe she'll be back after she has the baby?" I added. 

"I dont know ..." Margaret replied, "... she appeared pretty distraught when she left ..." she said, pausing. 

"Pretty girl, too." she concluded. 

It felt like my probing was a bit too much so I stopped asking questions. I was pleased with what I had seen and anxious to make an offer. I had dismissed the little soap opera drama that the older white woman was attempting to explain. It didn't seem pertinent to continue, at the time.

Without hestitating, I simply took a leap of faith and put down half of the asking price while mortgaging the other half. The place was perfect as far as I was concerned, and the demographic report couldn't have been more "safe" as far as I reasoned. 

Margaret was elated. I called my beautiful blonde wife to tell her the good news. She, too, was equally excited by the new move. She was also excited about the prospects of setting up a small business in such a rich community somewhere in the near future. 

Two weeks later, we were there. 

We were greeted with a small luncheon on a Saturday afternoon. It was provided by the other 12 white couples. 

They all seemed very pleasant, quiet and cordial. A few of the white men were computer nerds, like me, but they worked in different areas within 50 miles of this community. The others were business executives in fields like insurance or product development.

The white men ranged in ages from 39 to 51, while their wives were all between the ages of 35 and 40. My wife, Julie, was the youngest of the wives at the age of 32. Not surprising, all these white professional had attractive wives. Half of them were blonde, while the other half dozen were either brunette or auburn-haired. 

This small condo community seemed to be the perfect place. I reminded myself how lucky I was to stumble upon it everyday. 

The pool area was the meeting place after business hours which was, for us professionals, somewhere around 3:30 or 4:00 p.m. Admittedly, we tend to cut corners and get out earlier than the rest of the work force. 

Typically, each weekday would end with most of the group coming in and out of their condos and spending time in this extravagant pool area. There were 13 of us white men now and 13 white wives all spending time in the afternoons after the business day.

On weekends, we were there even more. 

Now, rarely were there all 13 couples present at the same tiime. Sure, it did happen for shorter periods of time like an hour or two here and there. For the most part, there were usually 6-8 couples present at all times while the others filter in out of their condo apartments. 

It was a rather casual, yet uppity crowd of financially well to do white men and their so-called "trophy" wives just hanging out by the pool. 

These casual get-togethers were filled with a great deal of discussions about work, expensive cars and the exaggerated exploits of our youth. Basically, they were all lies about our past in an attempt to impress our spoiled younger and beautiful wives who relished the good life enough to out up with us. 

"Oh, honey. Tell them about your boxing days." Julie would say. 

"Richard was a great boxer in the military and played in other sports too." she would brag.

"He even did martial arts." she added, which only added to the uncomfortable feeling I had. 

My face blushed hearing those words because I knew they were all tall tales I had conjured up to impress her early on in my courtship of her. 

Still, that was one of the typical discussions had during these get-togethers. Our beautiful and naive white wives would always bring something like this up in order to pump our egos into the stratosphere. 

Of course, we all went along with it. I could never tell from the looks of the other white men if these athletic tales could be true, or just simple lies like the ones I fed my younger wife. I had been feeding her these "fibs" since the day we met. 

I wondered if the other white men had done the same thing. One of the men's wives even brought up a story that her husband had hunted down a rhino in Africa, and I found that hard to believe. 

Nevertheless, these occasional and embarrassing reminders of my exaggerated masculinity seemed harmless. 

"Who would know, right?" I told myself. 

Like all 13 of us white men, the truth seemed to be quite safe. As long as our beautiful wives were impressed by us then why disrupt the apple cart, right?

This went on for the first two months of Julie and I moving in, which was May and June. All of us would drink expensive wines and eat small steaks or shrimp, and hang out until we felt like going inside. The weather in this part of Arizona was very warm, but never overbearing. It was actually quite perfect. 

It was the nicest time, in the best community, with the nicest weather one can imagine. All of us white men seemed so happy and content. 

That is, until we all met "Black Man One."

His name was Ben, and he now lived in condo unit number one. As it turns out, he was the boyfriend of the pretty 30-year-old blonde woman who we all heard had been "knocked up" and fled back to Kansas to be with her parents. He was the one who, supposedly, took over the expensive condo payments and taxes. 

The way we met him was surreal. It was also demoralizing, humiliating and more humbling than any one man can envision. 

The remainder of this story will be written with the memory of the deepest humiliation and sense of defeat I have ever experienced. It is this humiliation that so many of us white men feel today. 

It happened on the extended 4th of July holiday weekend. 

end.    



Black Man One Ch. 04



On the weekend before the Fourth of July holiday in 2009, the wives had an idea. They had been talking about making it a special "get together" this time, in honor of the holiday. This particular year would be an extended holiday weekend due to the fact the 3rd of the month fell on a Friday and the 4th fell on a Saturday. 

Most businesses would be closed on either the Friday before or the Monday after. The different companies that all of us worked for were no exception. This made it a perfect time to take a full four day weekend, and all 13 of us white husbands agreed.

Karen, who was one of the wives, even posted a "flyer" on the glass entry door leading from the parking lot to remind us all that breakfast would start at 10 o'clock. 

Our beautiful younger white wives seemed so excited to do something different. Basically, we just went along with their idea because it meant so much to them. They had planned to cater in or prepare breakfast, lunch and dinner for all four of these days, Friday through Monday. 

The wives were following through with their plans to set up catering tables alongside the pool with extra coolers and decorations to promote the holiday. They purchased most of the food from the catering company, like Brazilian steaks, shark steaks and elaborate kabobs. They added tiki styled torch lights for the evenings, and surrounded the entire pool area with them. Wine, wine coolers and dozens of bottles of champagne would add to the somewhat "snobby" and moderately expensive event.

In addition to this all of our wives went out and purchased new bikinis. I think they all bought at least 3 new ones each. All of their bikinis were various styles and patterns of the red, white and blue, or the stars and stripes. The wives added sparklers and other mild forms of fireworks. They even purchased new pairs of swim trucks for the husbands in the same american color patterns.

This weekend was designed to be a nice, friendly and relaxing four day event for all thirteen white couples. 

This was only the beginning. 

On Friday the 3rd at 10 o'clock in the morning I stepped into my new red, white and blue swim trucks and headed out for the pool. As always, I passed through the rarely used workout center and gym. It was a bright and sunny day as I stepped out onto the marble stoned deck that surrounded the entire private pool area. 

My wife, Julie, had gone down to the pool a half hour earlier. She had been helping Megan, Tammy and Stacey get things ready for breakfast and setting up the tables and chairs. A few of the other white husbands had already arrived and were drinking a "mimosa," which is simply champagne and orange juice. 

When I stepped out I could see the pretty wives in their new little bikinis and heeled sandals from afar. They all looked amazingly beautiful. 

As I drew nearer, I heard most of them talking in heavier whispers as the women "busied" themselves to get things ready. The few husbands were just standing around and listening in to what seemed like an innocent form of women's gossip. There seemed to be a slight tension in the air for some unknown reason. 

"What's going on?" I said, in my normal voice, which was louder than their whispers.

My wife turned to me and continued speaking in a whisper, almost as if she didn't want to be overheard by anyone outside the present group. 

"Shush. Richard, did you hear?" she asked.

"Hear what?" I questioned, a slight smile on my lips. 

"Well, we think that woman's boyfriend is back." she said.

"What woman? What are you talking about?" I asked, dumbfoundedly.

The other 3 white wives and husbands that were there at the time leaned in a little closer to us to listen to what they had already been talking about. 

"That woman from unit one. You know, the one that Margaret said left when she got pregnant." Julie whispered. 

"Oh, her." I returned, finally understanding.

"You mean she's back too?" I asked.

Tammy, one of the other white wives, broke into Julie's explanation. 

"No, No. She's not here." Tammy whispered in frustration. 

I was just not "getting it" so to speak. 

"Just the boyfriend is, I think, and another woman." she continued, suspiciously. 

I looked at Tammy confused, yet unconcerned. To me, this sounded like a bunch of gossip and nothing more. I didn't realize the seriousness of the situation. 

"Well, how do you know that?" I asked. 

One of the other wives, Stacey, then cut in. 

"I was talking to Karen this morning. She called me and said heard something in the parking lot around 2:30 in the morning." Stacey tried explaining. 

"Like what?" one of the other white husbands asked casually. 

Three of the other white couples had just arrived as Stacey looked over to them. One of them was Karen and her husband, Ed.

"Karen, what did you see again?" Stacey asked. 

Karen picked up the conversation from there.

"I guess I don't know. I mean, I'm not sure who they were. It was really dark and all, but I could see that it was a man and a woman getting out of a BMW and walking towards the building." Karen described. 

Jennifer, the 41 year old wife of David, suddenly interupted. 

"No, there were two cars." she corrected.

"One was a black Bentley and the other was red Mazda or something." she described.

"I saw the cars there this morning when I ran out for the ice." Jennifer finished.

"A Bentley? damn!" Ed stammered. 

"Oh, okay. Well, whatever it was there are two people in unit one now." Julie said. 

"Maybe it's just that same woman that left a couple months ago." I added.

Tammy then broke in, again.

"No, I don't think so. I think she's long gone. That's what Margaret, the building manager, told me." Tammy added. 

The remaining white couples then arrived, perplexed and curious by the huddled group talking. The conversation continued in the same heavy whisper.

"I'm sure it's the ex-boyfriend living in there now. I've never seen him, but who else can it be?" Megan asked. 

"I heard he took over the place. He hasn't been here, you mean?" Julie asked.

"No, never. I guess she always went to him. She never brought him by." Karen informed. 

One of the other white husbands broke in while two of the white wives walked over to check on the breakfast. 

"Yes, she was always alone. But, I think it was an abusive relationship." Tim added.

"Why do you say that?" I asked. 

"I saw her once walking out to her car before she left. She was trying to hide her face. It looked like she had been slapped a lot, or pretty roughed up or something." Tim explained.

"Really?" Julie exclaimed. 

"A very pretty woman. Gorgeous, in fact." Mark added. 

"Oh, yes. She was so beautiful." Tammy said, chiming back in.

"So, she left when she got pregnant, right?" I asked.

Dave chimed in.

"No, she had been pregnant awhile." He said.

"That's right." Tim added. "She was like 7 months pregnant when she left a couple of months ago."

"Wow, I wonder what happened?" My wife pondered. 

"The boyfriend was never here as far as I could tell. I've never seen him." Karen said.

"Me, neither." Megan added. 

"I guess no one has. She wasn't here very long, and when she was here I didn't see her too often. She kept to herself a lot. I think she went to see him all the time." Stacey predicted.

"Well, if it's not her in there with him then who is it?" I asked. 

"I have no idea. I think this is the first time he has been here. It sounded like they had an argument last night." Karen said.

"An argument?" Julie asked. 

"Yes, I heard their voices. Mostly his. Sounded like he was yelling at her for something. I don't know." Karen explained.

"There was a lot of noise for like an hour after that but I didn't hear their voices anymore." she added. 

"Well, I guess we'll find out soon enough." Tim said. 

"Yeah, I guess so." I thought, curiously. 

This seemingly ridiculous little gossip circle began to fizzle out as everyone became lost in thought. I was glad that Mark finally just came out and told everyone to just forget about it. 

"Let's just eat okay? I'm tired of talking about this already." he said. 

And, we did. 

Our beautiful bikini clad wives prepared plates of scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns with muffins from the catered tin trays. Even the paper plates were designed in red, white and blue colors.

All 13 white couples were sitting around on our beach styled chaise lounge chairs and deck chairs. The few glass top deck tables held some of the group's plates. The wives had set them up in a scattered form of a semi circle so everyone could see each other while they ate.

The small talk continued. 

"Wow, a Bentley huh?" one husband remarked. 

"That ex-boyfriend must have a little money then." David laughed. 

"Impressive." Tim added. 

We were not even half way through our catered ritzy breakfast when the conversation suddenly stopped. And, it stopped abruptly.

The white men and women facing me as we sat in this semi circle had a look of awe on their faces as they stopped talking. They were the ones facing in the direction of the glass door leading to the large pool area we occupied. 

When I turned ever so slightly to my right, my jaw literally dropped. I was now looking at this well built black man stepping out onto the marbled deck of the condo's pool area. 

It was him! It was "Black Man One."

His real name was Tra'mon, and he was the supposed "ex" boyfriend of that 30-something year old beautiful blonde woman we had heard so much about - the one who we were told left our condo community 2 months before. All I know is that I was in total disbelief as he entered the area about 10 yards from the group. 

I am positive that everyone else was, too. 

He couldn't have been more than 25 years old. He was a somewhat darker-skinned athletic black man who stood only an average 5'9" tall, yet his ultra sculpted and streamlined 187 lb. body frame absolutely "reeked" of masculine strength and power.

This younger black stud had a chiseled jaw line and a very stern looking face. He showed almost no emotion. His dark-skinned muscles glistened in the late morning sun as he stood there looking out towards the pool. His head was shaved bald and he wore a pair of pitch-black shades upon his face. There were tattoos of what looked like black pythons on both of his carved, adonis-like arms. The thick gold chain around his neck and the rather large diamond stud earrings on both of his ears told everyone he had money. 

Haphazardly, my timd eyes glanced down from his "tough" looking masculine face to the rest of his chiseled body. From my straight man's point of view, his strong body was repulsive and revolting to me, yet I was in complete awe.

I stared at him through jaundiced eyes. 

He was wearing a ridiculously small bright, solid monochromatic sun-yellow bikini speedoes swimsuit which contrasted with his polished dark skin. 

At least I thought it was a speedoes swimsuit from this distance. The thin, flimsy and pliable spandex material seemed more like bikini-styled underwear than anything else. The thin sides barely clung to his powerful hips as his trim 31-inch waistline held the rest of that bikini in place. 

This black man had clearly-defined six pack abs, a rippled chest and the strongest-looking thick, yet streamlined and sculptured thighs anyone could describe. 

Most embarrassing was the absolutely immense and monstrous bulge he carried in the front of that microscopic bikini "thing" he wore. The pure weight of his "package" truly seemed to weigh down the pouch area of his bright yellow bikini. It truly hung lower than what would ever be perceived as normal. 

In all honestly, the bikini's crotch hung nearly half way down his muscular thighs and seemed as thick as a cucumber. Horrifyingly, this man's package literally jutted out in the most pronounced and exaggerated manner possible. 

"Geezuz, what the hell?!!" I thought to myself, startled, disgusted and in utter shock by the large size of his bulge.

The manner in which this black stud seemed to be "showing off" was an abomination! 

Disgustingly, I watched as this young black man turned back towards the door he just exited. His carved and muscular ass cheeks were covered in those same skimpy yellow bikinis. The backside hung a little lower than normal, as well. The very top of his curved ass crack was showing by merely an eigth of an inch as the flimsy material stretched across his powerful ass cheeks. 

The silence amongst the group of white couples was deafening. You could hear a pin drop. And, actually I did hear the sound of someone's silver fork dropping and hitting the marble stone ground of the deck. 

I didn't look back. Embarrassingly, I was still in awe of this young black stud standing with his back to us with such confidence. He seemed to be waiting for someone. 

That someone would be his beautiful, blonde companion, who had been slowly tailing behind him. Apparently, she had retreived 2 towels from the workout center on the other side of the glas door. 

All of us remained sitting there and watching in amazement as the door opened. This beautiful blonde woman wearing an incredibly sexy white bikini emerged. She was holding 2 of the larger white terry cloth towels in her arms. Her hands held a bottle of what appeared to be lotion or baby oil. 

Anyone can see that this woman was stunning, yet she was remarkably incoherent and looked excessively run down. It was that obvious. 

She was about 33 years old and stood 5'7" tall with a curvaceous, hourglass body that measured somewhere in the neighborhood of 36DD-24-36. Her face was truly model-like, although it was slightly hidden by the large, lightly brown-tinted designer sunglasses she wore. 

One can easily see that this woman was strikingly-beautiful when she stepped outside. Her body was trim and her legs were long, lean and exquisitely shaped. Her belly was flat and her pale skin was as smooth as a baby's bottom. Her long, blonde hair, in profusion, was shiny but messy. 

The blonde woman had 3 inch high sandals or "mules" on her feet as she literally "staggered" out onto the marble deck holding the towels and bottle of baby oil. 

As I continued to look towards her things came into a clearer focus. This woman was even more incoherent than I had initially thought. 

At first, I didn't know if she was drunk or hungover, or just tired. Then, it became embarrassingly clear. She was so obviously run down and "used" looking that I could hardly believe it.

I was wondering if the others were noticing what I had seen. But, then I realized they had to be able to.

"How could they not notice?" I asked myself. 

I just couldn't believe just how blatant and obvious it was. It was ridiculously obvious, to be quite honest. No one alive could ever come to any other conclusion.

Now, I realize that not many of us have actually seen a woman looking so thoroughly "used" in person before. Perhaps, in a dirty movie but not in real life. Not in public, that's for sure. But, this was one of them and the first time I had ever seen anything like it in my entire life.

She stood there, in a sense, on display for all to see as if it meant nothing to the young black stud she accompanied. He appeared non chalant and uncaring of her startling used appearance. 

The tall blonde beauty's long hair was a "frazzled" wreck. Her pretty face was flushed red on both cheeks, and her lips were plump and swollen in such an extreme manner. It looked like she had just come from a bad collagen treatment, or something similar. 

Even more degrading was the grotesquely obvious and distinguishable "blotches" of what looked like dried up sperm all over her. 

"Gosh! It really is dried up cum." I thought.

It was almost painful to be witnessing this.

The numerous smaller "blotches" were upon her face, cheeks and chin. A few larger ones were plastered on her right shoulder, neck and the cleavage which sprung out from her tiny white bikini top. Longer, thicker and larger blotches of dried sperm ran down both of the blonde woman's inner thighs, and almost to her knees. A few other wayward "splotches" were set on the front of her left thigh, around her bikini line and trimmed belly in a manner an artist would toss paint upon a canvass.

It was an unimagineable and terrifying display of what he had done with her the night before and, perhaps, this morning. 

From that distance I could not tell if he had said anything to the pretty blonde woman. 

Seconds later, the young masculine black man turned and casually began walking in the direction of the group. All 13 of the white couples sat in complete silence as I literally swallowed the huge lump in my throat. 

The black stud's strides were bold, confident and commanding. Still, he walked in such an exaggerated slow and calculating manner. I had never seen anyone walk with such arrogance and cockiness before. 

The massive bulge in the thin, flimsy bright yellow bikini was pronounced. The large tool he possessed moved from side to side with every slow step he took in our direction. It slapped against his muscular thighs from right to left, and back and forth, with every stride. The bold yellow colored material of this very flimsy bikini underwear or speedoes could hardly contained him. 

It was humbling to see as he drew nearer. The blonde woman followed three of four steps behind, literally staggering and stumbling in her nearly incoherent state. 

It seemed to take forever for this black stud to reach the area closer to the group. I am not sure it really took that long at all, or if it seemed this way in my mind only. The entire scene felt surreal. As we stared at him in silence and disbelief, the young black man strolled right past us. 

Not even a word was spoken. Nothing! 

He did not even glance at any of us, or acknowledge our presence in any way. He simply walked along the edge of the pool a few feet from our seated positions and, in slow motion, swept right past us with his blonde companion trailing strides behind. 

His slow, arrogant and powerful strides continued as we all watched in dead silence. The young stud began walking away from us and towards the other side of the pool, his backside now facing us. 

The flimsy, sun-yellow material of his bikini hardly managed to stay on his firm and muscular ass cheeks. Frivolously, the butt part of the masculine bikini drooped lower, centimeter by centimeter, with each and every powerful stride. He couldn't of cared less about it. His cockiness was incomprehensible. 

We watched in awe as he made his way around the pool, grabbing and dragging one of the expensive wooden chaise lounge chairs along the way. From my position, I could now see the blonde woman's backside as she passed us and obediently followed behind. She was walking tenatively and even bow-legged, almost as if she had spent the past month riding a horse. It was truly that noticeable.

Her ankles nearly wobbled in her obvious affected state. It was like we were watching someone in a drunken stupor trying to walk a line. For a moment, I thought she would fall into the pool. 

This black stud finally reached the far side of the pool, which was directly across from us but slightly kiddie-corner to the group's right. He stopped and and dropped the cushioned beach chair into position and then turned to wait for his blonde companion. She stumbled her way before him only moments after.

Still, no words were spoken amongst us 13 white wives and husbands. Not even a sound. We all just continued to watch as the tall blonde woman unfolded and spread one large white towel neatly over the cushioned seat of the only lounge chair. For the time being, she set the other folded towel on top of it. 




Black Man One Ch. 04



In amazement, we watched as she began to squeeze baby oil onto her hands and cover the young black man's upper body. He stood there imperiously as she applied the soft oil to his muscular shoulders, arms and chest. She made sure she didn't miss any spot. He turned around and she proceeded to cover his back in the same diligent manner. 

I simply glanced over to my wife and the white wives of my fellow condo tenants. Their faces seemed to tell a story of astonishment as they studied the scene. Embarrassingly, they were lost in another world watching this. 

The beautiful blonde woman then dropped to her knees and began rubbing the baby oil into the black man's front thighs and legs. Minutes later, he turned his back to her and waited as she accessed more oil from the bottle. Obediently, she applied the soft oil to the backs of the black stud's strong, powerful and chiseled legs.

His ass cheeks couldn't have been more than a few inches from her beautiful, but used looking face. 

Nonchalantly, the black man stepped towards the lounge chair and looked down at it. He paused for moment and waited as the blonde woman lifted the second towel resting upon it. With confidence, he sat down, positioning himself into the chaise lounge comfortably. He stretched his legs out and crossed his feet at the ankles as he looked up into the morning sun. The pretty blonde woman was now standing there folding the white terry towel in half, and then in half again, until it was as neat as possible. 

Unbelievably, that is when she gently dropped the folded towel down onto the marble stoned deck directly "at" this black man's feet. This blonde woman immediately fell to her knees upon this towel and began to massage the black stud's bare feet. 

"Geezuz. What the heck is this about black men making a white woman massage their feet?!" I thought, silently. 

This was the second time I had witnessed this, but this was even more exaggerated now. A white woman in such a servile position massaging the feet of a black man. It was embarrassing to witness. 

The beautiful blonde woman continued, in silence. There were no words spoken between them as this young black stud basked in the sun. His dark, trim and muscular body basked in the Arizona sun as his white woman massaged his feet. His ominous bulge in those little yellow bikini things was a contrast to his black skin, and it seemed to point skyward in the most obtrusive and blatant manner possible. 

The silence within the group continued as I discreetly looked back to them, and to each one of their faces, one by one. All of them were focused upon the black man and the slightly older white woman across the pool. They simply stared at them in complete and utter awe. 

It was terribly obvious.

Everyone of the white men's faces were filled with an intense humiliation and defeat. They appeared almost fearful, and they were so obviously intimidated by this "over the top" disrespectful display of black male superiority. Their eyes lowered to the ground and back up to the black stud sitting there several times. 

I understood their feelings because I felt the same way. Perhaps, more so. 

The 13 white wives, which included Julie, had a much different look of awe upon their pretty faces. Their faces blushed and they simply could not keep their eyes off of him. Some of our wives had their mouth partially hung open white others seemed to be biting their bottom lip. Many of them had their thighs clenched tightly together and trying to resist touching what seemed to be their dampened bikini covered pussies. 

I would not describe it this way if it weren't absolutely true and accurate, and completely obvious. 

Demoralizingly, I must admit this. 

It was as if they were looking at a "real" man for the first time in their lives. They tried, desperately, to be discreet about the affect he was having on them but they were failing miserably. I had never heard any of them being so quiet as they stared at this black man and white woman. I'm not sure if any of the other 12 white husbands noticed the subtle reactions of their wives, but I suspect they did, as I did. 

The silence went on for at least another five minutes as everyone watched the blonde woman on her knees at the feet of this black man, continuing to massage them slowly. 

That is when one of the white wives finally broke the interminable silence. 

"I guess th-that's him?" Clarissa whispered.

There was another pause before Tammy chimed in. 

"I guess so." she said, softly.

"Gosh, is that the woman that owns unit one?" Mark asked, quietly. 

"No, it can't be." Karen whispered.

"That woman is so trim. She couldn't have had a baby this month and look that way." she added, still whispering. 

The tension in the air was unreal. The mere and sudden, unexpected presence of this one younger black stud completely changed the mood of the group. The positive energy was totally deflated by his emergence in the area. All 13 of us white men were intimidated by him, and all 13 of our beautiful white wives seemed much quieter and nervous. 

The light conversation continued on and on, but with long pauses here and there. 

"He's younger than I thought he'd be." Megan said. 

"Yeah, me too." Julie added. 

"She's gotta be his new girlfriend." Karen said. 

"Um, yeah." Tammy added after a long pause. 

Everyone in the group had stopped eating their breakfast at this point. I glanced at their plates and they were all at least half full. All 13 white couples seemed to lose their apetite at the same time. I certainly did.

More than 30 minutes had gone by, and the small talk about "who" he was and what he did continued. As did the small talk about the woman that once lived in unit one and the new blonde woman here now. Nearly 99% of the time, every one of our wives was looking across the pool at them as the white woman kept masaging the black man's feet. She never stopped. 

I would honeslty have to say that 75% of the time all of us white husands were looking that way, too. The other times we seemed to hang our heads in the shame and humiliation of seeing such a beautiful white woman kneeling before a black man, like this.

In this time, nobody mentioned that fact that he was black. Not one of us. 

None of us vocalized that he was, without question, such a masculine stud who was handsome, powerful and athletic. Nobody mentioned a word about it. 

Another 20 minutes had gone by. In near silence, we all humbly gazed upon the "display" from across the pool. That is when Clarissa spoke. 

"Maybe we should invite them over?" she said, casually, and in a whisper. 

I imagine after nearly an hour of his "invasion" into our area, the white wives seemed more comfortable, or at ease with their presence. None of the husbands were. Our faces tried to hide the petrifying feeling that overwhelmed us. 

"Yeah, I guess we should." Susan added.

"I don't think that's a good idea." David stammered, nervously. 

"Well, why not?" Megan asked. 

"I don't know. They seem kinda busy and all, ya' know." David answered quietly.

"Yeah, I agree." John said.

"He doesn't look like the social type." he added. 

"Yeah, you're right." Tim said. 

All 13 of us timid white men nodded in agreement as the white wives stared back the black stud in utter amazement.

"Well, that's silly. We should at least say something to him." Tammy suddenly voiced. 

"Just let them be." I finally said, nervously.

That is when my wife, Julie, spoke up. Embarrassingly, she put me on the spot in front of the whole group. 

"Richard! Go on over there and invite them over." she said, softly but determined. 

"Honey, no." I quivered. 

"He'll come over if he wants to meet us." I added, hoping to dissuade her. 

"Oh, come on. At least try." Julie stated. 

She got up and walked over to the cooler with the expensive champagne chilling inside. She bent over to dig inside for the coldest one at the bottom. Her tiny ass in that new bikini never looked more perfect, and I glanced back across the pool towards the young, black stud. 

Unbelievably, he had lifeted his dark shades over his eyes and was staring right at Julie! 

Hungrilly, he gazed upon my wife's butt cheeks wiggling back and forth as she pulled the bottle from the bottom of the cooler. Then, he placed his shades back over his eyes. 

My wife opened the bottle herself and poured two glasses about three quarters full. She shook her hands dryer and brought them back to the group and handed them to me. 

"Here. Bring these over to them and invite them to join us. Be neighborly." she said. 

I couldn't believe my ears. 

"Are you kidding?" I thought to myself. 

I looked over to the other white men in the group hoping that one of them would save me from this humiliating task. None had the courage to speak up as their eyes fell to the ground. 

"Come on, Richard." Julie said, stretching the two glasses closer to me.

My beautiful, young blonde wife had always viewed me as being a "real man." My lies, fibbing and stories of masculinity had given her a false image of my manhood. She had no idea just how much I was trembling inside. 

Reluctantly, I finally took the two glasses of champagne from my beautiful wives hands. My body felt weak as I stood up and began what felt like the longest journey in the world. 

Timidly, I walked all the way around the pool towards the younger black man and his white woman kneeling before him. It had to take only 30 seconds, but it felt like several minutes to me. 

When I reached their little area I was so overcome with intimdation as I stood above the tough-looking black man sitting on the chaise lounge chair. The white woman remained on her knees with massaging his feet.

"Hello?" I said, softly. 

There was no response. 

Passively, I handed one of the glasses to the blonde woman. I was simply trying to be a gentleman and serve the lady first. But, she did not accept it. Her hands never left the feet of the black stud as she continued massaging them. 

Her eyes remained downward. 

The pause was uncomfortable, and I did not know what to do. Gently, I then placed the champagne glass on the ground at her left side. 

Meekly, I handed the other glass of champagne down to the seated black man. His shades were still on and I could feel him looking up to me as I cowered before him. This even longer pause was frightening to me. After an interminable 30 seconds, he finally reached up and accepted the glass. 

Arrogantly, he took it and swallowed it down in one effortless motion before handing the empty glass back to me. 

"More!" he said, simply and demandingly. 

He said nothing else.

"What?" I thought in nervous silence.

I had just brought this young man a glass of champagne and all he could say was "more?" 

I stood there shocked my his abrupt tone. He didn't thank me or anything. He just said the word "more." 

His callous response intimdated me as I remained standing there in awe, trembling as I glanced down towards the beautiful blonde woman. 

"My Gawd. She looked even more used up close." I thought.

My eyes returned to the black stud sitting there, and I was confused and speechless. I didn't know how to react as I looked up and down his powerful body, ashamed. I realized the bikini he was wearing was, in fact, a speedoes swimsuit but I had never seen one so flimsy before. 

Still, I stood there motionless. 

That is when he looked back up to me and right into my eyes. He kept his pitch-black shades but I can almost see his eyes piercing through. The large diamond studs on his ears sparkled back at me with such arrogance. 

His tough stare lasted an eternity to me. Still, he did not speak. My nervousness increased, and that is when I simply turned and headed back to the other side of the pool, intimidated and afraid. I had no idea what was doing, yet somehow I found myself being steered towards the cooler to refill the glass. 

In defeat, I slumped my way back and was at the cooler refilling the empty glass. The entire crowd of 13 white couples must have been curious about what I was doing. 

"What did he say?" Julie asked from a short distance, her heavy whisper undetectable to the black man across the pool. 

"Um, nothing m-much." I stuttered, trying to think of a way to explain my actions.

"What does that mean? What'd he say?" Julie persisted.

"H-He liked th-the champagne and, w-well, he asked if, uh, he c-could have more." I lied. 

"Did you ask him to join us?" she asked.

"Um, sort of. I-I will, okay? I'll be right b-back." I answered, turning my reddened face from the white group, in shame, as I headed back to the black man with the refilled glass. 

I don't even know if my beautiful wife knew that she was observing at this time. I wasn't sure if she could tell that she was witnessing her tall, cowardly white pussy of a husband fetching and serving the young black stud a glass of champagne he had just ordered. 

But, that was exactly what it was, and I was hoping to hide this perception from her. 

The tough-looking younger black man was intimidating to me. I had spent most of my adult life trying to avoid the overly masculine black men, and I was thoroughly embarrassed by my compliance to his stern directive. 

end of chapter four.



Black Man One Ch. 05



Slowly, I walked away from my beautiful blonde wife and the rest of this all-white group of condo owners. My intense nervousness had been camouflagued for the time being. 

Now, I found myself trying to make my way around the large, nearly Olympic-sized pool without showing the fear I felt inside. My red-faced embarrassment and cold humiliation increased as I drew nearer to the young black stud and his blonde companion.

This feeling peaked and my intimidation grew when I finally reached the unwanted destination before him. I stood there and cordially extended my arm in an attempt to hand him the champagne. 

He did not accept the glass right away. As a matter of fact, the black man did not even look up to me at this time. This arrogant delay sent my nervousness to another level, and caused me to ramble. 

"Um, It's r-really good champagne, isn't it?" I asked, trying to start a conversation. 

"I-I'm R-Richard and, well, my uh wife Julie and I h-have been here for only a c-couple of months." I stuttered. 

"S-she thought, well, um, maybe you and your friend w-would like to join us, or something." I whimpered. 

I looked at the beautiful, blonde woman on her knees off to my right, then back to him.

"If y-you would l-like to, I mean." I stammered.

"It's up to y-you, of course." I muttered.

"I-I-I don't mean to pry or anything." I cowered.

I realized only then that I had been holding this glass of champagne for more than a minute. The young, black and studly man simply sat there in silence. Casually, he glanced up. He gazed upward as if he was merely observing the ever so blatant fear and intimidation of the tall white wimp standing before him. 

Initially, he did not answer. He merely observed. 

That is when the black man mercifully accepted the glass of champagne. Nonchalantly, he grabbed the glass from my weak grip and sipped it once, then a second time, looking back up to me again through those dark shades.

The long pause was nerve-wrenching as I glanced down to my right to avoid his powerful stare. I noticed the beautful blonde woman in her 30's, once again. She remained on her knees, diligently massaging the feet of this black stud. 

It appeared that she did not have the strength to bring her head up. She never dared to look at anyone except him. Humbly, my passive eyes returned to his. 

Although I could not see his eyes, I could easily feel him peering up towards me through with a curiosity that made me uneasy. His dark sunglasses hid the stern and dominating glare he was transmitting. 

It felt like he was making me cower there before him for an extended period of time, on purpose. It had to be at least another minute. That is when he took another sip of his champagne, then swallowed the remainder of it with one last gulp. He disgarded the glass as he handed it back to me in an arrogant manner. Finally, he spoke. 

"Tra'mon, and no!" He simply stated, his masculine voice ringing in my ears. 

Worriedly, I stood before him holding onto the empty used glass. He repositioned himself in the chaise lounge beach chair and put his head back to catch the warm sun, his arms propped behind his shaven head. The obedient white woman companion stayed kneeling at his feet. 

Now, he was completely and rudely ignoring me. It sent a chill of defeat through my entire body as he paid no attention to me for the moment. Flustered, I remained standing and began to tremble. I had no idea what to do next. 

Confused, I continued in this position for what seemed like forever. 

The amount of time I stood there was undetermined, yet I am quite sure that is was more than than at least 3 or 4 minutes. I found it impossible to speak up at this point as the young, black stud ignored my existence. Perspiration began to trickle down my forehead, and to the sides of my face. I wondered why I felt compelled to just stand there. 

Perhaps, in the back of my mind, I was attempting to give a false perception to the group on the other side of the pool. Maybe, I was giving them the perception that we were actually having a conversation. I just knew they would be asking questions later. 

Finally, I conjured just enough strength to move my legs. I was embarrassed as I turned and started walking away from him. It felt like he didn't want to be "bothered" with me anymore. It was more than insulting and disrespectful to be ignored in this manner, and with such rude mannerisms. But, I wasn't about to admit that to my wife or the other 12 white couples. 

Somewhere in the back of my mind I suppose that I was relieved by the fact this young, black stud didn't want another glass of champagne. That, alone, would have been too embarrassing for me to overcome. I knew that I wouldn't have the courage to say "no" to him. 

When I eventually returned to the group, I was greeted with a series of questions and inquiries. As expected, they wanted to know everything about who he was and what he said. Once again, I lied to save face.

"Well? Who is he?" Tammy asked. 

"What did he say?" Karen asked.

"You did invite them over, right? my wife, Julie, questioned. 

My humiliation ran deep, yet I was desperate to make sure my wife and the others didn't suspect anything unusual. I didn't want them to know that this black stud dressed in that "horrifying" little bikini had been so rude to me, and had simply ordered me to "fetch" him another glass of champagne. 

"Well?" Karen probed. 

"Um, well his name is Tra'mon." I answered.

"Tra'mon?" Clarissa repeated. 

"What did he say?" Julie continued. 

"H-He just said thank you for the invitation, but he wanted to spend some alone time this weekend." I explained, lying between my chattering teeth. 

"Oh?!" Karen exclaimed, softly. 

"It didn't look like he was very talkative from here." Julie observed. 

"Yeah. Didn't look like he was saying much at all." one of the other white husbands added. 

I remember wishing that David wouldn't have added his opinion to that piece of comentary. It only put me more "on the spot," and in the most exaggerated way. My feeble mind continued trying to conjur up some type of story as the others looked to me for the answers to their questions. 

"no, no. Um, he did talk." I said. 

"H-He just doesn't want to join us now. I mean, well, he said that he um would come over when he was ready to meet us." I fibbed. 

The entire group of white husbands and wives peered at me with just a faint touch of disbelief in their eyes.

"Oh, he said that?" Megan asked, suddenly.

"Uh, yeah. Yes." I answered. 

"Well, okay then I guess." Julie said. 

"Maybe he'll have lunch or dinner with us later." she pondered.

"Yeah, maybe. I don't know." I replied. 

"You should go and ask him, Richard." Tammy interrupted. 

"Listen. Let's just leave him to be for know, okay?" I returned, desperately.

"I'm sure he will come over when he is good and ready." I advised her and the others.

"Yeah, he really doesn't look like he wants to be bothered now." Tim added, nervously.

The white group looked back towards the black stud with his white woman kneeling at his feet. She had been massaging his bare feet for more than an hour by now, and this was nearly inconceivable to me at the moment. 

Still, the afternoon continued on.

For the next few hours after the initial "entrance" of Tra'mon, our entire group of white wives and husbands tried continuing the day. Many, if not all of us, seemed restless. The wives cleared the breakfast plates and mingled around the pool area, and in and out of our condo apartments. Occasionally, they would bring things back, like drinks and snacks of sliced mango, or diced pineapple. 

All of us just sat around and talked in smaller, seperate groups for awhile. Then, together. At one point, these little discussion groups had unintentionally broken up into where it was just us white men. We stood around near the cooler while our white wives mingled around the table and chairs 20 feet away. 

The mood was definitely different with the presence of this young, black stud. There was a tension in the air that was hard to explain, and a noticeable deflation of our energy. 

From my point of view in the group of all white men in their 30's and 40's, I could see every one of our beautiful white wives "glancing" back across the pool towards the black man. The frequency of their "looks" and "stares" towards him seem to increase. Often, their eyes lingered. It was uncomfortable for me to observe. 

The white husbands were almost huddled together around the cooler, haphazardly drinking champagne and attempting to avoid the subject of this new black resident. The white wives were gathered in their own little half circle and having their own discussions. 

We could not hear what they were saying, and I'm sure the other husbands didn't notice the longer and more pronounced "stares" their wives were giving the black man. Many of them had their backs to the women, facing me. 

Obviously, I was hearing what all the other husbands were saying as they began to increase their intake of mimosa and champagne. 

"Geezuz, will you look at that guy?!" Dave suddenly remarked.

"Yeah, I know." Mark added, meekly.

There was a pause within the group as the others looked back at him for a moment. 

"I wonder what his story is." Tim pondered.

"I don't know, but I'm not gonna ask him." Bob stated.

"Me, neither." Ralph said, chimming in. 

"Yeah." David added, softly.

"I guess that's his girlfriend?" Tim questioned, with a humble tone of voice. 

"I guess." Bob answered.

"She doesn't seem all there." Mark suspected.

"Yeah. I mean, she's been massaging that guy's feet for like 4 hours now." Tim said.

I looked down to the Movado watch on my wrist. He was almost right. It was five minutes before two, and this black man had been sitting there having his feet massaged by this white woman for 3 hours and 40 minutes. 

"Geez, who in the world wants their feet massaged for that long?" Mark asked, disgustedly.

"I don't know." I added. 

"Looks like he's an athlete, or something." Bob stated.

"Maybe he's a fighter?" Ralph predicted. 

"Wh-what makes you say that?" I asked, nervously. 

"I don't know, look at him. Look at his arms. They're like stone." He said. 

"Yeah. He does look pretty tough and all." Thomas finally spoke up.

"I guess he could be? I don't know." Tim added.

"Maybe." David said.

"All I know is that I wouldn't mess with the guy." Ralph continued. 

"Me, neither." Mark agreed.

"Yeah, me too." Tim said.

"Damn. He looks pretty strong, huh?" Bob commented. 

"Just seems like they always have the prettiest women by their side, too." Dave said. 

"Yeah, I know." Tim added. 

As we stood there bantering back and forth in heavy whispers, it felt like we were a bunch of timid school boys trying to hide a rummor. I began to realize that all 13 of us white men were humbled and intimidated by this one young black man.

This reality hit me. 

We were all financially secure white professional men in our late 30's and 40's, and with beautiful younger wives. All of us were 6' tall, or taller, and in relatively decent shape, or so we thought. Every one of us had bragged and boasted about our past exploits and successes, and made ourselves in this perception of masculinty. Yet, all 13 of us white men were feeling emasculated and humbled by this one black stud in his 20's. 

At the time, I could not tell you exactly how the others were feeling. But, the look on their faces and the defeated postures of their bodies made me believe they felt just like I did. 

Still, we remained completely unexposed to any of the discussions our white wives were having. 

It was at this time that we noticed the black man emerge from his relaxed sitting position on the lounge chair. He simply stood up and stretched his muscular, dark body out as if he had just awakened from a deep sleep. He did not look towards the groups of white husbands and white wives that had formed across the pool. It was obvious that he had not said a word, or made a gesture to his beautiful blonde companion. 

The young, black man stood there for a moment and casually glanced down at his watch. All eyes were upon him as we stood on the other side of the pool, watching in silence and awe. All of us husbands seemed frozen by his sudden actions, and the wives appeared captivated by his every move. 

Seconds later, he began to stroll towards the far end of the rectangular pool away from our direction. This was the opposite direction from where he had entered the area when he walked right past us hours earlier. 

His bold, confident strides were short and purposely slowed to the point of pure arrogance. The flimsy yellow spandex bikini on his muscular ass cheeks had slipped nearly an inch lower, revealing a shade more of his curved ass crack. His slow and seemingly calculated steps away from us and toward the furthest end of the pool were curious. I wondered why he was taking the "long way" around this large pool. 

I looked towards the blonde woman, who had frantically gathered the towels up and began trailing several steps behind him. Still, she seemed barely coherent. The black stud walked with such confidence and arrogance. As he turned left around the first corner of the rectangular pool, and the furthest away from us he would be, I was demoralized by what I had noticed.

His walking position was now a left side full profile image to all of us. His chiseled, dark ebony body seemed like a slab of granite. Most humiliating was the clear and flagrant fact that this young stud now had a partial erection forming in the crotch of that tiny yellow bikini.

"Wh-what th-the?" I murmured under my breath, in absolute shock.

"Geezuz F-ing christ?!" I heard another white husband faintly whisper under his breath, undetectable to the others. 

It couldn't have been more obvious, even at that distance. The mammoth cock he was carrying in those skimpy bikini things had grown even larger. The unusually thin, wispy and pliable spandex material of his solid yellow bikini had crept a touch lower than before. Obnoxiously, the exaggerated bulge of his crotch had expanded the airy bright yellow material to an unruly, uncanny and unimagineable dimension. 

As this young stud turn left around the next and final corner of the pool, he was now facing all us 40 feet away, as he continued his slow and methodical stroll. His partial erection looked even more obtrusive and I'm sure we all wondered if he would approach us. 

Timidly, all of us remained standing in silence with our mouth partially opened.

His enormous, sweat-soaked cock in that microscopic yellow bikini pouch was surreal. The sheer, ominous size of it seemed to mimic a more than healthy cucumber as he drew nearer to the group. The thin, meager and featherweight fabric of his bikini pouch seemed to be hanging on for dear life as his massive cock began to unfurl inside. The wispy material moved with every powerful stride, and his goliath package slapped the side of his thighs naturally.

He had absolutely no regard or concern for the skimpy and flimsy bikini struggling to contain his manhood. None at all. 

Shamelessly, the young black stud strolled to within 10 feet of our wives before turning up and to his right. He continued his bold strides towards the glass entry door as the groups of white husbands remained standing, in humiliation, further away. 

The black man said no words, but we watched in disbelief as he peered over the tops of his shades and towards our bikini-clad wives. Arrogantly, he "checked them out" and his glare lingered for a moment before he continued towards the door. 

His blonde companion tried to hasten her stumbling steps in order to catch up to him, and she fell out of one of her tan heeled sandals. She didn't even turn back to retrieve it as she seemed hurried and desperate to get to him. 

The young black man had reached the glass entry door leading to the building, where he simply stopped. He did not turn back to the blonde woman scurrying behind him. We could hear the loud slap of her one sandal hitting the stone pavement in between the faint sound of her bare foot. He stood there with his back turned waiting for her to arrive. 

We stood there quietly, mesmorized by the sight of this beautiful and noticeably affected blonde woman rushing towards him. We watched as she reached for the handle to the door and held it open for him. We continued gazing at them as the black stud disappeared inside, followed obediently by the white woman. 

All 13 of us white husbands were standing there in complete and utter silence. Our heads seem to hang even lower. I was awed and humbled by the manner in which this young black man had just stood before the door and made the blonde woman open it. When I glanced over to the group of wives standing closer to the door, I could tell they were affected in a different way than we were. 

The 13 white wives appeared shocked, almost amazed by the black god they had just observed. Their silence, alone, was surprising to me. 

Nearly 30 seconds had gone by when this uncomfortable silence was broken. It was odd that nobody wanted to mention the sight they had just witnessed before their very own eyes. They began to turn towards us and their faces were obviously "flushed" as Karen spoke. 

"Um, well, I guess th-they don't want to, uh, have lunch with us th-then." she said, rather uncomfortably. 

"Yeah. I guess. I was just about to ask them." Tammy announced, in a whisper. 

Our wives looked as if they had just been run over by a truck. Their somber mood caused an unusual silence in the air. 

"Would you guys like some food?" Tammy finally asked. 

We all stood there embarrassed, nodding our heads with a "I guess so" and "sure" look upon our faces. We, too, couldn't believe what we had just witnessed. Yet, we were all sure that we didn't want to talk about it. 

One of the other wives then noticed the wayward shoe from the blonde woman. It was her right shoe, and she had run out of the 3 inched tan heeled sandal when scurrying behind the black stud. 

"That's her shoe, isn't it?" she asked, bewildered. 

Apparently, she had noticed the woman losing her shoe as it happened like I had. None of the wives had noticed it. Looking back, it was evident that their attention was more on the black stud strolling around in his revealing yellow bikini. 

"I think so." Julie offered. 

"Well, it has to be. Who else's could it be?" Janet asked, quietly. 

"I dunno. Why would she just leave it behind like that?" Karen asked. 

"I'm not sure." Megan added. "Maybe she didn't realize she lost it?" she predicted. 

The group of us white men and the white women began to move in towrds one another, once again. 

"How could she not know she lost her shoe?" one of the husbands, Mark, asked.

The white wives didn't respond. Their eyes seem to lower to the ground as they contemplated how she may have not noticed. By the look on their faces, it appeared that they could almost relate to her mishap. It was as if they understood. 

"We should bring it back to her." Tammy said, picking up the shoe and holding it. 

"David, why don't you bring it to her." she proposed. 

"I-I'm not bringing it to her. No way." he announced.

"Don't look at me." Ralph said, as Tammy peered his way. 

"Me, either." Tim exclaimed. 

Tammy held the shoe out towards Mark. 

"Mark, come on." she pitched.

"I'm not doing it. She'll get it later, I'm sure." Mark said, passively. 

"Geez, you guys?!" Tammy snapped, frustrated by our lack of cooperation. 

That is when my wife, Juile, stepped in. She took the shoe from Tammy's hand and offered me up. 

"Richard will do it. He's a gentleman." she said, handing me the size 7 ladies shoe.




Black Man One Ch. 05



The look of despair on my face must have been obvious. I shook my head. 

"No, no. I don't want to. M-Mark's right. I'm s-sure she'll be out later to get it." I cowered. 

"What's the matter with you guys? It's only a shoe. The ground is so hot. It'll burn her feet without sandals." Julie stated. 

The mere 3 second pause was deafening. 

"Richard, here!" she said, determined, forcing the woman's shoe in my hand. 

"Take it to her. They'll appreciate it." she announced. 

I stalled. 

I certainly did not want to walk to condo unit one to deliver a wayward shoe. It was embarrassing. None of the other white husbands wanted to, either. They had absolutely no courage or desire to, and the faces of the white wives seemed confused by this unrealistic unwillingness to do so. They simply did not understand. 

In reality, they were observing a group of us 13 white weaklings and "pussies" who were terrified to approach a black man's woman, especially since she was a white woman. We knew better. 

Julie persisted.

"Just do it, Richard. Be a man and do it. We'll have lunch ready by the time you get back." she said.

She gently shoved me towards the door. Defeatedly, I began walking towards it trying to conceal my deepening fear. 

"At least there's at least one gentleman in the group." Karen said, as I overheard her speaking to the other white husbands. 

I opened the door, walked through the workout center, and stepped into the short corridor leading to condos number one and two. My nerves were frazzled as I looked at the delicate size 7 shoe of the blonde woman. 

The condos were widely spaced out. The squared "U" shaped building had seven apartments on the ground level, and seven on the 2nd level. Two of the 1,600 square foot condos were positioned on "hook" side of this pattern, and on both sides of the this level. They were stretched out prominently with a large laundry room sitting in between each living space. This seemed to offer additional privacy. The other three larger condo apartments ones were set in the middle of each floor.

As I minced my way down the corridor leading to the end unit, condo number one, I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. All these years of being intimidated by black men began to surface, only it was many times more pronounced. I was becoming upset that my beautiful, blonde wife had "offered" me up to be the "sacrificial lamb" that would return the woman's lost shoe.

In a feeble attempt to maintain the embarrassingly false perception of masculinity I had conjurred up when meeting Julie, I accepted.

As I got to within 15 feet of condo number one I could hear the noises already. 

There were loud "grunting" sounds coming from the young, black stud while he was fucking the slightly older white woman. It was terribly obvious. The faint "whining" and "gasping" sounds from the beautiful blonde grew clearer with every step I took closer to the door. 

Sounds of her "screaming in pain" began just as I was about to tap on the door, and then I stopped.

The fury of these sounds was like no other I had heard before. The intense sounds were so aggressive and almost angry as he pounded the beautiful white woman into oblivion. 

"Gosh! This black guy is totally fucking the hell out of this poor woman?!" I thought.

"Why is he being so rough with her?" I pondered.

The fucking sounds continued. They seemed to grow more wild and intense every few moments. I could hear the woman panting, screaming and moaning in what sounded like there was far more pain than pleasure. I couldn't be sure. I wasn't sure. 

Cowardly, I just stood there before the black man's door listening and holding his woman's shoe in my weakening hands. I felt embarrassed and humiliated by the crude and rough way he was treating this pretty woman. It truly sounded more like he was beating her up than making love to her. 

The slapping sounds began, and they seemed unending as I heard the woman cry out in pain. The fierceness of his slaps intensified as I heard the louder sounds of his hand against her pale flesh. 

Fifteen minutes had gone by and I was still standing there, terrified and intimidated by the sounds I was hearing. The sounds of him fucking her were not diminishing. They were magnifying and increasing with an intensity I could not believe. I began to hear his muffled, husky voice speaking, but I could not make out his words. The intonation of his strong voice made me think they were more like questions. 

They were, but I could not make out any one of them.

With every "supposed" question the black man asked, there was a gasping, pleading and obedient response from the blonde woman. I could hear her words more clearly. 

"Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir." she screamed. 

The agony and pain this white woman must have been experiencing was unreal. The pounding and pummeling and slapping sounds were as hard as I could have imagined, and I wondered how she could be pleasured this way. 

I am sure every white man has wondered about that at one time or another. 

"Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir." she yelled even louder, responding to his voice. 

As her screaming got louder, I simply dropped the shoe to the carpeted floor at my feet and ran away. I could hear the slapping noise actually get louder when I was halfway down the hall. 

Humbled, scared and terrified that my presence would be detected, I scurried away like an oversized frightened mouse. I ran back to my wife and the other 12 white couples by the pool. 

I had been gone for 20 minutes.

My face appeared flushed and reddened when I arrived back to the white group of condo owners. 

"What's wrong, Richard? Are you okay?" Julie asked. 

"Y-Yes, yes. I'm alright." I mumbled.

"Are you sure?" she asked, concerned.

"Where did you go all this time?" she inquired.

Again, I lied. I told her and the group that I had stopped by the bathroom on my way back because I wasn't feeling too well. 

"Oh, you poor thing." my wife said. 

"Are you better now?" she asked.

"Yes, honey. I th-think so." I replied. 

"That's good. Here, have some soda. It will make your tummy feel better." she said, handing me a ginger ale. 

I accepted it and sat down amongst the group as I tried to regain my composure. The sounds of the obvious activity I had just experienced completely "rattled" and "flustered" me. Moments later, the questions started again.

"Oh, well you don't have her shoe anymore so you must have found her." Barbara said. 

"Uh, yes. I gave it back to her." I lied. 

"That's good. Did she thank you?" Julie asked.

"Uh, well. No. I-I mean she didn't answer the door. He did, so I gave it to him." I fibbed. 

"Oh, okay. Well, you talked to him then, right?" Megan asked. 

"Sure." I answered.

"Well? What did he say? Did you tell him were having lunch now and dinner tonight?" Tammy asked. 

"Yeah. I did. Um, but like I said, he says thank you for the invites and he'll see what he can do. He said he was looking forward to some alone time." I answered, continuing to lie. 

"Well, he is certainly not alone from what I can see." Mark added, rather disgusted.

"Yeah, I know. I meant to say that he was, well, he wasn't ready to meet anyone new right now and all that. He aid that too." I blubbered. 

The looks on their faces seemed curious about this black man's answers. My story wasn't making a whole lot of sense to them, but they suspiciously accepted it for the time being. 

It was about an hour and a half later, around 4 o'clock, before the young black man had finally emerged back at the pool area. I was actually shocked that we would see him again. I was shocked to no end. 

This time he emerged in a solid black bikini, which was equally flimsy and revealing as the other. He stepped out wearing black sandals and his dark shades, and he cockily strolled to the far end of the pool. I think we all looked back to the door at the same time to see if the blonde woman was about to come out. She was no in sight at that time.

Our eyes returned to the black stud, who had disgarded his sunglasses and sandals by now. Gracefully, he placed them at the edge of the pool and jumped in. The loud splash caused all of us to watch intently as he began to "show off" his athletic prowess and swim. 

The young, dark-skinned stud swam one length of the pool and began his journey back to other side when the 30-ish year old white woman finally stepped out holding a larger beach towel.

I couldn't believe my eyes?!

This beautiful blonde woman looked even worse than she did before, if that's possible. She was wearing the same white bikini and her face was mostly covered by her long flowing, frazzled blonde hair. Unbelievably, the bright yellow bikini this black stud had worn earlier in the day was around her neck, one of the leg holes serving as some sort of degrading necklace for her. 

We all looked at this woman in utter disbelief. 

She stumbled out, barely keeping her balance as she walked near the edge of the pool no more than 25 feet from us. Her oversized designer sunglasses tried to conceal what appeared to be even more dried up cum on her face. She walked tentatively as she turned to her left, changing directions. She began walking towards the side of the pool where Tra'mon had left his sandals and shades. Her backside was in plain view. 

I was awestruck to see the contrast of her bright red, blatantly slapped ass cheeks to that miniature white bikini. It was grotesquely obvious that this black stud had almost beaten her perfectly-formed butt cheeks with his bare hand. The redness was extreme, and it appeared as if he had left several partial hand prints along the way. 

"Oh my god!" I yelled in silence. 

The white woman simply brought the large beach towel to the other side of the pool. She stood there, quietly and obediently, and waited for the black man to emerge from the pool. 

Moments later, he did. 

His dripping wet body in that microscopic spandex bikini was awful to witness. It was humbling for all us white husbands to see the arrogant display of his manhood her was executing before our pretty wives. 

The blonde woman simply began drying the black man off with that towel, starting with his strong shoulders and then his powerful back. The water glistened on his dark skin as the sun beat down upon him. The woman then dropped to her knees and began submissively drying off his legs, thighs and feet. 

When satisfied, the black man strolled back around the far side of the pool and to the single chaise lounge chair he had left earlier. The blonde woman simply tailed behind, like a servant would. She proceeded to sit down on the marble stone decking at his feet, barely set off to his left side.

The "awed" look on everyone of the husband's faces told me that they were as embarrassed for her as much as I was. 

The wives faces were equally "awed," yet they appeared almost fascinated and curious about the masculine black man across the pool. It was almost as if their bikini-covered pussies were dripping wet from seeing the presence of a "real man" for the first time in their lives. 

Their more than noticeable reactions was humbling to me. 

end.



Black Man One Ch. 06



The young black stud remained by the pool for only an hour this time. 

The unintentional tension in the air caused by this black stud was obviously making all 13 of us white husbands feel uncomfortable. Our pretty white wives had so many moments where they were uncharacteristically quiet and somber, yet they tried to keep some form of communication inside the group. 

Minutes before the black man departed a few of the wives suggested we ask him to join us for the next meal. 

"Why don't you guys go over there and talk to him again? Maybe he's hungry now?" Clarissa asked. 

But, there were no takers. 

None of us from this group of white husbands had a desire to approach him. Speaking for myself, I was intimidated by the presence of such a man and the manner in which he showed his absolute control over his pretty blonde companion. It appeared the others had the same sinking feeling that I did. 

As Tra'mon stood, then finally departed with the beautiful white woman following behind, everyone's eyes opened wide. Our wives' eyes were glued upon him. He exited the pool area by walking around the far end of the pool. This seemed to be his trend. He was ignoring us completely. 

"Well, I guess it's too late to ask him now." Karen mentioned. 

The group milled in and out and around their condo apartments, and by the pool, for more than a few hours. Nobody really mentioned the "obvious" display of his masculinity during this time. Yet, everyone's mood was affected. 

The wives prepared the shark steaks and lit the tiki-styled torches positioned all the way around the pool. It was around 8 p.m., and they had all changed into shorts or skirts, and tank top tee shirts by now. This was part of their evening wear. The men had changed to summer shirts and shorts. 

It was now the Friday night before the fourth of July holiday. 

The sun was beginning to set and someone had put on soft music. The young black man was nowhere in sight. It seemed as if he had retired for the evening with his blonde companion. 

That is when Julie asked for a couple of volunteers to run out for more ice. 

When David volunteered I offered to tag along. Deep down, I just wanted to get away from the tension for awhile. With the black man not around I felt more relieved, almost thankful. I was sure that I wouldn't want to leave my wife's sight if he had still been there. The curious way he looked at her earlier in the day sent a chill of fear through my entire body. 

David and I had been gone for about 45 minutes.

We milled around a few stores for awhile looking at mindless items, lost in thought. Both of us were quite sullen and withdrawn. Looking back, it was clear that this black stud had taken away our entire self esteem. 

As we pulled into the parking lot close to 9 o'clock that night, we both noticed the blonde woman walking out towards her car. She was barefoot and clutching something in her arms as she minced her way across the pavement. 

Still, the black man was nowhere to be seen. 

She looked just as incoherent as she appeared earlier in the day, perhaps even more so. The way she was cradling all her clothes in her arms seemed a little strange to me. 

David pulled into a parking spot a few cars down from her red Mazda, and we sat there and watched her struggle to open the car door. It was fairly obvious the black stud had fucked her again, and then sent her on her way. I couldn't explain why it was obvious, but it truly was. 

"Maybe we should have stopped her?" David said.

"She didn't look at all capable of driving." he added. 

The red Mazda started off slowly, then accelerated..

"I don't know. She's driving alright." I said, as we watched her car darting away.

"Besides, I really don't want to get involved." I stated. 

"Yeah, I know what you mean." David returned. 

David and I got out of his car and grabbed the 4 bags of crushed ice we purchased, each of us carrying two. That is when we spotted the young, black man strolling out from the building and into the parking lot. 

He was alone, and his partial "thug" look terrifed us. 

Both David and I tensed up immediately. 

He was wearing a pair of well-pressed, khaki shorts and expensive black leather sandals. His crisp white short-sleeved shirt was hanging out. His muscular, dark biceps stretched the cotton sleeves with relative ease. 

Within seconds, a silver metallic Mercedes convertible pulled into the parking lot and right up to him. The driver was a beautiful white woman in her mid 20's with brown hair. She was dressed in club styled purple minidress, which hugged her body like a second skin. 

It was apparent that she was there to pick him up.

Tra'mon casually "hopped" into here convertible and they sped off into the night. 

"Geezuz?! Another white woman?" I asked myself. 

"The other woman he was with just left a minute before!" I said to myself, shocked. 

I stood there wondering if the first white woman even knew. Did she know that the black man she was seeing was going out with another white woman, seemingly for the night? At the time, I wished that I had not seen this happening. This may have been an "innocent" relationship, or a simple friendship, and I tried thinking along those lines to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

Still, I couldn't be sure. 

My answer would come in the "wee" hours of the morning, less than 8 hours later. 

Most of the group had milled around the pool until midnight. A few couples had retired for the night an hour earlier. 

"We'll just finish cleaning up in the morning." Julie said. 

The rest of us all agreed. 

Everyone of us went back to our condos. I was sure all of us fell asleep rather quickly, just as Julie and I did. That night wasn't a restless one. I was exhausted and glad to get to sleep. But, I shouldn't have had that last drink so early before going to bed since I was awakened by Mother Nature only 5 hours later. 

It was around 5 in the morning when I woke up needing to relieve myself. 

In my half sleep state, I headed for the bathroom and began urinating. My mind wasn't even remotely clear as I finished my business and flushed the toilet. That is when I heard the faint sound of a car running coming from the parking lot. 

That side of the building from our 2nd floor condo overlooked the parking lot. Although we had not been there for more than a couple months, it was strange to hear any cars running, especially at this time on a Saturday morning. I decided to "peek" out from our bathroom window to see who was out there running their car. 

It was the same silver Mercedes convertible that David and I had seen earlier in the evening. 

yes, it was the same car, and with the same pretty brown-haired white woman who had picked up the brash Tra'mon around 9 the night before. Unbelievably, she was now on her knees before him and quite clearly sucking on his massive cock.

She knelt on the pavement on the driver's side with the door wide open. The young black stud simply stood above her with the palm of his left hand directly on the top of her head, controlling it. She knelt there subserviently sucking on his black cock with her arms down at her sides. 

In amazement, I watched as the black stud roughly fucked this white woman's throat. I must have been catching the last part of this little scene because it ended 3 minutes later. When he finished using her mouth, it was clear that he shook his cock dry onto her before returning it inside his shorts. With a knowing grin, he zipped the fly shut.

He said something to her that I was unable to hear from that distance, then turned and slowly walked to the condo building entrance. The white continued kneeling as she watched him strut through the door. Finally, she got up and drove away. 

I had not seen anything like that since I saw my date from a school dance sucking on a black man's cock years before. It wasn't the same, but this shadowed image brought my mind way back to the humiliation I had experienced years before. It was an image that I have always wished to forget. 

Intimidated, I returned to bed. I was glad that Julie didn't have to witness this little scene in the parking lot. It took me an hour to fall asleep as I grew worried about this young black stud's sudden appearance within our condo.

But, this would be just the beginning of the weekend introduction of the new black resident and neighbor. The next few days of this extended 4 day holiday weekend would become an overwhelming source of visual humiliation for all 13 of us white husbands in the condo association. In turn, it seemed to become more like a source of tremendous curiosity and visual stimulation for the 13 white wives. 

That next morning was Saturday the fouth. Again, the couples began arriving to the pool area around 10 o'clock. By 10:45, all of us were present.

The wives began preparing a simple brunch of buttered croissants, fruit and mimosa. The mood was more relaxed for the time being as the young, black man had not made an appearance. I am quite sure all the husbands felt relieved by this. 

"Geez. I hope he had plans to get out of town for the day, and the weekend?" I hoped, thinking to myself.

But, when the clock hit 12:30 in the afternoon he suddenly appeared. 

The black stud emerged from the glass door with a small, white towel around his neck and in a pair of the skimpiest leopard-print bikini underwear. This time there was no question that they were underwear rather than a speedoes swim bikini. Boldly, he strutted right past us without a single word being said. He was speaking on his cell phone as his thick, insulting cock flopped around in the pouch of those whisper thin biknis.

Our faces turned beet red. 

Yet, nobody within the group seemed to show the desire to mention the cold, callous display of his manhood. The black stud merely strolled around to his lounge chair on the other side of the pool, where he lit a marijuana cigarette. 

The aroma of the weed was quite noticeable. 

The young black man smoked "blunts" and layed around for the next 40 minutes until his cell phone rang. Immediately, he got up and began walking. As he arose, the white wives stared hungrily. Their eyes never drifted from his powerful body as he strode past us with confidence. 

"I'll be right there." we heard him saying to his caller. 

Apparently, he had a guest arriving and departed to let this person in through the parking lot entrance. The white wives all gazed at his muscular ass cheeks in those leopard-print bikinis as he slowed his stride so confidently as he passed. 

The mood suddenly changed to an intense curiosity. I am sure all of us wondered about who this "guest" would be. Many of us stared at each other with a look of bewilderment tracing our faces, yet none of us spoke about it. 

"So, how is your new job Richard?" Mark asked, nervously, trying to change the subject and break the embarrassing silence. 

Everyone in the group stared right at me. 

I was caught off guard and placed "on the spot," so to speak. Nervously, I answered. I began talking about my new position and the differences between living in Arizona compared to our previous residence. I blubbered through my response for the next 5 minutes, feeling on edge as I glanced over to the pool entrance door every 30 seconds. Others were "glancing" in that direction as well. 

Suddenly, Tra'mon stepped out. This time there were two white women following behind him. Yes, there were two of them, and none of them were any of the other women that I had seen with him before. 

Both white women were absolutely gorgeous. 

One woman was in her late 30's, an auburn-haired beauty in a red bikini with 3 inch tan mules. She was 5'6" and 122 lbs., and had larger breasts and pale irish skin. The gold jewelry she wore arounf her neck and wrists was exquisitely detailed. 

The other woman was younger, barely 30 years of age, blonde and stunning. Her 5'9" 135 pound frame was curvy with wider 36" hips and moderate 36 "C" cup breasts. She wore a red and white striped bikini that accentuated her curves. Her blonde hair was secured into a long pony tail and she wore modest flat sandals upon her feet.

All of us watched as the small group of two white women and the younger black man made their way around the pool. They settled into the single chaise lounge chair Tra'mon's had claimed as his throne. One of the women was carrying a small blue and white cooler, which was only big enough to carry a six pack of beer. 

We watched as they settled in. 

Curiously, both white women sat on towels that were positioned on the ground at either side of the black stud's chair. I looked around to see that there were 3 or 4 extra chairs at the other end of the pool. I wondered why he didn't get the chairs for them. Bob was the first to mention it.

"Damn! Why isn't he being a gentleman and getting them chairs?" Bob said, whispering louder to the group. 

"Yeah, really." Mark commented. 

"How rude." Tim added, even softer.

"Yes, he should." I chimed in. 

That is when Tammy chimed in as well. It was almost as if she was defending him.

"Well, maybe they don't want chairs. Maybe they're comfortable with the way they are. Why blame him?" she asked.

The husbands all blushed while the other women remained quiet. Their constant gazing upon the black stud across the large pool was humbling to us. 

The two white women sat at his side, opening bottles of import beer for him every 30 minutes. They were sharing the marijuana cigarettes he lit from time to time, and simply looking up to him as if he was some sort of ebony greek god. 

For the next 2 hours they remained in their area away from us and never made any contact with our group. 

It was around 2:30 that afternoon when the black stud got up and walked towards the entry door. Again, he walked boldy and confidently with his monstrous bulge waving back and forth with every stride. The two beautiful white women followed behind, disappearing moments later. They were heading back to Tra'mon's condo apartment. 

The relief we felt when he departed was minimal. No longer did our pretty young white wives have to view the masculine black stud flaunting himself in such a rude manner. Yet, his presence seem to linger in their minds. 

The hours passed and it was now close to 7:30 p.m. 

We had not seen the black man and his two white guests reemerge from the condo. That is when Barbara suggested that we try inviting him down to watch the fireworks show from the city tonight. This had been the plan all along, to watch the 4th of July fireworks and celebrate the holiday with a champagne toast. 

"We should at least invite him." she suggested.

"Yes, that would be the neighborly thing to do." Tammy agreed. 

"Yeah. It won't hurt anyone to try." Barbara returned.

All the husbands had a look of fear on their faces. None of us were so willing to follow through with such a ghastly request. The suggested invitation felt like torture for us. We certainly had no desire to see the young black man around. 

"No, I don't think that's a good idea." one husband said. 

"Oh, why not? It's the holiday." Megan said. 

We seemed to be in near disbelief that our wives were all in agreement to invite our new black neighbor in to watch the fireworks show. 

"Richard, just go and invite him and his friends." my wife, Julie, directed. 

"I don't think we should. Maybe later, honey." I answered. 

"Oh, stop. Don't be such a big baby. Do it now before it gets dark and he makes other plans." she returned. 

"Uh, why me?" I asked, scared. 

"Because you're the only one who has spoken to him so far." Julie answered firmly.

"You've spoken to him. Not us." she reaffirmed. 

I couldn't believe my ears. My wife was putting me on the spot again. She was pushing me towards going back to his apartment to extend this completely ridiculous invitation. 

Meekly, I stood up and turned to David. 

"David, will you come with?" I asked him.

"Well, uh, I-I'd rather not." he quivered.

"Oh, will you just go already Richard?" Julie snapped, impatiently. 

Defeatedly, I turned and began walking towards the entry door by myself. I felt even more uncomfortable than I did yesterday when I returned his "other" blonde woman friend's shoe.

Everyone in our group now had the impression I had spoken to this black stud, but I really had not. There were barely a few words exchanged and basically a direct order to fetch him a glass of champagne. But, they didn't know that. They didn't have to know it. 

My little white lies were beginning to get me in trouble.

Timidly, I made my way down the corridor leading to his apartment. This would be the second time in as many days. It was right around 7:30 and the sun was still out, but it had been nearly 5 hours since he and the two women left the pool area. 

In the back of my mind, I was hoping they had all left the apartment by now. Hopefully, this won't be an issue at all. I certainly did not want to face him again, or even see him. None of the husbands did. 

My concern grew when I finally tapped on the door to his apartment. I heard the sound of a vacuum cleaner running and tapped a second time, only softer. Sensing a safe exit retreat, and being given a built in excuse to flee, I turned and began to step away from the door. That is when I heard the door open and the sound of the vacuum cleaner turning off. 

"Yes? Can I help you?" I heard the feminine voice ask. 

I turned to see the tall blonde woman standing in the doorway with a cell phone to her ear. She was covering the mouth piece with her other hand.

"Can I help you?" she repeated. 

"Uh, well I just came to invite all of you to the ..." I began saying, stuttering and whispering nervously. 

But, the pretty blonde could not make out anything that I was saying. Apparently, the caller on the other end of her phone continued speaking without being prompted. This seemed to frustrate the blonde woman and she motioned for me to come inside for a moment. 

This blonde woman had a cleaning towel over her shoulder and a maid-like rag on her head. Her face was perspiring. It seemed as if she was in the middle of cleaning the apartment when I knocked. I stepped inside this black man's apartment for the very first time. 

She continued her attempts to end the call as I stood inside the condo and waited, nervously. 

I did not see Tra'mon anywhere. 

But, I did see the 40-year-old pretty redhead. She was inside the bathroom and cleaning as well. I looked around to see the turned off vacuum cleaner sitting in the middle of the livingroom. On the sofa there were three piles of freshly washed and folded clothes. They were obviously belonged to the black man. 

The place looked spotless. 

There were many signs of the apparent cleaning these two white women were working on. Still dressed in their little bikinis, they both had "doo rags" around their heads and were noticeably sweated up from what seemed like hours upon hours of cleaning.

More humiliating was the fact that both of these women looked like they had been fucked earlier in the day. The dried "cum" on their legs and faces was terribly obvious. 

I swallowed loudly and stood there with my nerves shattered as the tall blonde woman finally ended her call. 

"I'm so sorry. What did you need again?" she asked, curiously.

"W-Well, I just w-wanted to um invite Tra'mon and the two of to the uh fireworks show in a coupla' hours." I stammered, looking around at the impressive cleaning job they did. 

"Oh, that's very sweet of you." she started.

"We can't, though. We're almost finished in here and we still have the car to do before it gets too dark." she informed.

"Th-the car?" I asked under my breath.




Black Man One Ch. 06



"Well, um okay then." I answered.

"Will you j-just let h-him know that h-he's still invited then?" I murmured.

The beautiful blonde woman just paused for a moment as I looked off to the side to see the redheaded beauty filling a bucket of water in bath tub. 

"Well, I really don't think we're going to see Trey. He had to run out and I don't think he'll be back anytime soon." she told me. 

"Do you want me to leave him a note or text him?" she asked.

"Uh, uh no. No, please. That's okay." I replied. 

"Thank you anyway." I said, turning and walking out the door. 

As I stepped into the workout center that would lead back to the pool area, I stopped for a moment to compose myself. That is when I noticed both white women walking right past me on the other side of the glass doors. They headed to the corridor that would lead to the parking lot. 

They were still dressed in their bikinis with the "doo rags" still upon their heads as they carried a few towels, a sponge and 2 buckets. I was more than curious as I went back through the main corridor and watched them walking away from me. Their perfect asses in those bikinis was amazing. 

For some reason, I slowed my walk and began to follow them. I suppose that I wanted to see for myself. I took my time because I didn't want them to notice me getting too close. 

When I reached the end of the corridor and glanced out to the parking lot from the glass door, I saw them again. 

Both white women were already washing the black Bentley car that belonged to the young black stud. 

Still, he was not in sight. 

To me, it was obvious that these two white women had just spent hours cleaning his condo apartment. Now, they were frantically washing his car, by hand, in the parking lot. Both women were, indeed, beautiful. They seemed rushed and run down from the hard days' work and the washing of this luxury automobile. 

I must have stood there and watched these two beauties for more than fifteen minutes. Shocked, I finally turned and headed back to the group sitting in the pool area. 

The group "drilled" me with questions again. I told them more lies. I explained that I had spoken to him but he had plans for the night. I explained that he was heading out just as I arrived. 

"Awe, really?" Tammy said, disappointed.

"I knew we should have asked him earlier." Julie stated. 

"Yeah, maybe?" I answered.

The night continued and the fireworks show was pleasant. It felt more pleasant without the presence of the young, black man. I will admit that. 

The main fireworks show ended around 11. It was around midnight when the fireworks from the town began to fade and we decided to head inside.

Julie and a few of the other wives lingered behind and began disposing of the food items whileI headed upstairs to our condo. 

I quickly grabbed a shower and layed in bed for about 10 minutes before I "dozed" off. I had only been asleep for a short period of time when I was awakened by the sound of the bathroom door closing. I woke up to see my wife standing by the window, looking out.

She was looking out into the parking lot and appeared curious, determined and mesmorized by what she was seeing. 

She had a towel around her beautiful body and used another smaller towel to dry her long blonde hair. She continued watching "something" intently.

"Honey? What's going on?" I asked, wearily. 

"Richard, Oh my god, this is crazy. Come here." she whispered desperately.

I got up and sat on the end of the bed trying to wake up. 

"I think that's him and there's a woman with him too!" she whispered a little louder. 

"Who?" I asked, stupidly. 

"Him. You know, the new resident. You said his name was Tra'mon, right?" she asked. 

"What about him? So what? Who cares?" I mumbled.

"Shush. I mean she's actually sucking him, Richard." her shouted whisper becoming clearer.

"What?" I asked, getting up and walking towards her.

"I just can't believe it." Julie exclaimed. 

When I arrived at the window, there was an entirely different white woman from what we had seen up to this point. Like the women from last night, she was on her knees in the parking lot and literally sucking on the black stud's cock. 

"Geez. This woman is not any of the white women he had been with before!" I thought to myself, shocked. 

I couldn't tell what her age was from that distance in the dark, but she did have a great figure with long, dark silky hair. Right there in the parking lot, she was kneeling and sucking off the young stud. 

The sight was demoralizing to see. 

"Geezuz Christ." I shouted. 

"Can you believe that?" Julie shouted, again in her whisper. 

We watched for only a moment longer before I "steered" my wife away from the window and towards our bed. 

"It's none of our business, honey." I said, my face blushing from the bold manner in which this man had this woman on her knees. 

"I wonder who she is?" Julie asked.

"Forget about it, honey! Don't worry. Just leave it alone. Let's go to sleep." I told her. 

"Don't YOU want to fool around, honey?" she asked.

"No, I'm just tired. Let's go to sleep." I answered, denying her as I felt my flaccid penis grow even smaller. 

I was astonished by the fact that this young black man was so arrogant and bold about having these women suck his cock. He didn't seem to care where they were servicing him. 

What I knew up to this point haunted me. 

To me, and to many white men, I'm quite sure this would be extremely humiliating to witness. This black stud had been with a blonde woman yesterday during the day, a brown-haired girl yesterday evening, and two different white women "friends" earlier today. 

Now, he was with a dark haired brunette beauty tonight?! 

I had just seen him with 5 different white women in just 2 days and 2 nights. All five of them had been observed in what I would describe a subservient position when around him. 

But, my pretty blonde wife had not seen everything I had seen at this time. She also saw it in a different way. It was almost as if she thought it was "cute" to catch two people in the middle of a sex act. 

Finally, I was able to convince her to go sleep. Soon after, I fell asleep with the haunting image. 

The next morning, it seemed as if my wife couldn't wait to tell the other white wives all about the scene she had witnessed. Despite my pleas for her not to say a word, she couldn't help but spread the new gossip amongst the group. 

To her, it seemed like this new gossip was a way to fir into the group of wives. The speculation of who this black stud was ran rampant amongst the wives that Sunday morning. The 13 white husbands merely sulked in shame, feeling emasculated and hoping the conversation would turn to more pleasant topics.

Degradingly, this embarrassing trend continued. 

Later that Sunday afternoon the black stud made another "appearance" with yet another 35-year-old beautiful blonde woman. Our wives watched in utter amazement as she massaged his legs, feet, back and thighs for close to 3 consecutive hours. She massaged every inch of his 5'9" tall, 187 lb. dark, athletic body before retiring with him to condo number one. 

At 6:30 the next morning, I seen her leaving the building looking even more fucked out of her mind than the women from those first days. Literally, she walked to her car in the parking lot so tentatively. It seemed as if her pussy was tender with pain with each step.

That following day was a Monday, which was the last day of this 4 day holiday weekend. A second mind-boggling beautiful redheaded woman appeared by the pool with the black stud. 

This one was 29-years-old with a face like an angel, and she looked even more used and incoherent than any of the others. So much, in fact, that a few of the white husbands could no longer stand to be out by the pool area to witness her with him. 

Defeatedly, they cowered inside. 

Her beautiful, pale complexion looked like it was slapped several times. Her long, auburn hair was frazzeld out of control like a rag doll. Still, she remained quiet, obedient and docile to him as she knelt by his side. The black man took her inside 4 times that day, always returning to the pool an hour later. 

The powerful 25-year-old black man had spent the last 4 days "relaxing" by the pool of our condo, and he was seen with a total of 7 different white women! 

In this short period of time, he had been with them in one way or another. Two of them I had actually see. One other I had heard him fucking. The other 4 were blatantly obvious to me, 

For me, this was nearly inconceivable. I wouldn't have believed it if I had not seen it for myself. 

The 13 white husbands were now so intimidated to be in his presence. The 13 white wives began to see him in another way, which was unclear to me at the time. I was astounded they still felt that we should make an attempt to "get to know him," despite what we had all observed. 

For some unknown reason to me, the women appeared more "accepting" of his obnoxious actions, and the manner in which he had been with all these different white women. The wives described these women as his "friends" far too often. The overly obvious way they all looked so "used" and "abused" seemed to be absent from their perception. 

It was like the white wives weren't looking at the same things the white men could so easily interpret. 

The look on our wives' faces was truly defeating to us white men. 

end.



Black Man One Ch. 07



With the holiday weekend finally over, the white husbands all returned to our regular work schedules.

Our wives returned to their daily routines, which included mostly things like aerobics classes, swimming, shopping and various social events. Only 2 of the 13 white wives at the condo had so-called "careers" around this time. None of them had been living here more than 2 years. 

Karen was presently managing a small clinic nearby, which was a far cry from her nursing administrator position a few years back. Tammy was a 2nd grade teacher who was out of work for the summer, a former English Professor who had left a large university on the east coast. 

Both of these women accepted these lower level positions just to "keep themselves busy" when they moved to Arizona. Both seemed to be contemplating other career and life opportunities as well. 

The remaining 11 wives, including my own, were unemployed by choice. Basically, they were here being supportive of their husband's more successful and lucrative careers. They were trying to live "the good life" we had coaxed them into. 

Still, all 13 of the white wives in this private condo community were exceptionally educated. They were all very beautiful younger white women in their early 30's to early 40's. 

For the husbands, we knew that it was our own doing. 

We had convinced our pretty young wives to come to Arizona and live more of this "good life." We filled our younger wives' heads with promise after promise, and lie after lie about our masculinity. We lavished them with the best of the best of everything, and we worshipped the ground they walked upon. We treated them like queens. 

Yes, they were "trophy wives" at this particular time in their lives. But, they had so much more going for them before they met their successful husbands.

My wife, Julie, was perhaps the least "formally-educated" woman of the bunch. But, she was just as smart and socially-gifted. She was also the most beautiful woman in the condo building.

I had learned most of this information in the first 2 months of our relocation, and even more over the holiday weekend. 

Only two of the oldest couples had one child each, but they were teenagers off in college when they made the decision to move here. Coincidentally, the other couples were like Julie and I, and had no children.

Nevertheless, the weekend was over and going back to work caused a huge amount of insecurity in me. I wondered if that black man would be around during the day while I was off promoting my own career at the office. Frequently, I would call Julie to ask her how her day was going, and what she had done. I continued asking her these questions with greater interest, all in the hopes that her responses would make me feel less insecure. 

My calls to her went from twice a day to six calls a day the first week back, and even more so after that. 

The mere presence of this black stud being in our little community sent an uneasy feeling running through my entire body. As far as I knew, Julie didn't suspect how insecure I had become at this time. But, I was. 

By the end of the shortened, post-holiday work week I was on edge. By the second week, my concerns grew as I began to see the young, black man and his white female companions even more.

My eyes "shyed" away from his when I saw him walking out to his Bentley, or when I noticed him out by the pool casually wearing the hideous little bikini suits he seemed so fond of. 

Tra'mon seemed to "cycle" through 4 of the 7 white women I had actually seen him with during that first July 4th weekend. 

These 4 women were the three blonde women and one of the red-haired woman that appeared to be the most financially well off. 

I had not seen any of the other 3 women for those first two weeks. Not yet. But, I would see the aforementioned four white women all the time. 

Like clockwork, it seemed that every morning when I walked out into the parking lot to begin my commute, one of them was there. Or, they would appear suddenly. Astonishingly, every single time one of these 4 white women was walking out to their own car looking absolutely "devastated" and "used." 

Their appearance in the parking lot at exactly 6:10 a.m. every morning surprised me. It was curious how they all seemed to be leaving at precisely the same time that I needed to start my drive. Even more curious was the fact that they were usually half dressed or sloppily dressed, almost as if they had been "rushed" out of condo unit number one.

Seeing one of them at 6:10 a.m. every morning went on for a full two weeks before. Then, I began to "also" see one of them when I returned home from work, which was at 4:45 p.m.

"Geezuz. What the hell? My timing is terrible. I don't want to see this." I thought.

For some unknown reason, I would see one of these 4 beautiful white women getting out of their cars and walking to our building the moment I returned home. At 4:45 in the afternoon these white women would be dressed pristinely, in dresses or skirts and high heels. Their hair was well done and they always looked so quiet as they carried bags or boxes, or both, from what seemed like a day of shopping. 

Despite their somber moods and their eyes often looking down to the pavement as they approached the building, these women looked so classy, polished and angelic. 

But, early the next morning they looked completely the opposite. 

Every time, and without fail, they all would appear looking ridiculously run down and used. Their hair was a total mess, their faces noticeably red and flushed as they tried to hide their eyes. Their overall appearance was absolutely humilating to see. It couldn't have been more obvious that they had been fucked and used roughly by the young, black stud the night before. 

These afternoon and early morning observations of Tra'mon's white women continued for the next few weeks, even when I tried leaving for work a little earlier or later to avoid it. There wasn't a day that went by that these sightings didn't occur. Not even one. 

It began to cross my mind that this young stud was actually "rubbing my nose in it," so to speak, and intentionally showing off what what bothering me the most. It was possible he was pruposely showing me what he was doing with his white female companions. 

By mid August, I was beginning to feel even more intimidated by him. I avoided him at all costs and spent more time inside. It had been more than 6 weeks since his arrival, and he never engaged the group when we were out by the pool. In turn, no one in our group had approached him either. 

At least, I didn't think so. 

Even our white wives stopped suggesting that we invite him over, or to go over and talk to him when he was by the pool with one of his white female "friends." 

Our white wives seemed to be much more understanding of the husbands' choice to leave the new black resident alone, and not to interfere in his privacy. They all seemed to suddenly agree with us about all the things we had said to avoid the intimidating black man. 

That was especially curious to me.

"Why are they agreeing with us now?" I wondered.

"Maybe, they realize how rude he really is, and how terrible of a man he is for seeing all those different women?" I tried convincing myself. 

"Maybe they can see how poorly he treats them now, too?" I hoped. 

Finally, it was a Saturday morning in August when Julie suggested we have breakfast out by the pool. It was early enough to know that everyone would be sleeping in, and we would have the pool area to ourselves. 

I agreed for this reason only.

"O-okay, Julie. We can." I agreed. 

We dressed in our swimwear and brushed our teeth quickly. It was 8 o'clock in the morning and Julie wanted to go down to the pool. As we headed downstairs to the workout center that would lead us to pool area, we ran right into him! 

The young black stud was right there in the smal condo gym working out!

My eyes lit up in fear and my shoulders fell as I noticed the black stud through the glass doors of the workout center. 

"Oh Geez!" I screamed inside. 

He was shirtless and wearing a simple pair of black spandex boy shorts as he pounded his fists into what the sport of boxing refers to as a "heavy bag." 

His fists were covered in fingerless speed bag gloves as he drove them furiously into the large, body-sized heavy bag that hung from thick chains on the ceiling. The young, black stud had worked up a tremendous sweat by the time we got there.

I didn't even know the gym had such a bag. 

Even more humbling was the fact that there was one of the most beautiful blonde women he was seeing there too. She was the 5'9" tall blonde with long, golden hair and a pretty face who looked younger than her age of 34-years old. 

She was sitting on the backs of her legs on the padded floor behind him, and slightly to his right. Her eyes were down half way to the floor. In her hands there was a small sweat towel and a bottle of water. Over the front of her thighs was a larger white towel. She sat there quietly as the stud worked out. 

Julie just walked in as if it were nothing. I slowly and pathetically stepped my way into the room like I was a deer entering the cage of a panther. 

"Oh, hi Trey." my wife said casually, walking in. 

The black stud continued his furious pounding of the bag for a moment then looked up to Julie. 

"Hey, girl." he simply said, then returning to his workout.

"What the heck?" I thought.

"J-Julie acts like sh-she knows h-him?!" I thought.

With unimagineable distress, I watched as my beautiful young blonde wife walked straight up to the powerfully-built young black stud, turning ever so slightly to me and motioning me over and follow her.

"Oh my god, I didn't know you boxed too?" Julie said, speaking to him as I arrived. 

"Yeah, I do some. Not so much lately, though." He answered, his stern voice ringing in my ears. 

"Wow, that's great!" Julie said, excitingly, like some sort of school girl.

"Trey? You know my husband, Richard, right?" she asked him.

The black stud threw a few more punches into the bag to "show off" before stopping, standing up and turning to us. The half erection in his stretch shorts protruded outward with unimagineable disdain. I saw Julie stare right at it and when I noticed what she was looking at, I blushed. The obvious bulge was almost rude, as far as I was concerned. 

"Geez! HOw could he?" I thought. 

I was basically "hiding" behind my own wife, standing there as nervous as I had ever felt. I was terribly afraid to "meet" this firm black man again. 

The 25-year-old black man stood there and glared right into my worried eyes.

"Yeah, pretty much." He said. 

He simply reached over and behind him as the blonde woman on her knees extended her arms to hand him the bottle of water. He drank a large gulp and handed it back to her. Then, she handed him the small sweat towel and he began wiping off his face and broad, muscular and chiseled chest. 

"Honey, Trey is Fitness Instructor but not working right now." Julie began.

"Trey is looking to start up his own center. You know, kinda' like his own business, the same thing I was thinking about doing for my own little business too." Julie said.

"Oh." I answered, meekly, finding it difficult to look up to him. 

Now, I had always known that my beautiful young wife wanted to start her own business someday. But, she had never mentioned that it would be a workout center, or anything like that.

"Yeah, Trey says it might be more difficult to do around here." Julie said. 

"Trey says Arizona is nothing like Detroit." she continued. 

"Isn't that right, Trey?" she said, asking him.

"Yeah, that's right." the black stud replied. 

"But, Trey says that it sure beats dancing." my wife giggled.

"Trey says dancing was easy but wasn't as challenging." she added. 

I stood there awed by the realization that my wife had been talking to this black man all along. That they had met, and they had actual conversations about their lives.

My face was as red as a ripe turnip. 

Humiliated, I watched as the black stud finished wiping his face and chest with the sweat towel. Arrogantly, he flipped it down to the floor before the blonde woman kneeling behind him. Obediently, she picked it up and began folding it neatly. He then removed the fingerless punching gloves on his hands and tossed them into her lap before turning back to us.

"D-Dancing?" I muttered.

"Oh, yeah. Trey was a dancer before. An exotic dancer in Detroit." Julie informed. 

"Trey then danced in Phoenix for awhile too." Julie said, continuing.

"Trey says this area has sooo much potential for a good workout center, too." Julie said.

"Um, oh?" I murmured as the black stud looked at me with a fierce stare. 

"Well, ya' know. It's all just talk for now but Trey thinks so." she said. 

"Trey has a lot of experience in the field." she informed. 

"Trey is looking into the costs and starting to look around for investors." Julie added. 

"Trey says he will make it the best ever." she said. 

"Trey has a lot of really, really good ideas too." Julie continued, almost fawning all over the black stud.

"Right, Trey?" she asked him.

"Yeah, that's right." he said. 

The young stud had this "all-knowing" glare in his eyes as my young, blonde wife acted like some sort of little school girl "fawning" all over the big man on campus. 

"Geezuz?! What is all this?" I asked myself.

"Trey, Trey, Trey Trey?! Why is she talking about him so much like that? What the heck is wrong with her?" I continued milling over in my mind.

Julie was blabbering on and on. Her state of excitement was something I had never seen before as she continued talking more than ever. 

"But, I didn't know you did boxing too, Trey? Oh my god." she continued. 

"Ya' know, Richard used to box all the time." Julie suddently stated. 

My eyes widened to the size of a car's headlights. 

"Is that right?" Tra'mon asked, looking up to me.

My eyes fell immediately. 

"Oh, yes. Definitely. He was so good too and never, ever lost a fight." Julie bragged.

"Is that so?" the tough black man asked, almost suspiciously. 

My eyes literally fell hardere to the ground and I didn't want to bring them back up. 

"Yes, never. He fought in the military and won all his fights. It's a lot harder in the military to fight. It was like 50 fights, or more than that I think." my wife blurted. 

"Right, honey?" she asked, turning to me with a proud look on her face.

"Um, y-y-yes. Right. I guess s-s-so." I answered in a meek whisper as I brought my eyes back up to look at her. 

My eyes were pleading with her to be quiet. Actually, in my mind I was begging her to "shut up" and stop bragging about all that. I knew I had totally lied about my past boxing accomplishments, and lied about my masculinity. I was not nearly the man I had claimed it to be and knew at that time I wasn't even half the man he was.

The young, black stud seemed quite intrigued by my wife's comments, and by my sullen and worried appearance as I stood there cowering in fear before him. 

"He's still in such great shape, too. He never wanted to lose his edge, so he works out all the time. That's just what real boxers do." she blabbered. 

My pretty blonde wife was digging a hole for me so deep that I could hardly believe it. 

I looked down at the blonde woman kneeling at his feet and wondered why he had not introduced her. It didn't seem to affect my wife. This woman knelt there quietly and subdued. 

Then, I looked back to him with a terrified and pleading look upon my face. Non-verbally, I wanted the black stud to know that I was not making such absurd claims, and that it was simply my young and misunderstood wife that was speaking about my athletic prowess, and not me! 

Yet, she added to my demise without realizing it.

"Richard always said that a boxer always gets better with more experience. He loved it so, so much." she added. 

That is when the young stud spoke up. 

His eyes met mine and he literally began speaking in a way that felt more like total sarcasm. 

"Well, it's hard practicing with just a bag ya' know. Not too many around here know how to box, or know what boxing is all about." he began.

"I hate having to drive 60 miles just to get in a good live workout." he said. 

"Oh, is that where your boxing stuff is Trey?" she asked him.

"Yeah, we have a little fight club there and go at it pretty good." he described. 

"That's the only place I can find a decent sparring partner to practice wit' and shit too." he said. 

"Wow. That's awful." Julie said. 

"But, it's just practice here then huh?" she asked him with great interest. 

"Yeah, just practice. It can get a lil' rough and all, don't get me wrong, but it's nothing near the real thing, ya' know." he described. 

That is when my wife threw me into the middle of the proverbial cage, with the proverbial black panther. 

"Richard, you should help Trey out and practice his boxing with him. Why don't you?" she asked, concerned for the black man's apparent need.

My throat nearly closed. 

"Um, I-I don't think so. No, I-I-I haven't done it in such a long time, honey. I'm sure Trey would rather have soomeone else." I prayed.

But, the young black stud was unrelenting. 

"Nonsense." He shouted.

"It's only practice and, well, if you were that good maybe ya' can show me a few things too." he bullshitted.

"I-I don't know. I mean ... I'm not sure." I cowered. 

"As long as you're up for it. It's gonna take several weeks to git' back in shape n' shit like that. For awhile, it'll be more like I'm training you, ya' understand that right?" He warned.

"Well, I don't think I-I have time for th-that." I said, trying to make up another excuse.

"How much time does it take?" Julie asked. 

Tra'mon laughed.

"No more than 30 minutes a day." he smiled. 

"But, if you're afraid to or not ready to deal with it then just let me know." the black man said. 

His insulting words coarsed through my entire weakened body as he questioned my manhood right there before my young, blonde wife. My face turned red as Julie chimed in. 

"Oh, he's not afraid. Richard's not afraid of anything. He's a big, strong man. Look at him. I think he'll do just fine." Julie snapped, giggling. 

"Well?" he asked as he looked back to me. 

The pause of fear was clear to both him and I. Julie was not even closee to understanding just how afraid I was. She looked at me with great anticipation as she waited for her masculine husband to respond. 

I chose the wrong answer. 

"Well, um, o-okay I guess. It's just light practice, right?" I answered, praying. 

"Yeah. It is. Just as long as ya' know it's gonna take time to get you back in the kinda' shape you were in when you was with the military." he warned, again. 

"Well, he might just surprose you Trey." Julie added, proudly. 

I was more than terrified by now. 

I nearly wet my pansy-looking bathing trunks as I looked at this strong, powerful and obviously masculine black man. Despite being taller than he was, and by seven inches, I just knew that he would be able to destroy me if he wanted to. My eyes silently "begged" him to have mercy on me as I stood there, in fear. 

"Oh, that's so great." Julie said.

"I'm sure you guys will have such fun being men and all." she added, beaming with excitement. 

"Well, we're gonna go out by the pool and have breakfast. You're welcome to join us, Trey, if you'd like to." Julie said, sweetly. 

"I gots a few things to do. Maybe later." he replied. 

"Oh, okay Trey. Sure." Julie returned. 

As Julie walked out to the pool, I glanced at the black stud when I began following behind her. He smiled evilly and even "winked" at me in a way that scared me half to death. I walked timidly to the entry door to the pool area and then turned back one last time.




Black Man One Ch. 07



I watched, in awe, as the blonde woman immediately began drying the young black man's legs and body of his sweat. She used the larger towel and dried his body slowly and diligently.

He stood over her with such an arrogant authority that I could hardly believe it.

The already large bulge in his shorts stretched further out as I stood there watching in total disbelief. 

"Gosh! What have I done?" I asked myself. 

Humiliated, I looked out to the pool area to see my young wife sitting at the edge of the pool wading her feet in the water. I lingered for a moment as I watched her, thinking about disturbed I felt when she had not told me about meeting him before.

When I looked back to Tra'mon and his blonde woman companion, I nearly fell over my own two feet in deep shock! 

She was still kneeling before him but now he had placed his large, monstrous cock into her mouth. She was sucking him right there in the middle of the workout center. 

My eyes practically fell out of my head. I couldn't believe this would be happening in such a bright, sunny place and open place like this, and right before I had left the room too.

I looked back out to the pool hoping and praying that Julie wouldn't be heading back. 

She wasn't. 

The black stud simply looked at me and grinned like he had never grinned before. Amazed, I watched as he pulled his sweat-soaked cock from her already used mouth and simply stood there. 

His cock sprang straight out. 

It had to be a full 10 inches in length, and was just as thick as a cucumber. Mine would dwarf it many times over. He merely stood there with his dark, massive cock hanging over the top of the waistband to his spandex boy shorts. The blonde woman looked up to him quietly and without protest. She didn't as much as flinch her body position. 

I just couldn't believe the thick size of his ominous cock standing at attention. It was obvious to me that he wanted me to see it, for some reason. I couldn't understand why at the time. 

The shock caused my face to flush. 

"Inside!" he commanded, speaking the blonde woman.

"Yes, Sir." she whispered softly, watching the black stud turn and walk towards the glass doors leading to the corridor. 

The young, black stud strutted through the doors with a full erection hanging straight out. It was so cocky and callous to do so. 

As the beautiful blonde woman gathered his things on the ground, he stood there and waited. She followed behind obediently, and in complete silence, as they proceeded into the corridor. Seconds later, they disappeared down the hallway leading to condo number one. 

"Richard? Where are you?" Julie yelled from her position by the pool. 

Flustered, red-faced and in complete shock and awe, I simply stepped out onto the marble stone decking of the pool area. My steps were smaller and much more tentative by now. 

I was walking towards my pretty wife thinking about all those little white lies of the past, and how I had hoped they wouldn't come back to haunt me.

I had many questions for her, too. 

Yet, somehow the manner in which she "acted" around him was many times more demoralizing for me to see than my own fear. I just couldn't begin to understand why she had not said a single word about meeting him weeks before, and talking about his business interests. My wife knew more about this black man than I would have believed. 

"I wonder how long ago she started talking to him?" I asked myself. 

The answers would come slowly and inconsistently as the fear of this studly and muscular young black man continued to overwhelm me. 

end.



Black Man One Ch. 08



My worst fears were realized as I walked out to the pool to meet my wife. Unconsciously, Julie had all but "sold me down the river," so-to-speak, by revealing what I thought were nothing more than a few "little white lies." These were the little white lies of a white man in an attempt to appear as masculine as black men. They were merely "fibs" to impress a beautiful white woman. 

It wasn't really Julie's fault, at all. Years of these little white lies were catching up to me at an accelerated rate. I shouldn't have kept on and on with these lies to show off how masculine I was. 

I knew that now.

My wife had bragged about me to a level that would put me on the spot with this muscular black man, and put me in the unenviable position as his "sparring partner" or "practice workout partner," as Julie would refer to it. 

"How could I possibly go through with this?" I quivered in silence.

Julie sat by the pool with her delicate feet in the water, seemingly "blind" to the arrogance and obvious dominance of this young, black stud. I wondered why she hadn't seen right through him, and why the other white women in the complex hadn't seen just how he was "using" all those other white women in his life. 

What our pretty white wives seemed to be observing was his pure masculinity, and nothing else. It didn't seem to bother them that he had several "friends" around his condo, and that he was so obviously fucking them into oblivion and ruling over them like a black king. It was as if they didn't care as long as he was this powerful image of a man, a "real" man. 

Julie seemed like a different woman that day. 

It was as if a light bulb had gone off over her pretty head as she comtemplated these thoughts. The thought of being a part of the workout center Tra'mon had discused had "trumped" the thoughts of her own little business. She went on and on about him in the most embarrassing way possible for me. 

"It's great that you'll be working out with Trey." she said, as I sat there humiliated.

"Trey really knows his stuff." she added. 

"When are you going to start your boxing stuff with Trey?" she asked.

Her interest in him felt defeating to me. 

"Well, I-I don't know. H-He really didn't say." I answered quietly.

"But, it's not boxing honey. It's just like practicing. It's called sparring." I explained.

"Oh, well okay then. I'm sure you're gonna like getting back to working out again." she said.

"You always said that stuff was the best workouts." she continued.

"Trey really seemed glad you were willing to help with his workouts." Julie stated. 

"Are you ready for breakfast now?" she asked. 

"W-Well, I-I'm not really very hungry anymore sweetie." I replied, my nerves affecting me. 

"Oh, you're not? Well, maybe we'll just have an early lunch later. It's such a nice day and the water feels so nice today." she implied. 

I simply nodded a "yes" and agreed. 

We sat by the pool for quite awhile as I "sulked" in shame. The humiliation that I felt by agreeing to such a ridiculous proposal was getting the best of my nerves. I kept thinking of ways to call the whole thing off, and I worried about this young black stud of a man's intentions of wanting a sparring partner, like me. 

I also wanted to ask Julie some questions about why she hadn't mentioned meeting Tra'mon before. I had just learned that she had been speaking to him for what could have been weeks, and not a single word was said. Cowardly, I just backed off and didn't mention a single word about the subject. I guess tht I didn't want to bring attention to the subject.

Around ten o'clock that morning, a few of the other white couples came out to the pool area. At eleven, a few more. The verbal exchanges were casual and not at all relevant. 

It was now closer to noon and 8 other couples were poolside milling about. Humbly, I noticed that my wife seemed lost in thought. Julie was now very quiet while the others simply discussed a myriad of things. Mentally, I was barely there as the "concern" I was feeling continued. 

The mood of the group had been generally very somber and casual up to this point. 

That is when the young black stud emerged onto the scene, once again. His presence was sudden and disheartening for me. I stood there more nervous than ever. 

As the glass entry door opened and he stepped outside onto the marble stoned decking, all eyes were upon him. The group of white husbands and wives went completely silent. 

Humiliatingly, the black adonis stood there in an unusually authoritative position. He seemed even more confident and commanding than before. His hands were positioned on his strong, powerful hips as he peered out towards the pool. He was wearing nothing but his shades and another pair of the skimpiest, flimsiest bikinis that anyone can envision. These bikinis were a bright, neon carolina blue color. 

"Oh, gawwwd!" I shouted inside.

The black stud's mammoth cock in the front pouch of those scanty bikinis literally "jutted" out for all to observe. It was impossible not to notice. Proudly, he displayed his mammoth-sized man bulge like a peacock would display it's feathers. The white wives "gawked" in complete silence with their mouths partially opened and their bottom lips quivering. The white husbands hung their heads even lower, with shame. 

Tra'mon casually walked around to the other end of the pool in his normal, "cocky" and ultra-arrogant manner. He walked slowly and with total authority. Rather than taking his place upon his lounge chair, as usual, he ignored it. This time the black stud strutted right past it and began to waalk around the other end of the pool. He was now walking straight towards our group. 

The lump in my throat began to grow even larger and the hair on the back of my neck stood straight out. 

Our group was only slightly smaller this time. Eight other couples besides Julie and I were sitting and standing around the pool, and we had been there for awhile when Tra'mon made this unexpected appearance. 

My wife, Julie, and 5 of the white wives had their feet "wading" in the pool. The other 3 wives sat close to them, and on towels that layed flat on the marble decking. Myself, and the other 8 white husbands, were standing around and milling about in a somewhat tight huddle as the young black stud drew nearer. 

I could almost hear the white wives "gasp" for air as the watched him strolling nearer and nearer. All us white husbands seemed to tense up and swallow loudly. Aside from this, there was a piercing silence in the entire area as Tra'mon finally approached the group. He literally stopped right in the middle of the pack of our wives sitting by the pool, a few strides from the standing husbands. 

"Hey, Trey." Julie whispered. 

"Oh, hi Trey." another wife followed, softly and in awe. 

As a matter fact all of the wives present at this time greeted the young stud simutaneously. They did so in the softest, faintest and almost undetectable whispers as they looked up to him. 

He simply stood there with his chiseled arms crossed and looking directly at the husbands. His thick, massive cock bulging out in those flimsy powder blue bikinis couldn't have been more than a foot from most of the wives faces. It bulged outward, profusely, and was practically on the same level as the wives' eyes. I could see all the wives' heads bend slightly upwards. It was embarrassingly obvious to me that the wives sat there staring directly at the obtrusive bulge in his silky, stretch bikini pouch. Their faces turned a pinkish red and became nearly catatonic. 

"Hey, ladies." he returned.

That is when the 25-year-old black man looked right at me. 

"Six tomorrow morning, right?" He directed.

I was frozen in a near panic as I listened to him choose the time we would meet for the first sparring workout. The other husbands had no idea what was going on at this point, and they looked bewildered. The black stud stood there waiting for an answer. 

"Uh, well I-I-I guess, o-okay." I murmured.

"What? Too early for ya'?" he grinned. 

"Um, well no. I g-guess not. O-Okay." I answered, becoming more nervous.

"Good! See ya' then." Tra'mon responded in a commanding voice. 

Casually, he turned and began heading back to his chaise lounge chair on the other side of the pool. Every one of our white wives had their eyes "riveted" to the muscular ass cheeks of this black man as he sauntered away. He walked away from us with a "cockiness" I find hard to describe accurately. 

There was a prolonged silence in the group as we watched him finally lay back into his beach chair, cross his strong arms behind his head and look up into the sun.

"Wh-what was that all about?" Mark asked, stunned by his appearance. 

None of us husbands had known that our wives had actually met the young, black man yet. Not one of us. Furthermore, before today none of us had known that our wives had actually engaged in conversations with him. We had no idea when and how this "formal introduction" had occurred, but it was evident that it happened while we were at our respective work places. 

My mouth was dry and I found it difficult to respond.

"Oh, Richard is going to be practicing boxing stuff with Trey." Julie answered for me. 

"Trey does boxing sometimes and needed someone to help with his workouts." Julie added.

"Trey says it's really a good workout and keeps people in great shape." Julie said.

The other white husbands looked at me with this "are you crazy" glare in their eyes. They were stunned and shocked beyond words that I would agree to such a "suicidal" event. My worried eyes had to be apparent to them that I was "coersed" into this. It appeared they felt a deep compassion for me. 

"Yeah, I think I mentioned it before. Richard used to be a great boxer and he's gonna help Trey with his practices." Julie continued. 

That is when the blonde woman that Tra'mon had been with in the gym earlier that morning finally emerged. She stepped out from the glass entry door and into the pool area. Apparently, she had been in the young black man's condo and had lingered several minutes behind him.

Without exaggeration, this beautiful blonde woman looked like a complete and total wreck. 

The beautiful, blonde woman seriously looked even more "used" than any of the others we had seen up to this point. Her run down and worn out appearance couldn't have been more magnified. It was not in the least bit subtle. Not at all. 

Her long blonde hair couldn't conceal how astonishingly "used" she looked, and was, as she stumbled her way around the pool in the smallest red bikini.

There had to be at least 15 darkened red "hickies" or "love bites" all over her neck and breasts. She literally walked on her tip toes with her legs and pussy tightened together in noticeable pain. It was almost as if she had a sprained an ankle and was afraid to put any amount of weight on it. Embarrassingly, her small and timid steps even looked painful to watch.

Yet, all of us watched in amazement as she minced her way around the pool and to the black man sitting alone. Then, she fell to her knees before him, just off to the left of his feet. 

Everyone in the group saw this. 

It simply could not have been more blatant that this blonde woman had been ruthlessly pummeled and fucked by the proud black stud. 

Yet, nothing was mentioned about it. 

Our wives never commented on the brutally used appearance of this beautiful blonde. It was as if they were looking at something entirely different, and that is was perfectly normal. This seemed quite inconceivable to me back then. It didn't make sense that our wives weren't seeing what I was seeing, and what the husbands observed. 

"Well, are you guys ready for lunch?" one of the wives asked, seemingly unaffected. 

The white husbands just stood there in awe. Our mouths were partially hung open in disbelief as we witnessed yet another one of the black stud's used white women. This one was the most "used" looking of all, and I believe it was the shock of her appearance that truly made us all speechless.

Still, we were all scared to respond to the obvious display. None of us wanted to say anything out loud. None of us wanted to be there. We just wanted to leave the pool area in a hurry, and none of the husbands were hungry anymore. 

Mercifully, it was David that broke the embarrassing silence. He made up an excuse to leave the area. 

"W-we should go out and eat today." he suggested, meekly. 

We all nodded our heads in agreement. Our faces were red from the embarrassment we felt, and the sympathy we thought we should feel for the overly-used blonde woman companion of the young stud. 

The wives curiously agreed to our proposal.

"Oh, okay. I guess we can do that." Tammy said. 

We gathered the other couples after we changed our clothes and headed into the city for lunch. 

The remainder of the day was quiet. I layed on my sofa inside "sulking" and trying to hide my fear of what could happen the next morning. My beautiful young wife was in and out the rest of the day, running a few errands and talking on the phone to the other wives throughout the night. 

Julie even purchased a new, expensive designer workout suit for me while she was out. The white nylon sweat suit was far less "masculine" than I would have selected for myself, as far as I was concerned. 

I passed out around 10 p.m. that night with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. 

Deep down, I kept remembering the embarrassment of my military days when I had lost all my fights to more masculine black men. The fear of repeating this humiliation consumed me. My night was restless and I kept thinking about ways to plead with this black stud to take it easy on me, or forget the whole thing.

The next morning, I woke up at 10 minutes before 6 o'clock. 

I looked over to my beautiful, young blonde wife sleeping peacefully. I was at least glad that she never woke up before 7:15 most mornings. Timidly, I got dressed in my new pansy-looking white designer workout suit and headed downstairs to the gym. Nervously, I "peeked" in and noticed that Tra'mon had already arrived. 

He was dressed in a pair of tight, black spandex workout short-shorts that clung to his muscular body. A black, torn sleeveless tee shirt covered his torso as he tapped away at the large heavy boxing bag before him. 

I stepped inside the gym shaking nervously as he turned and finally noticed me. He smiled as if he were a tiger about to pounce upon his prey.

"Ya' ready?" he asked. 

"Uh, I-I d-don't know." I quivered.

"Well, at least ya' didn't wimp out like a little bitch." He snapped. 

"Here." he said, tossing a pair of practice boxing gloves to me. 

"Put these one." he ordered. 

Slowly, I began putting the gloves on. I was struggling to do so because I was shaking and quivering so nervously. I was trying to think about what I could say to this young black man to get him to change his mind. Finally, I slipped the practice gloves onto my hands and turned back to him. 

He was standing there, hopping up and down in place like a boxer would and pounding his gloved fists together. 

"Ready?" he asked.

I shook my head in fear. 

"N-No, I-I wanted to ask you if I-I could p-please talk to y-you first ... I m-mean, if th-that's okay with y-you?" I begged.

The young black man stepped right up to me as I stood there shaking like a leaf on a tree. His face stern and all knowing.

His 5'9" tall frame seemed so much more masculine than my taller 6'4" tall frame, and despite my height advantage, I just knew that I was no match for him.

"Yea, what?!" he asked, annoyed.

I cowered there for a moment trying desperately to think of the words I could say to call this whole thing off. Perhaps, I could ask him nicely to just pretend we were "sparring" so that my young blonde wife wouldn't suspect how much of a big "white pussy" I really and truly was. 

"What, boy?" he asked again, with a firmer tone. 

"Well, I-uh just wanted to say that I-I d-don't think this is something for m-me, please." I begged.

"M-My wife really j-just exaggerated a little too m-much and I-I-I really don't know about this." I quivered.

"Put your hands up, whiteboy." He ordered.

"Wh-what?" I asked, a petrified look on my face.

"Hands up!" he repeated the command.

Nervously, I put my gloved hands up and stood there as the black stud began lightly "sparring" with me, tossing a few jabs to my face.

"We're here to workout. Not to talk like a coupla' bitches." he snapped.

Tra'mon began his workout and his punches grew firmer and more frequent with every passing minute. The black stud threw about 20 punches before I fell to the padded floor for the first time, exhausted and overwhelmed by his strength and aggression. 

"Get up, boy!" He shouted.

He proceeded to work over my body and face with a flurry of punches that morning. He kept knocking me down, at least a dozen times, and ordering me to "get up" each and every time that he knocked me down. 

For the next 40 minutes, the studly black man pummeled and pounded me with hundreds of his workout punches. I was not able to return one single punch. He literally beat the living heck out of me. His strength and fury were too much for me to handle, and my face was red, bruised and battered from this relentless workout. 

That last time he knocked me down, which was the 12th time, he did not order me to get back up. This time, he simply stood over me and began removing his boxing gloves. I just sat on the padded floor beaten up and humiliated. I looked up to the black stud with a shocked and awed look upon my frightened face. 

"Y'all whiteboys never learn, do ya'?" he asked with an angry look upon his stern face.

I looked up to him in fear. He had been so rough during this first workout session that I found it embarrassing. What I had envisioned as "practice" seemed so much more serious to him. 

"Just another white pussy talkin' a buncha' shit to his pretty little wife, huh?" he asked. 

I was breathing heavy and unable to respond.

"Same time tomorrow, boy!" he snarled, throwing his gloves to my lap. 

"Put this shit away and clean up, boy." he ordered and began walking out. 

Defeated, I staggered to my feet and put his gloves back into the equipment box next to mine. I grabbed a large white towel from the rack and began wiping the floor from all the sweat that had dripped from our bodies. It was humiliating to do so. 

Finally, I got back to our condo apartment and Julie was still asleep. When I looked into the mirror my face was beaten up pretty bad. My lips were a little swollen and my cheeks looked like they had been struck hundreds of times. I wasn't physically hurt as much as my pride was. It was degrading. 

I didn't know how I was going to explain this to my wife when she finally woke up. Therefore, I decided that I would "lie" to her about the workout. I conjurred up another story in my mind in an attempt to salvage any image of masculinity I might still have with Julie. 

Julie woke up an hour later.

"Oh my god, honey. Are you okay?" she asked, concerned. 

"Your face looks so beat up?!" she exclaimed.

"Um, y-yes, h-honey. It's just from the w-workout. It's alright. It uh-happens to all boxers while we're w-working out." I fibbed. 

"Oh, you poor thing." she added, looking at my face closely and touching it. 

"Does it hurt, honey?" she asked.

"N-No, I'm okay." I answered, lying. 

"Are you sure? I mean, wow! Maybe you shouldn't do this if it's too hard to do?" she suggested.

"I-I-I don't know, maybe?" I replied.

"It's uh-normal, honey. I-I got in my shots too." I exaggerated. 

"Well, Trey did say it was going to take some time to get into shape." she said.




Black Man One Ch. 08



"Trey said it would take several weeks." she added.

"I'm sure Trey is still counting on you and appreciates you doing this." she finished.

"Yeah. I know honey, B-But I-I don't know. I j-just d-don't know." I meekly replied.

"Well, just tell Trey not to beat you up so bad next time." she suddenly said, naively. 

"I-I w-will, honey. I-I'll talk to him tomorrow. I just need more time, I guess." I whimpered. 

But, that next morning the young black man did not want to talk. He just wanted to "spar" and get in a good workout. He was all business and seemed determined. Once again, I got pummeled pretty good. He knocked me down many times and walked out, leaving me there to clean up. 

After that second workout, I was stunned when the black stud appeared at our condo apartment. It was the day after when he knocked on the door. He was carrying different equipment. 

"Oh, hi Trey." Julie said, excitedly, as she answered the door.

"Hey." he answered.

I looked over to the door from the sofa and my heart began thumping unpleasantly fast as he stepped inside. 

"Do you want something to drink, Trey?" Julie asked sweetly. 

"Naw. I just stopped by to drop off some equipment for your husband." he said, handing the items to Julie.

"Oh, my. What a pretty color." she exclaimed.

I had just gotten up from the sofa and made my way over to the front door with my beaten up looking face. My ego was already deflated when I noticed the smaller pink and white gloves, the matching waist harness to protect my private area, and the hot pink-colored padded head gear.

"Geezuz?! How could he do this to me?" I said to myself, embarrased and blushing.

"Yea, it is." Trey replied, grinning.

"They're just better fitting gloves and this will add better protection for our workouts." the black man explained.

"Oh, that's so sweet of you Trey. Honey, come take a look at all this pretty stuff." Julie shouted in a happy tone.

I looked at the young stud in disbelief as Julie made me "thank him" for the new items, and thank him for trying to make things easier for me. His "cocky" look into my eyes was humiliating, and my naive wife had not noticed this at all. 

Tra'mon left and my wife closed the door, bringing all the new things inside. She kept talking about how "thoughtful" he was being.

"He must really appreciate you helping with his workouts to spend all this money, like this?" she said. 

"Trey is really so sweet for doing this." she commented.

"Yeah, I guess s-so." I replied, quietly.

"Why are the gloves and stuff all pink?" she asked, curiously.

I looked down at the pink practice gloves with the solid white tips. It was embarrassing.

"Well, uh that's just the standard Olympic styled gloves and color." I desperately lied. 

"Oh, really? Okay. Well, it's a pretty color." my wife added.

These little "workouts" continued on and on for the next 5 weeks.

During this time, Trey would not let up. I tried a few times to quit and asked him nicely if we could practice twice a week instead of 4 times a week. But, my talks of quitting only made him angrier, and the workouts became so much more difficult and embarrassing for me. 

Four days a week for the next 5 weeks I was the black man's sparring partner. It was more like I was his oversized white punching bag. It felt even more demoralizing for me as Julie would look curiously at my reddened face and then back to his from across the pool. It was like she was wondering why his face didn't even look "touched" at all. 

These five weeks went on, routinely. 

Every evening when I returned home from work, I would see one of the 4 or 5 white women dressed immaculately heading into our building. 

All of them were carrying laundry, gifts or food. Often, all three. Every next morning I would see them leaving the building looking so used and run down, like they had been roughly fucked into submission by the black stud. 

Everyday, I would go into the office looking somewhat beaten up with the insecure feeling that this black man was hanging around the condo all day. The husbands worked while most of the wives stayed home, and I feared they wewre in the presence of this young, black stud at times too. 

The other white husbands began to feel even more intimidated by the presence of Tra'mon. They would see obvious beating my face was taking, as well as having the knowledge of his group of white women "friends" in and out of his condo all the time. 

Every night, I would be subjected to hearing Julie speaking about him, and speaking about the possible business opportunity of a workout center. 

"Trey says he found the perfect spot closer to the city." she stated.

"Trey says a well planned center will make lots of money." she continued.

"Trey was looking at color schemes for his future place. He was by the pool today." she would say.

"Trey liked some of the color schemes we suggested today." she said. 

"I think Trey is really committed to making this whole thing work, too." Julie said.

"Trey says there will be little competition in the area." Julie commented.

"Oh, Trey said the most interesting thing today ..." I'd hear Julie say.

It was humiliating for me to hear this every single night as she continued talking about this young, black stud with such high regard. 

She seemed genuinely fascinated and impressed by him, and she seemed to agree with him on anything and everything he said. 

"Trey says this is a great investment opportunity." Julie would say many, many times.

"It would be a good business for me to learn now so maybe I can open my own business in the future. That's what Trey says." Julie often commented.

When I asked my young blonde wife why she didn't want to have her "own" buisness anymore, or open her own workout center for women, she seemed to concede. She had backed off of this idea.

"Oh, I don't know if I could anymore. Trey says it can be really tough if you don't know what you're doing and all." She stated.

"Trey has so much more experience, he knows what he is doing." Julie repeated, on and on. 

"I'm thinking that it would be better to invest, then learn more about the business by working in it first. That's what Trey says usually works." my wife added.

"For at least a couple of years he says." Julie would say. 

"Do you think we should invest in Trey's workout center, honey?" Julie asked, many times.

I always told her it was a bad idea. I suggested that she should start up her own rather than invest in one and learn the business from the inside.

"No, honey. I-I don't want to invest in someone else's workout center business unless it's yours." I repeated numerous times. 

By this time, my blonde wife had stopped commenting on my beaten up looking face from the sparring workouts with Tra'mon. 

It seemed normal that my face constantly looked a little beaten up from these workouts, and it was beginning to become even more of a source of embarrassment for me because the young black man was becoming bossier with me, too. 

Every other morning at 6, I was consigned to being his sparring partner. Every other morning, I was basically getting beaten up and being made to "clean up" after the workout. I wanted so badly to call it quits, but I waa afraid to mention it to Tra'mon. I grew more nervous to stop being his workout partner and tell him that I needed to stop. The last 6 times that I brought up the subject the workouts were much tougher on me, and he called me a "pussy" each time. 

Without notice, and after 5 weeks, the black man changed the workouts to 6 o'clock p.m. rather than 6 in the morning. 

I wasn't sure why he did this but I felt this would give me a better excuse to finally get out of it. I would "lie" and tell him that I needed to work at the office later. I prayed this would be a good excuse.

But, this disturbed him even more. He knew that I had never worked that late before and began calling me a "pussy" for trying to quit. 

"P-Please, I-I just don't want to fight with you anymore." I whimpered, finally confessing. 

The black stud laughed. 

"Well, boy. If you don't want that pretty little wife of yours to know what a big pussy ya' are then I suggest you continue for at least a few more weeks." He said. 

"At least until I find another sparring partner." He said.

"A f-f-few more weeks?" I cowered. 

"Yeah, 6 tomorrow night. Be here. Understood?" He said.

"Well, O-okay. If it's j-just f-for a few more w-weeks then I guess I can do my best. I-I guess that will be okay." I conceded.

When I told Julie about the sparring workouts being changed to 6 o'clock after work, he eyes nearly lit up. 

"Oh, wow. Really? That's great. Maybe I can watch you guys practice then, huh?" she shouted.

"No way, Julie. No. You can never watch!" I howled, scared nearly out of my mind. 

"Oh, why not" she asked, curiously.

"It's just practice, right?" she asked.

"Well, y-yes. But, it's just not something for women. It's just a guys' thing. Please." I lied. 

"I guess. Well, okay then. You guys, I swear." she seemed to concede. 

The evening workouts became even rougher on me. 

It was like the young black stud was angry about something and, although I wore my pink head gear and harness all the time, he was hitting me harder and harder, and with greater frequency. More so than ever before.

It was about the fourth "evening" sparring workout session when Tra'mon beat me up pretty bad. It was a Wednesday. During other workouts, the black man hardly spoke to me, with the exception of a few names, grunts and the standing order to "clean up" afterwards. 

This evening was different. 

"Your pretty lil' wife says you don't care to invest in my business." he said, popping a few punches into me. 

"I-I-I just don't know. I d-didn't say no or anything. I-I was th-thinking about it, th-that's all." I pleaded as he continued hitting me. 

"Well, I need an answer, boy!" He shouted. 

"I want a final answer on Friday." he said. 

"I have a match on Sunday so I'm gonna need to double up on our sparring session this Friday." he ordered, tossing several more punches to my face. 

"O-O-Okay." I answered timidly.

"If all goes well, it could be our last sparring session, boy." He suddenly said, hitting me 5 more times. 

"Understood?" He said., another 5 punches hitting me.

I could not answer as the black stud pounded me with a quick flurry of punches until I fell over to the padded floor, once again. 

He stood above me dripping with perspiration. 

"50 grand. I'll see you Friday, whiteboy." he simply said, then walked away. 

It was just past 7 p.m. when I finally got off the floor and finished cleaning up the black man's sweat from the padded mats. I staggered my way back to our condo. I was exhausted from being pummeled harer than usual this time and I was thankful for having that padded headgear, even if it was in that demoralizing pink color. 

Still, my face was extremely red when I walked in to see Julie.

Oh my god, are you okay honey?" she asked, startled.

"I-I just need to lay d-down, honey. J-Just for awhile." I replied, humiliated again. 

"Are you sure? I thought Trey was taking things easier?" she asked. 

"Let me get you an ice pack, honey." she shouted, concerned. 

As I lay upon my bed beaten and defeated, I began thinking about Tra'mon's words. 

He was saying that these sparring workouts could end on Friday, and I wasn't sure exactly what he meant. He mentioned the investement of $50,000.00 and it began to feel like some sort of ultimatum to me. 

"Was it?" I asked myself. 

I had been hearing my pretty young blonde wife talk about the investment opportunity for weeks on end. It seemed more important to her than it did for me, but now I was thinking this could change things for me too. 

I knew this was merely an excuse to stop getting beaten up during these workouts, and maybe my investment will give him something else to do and stop the workouts altogether. 

A small part of me knew that I could just quit and be done with it. But, the reality of the situation was that I was afraid of him. I knew he would become angrier if I did quit being his sparring partner. I feared that. I was truly scared and intimidated to quit on him during this entire time, especially now. 

Julie placed the cold compress onto my head as I layed down, she stared at me longer than I felt comfortable with. She seemed concerned, of course, but also quite curious at the same time. 

"Well, you need some rest. You just rest honey." she said, as she left the bedroom.

I was awakened by the muffled sound of her cell phone ringing from the kitchen. I was in a "daze" as I looked over to the clock to see that it was nine-thirty. 

"Geez. I've been asleep more than 2 hours." I thought to myself. 

After sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment, I stumbled over to the bedroom door quietly. That is when I began to overhear my beautiful wife talking on the phone. 

She was talking to one of the other wives, Karen, as I barely peeked out to see her sitting at the kitchen table with her back turned to me. 

"Yeah. I'm just in for the night." she said, casually.

"Richard got beaten up, again." she began saying. 

"Yeah, he's still passed out and all." she continued. 

"Pretty bad. Yeah, Trey beat him up so bad this time." she said so matter of factly.

"Yeah, I know. You're right. He's lots bigger than Trey. Well, lots taller anyway. Richard's been beat up a lot, though. This time looks like it was too much for him." she voiced to Karen. 

There I was, standing there cowering in my bedroom listening to my young, blonde wife talking to another woman about another man beating up on her husband all the time. She was discussing and actually describing how I've been getting "beat up" for weeks now, and that maybe I should think about stopping.

"I know, yes. I know. He says it's normal for boxing practice stuff but I never see Trey looking like this. Not even close." I overheard her say.

"Yes, that's true." she said to her caller. "Just boys being boys, I guess."

"Okay, Karen. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Okay, bye." she said, finally ending the call. 

It was humiliating to overhear this coming from the lips of my pretty young white wife. I had always assumed that she knew this was just practice, or sparring practice. I assumed she understood things like this could happen to anyone during these types of workouts. That they "did" happen to most everyone. But, now she was describing and interpreting my workouts with Tra'mon as "her husband getting beaten up."

It was hard to swallow. Inside, I knew that Julie was right. I had been literally getting my "ass kicked" by the younger black man and had been trying to play it off as no big deal.

Demoralized, I returned to my bed and pretended to be asleep. The humiliation I felt was uncanny, and I decided that I needed to do something to stop all this. I knew that I couldn't take too much more. 

It was ridiculous that I had to endure this humiliation in a futile attempt to appear more "masculine" to my wife. Although I was terrified to have to "reason" with the young, black stud, I began considering his words. The words he chose after that last workout indicated that we may be able to stop. He merely suggested the large investment this could end his participation in the fight club so he can concentrate on getting a gym started. 

Defeatedly, I decided that I would do just that.

The next morning, I told Julie that the investment to Trey's workout center might be a good idea, if that is what would make her happy. 

"Well, if it makes you happy honey then okay." I explained, lying to her once again.

She was elated.

"Oh my god. That's great. We should celebrate or something." she suggested, excitedly. 

"No, no honey. That's okay. No celebration. I'll just let Tra'mon know on Friday. I still want to think about it a little more." I told her.

"Oh, well okay. But, it would be silly not to at least have a toast and celebrate. What's the big deal?" she asked. 

I couldn't answer. I knew, deep down, it was a mild and round about form of this studly black man blackmailing me. 

Yet, it was an unmentioned one. Not directly, anyway. It was hard for me to explain to my blonde wife that I was intimidated by him, and I thought the described "investment" in his business venture would get him to ease up on me. More importantly, it was suggested we could finally end the sparring sessions.

Honestly, I was "wimping" out. 

On Thursday, I thought long and hard about it. On Friday, I went to my bank and had a cashier's check for the 50 thousand made out to the young black stud, Tra'mon Smith. 

I was rushed to do so, and in our haste the bank clerk forgot to have me sign the check. I forgot about this as well as I simply tucked the check away into a neat manila envelope before leaving the bank. 

It was 15 minutes before six o'clock when I arrived home. This was the very first day that I did not see one of those beautiful white women walking to the building to see the black stud. 

It was unusual, but I passed it off for now because my mind was somewhere else. I rushed to our luxurious condo apartment to let Julie know that I was, in fact, agreeing to the investment before I headed downstairs to the workout room to meet Tra'mon. Hopefully, for the last workout.

"He should be pleased." I thought to myself. 

Julie was not there. The note on the kitchen table read, "ran out to the store" and I quickly texted her to inform her. 

"That's great! We should celebrate." she texted back, again bringing this up. 

"I don't think we need to. I'm supposed to meet Tra'mon in 5 minutes for the workout." my return text read. 

"Oh, stinkers!" she texted back.

"Well, have a good workout." the next text read.

"Ok, bye." was my return text.

I grabbed the envelope and headed downstairs to meet with the young black man. Part of me was thrilled to finally have the opportunity to end these sparring workouts with the rough black man. The other part nervous about this last workout.

A smaller part of me tried to reason with myself that this really could be a good investment for Julie and I.

An even smaller part tried reasoning that this was making my young, white wife happy. That it could be teaching her about business investments. If it doesn't work, she will learn. If it does then she will feel like she has been a successful part of making money, and learn about starting her own business. 

By far, the largest part of me was feeling nervous, intimidated and defeated. I truly felt that investing in this young black man's business venture would make him less aggressive with me. Perhaps, it would cause me to fear him less.

"Maybe he will be nicer to me now and not embarrass me, or the other white husbands so much?" I thought, trying to convince myself. 

When I arrived, Tra'mon was not there. I looked at my watch and it was 6:02 p.m., which caused me to think I was late. I was dressed in my pink sparring gear as I looked around the gym and then out the glass entry doors leading to the pool. 

That is when I finally saw him!

The young black stud was walking towards the doors from the pool in the most non chalant and "cocky" manner. He wasn't dressed for a workout at all. Rather, he was wearing perhaps the flimsiest white nylon spandex bikini speedoes suit to date. 

He simply strolled into the gym in just this white bikini and a pair of tan sandals. 

For just an instant, I felt relieved by the fact we weren't going to be sparring today. He certainly was not dressed to work out, and it seemed like he had been hanging out by the pool all day. His enormous cock was rudely and obnoxiously flopping around in the pouch of those thin bikinis as he walked in and kicked off his sandals. 




Black Man One Ch. 08



"Hey, boy!" he snarled as he walked in, his face looking much more stern than usual. 

Like a wimp, I simply held out the manila envelope for him to take. 

"I-I th-thought about what y-you said. Th-this is the investment you asked f-f-for." I stuttered. 

But, the young back man ignored it and simply walked right by me. He headed for one of the equipment bins where his practice boxing gloves were stored. He began to put them on his fists. 

"Put it on the bench." He ordered.

I was startled and began to perspire in fear as I obeyed and set the envelope down.

"Um, O-Okay." I answered. 

"Where's your gloves, boy?" he asked. 

My gloves were sitting on the padded floor at my feet. Nervously, I picked them up and began shaking as I put them onto my weaker hands.

My sissy padded head gear was already on my head but not yet buckled under my chin as the young black stud looked me over. He walked up to me in that disgusting tiny bikini thing and stood before me. My 6'4' tall body felt weak and pathetic next to the shorter, 5'9" tall black man as he began to size me up. 

I began quivering.

"I-I th-thought w-we'd talk a-about the investment, please?" I asked, pleading.

He "popped" a first punch into my padded face, followed quickly by a second one to the side of my head. 

This sent my unbuckled head gear flying.

"Afterwards! Put your arms up, boy!" he commanded. 

Petrified, I did as I was told as the young black proceeded his "sparring" workout with me. And, he was relentless. 

This time, Tra'mon sparred with me roughly. It was the roughest, by far, as he continued pounding and pummeling me with his gloved fists like I was a human punching bag. The young stud kept knocking me down and ordering me to get back up as he "trash talked" through this entire workout, which felt more like an annihilation. 

"Up!" he would yell, each time he knocked me to to floor.

And, the tough black stud knocked me down repeatedly. 

In the next 55 minutes, Tra'mon had pummeled me with a flurry of hits from his padded gloves that seemed to come every half second. Without exaggeration, I was knocked down and made to get back up to my feet no less than 30 times. 

He was aggressive and ruthless as I stood there trying to keep my hands up. I did not return one single punch while I was "hit" at least once every second. The "trash talking" was humiliating.

"Yea, boy. Finally learned something, huh?" he asked, punching me.

"Huh?" he snarled, another punch coming. 

"Big white pussy learning respect." he yelled, adding two punches.

"Respect for the black man, huh?" he shouted, hitting me again and again. 

"And, that pretty lil' wife of yours. She's already showin' respect." He yelled.

"She knows a real man when she sees one, don't she, boy?" he asked, adding 3 more punches.

"Huh, boy?" he asked, hitting me several more times. 

"White pussy wants to invest now, huh?" he asked, sarcastically.

"Answer me, boy!" he snarled, another several hits catching me. 

"Y-Y-Yes." I meekly answered, as I continued getting pummeled.

"Yes, what?!" He asked. 

I stood there silently as he added nearly a dozen more blows. 

"Answer me right, boy! Yes, Sir!" he shouted arrogantly, telling me how to respond to him.

"Y-Y-Yes. Yes, S-Sir. Pl-Please?" I begged. 

His sparring punched were padded, yet the sting and humiliation I felt was more devastating. I could feel my eyes blackening from his numerous punches to my face. My sides and belly were hurting just as much. 

Relentlessly, this continued and continued, on an on, and on again. 

Every time he used the word "huh" he expected me to answer "yes, sir," and I did. He added another blow to my face with the padded gloves every time he asked, "huh?" or "huh, boy?"

Those questions of sarcasm had to come hundreds of times. The black stud was drenched in thick sweat from his nearly one hour of pummeling me with the padded boxing gloves upon his powerful fists.

"Typical weak white pussy." he ripped, almost amused by the lack of fight in me.

"C'mon, hit me!" he yelled. 

The one-sided sparring match had continued for nearly one full hour. When the black stud finally knocked me down to the floor for what had to be the 30th time, I collapsed stright down like a tall building beginning to implode. 

This time, I fell straight down to my knees. I wobbled there, defeated and beaten to a near pulp. My face was reddened like a tomato and both my eyes were bruised and the beginning of two black eyes began to form. My eyes were partially blurred from my own tears as I watched him turn his back to me and take 2 steps away. He removed his gloves and "spat" onto the workout mats twice, then turned back to me.

"It's all 'bout respect, isn't it boy?" he asked me, amused.

"Y-Yes, Sir." I whispered, turning my beaten face up to his. 

That is when I looked just past him to see my pretty blonde wife standing on the other side of the glass doors of the workout center. Julie was dressed in a pink two-piece bikini and looking in. Her face was red and blushing from embarrassment. She appeared "stunned" by what she had just witnessed, and holding a bottle of champagne in one hand with 3 empty glasses in the other.

I was not sure how much of the sparring workout she had seen, but I suspected she been standing there for the greater part of the workout. The black stud turned to see what had caught my attention so suddenly. He grinned whe he saw that it was my young, blonde wife, Julie. 

"The little wife, huh?" Tra'mon said, almost sinisterly. 

"Well, git' this shit cleaned up and we'll all talk 'bout this investment." He ordered.

"Y-Yes, Sir. O-okay." I mumbled. 

Demoralized, I watched as the young black man strolled over to let Julie in. He was literally drenched in sweat in that flimsy bikini as I got up and walked over to the towel rack. I tried to regain my thoughts as I watched him talking to Julie and letting her inside. 

The glass doors had to conceal the sound of what Tra'mon had said to me, and how he made me answer him. At least, I was hoping that it did. 

Julie seemed shocked and confused as the black stud led her to the rake-styled wooden bench where I had placed the manila envelope. She was looking right at my well-beaten red face and seemed concerned. She had never seen it look so bad, and this was the first time she had actually seen me getting beat up like this. 

"Oh my gosh. Are you okay, honey?" she asked from a distance. 

Lying, I pretended to regain my composure and ignore the humiliation I was feeling inside. 

"Uh, Uh Y-Yes, honey. Um, we just finished here and ..." I began saying before he interupted.

"Yeah. We just a good workout. That's all." He said to Julie as he took her arms and positioned her on the bench. 

"Champagne, huh?" he said to her.

"Oh, Um, Yes." my wife said to the black man, looking up at him before returning her concerned eyes to me. 

Embarrasingly, I was now on my hands and knees cleaning up all the sweat and spit from the black man from the padded mats. I wiped it up with a large towel with my head hung in shame as my young wife continued looking over.

"Are you sure you're okay, honey?" she asked, again, in disbelief.

"He'll be fine. Don't worry your pretty lil' self over nothin' ... Your man gave me a really tough workout today." Tra'mon told her.

"Ain't that right, boy?" He turned, asking me.

"Um, yes. Yes, Sir. I-er-mean, Tra'mon." I answered meekly.

The young black stud took the champagne from Julie's delicate white hands and "popped" the cork open. He then took all the glasses her hands and began filling them halfways. Julie's eyes were looking at me in utter disbelief as Tra'mon handed her one of the glasses.

"Th-Thank you." she whispered, in awe.

"Git' me one of those little towels, will ya?" he shouted back to me.

I was still on my hands and knees cleaning up, and I got up and desperately ran over to fetch the black man one of the sweat towels. I brought it to him and he draped it over his shoulders. 

Tra'mon picked up the manila envelope from the bench to the side of Julie as he held a glass of champagne. I simply sat in the bench about 10 feet from my wife feeling so humiliated, and not knowing how much she had seen or heard. 

"Let's see what we have here." the black man said, opening the envelope as he stood above my wife. 

Embarrassingly, he moved in even closer to her as she sat there bewildered and confused looking at me and the beating I had just taken. He was ridiculously close to her now, and I was in awe seeing that his massive, sweat-soaked bikini crotch was merely a few inches from her, and on the same level as her blue eyes. 

When she turned back to him and looked up, he was completely ignoring her and reading the investment check with the accompanying letter stating it's intended purpose. Her eyes slowly fell back down to meet the monstrous bulge no more than 4 inches before her eyes. 

Unbelievably, his already ominous cock was now almost half hard. It strained the thin, wispy white nylon spandex material of his bikini and "jutted" out in the most obnoxious manner. It was absolutely drenched with his sweat and was dripping onto Julie's bare thighs, drop by drop. My wife merely glanced down to her right thigh to notice it, and then stared straight back at the black stud's mammoth bulge, unconcerned. 

"Check looks good. It'll get me closer." He commented, carelessly showing off his manhood to my young wife. 

"I'm almost there. Then, we can break ground." He continued. 

"Um, oh it's n-not enough?" I asked, stupidly. 

The black stud turned to me with a stern look as I glanced over to Julie mesmorised by the huge bikini-covered cock inches before her flustered face. 

"What? Ya' think we can open up a gym with only 50 grand, boy? He laughed.

"It takes more than that." He snapped. 

My head fell in shame. I had no idea what his business plans were at this time, and I felt stupid for asking. 

"But, I got a few other investors already. Probably will need a couple more." He informed. 

Julie was speechless. Her eyes were staring straight at Tra'mon's enormous bulge in the pouch of those little white biknis as he spoke. 

"Yeah. A few more and we'll be set." He continued. 

"Then, I can quit the fight club and concentrate on the business." He said. 

"I do it for the competition, but also for the money." he explained, looking over the check in his hands. 

Thoughts of this continued sparring ran through my mind. I thought what I had given him was all he needed. Now, he was telling us that he was "almost there" and the fighting could continue. 

Defeatedly, I looked over to my wife who was in a trance-like state looking at the black stud's bulging crotch. He had so rudely placed it right before her eyes that I couldn't believe it, and she seemed humbled by it. 

"H-How much more d-do you need?" I asked, whispering in almost an incomprehensible tone. 

"Another 70, or so." He ripped.

I looked up to the tough black man and basically conceded. Then, I looked back to my wife to ask her.

"Julie?" I asked, trying to get her attention.

She did not move. She simply continued "gawking" at the sweat-drenched bulge that contained the black man's cock and balls inched before her. 

"Julie?" I asked, again.

"J-Julie?" I asked louder, a third time.

Finally, she heard me and turned to see my beaten face. It was like I had just broken her trance.

"Julie, do y-you think we sh-should invest the l-last 70 thousand in T-Tra'mon's business?" I asaked her with pleading eyes.

My pretty young wife's face was like a zombie. It was like she was not comprehending my question, not entirely. She looked at me through glazed eyes and was not responding.

"Julie? Should we?" I asked her, again.

"Huh? Oh, yes. Sure." she finally answered, immediately turning her beautiful face in the direction of the black man's elephantine-sized cock in those speedoes. 

I looked back up to the black stud and told him that we would invest another 70 thousand, which is what he needed. My defeated eyes pleaded with him to accept this.

And, he did. 

"Very well, then. Let's toast." He ordered. 

My affected young wife was still in a different world. The young black stud had to 'tip' the glass of champagne to her lips to complete the celebratory toast.

"Well, I got things to do. Bring that check over to my place by noon tomorrow, boy. It's Saturday and I'll be sleeping in." He commanded.

"Oh-Okay." I feebly answered.

We watched in awe as Tra'mon walked out of the workout center in his customary slow, bold and arrogant manner. Julie stared at his muscular asscheeks in that bikini as he moved away from us. 

Moments later, she turned back to me and seemed to study me a different curiosity. Finally, she spoke.

"Are y-you sure you're okay, honey?" she asked. 

"I-I guess I am, J-Julie. Yeah." I replied.

Julie took me back to our condo to put ice bags over my eyes and face. The uncanny humiliation that I was feeling was like no other. I felt more pain from my intense humiliation than I did physically, and I had hoped I was doing the right thing by investing in the black man's workout center.

Months later, I would discover that my wife had witnessed the entire one hour exchange of our workout sparring match. She had seen everything but I was not sure what she had actually "heard" from the other side of those glass doors. 

It was clear that there could be no greater humiliation for a white man than having his own wife witnessing him getting beaten up a younger black man. At the time, I didn't think it could ever get more humiliating. I never imagined it could get any worse. 

I became incoherent and faint from the unbelievable humiliation I was feeling as my beautiful wife put me to bed and covered my face with ice packs. 

end. 



end.  



Black Man One Ch. 09



The next morning I woke up much later than usual. 

It was "the day after" the one-sided beating I took at the hands of the young black stud from the boxing workout. My young, beautiful blonde wife had witnessed her taller white wimp of a husband getting pummeled by the tougher black man just the evening before. It was obvious that she had envisioned " boxing practice" and "sparring" in an entirely different way before watching the demoralizing workout from a short distance.

Now, she was different. 

This morning was even more humiliating, and the beating I had taken will be ingrained in my memory for the rest of my life. As I made my way to the bathroom shower, I was unaware that it was already past 11 o'clock. Weakly, I turned on the shower and began to look at my beaten face in the mirror. 

My face and the sides of my body were throbbing in pain. Now, the two black eyes I received were coming into form and becoming darker than ever. My face looked much worse than it felt but the obvious appearance was absurd and defeating to me. 

I still had not seen Julie yet.

Once I completed my shower and changed, I headed down to the kitchen in a mild haze. It was there that I saw Julie standing at the end of the kitchen by the windows, and she was looking out towards the pool. She hardly knew I was there as I approached in silence. Her beautiful blue eyes were focused and riveted on the pool area below. 

As I walked over and looked out, he was there. The young black stud was laying out by the pool in another one of his skimpy masculine bikinis, this one was a solid black bikini. Unbelievably, there was a pretty strawberry-blonde haired woman in her late 20's on her knees to his left. She was holding a plate of what looked like an egg and sausage breakfast, and she was actually feeding the young black stud as he held a cell phone to his ear.

Julie had been staring at him all along, and she was completely lost in thought. She seemed almost frozen as she peered toward Tra'mon and his subservient white female companion. 

"H-Honey?" I said, trying to break her trance. 

My wife suddenly turned to me when she heard my voice. Her look of shock and despair were like I had never seen. 

"Oh my god, Richard? Are you feeling alright?" she asked nervously as she observed my 2 black eyes and beaten up face. 

"Uh, yeah. I-I'll be okay, I guess." I answered, lying and trying to play it off like my face was simply caused by a "normal workout." Deep down, I believe Julie knew what she had observed the day before was the furthest thing from my interpretation. 

"It was just a tougher workout than usual." I added, trying to buffer my condition. 

For some reason, I tried "clinging" to any shred of masculinity I might have had left. Like most white men, I was attempting to minimize the obvious display of my inferiority to the superior black man which had been witnessed by my young white wife. 

"You can't keep getting beaten up like this, Richard. Promise me you'll stop." she said, concerned. 

"O-Okay, honey. I will." I answered, humiliated.

"You'll talk to Trey today, right?" Julie persisted. "I don't want him beating you up anymore." she said.

"Y-Yes, honey. Okay. I will do that." I replied.

"Well, do you want me to fix a breakfast or a light lunch for you?" Julie asked.

I looked up to the clock and suddenly noticed that it was 11:40 a.m., and that is when I remembered the commitment I had made to the black man. I remembered agreeing to the extra 70k investment for his business venture, then remembered him telling me that I would need to have it to him by noon today.

At least this is what was going through my mind. 

"Oh, gosh. Today is Saturday, right honey?" I gasped.

"Yes, why?" she asked. 

"Well, uh-the bank closes at noon today and I did promise Tra'mon that I would get that investment over to him today. Didn't I?" I asked, worriedly.

"I-I don't know, Richard. Did you? Maybe he can wait until Monday? Just go talk to him and tell him that you overslept." my wife suggested.

"I d-don't think I-I should do that, honey. I th-think I can still make it." I replied, as I cowardly scurried out the door and headed for the bank. 

I remember feeling nervous and tremendously scared to disappoint the young black stud. I knew how important this all was to him. 

Within 15 minutes, I made it to the bank. I arrived only 5 minutes before they closed for the day. The bank teller looked at my beaten up face with great curiosity as she made out the cashiers check to Tra'mon. The bank allowed me to stay and wait inside after they closed in order to complete the transaction. 

By the time I left the bank, they had been closed for fifteen minutes and I was already late. Still, I found some small sense of relief that I had gotten this part of my commitment done. Getting this young black stud upset was not something that would be in my best interest, and I knew this all too well. 

Nervously, I drove back home to our condo building and arrived just past 12:30 in the afternoon. 

With the enveloped check in hand, I made my way out to the pool area to look for Tra'mon. He had been there with one of his white women when I left nearly an hour before. 

Now, he was gone and I could feel myself growing more tense and worried as I looked around wondering what I should do. I thought, perhaps, he had gone back to his condo unit number one. I felt that it would be best to go see him before he came looking for me. 

I began heading in that direction. 

Once again, I made my way through the workout center and down the short corridor leading to the black man's condo. My nervousness increased with each and every step I took. When I arrived, I "tapped" on his door rather timidly and waited, and waited.

I heard his muffled voice talking to someone so I knew he was there. But, I could not make out anything he was saying. The faint sound of a woman's voice responded to his words on occasion, yet they were both too far away for me to understand. I "tapped" on the door another time and continued to wait. 

I waited for nearly five minutes shaking in my shorts when the door finally opened. It was Tra'mon. He was still shirtless and dressed in that same microscopic black bikini as his strong and determined eyes looked into mine. 

"C'mon in, boy." He said, sternly and rudely.

He simply looked at my beaten up face and sneered.

The young black stud simply turned his back to me and began walking back inside.

"Got dat' ass kicked pretty good, huh?" He laughed. 

Nervously, I closed the door and meekly followed behind. I could not speak and I could feel my legs shaking with fear as I stepped into the living room of condo number one.

"Sit down! I'll be right back." He ordered.

"Y-Y-Yes, Sir." I answered, tentatively taking a seat on the sofa couch. 

Tra'mon boldly strutted towards the master bedroom with an arrogance few can describe accurately. The bedroom door was only partially opened, and I could see that it was the entrance to his master bedroom from my cowering position on the sofa. When the black stud pushed the bedroom door open a little further to enter I was amazed to see a strawberry-blonde haired woman laying on the bed.

She was the same redheaded woman that had been feeding Tra'mon his breakfast by the pool earlier that morning.

The late 20's beautiful white woman was stark-naked and laying flat on her belly upon the king sized bed. She seemed passed out now, and it was obvious she had been fucked mercilessly by the young black stud. 

My eyes widened as I watched him walk in and casually grab this woman by the top of her long, bright shiny hair. He took a fistful of her hair and literally "yanked" her off the bed from her laying position. The sudden jolt awakened her. Brutally, the black stud dragged this woman by her hair off the bed and onto the carpeted floor at the foot it. He positioned her on her knees.

"Oh my g-g-god." I gasped, looking at this white woman's condition. 

Tra'mon continued holding her head by the hair with one fist and pulled his massive cock out from the black bikini pouch with the other. It had to be at least 10 inches and as thick as a boa constrictor. It was darker than an eggplant. The grip he had on her hair was strong and fierce, almost as if he was pulling the reddish-blonde roots from her delicate head. The pretty white woman was barely coherent with her face reddened and her cheeks flushed. She looked dazed and almost terrifed, to be honest. 

He stood above her and shoved his monstrous cock into her mouth with such force and began roughly fucking this white woman's mouth. 

It was humiliating to be there witnessing what seemed like the near sexual assault of his strawberry-blonde companion. He placed one of his strong hands under her chin and around her throat. With the other on the top of her head, he used this as leverage to brutally fuck her mouth even harder. The woman's eyes widened and her eyes teared profusely. She struggled to breathe, and the gurgling and choking sounds filled the entire condo apartment.

I watched in awe from 20 feet away as the black stud fucked this white woman's mouth for about 5 minutes. That is when he finally began dumping his large load into her fragile mouth. Tra'mon then removed his cock from her mouth and dumped several "globs" of his cum onto her forehead, just above her eyes. It began to cascade down her pretty face almost immediately. 

The blonde woman gasped and was breathing so heavy that I thought her chest would explode as the black stud released her throat. He kept his one powerful fist on the top of her head, fiercely gripping her long hair as he looked down to her with a look of conquest. He seemed to be waiting for her to catch her breath as she remained on her knees looking up to him in awe. 

Patiently, he waited. Then, suddenly he pulled the exhausted white woman up by the hair from her kneeling position, and onto her feet. 

She was still completely nude when he began pulling her around the room like a ragdoll, never letting go of her hair. He would push her down on occasion so she could reach her things, which were scattered on the floor throughout the apartment. He pushed her down to retrieve her bikini, dress and blouse, and her shoes and purse. Systematically, all the articles were gathered into her arms as he dragged her around by her hair. The pretty white woman's face was plastered with his thick seed as it continued dripping down from her forehead. 

I sat there watching humiliated and embarrassed for her.

Tra'mon simply dragged the nude white woman out of the room, down the hallway, and then through the apartment past me. He escorted her to the front door.

"I gots' sum' business to discuss now, bitch." He told her as they reached the front door.

"Oh, okay. Do you want me to call you later?" she meekly asked the black stud as he ripped her hair firmly. 

"You do that." He ordered, opening the door and literally tossing her out into the hallway outside his apartment. She was naked, and with her clothes clutched in her arms as she stumbled out. 

The black man simply slammed the door shut and began walking back into the livingroom as if this was routine for him. My awestrucked face was beet red and I was speechless. His mammoth cock stuffed back into those flimsy little black bikinis was now noticeably dripping with his seed. He simply walked back in without a care in the world as I swallowed the lump in my throat. 

He would never mention anything about the beautiful white woman he had just used and kicked out of his condo apartment. 

"You drink beer?" He suddenly asked me. 

Still speechless, I looked up at him in disbelief. My mouth tried forming the word "no" as I shook my head and tried explaining that I didn't drink beer. But, no words came out. 

"You do now. In the frige." He said. 

"Git me one while you're at it and let's take a look at what'cha brought me today." He said, cockily.

I got up from the sofa and walked over to his kitchen to "fetch" the beer from his refrigerator. Suddenly, my cell phone "beeped" and I looked down to see it was a text message from Julie. 

"Where are you?" her text message read. 

"At Tra'mon's talking about the investment." I returned. 

"OK." her return text read. 

I looked over to see Tra'mon beginning to sit down on a cushioned chair. He was holding the envelope I brought with the check inside. Nervously, I opened the 2 bottles of imported beer and began walking back into the livingroom. That is when my cell phone chirped another incoming text message.

"Don't forget to tell Trey you can't practice fighting with him anymore." she texted.

Embarrassed, I handed the black stud one of the beers and held the other in my weakling hands. I then sat on the end of the sofa to the left of his cushioned chair. My hands were shaking as I set my cell down on the small table before us, and Tra'mon noticed this. 

"The little woman, huh?" He asked, grinning.

"Y-Y-Yeah." I answered, my eyes falling to the floor, embarrassed. 

"Yeah, well dat's one fine piece of ass ya' got there for a wife whiteboy." He said, rudely smiling.

"What's she want from you now?" He asked, rather casually. 

I was intimidated and terrified to the point of near tears at this particular moment. I didn't want to say that my young, blonde wife wanted me to stop sparring with him. I knew that I wanted it all to stop, myself, and this was the main reason I was here investing an additional 70 thousand. 

But, I told him anyway. 

"W-Well, sh-she doesn't w-want me sparring anymore." I answered, quivering as I set the other bottle of beer on the table.

My face must have turned a different shade of red than the bruises I took from the beating. He looked at me almost amused. He took a drink of beer from his bottle and contemplated my overwhelming look of embarrassment.

"She saw her big pussy of a husband gettin' dat' ass kicked, didn't she?" He sneered. 

My head lowered in complete shame. My face blushed a thousand times more and his words ripped right through me like a knife through butter. My fear of him and the embarrassment I felt had to be so obvious to him. I couldn't believe he had just called me that name so boldly and I found myself unable to answer for the moment.

"You must've been tellin' her you were once all that, huh?" he laughed, continuing. 

"Typical white boy bullshit." he ripped. 

I kept my eyes lowered as the black man spoke.

"Now, you think investing in a brotha will stop it all, don't you?" he asked, opening the envelope and looking at the check. 

There was an uncomfortable silence as it seemed the young black stud was getting upset by his own words. I didn't understand why he would be angry after I just handed him another cashier's check, making my total investment in his new workout center business $120,000.00?!

I was trembling in fear as I sat on the end of his sofa. I simply did not know how to react at the moment. All I could think about was trying to get out of there and running for cover.

"Dat' true, boy? You trying to buy me off?" he asked firmly. 

My eyes remained to the carpeted floor before the sofa as the black stud now stood up before his chair. His powerful presence overwhelmed me as I sat there shaking in complete silence.

"You trying to buy me out? You trying to get a nigga to sell out so you can look good to dat' pretty lil' wife of yours?" he asked loudly.

The pause was merely seconds.

"I asked you a question, boy!" Tra'mon ripped, now standing right before me. 

"Oh my god! N-N-No, I-I wasn't th-thinking that, Sir. N-No, s-sir. N-Not at all, Sir." I cowardly replied.

The young black stud simply reached down and put his strong hand to my throat. He lifted me to my feet by it until I was standing right before him. My 6'4" tall frame and being seven inches taller than him at 5'9" tall didn't seem to matter in the least. I was petrified as he held me by my neck when his aggressive eyes met mine.

"What'd I tell you before?" He asked, quizzing me, his grip on my neck getting firmer.

At the time, I was confused by the black stud's question and had no concept of how I should answer him. My mind was drifting as my already beaten up face looked slightly downward into his fierce-looking eyes. I still had no answer.

"I told ya' it's all about respect, boy! Didn't I?" he asked.

"Y-Yes, Sir." I whispered.

"Say it!" he ordered. 

"It's all a-about r-respect, S-Sir." I repeated, my eyes now tearing up.

"Dats' right. Respect for the black man!" he yelled, firming his grip on my neck. 

"Y-Yes, Sir. R-Respect for the b-b-black man, S-sir." I repeated, once again. 

The black stud then released my throat and shoved me back down to the sofa. I gasped and put my hands to my own neck coughing and trying to regain my composure. I was thankful that the young black man didn't beat me up again.

"The workouts will continue." he said.

"I'll tell ya' when, whiteboy. You just need to explain it all to that pretty little white wife of yours, ya' got that?" He yelled.

"P-Please, Sir?" I begged. 

"You just tell her that we won't be sparring so much anymore, and that you'll be still helping wit' my workouts. Got dat'?" he ordered.

"Y-Yes, S-Sir, Okay." I whispered, defeatedly.

"Good! Now, git' the fuck outta my face before I get really upset." he commanded.

"Y-Yes, Sir. O-O-Okay, Sir." I mumbled. 

I was terrifed beyond words. Meekly, I stood up from the sofa and took my first two steps towards the door. The black stud was to my right side and his stern face and aggressive eyes caught mine for a split second. Again, I immediately lowered my eyes before him. 

When I took my first step past him, the young black man "literally" landed one swift kick to my backside. His rude, arrogant kick to my ass sent me falling forward towards the door on my hands and knees. Embarrassed and afraid, I simply picked myself up from the floor and opened the door. I didn't look back as I walked out of his condo apartment. 

It was another moment of humiliation as I made my way back to my own condo. I walked with my proverbial tail between my legs trying to think of the words I would use to explain to my young wife that the workouts would continue. 

The young black stud had all but threatened me and literally kicked my backside because, in his own mind, I had "offended" him. 

To him, I was not showing the proper respect to him, or to black men. My reasons for investing in his business was just a way of "paying him off" to stop beating me up. 

He knew this all too well, and I was ashamed to admit that he was right.

Still, when I returned to my apartment and saw Julie I could not find the courage to tell her the truth. Not exactly. It would have been far too humiliating to admit to her what had happened in Tra'mon's apartment minutes before. Once again, I found myself lying uncontrollably to protect any shred of masculinity I may have had left.

"Tra'mon still needs a workout partner and, well, I said I would just do that until he finds another." I told my wife.

"Oh, Richard. No, I don't want him beating you up like that anymore." Julie said.

"H-He said that h-he doesn't need to sp-spar with me anymore, honey. He j-just said regular workouts, okay?" I lied. 

"What's that mean?" she asked.

"Ya' know. Just workouts with machines and weights, exercising. Holding the heavy bag for him. That's all." I answered, still completely unaware of what the black man wanted. 

"Well, I guess that's okay then. Besides, Trey said he's going to be busy after his Sunday match at the fight club. He said he's going to start looking for the right location for his workout center." Julie informed me.

"Trey must have been so grateful for your investments though, right?" she asked.




Black Man One Ch. 09



"Um, oh yes. H-He really was. He th-thanked me so many times, honey." I lied. 

I stood there with my beaten up face feeling worried about what would come next. I wondered why my pretty blonde wife had all but given up on the idea of opening up her own small business. 

It had been her dream for so long before she met the young stud. 

One of her ideas, a woman's workout center, was now the black stud's business venture. In turn, Julie wanted to "learn" the business from the inside out before she proceeded on her own. She seemed willing to wait for a couple of years and see how things went. 

The next three days made me nervous because I had not seen, or heard from Tra'mon. He seemed to disappear off the face of the earth. I had not seen him or any of his white women entering or leaving the building, either. It was curious to me at the time and I was beginning to suspect that he had left with the investment money I gave him. 

By Wednesday afternoon this changed.

My simple check in call to my young, blonde wife after lunch caught me off guard. I didn't expect the response from her I received when I asked her how her day was going. 

"Oh, well Trey stopped by and asked me to help him look at some locations for his center." she replied.

"We've been doing that all morning." Julie continued. 

"Trey says he likes the third place we seen the best." she added.

"Trey says that place is the biggest and gets good sun in the mornings, and Trey says that's important." She said.

"Trey and I are so tired from walking around so much." Julie continued. 

"Trey wanted to stop at this cafe and recharge his batteries, so we're here having a small lunch now." she said. 

My face was burning red from embarrassment knowing that my pretty blonde wife had been hanging around this masculine young black stud all morning.

"L-L-Lunch?" I mumbled. 

"Yeah. Trey wanted a veggie wrap so we stopped. Trey was really hungry." my wife said, her voice seemingly so excited. 

"Trey really likes some of my ideas for setting up the center, too." she continued.

"Trey says they would fit in so well with his design plans." Julie informed.

"Oh, and guess what else?" she asked. 

"Wh-What?" I asked, whispering with concern.

"Trey says I'm really smart. Trey said I have a really good mind for business things and he wants me to be his top assistant for the center." Julie said, excitedly.

"H-H-He said that?" I asked, blushing. 

"Oh, yeah. Trey said some of the other wives in our community want to come and work for him too." she said. 

"Trey thinks he could get this all set up and ready in just 2 weeks." she advised.

"That's what Trey says. Isn't that great?" Julie continued. 

I could not answer as I stood there listening to my young wife "gloat" all over this young black stud's plans for a new workout center. 

"Trey and I are so tired from walking, though. Trey and I can't wait to just relax by the pool." my wife added. 

"Oh, Trey says he wants you to be ready at 5:45 today, for his workouts. Okay?" she asked. 

I was glad that I was on the phone so my wife couldn't see the look of concern and fear on my face as I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"O-Okay, honey." I replied, softly. 

"Well, Trey is calling for me. I gotta go. I'll see you later, okay?" Julie finished.

My pretty white wife hung up the phone before I could even answer and say good-bye. She seemed rushed, and the thought of her being around the young, black stud was humiliating for me to envision. 

My concern only grew throughout the rest of that day at the office. I texted Julie a few times and received no response at all. My long drive home was torturous on my nerves. And, when I finally pulled into our condo complex parking lot I was already beginning to feel scared.

The moment I opened my car door I spotted a beautiful blonde woman in her late 30's getting out of her car. Once again, she was one of Tra'mon's white women coming to see him. She was pristinely dressed in a white summer dress with white leather sandaled heels, and she was carrying a few packages in her arms. Her eyes were down to the pavement as she made her way to entrance door when she stopped. 

Timidly, I caught up to her as I made my way to the entrance. It was not intentional but she seemed to stop and was waiting for something.

As I "keyed" the glass entrance door from the parking lot into our building she spoke. With her eyes down to the ground she asked if I could let her in. She had forgotten her key. 

"Are you Tra'mon's girlfriend or?" I asked her. 

"Yes." she meekly answered. "He told me to wait for him by his apartment."

I let her enter before me and watched as she made her way down the corridor leading to the young, black stud's condo unit number one. It was 5:35 and I noticed her walking up to his door where she simply stopped and stood there. She did not knock on his door and seemed to be waiting there patiently for him to arrive. 

Noticing the time, I immediately ran up to my condo and changed into my sweats to get ready to workout with Tra'mon. Julie had left a note on the kitchen counter telling me she was out by the pool relaxing.

Nervously, I got dressed and headed down to the workout center to meet the black stud. I also knew Julie would be out by the pool and I was hoping that she wasn't out there with him. It caused me to worry more and more as I made my way to the gym. And, these worries were justified when I finally arrived down to this area. 

end. 



Black Man One Ch. 10



Standing alone in the small workout center of our condo building gave me an overwhelming feeling of insecurity. I had not seen the young black man yet, but I knew he would be coming to meet me soon. I was almost sure that he would be out by the pool with Julie, and the best part of me was afraid to look outside. This realization made me shake nervously as I headed for the equipment box to gather my protective gear for the workout. 

While I realized that I had agreed to "spar" with Tra'mon and help with his workouts it was obvious that I had had enough. He had told me that I would be simply assisting him with his workouts now, and the actually boxing practices would be over. Somehow, I wasn't convinced by his words and I began putting on my pink and white head gear with the pink lower body harness and gloves. 

I stood there and looked at myself in the workout center's full length mirror. I didn't like what I saw because I looked like a big "pussy" in pink colored boxing gear. It was humiliating to be dressed this way but I knew that I needed as much protection against the young black stud as possible. That is, if he decided to spar with me again. 

After a few minutes, I began wondering why he had not arrived yet. That is when I walked over to the glass entry doors that lead to the pool area to peek out.

From a distance of about 60 feet I saw the young, dark stud standing poolside and holding a clipboard and talking to the wives. He was wearing a flimsy, thin-sided nylon bikini in a tiger-print design as he read from his clipboard. His chiseled body glistened in the sunlight and he stood there with complete authority. 

Unbelievably, he stood in the middle of the group of all 13 white wives from our condo building. This, of course, included my wife Julie. They simply sat around on the ground in a scattered semi circle at his feet. They rested themselves on the marble styled stone decking as they looked up to him and listened. All the white wives were dressed in their bikinis and sandals, and they had a pamphlet of some sorts in their hands. 

Even at that distance, it was ridiculously obvious that the black stud was semi erect. His massive and thick cock in those whisper thin bikinis rudely jutted out with total and complete arrogance. Looking closer at the wives faces, it was defeating to see their eyes focused directly onto his crotch as he spoke. The young black man simply ignored them as he read through what seemed like an agenda. Every one of these white women's eyes were staring in awe at the enormous and monstrous bulge inches before their passive eyes. 

It appeared they were all in another world and barely comprehending what Tra'mon was saying to them. They remained quiet as he spoke. 

Seeing their obvious looks of awe was embarrassing for me to witness. I began to wonder where all the other husbands could be at this time, and I stood there nervously staring out to the little group that Tra'mon had formed by the pool. 

"What could they be talking about?" I wondered. 

This apparent "group meeting" lasted another 5 minutes before all the wives stood up and began exiting the pool area. All of them except Julie. At the time, I did not know this meeting had lasted a full hour, and I had just caught a glimpse of the last minutes of it. 

The 12 other white wives walked right past me clutching their pamphlets and staring down at them. A few of the wives barely raised their eyes to offer a simple "hello" to me as they headed for their own condo apartments. 

As I gazed out to the pool area I could see the young black man speaking to Julie, one on one. It was a brief exchange before Julie bent down to the ground to pick a few items up off the ground. They were the black man's things, and she carried them as they began strolling in my direction towards the workout center. Tra'mon was hands free. I tensed up as I watched them walking side by side for a moment before Julie stepped ahead and grabbed the door. With her arms full, she still held the door open for the black stud and waited for him to step inside. 

At the time, it was more shocking to see my young blaonde wife showing this subtle sign of respect and subservience to the black man. Now, it is quite common to see white women in public holding doors open for their black superiors. If one looks close enough, they might see this everyday and in many situations. 

I swallowed loudly as he stepped inside and looked into my eyes.



Black Man One Ch. 11



The young black stud's eyes looked so serious as he stepped inside the small workout center. His stern glare of dominance caused my eyes to fall to the blue matted floor at his bare feet. I was instantly humbled by him. Seconds later, I then felt my beautiful wife's sudden and quiet presence as she followed in behind the black man and stepped inside. 

"Hey, boy. Ya' ready?" the black man asked. 

"Y-Yeah. I-I-I guess s-so." I quivered.

I stood there noticeably shaking and afraid to look back up into the black man's eyes. Even at my noticeably taller height I felt weak and cowardly standing before the young black stud. He simply stood there in that arrogant flimsy little tiger-print nylon bikini putting on a pair of fingerless leather speed gloves to begin his workout. Suddenly, my wife began to speak. 

"Honey, guess what?" Julie began, ignoring my timid appearance.

I merely glanced in my wife's direction but felt compelled to keep my eyes towards the ground as she continued speaking.

"Trey finally picked out a building for the workout center." she said. 

"Trey says it's going to be an exclusive woman's workout center." she continued.

"Trey says it's going to be so much better and different than anything else around here." she added. 

"Trey said I am his number one assistant now, too." my wife said, excitedly. 

"Trey also says I will learn so much helping him with his new business." Julie said. 

"Oh, and Trey says all the other wives are going to be able to be assistants and gold members at the same time." she continued.

"Trey can't wait to get his new center started as soon as possible." she added. 

The look on the young black stud's face was demoralizing for me as my pretty blonde wife continued fawning all over him. Her words of enthusiasm over his plans wewre defeating. He stood there with an almost sheepish grin upon his stern and chiseled face as Julie went on and on.

"Yeah. Trey talked to all of us today." she informed.

"Trey spoke to the other husbands earlier today, too." she continued. 

"Trey says all the other wives told him their husbands are gonna chip in and invest too!" Julie announced.

"Isn't that right, Trey?" Julie asked him.

The bold and dominant black man's face was firm, yet pleased.

"Yea, that's right!" he replied. 

"Trey said that it's really important to make it and even better place right from the start." Julie continued.

"Trey says he wants it to be the best place yet." she added.

"Trey says that first impressions are lasting impressions." she said. 

"So, Trey says that today is really officially my first day as his assistant." Julie advised.

"Trey wants to meet later to go over the layout. That's what Trey says." she informed.

"Trey says we have so much to do now with the design layouts of all the rooms." she added.

"Trey's new business is going to be so exciting." Julie said.

"Trey also said he's meeting with the other husbands again tonight about the investment." my wife gleemed. 

"Right after his workout. Trey said that too." she mentioned. 

I almost couldn't believe my ears. Demoralized, I brought my timid eyes back up to the young black stud's stern face. He was sneering even more and delighted by the excitement in my wife's voice. Her gloating and verbal fawning over the young stud was absolutely defeating to hear. It would be for any white husband. 

Tra'mon patted his fists together in those leather speed gloves with such cockiness. 

I was already shocked by the manner my beautiful blonde wife seemed to be falling all over the black man. She was now telling me that she was his number one assistant and he had seemingly convinced all the other white wives to assist in getting his center ready as well. 

Furthermore, somehow he had convinced all the other husbands to invest in his new business venture. 

I wondered if the other white husbands even knew that their pretty wives would be actually working with this young black stud now, and that they had become gold members before the workout center even opened. 

At the time, I was curious as to why I had not seen any of the other husbands yet. I wondered where they could have been during this so-called meeting by the pool. That is when Tra'mon answered my silent question. 

"Yeah. Dem' white boys are taking care of getting dat' investment ready now. We're gonna meet again in a little while to settle things up." He said.

His overwhelming confidence and arrogance were rocketing through the stratosphere as I stood there meekly. Confused, I began to think about how he had gotten to the other 12 white husbands who didn't seem so interested in any new investments at all. I pondered the thought that they were just as intimidated of him as I was, which I knew they were. But, I questioned if this was the main reason for their compliance. 

I felt even more humbled as my wife, Julie, began to speak to Tra'mon. 

"Can I get anything else for you before I go, Trey?" she asked him. 

"Well, maybe a nice fruit plate if dat' ain't no trouble girl." the black stud answered, sarcastically.

"Oh my god, no! No trouble at all, Trey! None whatsoever, Trey." Julie suddenly gasped.

"What kind of fruit do you like, Trey?" she asked.

The young black stud put his powerful fingers to his chin, slowly contemplating his thoughts as I stood there watching in amazement. It was almost as if he was stalling on purpose. 

"Well, I usually likes me some papaya, lotsa different melons, strawberries and blueberries too." he said. 

Unbelievably, Julie began writing this down on the back of her pamphlet like some sort of secretary or waitress. She didn't even think about asking her own white husband, either. 

"Oh-Okay, Trey. I'll get this for you right away, Trey. I'll just change quickly and run out to the market for these things, okay Trey?." she said in a rushed tone of voice. 

"I could have your fruit plate made just the way you like it by the time you finish with your workout, Trey." she fawned.

"If that's okay with you, Trey?" my blonde wife asked. 

"That'll be fine, gurl." the black man answered, pausing.

"As long as dat' don't take too long." he added.

"Oh, no Sir. It won't take long at all, Trey. No, not at all Trey. I should be back in no time, Trey." Julie answered like some sort of subservient and lovestruck school girl.

I watched as my beautiful young wife frantically scurried out the door in her bikini and sandals. The black stud kept his eyes on her the entire time as she ran out of our view. 

"Now, dat's what I call an ass." the black man said, referring to my blonde wife. 

He then turned back to me.

Again, I stood there meekly as the 5'9" tall muscular black stud approached me. He looked into my eyes with a glare that made me even more nervous than before. 

"How'd a fine piece of ass like dat' end up with a big white pussy like you anyway, boy?" he asked, grinning.

"I-I-I don't kn-know, Sir." I timidly replied. 

The young stud had an evil smile on his face as he reached slightly upwards to "tap" my face in the most arrogant manner possible. He must have tapped it eight or nine times before he spoke again. 

"Don't want dat' ass kicked anymore, do ya' boy?" he asked. 

"N-N-No, Sir ... I-I don't. Pl-please?" I groveled.

The young black stud just laughed.

"Dat' little lady of yours asked me take it easy on ya' from now on." He told me.

"She don't want me beating that ass anymore." he continued. "But, dat' don't mean shit. I told her that's my decision." he concluded.

"Pl-Please?" I groveled, once again.

"Then, just hold that big bag steady whilst I work it and keep dat' pussy mouth of yours shut! She don't need to know shut. Got dat?" He ordered, referring to the heavy body-sized bag to his left. 

"O-O-Okay. Yes, S-Sir." I whispered. 

My nervousness continued to increase as I walked over to the "heavy bag" and waited for the black man to begin his workout. I was a little more than shocked that he still wanted to work out in just his smallish bikini speedoes suit. But, I was thankful that he did not want to spar with me anymore. 

I truly felt relieved that he was letting me "off the hook" in some sort of way, but I remained frightened by the neverending thought that he would change his mind. 

Tra'mon began hitting the heavy bag lightly as I held it steady. As he picked up the pace, I could feel the young black stud's powerful fists driving into the bag. The force, alone, caused me to "wince" in discomfort and my own weak body was being pushed back with every strike. 

His punches to the bag grew more furious as he warmed up and got into the workout even harder. Flurries of punches to the heavy boxing bag that I was holding onto for dear life sent me reeling. I stumbled and fell to the blue mats on the floor several times.

"Let's go. Git' up and hold that thing steady, boy." He yelled. 

"What? You sum' kinda pussy?" He asked loudly.

"Hold dat' thing still, boy!" He ordered.

"Y-Yes, Sir. Okay." I replied, meekly as I picked myself off the floor again, and again. 

The athletic young black man would not relent. 

He pounded and pulverized that heavy boxing bag with tremendous force, pausing only to rudely spit onto the matted floor every minute or so. It was curious how many times he was spitting onto floor during this particular workout. His dark, muscular body was far more drenched and soaked with heavy sweat than ever before, and it flew off his chiseled body and onto the mats with every punch to the bag he took. 

Cowardly, I tried in desperation to hold onto the practice bag so he wouldn't become angry. He seemed to be disturbed by how I was falling over to the floor all the time. And, I did once again.

I could not stay on my own two feet.

For twenty-five minutes, the masculine black stud drove his fists into the bag during this intense workout. His power and strength could be felt with each blow, and after that last flurry of strikes to the body bag I fell over another time. 

I now layed on my right side and on the blue matted floor looking upwards to the black man. The right side of my face was flat against the padded mat. I was breathing heavy from the struggles I had holding onto his workout bag, and it felt almost as if he was hitting my own body through this oversized boxing bag. In reality, he was. 

Tra'mon now stood above me looking down at my exhausted and stunned eyes with a stern and determined look upon his youthful face. His dark, muscular and powerful body was absolutely drenched in an unbelievable sweat. His sweat dripped from the flimsy tiger-print nylon spandex bikini speedoes-styled underwear he wore, and it cascaded to the mats on the floor drop by drop.

The young black stud casually removed the fingerless leather gloves from his hands before tossing them down into my face rudely. They struck my face and fell off to the side.

"You're gonna have to learn to do better than that, boy." he ripped, spitting to the floor for about the 30th time. 

This time, the black stud's saliva landed just a few inches before my reddened face.

"Got dat'?" he yelled. 

"Y-Yes, S-Sir." I muttered, exhausted and afraid.

Embarrassingly, the young black man then walked right up to my laying position behind the heavy practice bag. I remained nervous with the right side of my face still on the mat and trying to control my heavy breathing. Meanly, he seemed to purposely step right into his own large saliva puddle with his right foot, which was already dirty from the pool area and the workout center floor. 

His foot was inches before my face on the mat and I didn't know what to expect next.

That is when he lifted his dirty right foot covered with his spit and sweat, and he placed it onto my left cheek. He pressed it onto the left side of my face firmly. 

"Ow." I whispered, feeling the pressure.

The young black stud held his strong bare foot on the side of my face for a few long moments before finally "wiping" it onto my cheek like he was using my face as a doormat.

"Git' the rest of this shit wiped off the floor before I gets more upset, boy." He commanded. 

"Y-Yes, S-Sir. Okay." I replied in a faint, obedient whisper. 

From my laying position with my face on the mat, I watched as the black stud walked slowly and confidently through the multitude of small puddles of his own sweat and saliva, and then to the grill styled wooden bench nearest to the glass doors. He grabbed a small white towel along the way and began wiping the sweat from his dark muscular torso. 

Defeatedly, I picked myself off the floor and grabbed a handful of smaller white towels from the rack mounted on the wall. I bent down to my hands and knees and began cleaning the black man's sweat and saliva from the floor, drying the floor diligently as I was told to. 

I was terrified of this strong and masculine black stud and my humiliation was, seemingly, at it's peak. 

My face could not have been more red and the intimidation I felt was like no other I had experienced before. Because of my fear, I was barely aware of anything else except finishing this demoralizing and degrading task of cleaning.

Just as I finished wiping the floor clean of the young black man's sweat, I heard him "snapping" his fingers at me. I looked up and saw him gesturing. 

"Bring those towels over here, boy." He ordered. 

Humiliated, I timidly walked over to Tra'mon sitting on the bench. I now stood about 5 feet in front of him. I was shaking all over as I held one of the clean towels out for him to take. But, he did not accept it. Rudely, he put one of his dirty bare feet straight out and pointed to it.

"Get this shit off my dogs too, boy!" He demanded, referring to the dirt, spit and sweat on the bottoms of his feet.

My shoulders slumped and I was petrified by his command. I couldn't believe how arrogant this black stud was being to me, and I nearly fell over in humiliation. I couldn't comprehend how he would expect me to do something so degrading like this. Yet, he knew I was a "weak white wimp" and he became firmer with his stern words as I stood there stalling.

"Looks like we're gonna have a problem, huh boy?" he asked sternly. 

"P-P-Please, Sir?" I begged, trying to avoid the inevitable situation as I began to cry.

Tra'mon grinned, a determined and rough smile tracing his lips. My quivering and my embarrassment seemed to amuse him to some extent, yet his serious eyes terrified me even more. 

"Are we gonna have this problem, white boy?" he asked, his voice toughening. 

Intimidated, I began shaking my head.

"N-No, S-Sir. I-I don't w-want to have a p-problem." I stuttered.

He looked at me impatiently. 

In shame, I bent down to one knee and began to wipe the black man's saliva, sweat and dirt from his bare feet. His evil grin was far too intimidating for me to contest, and I certainly knew that I didn't want to get beaten up again. He was far to masculine for me to go against, and despite my total humiliation I did as he told me to. 

"Dat's what I thought, white boy. That's what you white pussies are good for. Y'all good to clean up a niggas' sweat." He said, loudly.

"And, that's exactly what you're gonna do from now on, boy. Gots that?" He ripped.

"It's the way dis' shit is." He threatened. 

"Y-Yes, S-Sir." I quivered. 

It was traumatic for me. The young black stud had made me clean his bare feet of his own sweat and saliva. Then, he stood up and pointed to the wooden bench for me to wipe the leftover sweat off the bench left by his sweated bikini-covered asscheeks. I did so in complete and total humiliation.

"Good boy!" He yelled.

It couldn't have been more than 30 seconds later when my blonde wife, Julie, arrived with the fruit plate. It was neatly cut up into slices and covered in celophane. Julie had a look of shock and awe on her face as she stepped in quietly. 

"Are y-you guys finished with the w-workout already, Trey?" she asked, seemingly affected.

I had not seen Julie at all during the entire humiliation I was experiencing. For all I knew, she had run off to the store to buy and prepare a fruit plate for Tra'mon and just got back. I would not know until weeks later that my young, blonde wife had witnessed the entire demoralizing scene. 

Unbeknownst to me at the time, Julie had stood there peering around the corner and caught the last minute of the black stud's workout. She had seen me holding the heavy bag as he pounded away. She had witnessed me falling to the floor and laying there as the black man placed his bare foot onto the side of my face. 

She saw me wiping the stud's sweat and spit off the floor like some sort of towel boy. And, she had seen me wiping the black ruffian's bare feet clean before cleaning off the bench of his sweated bikini asscheeks. 

Julie didn't say a word about it. 

She pretended to just arrive when it was over. Seeing her taller but much weaker and wimpier white husband emasculated at the feet of a young black stud like Tra'mon must have been embarrassing for her. Humiliatingly, I will have to admit that there must have been other feelings for her as well. The obvious manner in which she treated this black man was different now. 

As the black stud thanked her for the fruit plate, he took it from her hands. Julie looked over towards me for a moment and then drew her eyes downward, in embarrassment of me. It was at that time I felt the "smear" of the black man's dirty foot on the left side of my face. I wondered if she had noticed that, too, but I was afraid of wiping the side of my face with one of the smaller towels in my hands. 

"You did a good job, little lady." Tra'mon said as he slurped down a slice of papaya. 

"Um, oh thank you Trey." she answered.

Julie's eyes rose up to look at me again. Her look made my eyes fall to the floor, in utter disgrace and shame. 

"Are you guys finished then?" she asked. 

"Yeah, we're all done. Just a few things to talk 'bout and then meet wit' the others." the black stud announced. 

"Why don't you get your pretty lil' self showered and ready, and we'll meet up later to go over some things." Tra'mon directed, insisting that she leave.

"Um, well okay Trey. Sure, Trey. I-I will do that, Trey. I-I just don't want you guys fighting anymore, okay Trey?" she stated. 

"Aw, gurl. We ain't doin' no such thing. Just a friendly lil' workout is all. Ain't that right, boy?" he announced, looking right into my eyes.

"Y-Yeah." I whispered, nodding in agreement and humiliated that he had just referred to me as "boy" in the presence of my own wife. 

"Well, okay then I guess. I'll go then and see you later, Trey." Julie answered, suspiciously.

My pretty wife turned and walked out of the workout room. My reddened face had to be obvious to her, yet I was still unaware of what she had seen before I noticed her arrival.

It was a defeating feeling to know that this young black stud was so bossy and dominant to me in Julie's presence, and he was apparently attracted to her as well. In my mind, I wondered how I could possibly compete against such a masculine black stud like Tra'mon. In reality, I knew that could not. My worst fears over the years were becoming reality, once again. 

That night, the young black man kept me there in the workout center during the times he had scheduled to meet with the other 12 white husbands. I was still curious about this. 

Again, he informed me that he had already met with each one of them earlier in the day, and that they now had a clearer understanding and respect for his new business venture. His words continued to confuse me at the time. 

Tra'mon then began texting the white husbands one by one, and one by one they arrived from their condo apartments within a few minutes of his text.




Black Man One Ch. 11



The most astounding disgrace anyone could imagine then occurred, and it occurred over the course of the next 45 minutes. 

Every one of the other white husbands delivered an enveloped check with their investment into the young black man's new business. 

Each investment was for exactly $50,000.00! In every brief meeting, the other husbands could not look directly into the black man's eyes. Their faces were beet red from an embarrassment hardly witnessed. One by one, they simply delivered the check with their eyes to the floor and stood before the tough black man. Every white husband was shaking and terribly intimidated, just as I was and had been all along.

The young stud made them stand there for a moment to absorb their own humiliation before he dismissed them. 

"Aight. You're dismissed." he told them. 

Meekly, they then walked away without another word being spoken. 

Not one word was said by any of them. It was pure intimidation on each one of their faces, as it had always been on my face. It couldn't have been much more than that. Their look of intimidation was more than blatant. 

Upon collecting the last investment check, Tra'mon turned and looked over to me. His powerful and rippled body in that ridiculously skimpy and disgustingly flimsy bikini humiliated me even more. 

"Like I said, boy. Respect!" he ripped, smiling.

"Respect for the black man!" he added. 

"Y-Yes, Sir." I mumbled quietly, in return.

"Now, git' your pussy ass outta here. I gots to get ready and shit. I needs to meet wit' dat' pretty little wife of yours. We got all dat' different business to discuss." He ordered. 

"Yes, S-Sir." I whispered, in defeat. 

I walked out of the workout room feeling utterly ashamed and embarrassed. It was uncanny how all the other 12 white husbands were willing to invest in a black man's business like this. I thought that I was the only one that felt compelled to, and I knew that I would be terrifed and more embarrassed to approach any of them and ask them about it. 

When I arrived back to our condo Julie was still getting ready. She seemed rushed and almost frantic about exactly what she was going to wear as she scurried around the condo. 

She was dressed in a pair of black panties and a black bra. A pair of nude pantyhosed stockings covered her perfectly-shaped, bikini-clad asscheeks. A pair of 4 inch black satin pumps adorned her feet. On the bed, there was a black silky slip and a black evening dress shorter than I had ever seen her wear before. There were several other pairs of black high heels scattered about the room, seemingly from her indecision over the past 45 minutes. 

"Why so rushed?" I asked my wife as I watched her fixing her hair and makeup. 

"Oh, well Trey said the meeting was in an hour and that was awhile ago. I only have a few minutes, honey." she said.

"Um, uh wh-what meeting?" I asked stupidly.

"The meeting. I told you we're meeting to go over the designs of the club." she replied, annoyed I would even ask as she fluffed her long blonde hair. 

"Um, but why dress so formal? Why in black?" I asked.

"You said you would never wear black here in Arizona." I stated, referring to her previous comments about that style. 

"Oh, well Trey says it's a nice dinner place. So, it's more formal. I want to look professional." Julie stated. 

"Trey says it's our first real business meeting." she added. 

"Besides, I asked Trey what would be appropriate for this place." she informed. 

"Trey says black would be perfect." she continued. 

I paused for a moment and looked at my beautiful blonde wife dressed in black. She looked stunnning as she added dangling diamond earrings and a gold and diamond necklace to her ensemble. 

"Well, you don't have to wear that ya' know. You could wear anything you want, right?" I asked, in desperation.

"Trey says this is appropriate. He is officially my new boss now, ya' know. Why wouldn't I wear what my boss suggested?" she answered.

Hearing those words almost offended me. It was difficult to hear my wife referrring to the younger black stud as her "boss" after she had just agreed to assist with the upstart of his new business. 

"What's wrong with you, anyway? It's just a simple business dinner meeting." she asked.

"If you don't want me to go I'll call Trey right now and tell him you don't want me to go." she added. 

That last comment pierced right through me. I found it difficult to answer. I was already humiliated by the fact that Tra'mon had been "bullying" me like I was a big pussy and he knew that I couldn't stand up to him. I don't know what I would have done if she had called the black man to tell him that I didn't want her going to dinner with him.

I was simply not prepared to confront him about anything like that. 

"No, no honey. Don't do that!" I bellowed, frightened by the thought. 

As Julie finshed getting ready and was about to run out the door, she stopped and spoke to me.

"Listen, honey. I shouldn't be long. We're just meeting to discuss the business. You know how important this is to me." she said.

My eyes lowered. My face was still noticeably beaten up from the days before, and I took some small comfort in the fact that I was healing.

But, I was terribly nervous and insecure about Julie working for the black stud, and even more so that she had agreed on this dinner meeting with him. 

"Besides, Trey said something about a date he had later tonight. I'm pretty sure it won't be very long at all." Julie informed. 

"But, I have to go. I don't want to keep Trey waiting." she said. 

"Trey doesn't like to wait." she added. 

My stomach was in knots as I watched my beautiful blonde wife running out the door looking as stunning as ever. She was dressed to perfection, and in the classiest outfit any man could imagine. As she left my view I could not help but worry about her being with or going to dinner with the young black man who had all but emasculated me. 

In defeat, I just turned and began picking up Julie's disgarded shoes from all over the room. I began cleaning up the bathroom sink of her scattered makeup items when I heard their voices coming from the parking lot. I looked out to see them walking out of the building and to his car, his one hand touching the small of her back. 

I ran over to the other smaller side bathroom window and peeked from behind the curtain to see her getting into Tra'mon's black Bentley car.

Within seconds the black stud quickly drove off with my wife, Julie.

My stomach had an empty and uncomfortable pain now. I decided that I would shower since I was sweating from the workout, and maybe this would settle my nerves a bit. As I looked at myself in the mirror I could still see the blatant "smear" of dirt, sweat and saliva from the young black man's foot on the left side of my cheek. Humiliatingly, the partial image of his foot was far more obvious then I thought it would be. The thought that Julie couldn't have missed this at all was what crossed my mind. 

In the gym, I didn't think it was that obvious and maybe it would have been better to wipe it off then. I was humiliated to notice that it remained. My face still looked beaten up from days ago and, although my 2 black eyes were showing signs of healing, it was embarrassingly obvious that I had been bullied around in the most extreme yet subtle ways. 

About an hour after my shower I decided to text Julie to see how things were going. 

She didn't reply. 

After the second hour, I texted her again and asked her if she was almost finished with the dinner meeting with Tra'mon. 

Again, there was no response. 

This uncomfortable feeling was beginning to grow inside of me, and to unexpected proportions. The next few hours passed and I had texted my beautiful blonde wife every half hour with no response. Finally, it was around midnight when she texted me back. 

"Yes, yes! Dinner went fine. Stop texting me already!" her text read.

"Where are you? It's been almost 5 hours." I texted back. 

"Had dinner. Trey wants me to meet his date at this nightclub. Be home soon. No need to wait up." She responded, her text message ending abruptly. 

It was already past midnight at this point. I felt completely unsettled that Julie was still out with this young, polished thug type of a black stud. I wanted to text back again but felt that I would be pushing her over the edge. Her text reply seemed so annoyed, like I was bothering her. 

As I layed down on the couch I grew more restless. I could not sleep if my life depended upon it, and I decided that I would walk downstairs to the parking lot and wait for them, thinking that she would be back home in no time. 

"Well, she did say that she would be home soon." I tried reasoning with myself.

As I walked down to the empty parking lot in the middle of the night, it felt as uncomfortable as ever. I stood there like a big insecure wimp waiting for my pretty young wife to return from this so-called "business dinner meeting" with the black man. 

It was after 1 o'clock in the morning when I saw the headlights of a car entering the parking lot. I thought it could be Julie. But, it was not Tra'mon's black Bentley car. It was a white Range Rover and I tried peering through the glare of the car's headlights to see who it could possibly be. 

Moments later, the car stopped and the headlights turned off. Anxiously, I stood there waiting to see who would emerge. That is when this beautiful blonde woman in her mid 30's stepped out and began walking towards the building entrance towards me. 

She was a stunning and polished woman who was dressed to the nines. She was about 5'7" tall with a curvey 130 lb. frame and larger breasts.

This woman was almost a clone of that country singer named Faith Hill, without any exaggeration. 

She was wearing a classy, but revealing and clinging lavendar skirt with a crisp white blouse and white 5 inched high heels that had a gold, lamenated stilletto heel. Gold jewelry accentuated her neckline, ears and wrists. But, her left ankle had a solid black roped metal chain on it. 

This white woman simply walked up to the glass entry doors, turned and crossed her arms with her head slightly down to the ground. She paid no attention to me as she seemed to be waiting. She was ignoring me completely. 

She was no more than 10 feet from me and seemed shy, quiet and demure. She was reluctant to engage in any conversation as I formed a simple and quiet "hello" greeting. 

"Hello." she whispered, in return. 

"Are you waiting for someone?" I asked. 

The beautiful blonde woman didn't seem to be interested in answering my question. I was not trying to "pick her up" so to speak, only to be cordial. My attention was still focused upon waiting for my wife to return, and the defeated and insecure feelings I was experiencing. 

The pause in her reply was a few seconds, but it felt much longer.

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry. Yes, I am." she finally answered.

"I'm meeting Trey. He told me to wait for him here." she meekly informed. 

"Oh, okay." I mumbled. 

We stood there as strangers waiting for the same man, only she was there to be with him and I was waiting for him to return my wife. It was a humbling and humiliating feeling for the both of us, and I tried to start up a conversation to pass the time. The silence between us was excruciating, and although I really had no general interest to know who she was, I began to strike up a conversation with her. 

"Have you known Tra'mon awhile then?" I asked, quietly looking at this absolutely gorgeous blonde woman. 

She paused a few moments before answering. 

"Well, yeah. A few years I guess." she volunteered.

"Oh, okay. A boyfriend?" I probed.

"Yeah. Sorta." she reluctantly answered.

"Okay." I returned, whispering as I looked out into the darkness of the parking lot. 

"He's the father of my son." the blonde woman further offered. 

"Oh, I-I didn't know Tra'mon had a child. We just moved here a few months ago and, well, we haven't really known him very long." I said, trying to continue the conversation.

The stunning blonde woman looked at me briefly before lowering her eyes. She clutched her folded arms tighter to her body to cover her larger breasts, which seemed chilled by the cooler late night breeze. 

"Yeah. He has sons and a daughter." she said, rather non chalantly.

"Sons?" I thought to myself, rather surprised to hear to offer up that information. 

"Oh, two sons?" I pryed. 

The blonde woman clutched her arms even tighter and I could see the goose bumps forming on her long, bare white legs in that thin lavendar micro miniskirt she was wearing. She was beginning to shiver as she glared out towards the parking lot. Her full, polished lips were slathered in a deep crimson color and began to quiver. 

"Six." she simply answered. 

"S-six? Six what?" I asked. 

"Sons. Six sons and a daughter." she answered.

"Gosh. I-I-I didn't know h-he had children." I returned, embarrassed that I had not been able to produce any myself.

Another long, uncomfortable pause lasted only two minutes as I thought about what I had just heard. It waas startling to discover this young black stud had fathered 7 children already.

I would later learn that this young black stud who was just barely 25 himself, had 7 children with 7 different women. Unbelievably, he had already knocked up 7 different white woman and had 6 sons and a daughter with them.

"H-How old is your son?" I asked, trying to probe further. 

"He's 2." she answered.

"Your only child?" I continued. 

"Yes." she replied. 

"Oh." I murmurred, pausing another minute.

"So, do you see Trey often?" I asked. 

Suddenly, the shy and timid beautiful blonde woman seemed very uncomfortable and irritated by speaking with me. She was trembling from the chill of the night air and now seemed more embarrassed to be near me. 

"Listen, I really can't talk to you anymore. I'm sorry. Please don't be here when he gets back." she asked.

I was shocked by her response. She looked into my eyes with this look of desperation as my face returned a look of confusion. My eyes asked a silent "why" as I looked into her seemingly frightened beautiful face. 

"P-Please. He will really be so upset if he sees me here talking to you." she pleaded. 

My beaten up looking face turned red. I think I understood, and hearing the possibility that the young black man could become angry caused me to become frightened myself. 

"O-Okay, Miss. I-I guess I sh-should leave then." I said. 

"I'm sorry." she apologized. "I just think that would be best, okay?" she stated. 

"Okay." I returned. 

I simply turned and opened the glass entry doors with my key, as I held the door open and looked back towards this incredibly beautiful and nervous blonde woman.

"Would you like to wait inside, Miss? It's a little chilly out and ..." I asked her. 

"N-No. No, thank you." she answered quickly. "He told me to wait here, but thank you anyway." she answered. 

Embarrassed for her, I left the door unlocked and offered that she could wait inside if she changed her mind. 

She returned another "thank you" as I walked back up to my condo apartment. 

My empty feeling continued as I sat on the couch and waited. I could not help but text Julie again. It was now 2:30 a.m., and it had been nearly an hour and a half since I came back upstairs. There was still no text response from my wife and I went to the window for what seemed like the twentieth time to look out into the parking lot. 

There was no sign or the black man and my wife. The gorgeous blonde woman in the micro minidress remained standing outside by the door waiting patiently, just as Tra'mon instructed her to do. She had made no effort or attempt to wait inside and I was beginning to sympathesize with her being cold in the night air. 

My eyes were growing weary by now. I turned on the weather channel and began watching with little interest, trying to stay awake. But, I was unable to. It must have been close to 3 in the morning when I finally passed out on the couch, unable to stay awake. I fell asleep with an unbelievable feeling of defeat and knowing that this young black stud was still out with my wife.

A short while later I jumped up from my sleep and sat up on the couch. 

I think that I was awakened by the sound of the shower running in our bedroom. I sat up on the couch startled, like I had been having a bad dream. I looked over to to clock and it was 4:40 a.m., and that's when I realized that I had been asleep for almost 2 hours. 

I got up and made my way over to the bathroom. I could see Julie's beautiful silhouette through the foggy white pane glass of the shower. Her clothes were scattered almost recklessly about the bathroom and bedroom, and her pantyhose were sloppily hanging out from the tiny bathroom trash can. 

"Honey?" I said, announcing my arrival. 

"Oh? You're awake?" she returned, as she showered herself quickly. 

"Yeah. I just woke up. You just got home?" I asked, feeling nervous.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Time just got away from us." she said.

"Trey wanted me to stop by this club with him." she announced.

"Trey said it would be good for future business." she added.

"It was really busy. Trey said it would be a nice place to check out after our dinner." she said.

"Trey knew the owner so we went." she continued as she quickly washed herself. 

"Trey wanted me to meet his date too." she continued. 

"H-His date? You m-met her then?" I asked as she fiished her shower and turned off the water.

Julie did not answer. 

"Hand me that towel, honey." she said as she opened the sliding shower door and squeezed the water from her hair. 

Meekly, I handed her the towel.

"Wh-why are you showering this late?" I asked her. 

"Oh my god. It was so smokey in the club Trey took me to. I didn't know Trey would want to be there so long, either. I had to get the smoke out of my hair." Julie informed.

"Trey said we'll go back another time when it's not so busy." she continued. 

My feelings of insecurity were continuing to increase by the momnet as I watched my wife drying herself off from her mini shower with a large towel. She seemed rushed to get to sleep. 

"Why did you have to go there anyway?" I asked.

"Oh, stop!" Julie snapped.

"Trey is my boss. I work for Trey. I just can't ignore what my boss tells me to do. Don't be silly." she said in an irritated tone of voice.

Quietly, I looked at my wife slipping into a pair of panties and a night tee shirt. That is when I noticed a slightly faded ink stamp on the top of both of her hands. 

They were barely faded ink stamps of a rather large one inch sized black spade symbol that had not come off completely in the shower. The thick. black ink was so strong that it wouldn't even come off with a shower. 

"Wh-what are those for?" I asked nervously.

Julie looked at me as if she was becoming aggravated by my questioning. Still, she answered.

"Oh, those are just club stamps they put on at the door when you're going in. I think so you don't have to pay again. I'm not sure." she informed. 

"Cl-Club stamps?" I asked, bewildered.

"Yes, every night club has them. It's nothing unusual." she explained. 

"Oh." I answered meekly, not sure how to respond.

The longer pause was a few seconds as I tried absorbing this information around in my mind.

"Well, why are there two of them?" I asked timidly.

"Listen, let's just go to sleep. I'm exhausted. Can we just talk in the morning?." my wife asked. 

"Okay. I-I was just wondering why they'd put two ink stamps on you?" I probed. "That's all." I whispered.

Irritated by her fatigue, Julie answered.

"When we stepped out for some air then went back in they stamped me again." she explained.




Black Man One Ch. 11



"Im going to sleep now. Go to sleep, honey." she answered, turning out the lights. 

Julie fell asleep within minutes. I layed there quietly before I finally fell back to sleep myself. My night was restless and I felt such humiliation by the rather non chalant attitude of my wife being with the black stud all night long.

What was supposed to be a "business dinner meeting" seemed like so much more like a personal night out, and this made me feel so shallow inside. 

I did sleep, but only for a couple of hours. I woke up and went into the bathroom and noticed that it was just past seven-thirty in the morning. It was Thursday morning and I was already more than an hour late for my drive into the office, but I felt too fatigued to make it. I dialed the receptionist's number and left a message, announcing that I was calling off. 

It was the first day I had ever called off in my entire career. 

Julie was passed out cold and I relieved myself before splashing some cold water on my face. That is when I looked down to see the pantyhose Julie had had haphazardly left behind. She had worn them last night and tried tossing them in the bathroom trash can. They were hanging over the top of the tiny can. 

I don't know why I felt compelled to pick them up. I suppose that I was ready to roll them up and toss them into the trash can properly when I stopped. What I noticed confused me.

The knees of her suntan pantyhose were filthy dirty and almost entirely ripped open. They had obvious holes in the knee portions, which caused a longer run further down the legs of her nylon stockinged pantyhosed. 

"What is this from?" I thought to myself, turning red and embarrassed. 

It was a humiliating feeling because I thought the worst. What man wouldn't? But, I tossed them away and looked back towards my wife who was fast asleep. The feeling of emptiness overwhelmed me and I desperately needed to get some air. 

I quietly headed downstairs and outside towards the parking lot to get some fresh air. I had simply planned to go for a short walk and convince myself not to be so paranoid. Afterall, Julie was my wife and she really was into learning more about the workout center business.

"It was just a simple business event. Nothing more. Right?" I tried convincing myself.

"They just lost track of time, I'm sure that's all it was. It happens." I continued thinking. 

My short walk was merely 10 minutes as I headed back towards our condo bulding. I looked at my watch and it was not even 8 o'clock, but I felt too restless to go back to sleep. The Arizona morning sun was beginning to warm. 

When I got to within 100 feet of the building, I was stunned to see that very same blonde woman I had spoken to in the parking lot last night. 

She was the same woman that had waited so patiently for the black stud, and had waited for over three and a half hours for him to arrive. Now, it was only 3 and a half hours since he brought Julie home at around 4:30 a.m., and she was leaving already. 

Like all the other white women before her I had seen leaving the black stud's apartment, this woman truly and undeniably looked like she was a complete and totally used wreck. I gasped when I saw her.

The short lavendar skirt she wore was riding up higher than what was normal. She was barefoot and her blouse, heels and bra were being held in her arms and clutched against her supple breasts. Her long, blonde hair was "frazzled" so out of control that it looked like she had been dragged along by it. The makeup on her face was smeared and coated with several blotches of the black man's dried up cum. She simply tried hiding her beautiful but noticeably used face from me as she minced her way out to the same white Range Rover she arrived in. 

"Geezuz H. Krist!" I gasped, watching her start the car and leave the parking lot.

"She waited three and a half hours for him to be used by him for three and a half hours?!" I pondered. 

Bewildered, I made my way upstairs and back up to my condo unit. I put on a pot of coffee and turned the television on to watch the news as I glanced over to my passed out wife on the bed. The thought of this young, black stud keeping her out all night really began to irritate me, yet I knew that I was too much of a wimp and a coward to confront him about it. 

After only a few sips of my coffee, I put my head back on the couch as I watched the morning news, then unconsciously I fell back to sleep.

end. chapter 11.



Black Man One Ch. 12



It was eleven-thirty when I woke up again and I heard the sound of Julie in the kitchen. She was pouring herself a glass of orange juice and speaking to someone on her cell phone. At first, it was difficult to make out any of the conversation when I sat up from my laying position on the couch trying to regain consciousness. 

At the time, Julie was unaware that I had called off from work, and that I was still in the apartment. She didn't know that I had fallen back to sleep on the couch as I looked over to see her holding the cell phone with one shoulder as she tried managing the juice bottle and glass. She looked like she had just woke up herself. 

"Yes, Sir. I can be ready in 15 minutes." her voice rang out. 

"Yes, Sir. I showered last night. I don't need to ..." she continued, listening and apparently being interupted by the caller.

"Yes, Sir. Okay. I'll be right down, Sir." Julie replied as she hung up the phone. 

I watched as my beautiful blonde wife finished off her glass of juice frantically. She rushed towards the bedroom and began sifting through her drawers as I stood up and followed her in behind.

"Honey? What's going on?" I asked.

My wife was startled by my sudden presence.

"Oh my god, Richard! You scared the hell out of me!" she shouted. 

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you at work?" she asked, inquisitively. 

"Well, I called off. I was a little tired." I answered.

"Don't ever sneak up behind me like that." she scowled. 

"I-I'm sorry. I won't." I apologized.

Julie continued getting ready as she spoke to me, not once breaking her momentum as she readied herself. She slipped on a pair of pink spandex pants and a loose tee white tee shirt as she rushed into the bathroom to apply some makeup. 

"Where are you going?" I asked, meekly. 

"My boss called. We have to run by the center and then pick up some things." she replied. 

Julie put her long blonde hair in a neat ponytail and slipped into a pair of flat sandals. 

"Wh-what things?" I asked, curiously.

"I don't have time, Richard. I don't know. I didn't ask. My boss told me to get ready and meet him downstairs." she answered.

Again, I was humiliated by her reference to the young black stud as her "boss." I wasn't feeling the greatest, myself, and it appeared that my beautiful wife was in somewhat of a daze from her fatigue too. 

She applied a thick coat of deep red lipstick and began digging in her purse, pulling things out and putting things in, making sure she had her makeup, lipstick and wallet packed away. A typical woman's activity, yet she was noticeably rushed, hurried and frantic about it. 

I stood there watching as Julie got ready faster than I had ever seen her before. Actually, it was in less than half the time as I have ever witnessed. A feeling of stress came over me as she seemed uncaring that I was home from a regular work day for the first time in my life. 

"I gotta go, honey. I'll call you. We'll have a late lunch, okay?" she said, kissing me on the cheek and scurrying off to meet the young black man. 

"Well, okay." I whispered, passively. 

I walked over to the side window to see my young blonde wife running out to Tra'mon's black Bentley car. For some unknown reason my gaze lingered. 

Tra'mon was standing there on his cell phone in his casual shorts and shades, a light blue muscle shirt over his torso exposed his dark chiseled arms. The black python tattoos were revealed on his sculpted arms for all to see. He wore black sandals and a thin, black shiny thug-looking type of satin "doo-rag" upon his head. He merely stood there on his cell as he leaned against his own black Bentley car. 

I was astounded to see him arrogantly hold out his car keys with just two fingers as Julie ran up to him. She took them from his powerful hands and scurried over to open the driver's side door.

My first thought that she was going to drive this man's Bentley, but that was not the case.

Astonishingly, she opened the driver's side door and just stood there as she held it open for him. The black stud slowly and methodically sauntered his way towards her. His cocky stroll couldn't have been obvious as he remained on his cell phone, stood there for another moment and then stepped inside. That is when Julie handed the keys back to him and stood there waiting for him to pull his strong legs inside. As he did, I watched as Julie closed the door for him and scurried around to the other side of his car to get inside herself. 

"Wh-what the ...?" I gasped. 

They drove off within seconds. I almost could not believe what I had just observed. It was such an obvious display of his authority over her that it made me feel weak in the knees. 

As I turned back to the bedroom I realized that it was left a mess, which was never Julie's style. She had always straightened things up before she left to go anywhere. 

Defeatedly, I decided to straighten things up myself. I picked up the things from the floor of the bedroom and the bathroom before heading for the messy bed to fix it. That is when I noticed the matchbook laying on the carpeted floor of our bedroom. It must have come from Julie's purse and had fallen from the comforter when I was making the bed. 

I picked it up the black matchbook and noticed that it had the same black spade symbol on the front cover. The name of the club was on there too. 

"Black Jacques Club" was the name of the club, the word "Black" being on the left side of the spade symbol and the word "Jacques" being on the right side of it with the word "club" at the bottom. I turned the matchbook over and saw the printed name of the club, along with the address and website in white letters. 

"This must be where Julie went last night?" I thought. 

"Geez! This has to be 50 miles away." I gasped, noticing the town it was located in.

Nervously, I went to the computer and looked it up. It was 47 miles away, just as I had suspected and seemed to be almost in the middle of nowhere set off to the end of a larger town. I wondered if it was some sort of casino since the ace of spades type symbol on the cover of this black matchbook resembled what they represented. I wanted to look up their website, but I thought better of it for the tiime being and didn't want to know. Not then. I simply put the matchbook down and continued cleaning our apartment.

About two hours later Julie texted me.

"We're picking up chinese and gonna eat by the pool. Want to join us?" she texted. 

"I guess so." I texted back. 

"Ok. Meet ya' down there in 20." her returned text message read. 

I was just sitting around feeling sorry for myself on my rare day off. My pretty blonde wife had spent all night with the young black man, and now she had the spent the better part of the early day with him too. Her invitation was to join them rather than her and I having lunch together, alone, which I had joped for. Defeatedly, I put my swim trunks on and headed down to the pool area.

I slid one of the lower wooden and padded chaise lounge beach styled chairs over to a table. It had been there already and I simply moved it to that table in the shade and positioned the high backing straight upright. The small, circular white table had three chairs surrounding it, and I moved 2 onto the other side and as far away from the one I reserved for my wife. 

I now sat in the lower chaise lounge to the right side of what would be her sitting position and as close to her as possible. My conscious thought was to make the black stud sit further away from Julie while I sat next to her.

There was little time to make any other adjustments with these chairs.

My back was to the glass entry doors leading to the pool area while Julie's chair was only a few inches to my right facing out towards the same door. I felt a small sense of accomplishment in forcing the young black stud to sit on the other side of the table away from us. I even scooteed my lower chair to within six or eight inches of hers. 

As I sat and waited for them to arrive, my nerves were causing my hands to tremble. I tried to stop their noticeable shaking. It didn't feel comfortable thinking about having lunch, or any other meal for that matter, with my wife and this black man. I reasoned that at least I would be with Julie, and I knew this would be better than them having lunch all by themselves. 

Julie arrived 10 minutes later and she was wearing a solid black bikini that had a small, half dollar sized symbol of a marijuana leaf on the front. It was set at the top of her bikini line and off to the left. Apparently, she had run upstairs to our condo apartment to change first before heading down to the pool. 

Julie had never owned a solid black bikini before and, although she looked amazing in it, I just had to ask her about it. 

"Oh, yeah. I just got it today. When we were out grabbing some things for the workout center. Trey said it would look cute on me." she said.

"It's a Bob Marley bikini." she laughed.

"Isn't it cute?" she asked, naively.

It was probably the sexist and skimpiest full cut bikini I had ever seen in my life, yet the thought of the black man picking out a swimsuit for my own blonde wife felt demeaning and somewhat rude of him. 

"I-I guess, honey. S-sure." I nervously answered.

Julie had the small cartons of chinese food in bags and she began taking them out. She set them down and reapplied a fresh, thicker coat of the deep red lipstick. She then looked at the brown paper bags with the takeout food inside. 

With them, there were a few sets on plastic chopsticks that came with these meals. She set them all up onto the small table along with several dozen little fortune cookies individually wrapped in plastic. 

"Trey went to change. He'll be out soon." Julie stated, as she began playing with one set of those chopsticks between her fingers. 

I noticed the barely faded black spade symbols on the tops of her hands, once again. It really bothered me that they were still there and I asked her why they hadn't washed off by now. 

"I don't know." she answered.

"It's just a club stamp. They use really dark and thick ink I guess." she added. 

I complained about them, telling her that I didn't like that they should be putting more than one stamp on her like that. I told her that they looked ridiculously and if they're going to use such dark ink then maybe she shouldn't let them stamp her at all. 

"I don't see what the big deal is. It's their rules ya' know." she answered. 

"Don't make such a big deal about them." she added. 

"Don't be ridiculous." she said, annoyed.

"I guess I just don't think it's a nice thing to do, that's all. I didn't mean anything." I muttered. 

As our little disagreement about the ink stamps on the tops of her hands lingered more than it should, I noticed Julie looking up every few seconds. 

"Oh, hey Trey." she said, turning the conversation. 

"Hungry?" she asked. 

"Hey, girl. Yeah I am." Tra'mon replied. 

Feeling the sudden presence of this young black stud behind me made me even more nervous. I had not seen him yet and I wondered how long he had been standing there behind me. Deep down, I was hoping he had not heard our little exchange and our slight disagreement about her club ink stamps. When he stepped in closer to us he was barely off to my left side and in my peripheral vision. 

Timidly, I turned ever so slightly to my left as my face beamed red. I became silent and my cheeks burned even more red asa I noticed him. With complete arrogance, the young black man was wearing another one of the flimsiest and skimpiest little nylon speedoes bikinis he owned.

This obnoxious bikini was a bright neon orange color that resembled the color of the Hooters Girl's shorts. The fabric was so digustingly thin and flimsy that it made the astonishingly enormous bulge in the front pouch protrude like I had never seen it before. 

"Geezuz. Oh g-god. Wh-what the hell?!" I mumbled almost in silence. 

The young stud was so damned flagrant about his massive cock protruding out with such overwhelming arrogance. He stood there off to my side with cockiness. My face turned 10 shades of red as I looked at Julie to see her staring directly at it. Her more than noticeable stare was grotesquely obvious, and it lingered for more than a few seconds as he spoke.

"What up, gurl?" he asked. 

"Oh, nothing Trey. I was trying to figure out these stupid chopsticks, that's all." she said in n over the top giddy tone of voice.

The black stud laughed as I sat there in silence, intimidated by his powerful presence. I felt like I should be "cowering" under the table at this time as the tension in the air thickened. 

Julie and I had couldn't have been sitting more than six or seven inches apart, her regular chair higher than my very low chaise lounge beach chair. Yet, our eyes were fairly close to being on the same level due to my much taller height.

"Nonsense, girl! Lemme see those." Tra'mon suddenly shouted. 

"The're easy." he continued as my wife fumbled around with the chopsticks between her fingers. 

"Here, lemme show ya the right way." the black man stated determinedly.

That is when the young black stud took his arrogance to another level. 

With complete and utter disdain, he cruelly stepped right in between us in the boldest manner possible. He literally had to "nudge" and "wedge" his way in between our sitting positions, putting his feet firmly on the tops of mine to anchor me in place. I was too afraid to mention the discomfort as the young black stud just moved right in.

Degradingly, this left his powerful and well-muscled asscheeks in that flimsy neon orange bikini directly in front of my face. Rudely, his asscheeks were by no more than a mere inch in front of my flustered face. I began to think that his standing position also had to leave his mammoth sized bikini-covered cock bulge no more than a few inches before my wife's beautiful face, and it did. It was now hanging down to her eye level and the bridge of her nose. 

But, I could not see Julie yet. The black man's rude gesture had all but blocked my view of my pretty young blonde wife. 

"Here, like this!" he said, taking her delicate pale hands in his and showing her how to use chopsticks. 

"Hold'em like this." he repeated.

"Oh, okay." Julie whispered. 

I could only hear their words as my vision was completely "cut off" by the young black's bikini-clad asscheeks in those skimpy orange biknis. I sat there demoralized beyond comprehension and unable to speak, frozen by the intimidation I felt by this much younger man. His unprecedented arrogance turned my face a fire engine red. 

I could hardly move an inch because I was so afraid, and I tried backing my face off a little to avoid his asscheeks bumping my face from beiing in such close proximity. But, his sandaled feet stepping onto the tops of my own feet grew firmer and more uncomfortable for me.

"Oh, I-I th-think I got it now, Trey." I heard Julie mumble quietly.

That is when the black stud grabbed one of the cartons of chinese food from the table and, without even turning his body, he handed it to me from behind his back. 

"Here ya' go, boy." he said, not moving another inch.

I just put the carton of rice down to my lap and sat there degraded, humiliated and humbled. Tra'mon's bikinied asscheeks remained an inch before my face and I had no idea what to do. Cerainly, I could not have eaten if I wanted to. His backside was just too close to my face.

I could hear Tra'mon and his actions grabbing another carton and handing it to Julie before taking his own. She thanked him as her voice seemed to fade to a passive whisper. 

"Yeah. I like shrimp fried rice. Don't you, girl?" he asked. 

"Y-Yes, Sir. I do." Julie answered, quietly. 

He rudely stood there and ate by holding the carton in his hands. Cruelly, he stayed standing in this position and refused to move an inch while he continued demonstrating to my wife how to hold the chopsticks. He was totally ignoring me and it seemed as if Julie was no longer aware of my presence either. 

For just one moment, I strained my neck around in an attempt to see my wife. I had to peek around the black stud's lowewr torso and hips to catch a mere glimpse of my beautiful blonde wife, Julie. 

It was even more insulting than I had envisioned.

The young stud's monstrously bulged crotch in the thin spandex orange bikini was literally half erect and not even an inch from her nose and perfectly painted lips. It was as if the stud was forcing her to take in the demoralizingly musky aroma of his elephantine sized cock in that speedoes bikini suit. 

Julie's eyes simply looked up to him in awe as he spoke non-chalantly and unconcerned. His bulging cock and balls were rudely on the same level as her delicate nostrils and lipstick covered lips. Julie had taken only a few small nibbles of her food but then she suddenly stopped. 

She dropped her arms to her lap and simply looked up to him and listened attentively. She was now as quiet as a mouse as the stud continued to speak.

It was degrading to see this for that brief moment, but I was unable to keep my neck stretched out like that to see her face from around his body again. I sat there nervously as the young black stud demeaned me in this revolting manner. 

My head and face desperately tried to move away from his muscular bikini asscheeks, but he kept moving them back and forth to "purposely" bump my face with the flimsy spandex material on his cheeks. I was so humiliated and now getting upset by the cockiness of this black stud. Yet, I was terrified of saying anything to him. I couldn't have imagined that he would be so rude as to stick his backside in my face like that, and I had thought maybe this could possibly be some sort of simple accident. 

Defeatedly, I sat there unable to find the courage to move. I was petrified to anger him in any way if I tried to get up or just walk away. 

Julie's sudden silence began to concern me more asa I had no idea what was happening in front of him. 

All of a sudden, Tra'mon reached back with his one hand and grabbed the top of my head by the hair. He did so in mid stream of his conversation and non chalantly as not to alert my wife of his actions. Uncanningly, He pulled my reddened and embarrassed face into the middle of his bikini-clad asscheeks and held it there with a firmness that made me helpless. He did so with such great force that I could not move, and my weaker arms remained down in my lap passively clutching the carton of rice. 

I couldn't believe what he was doing. I was shocked into submission by this black stud's total arrogance as I now struggled to breathe. 

When he finally released my hair a few minutes later, I tried backing my face away abruptly as I began breathing heavier. But, backing my face up did not work at all. The tall backing of the lounge chair prevented me from moving my head back more than a few inches as I sat back utterly degraded looking at his bikini asscheeks before me. 

Seconds later, the arrogant young black stud put his hands in front of him and continued eating. He continued speaking to Julie, yet he continued backing up those few inches so his backside would hit my wimpish face fully and flushly. Cowardly, I sat there in this form of hell with my arms down at my sides as Tra'mon continued to repeat this act of degrading me. He "bumped" his bikini clad backside in my face over and over again, and for the next 20 minutes. His butt cheeks must have been shoved into my face and "bumped" it every 20 or 30 seconds during this entire time. He feigned the "accidental" bumping by standing there as if nothing was happening. I wasn't sure if Julie noticed anything. 

My arms remained weak and down at my sides as Tra'mon repeated this act. When he moved his backside away from me for those brief moments he seemed to be getting closer to Julie, if that was at all possible. 




Black Man One Ch. 12



This continued. 

Degraded beyond anything I had ever experienced or could explain, the young black stud continued eating his meal standing before me with his backside directly before my embarrassed face, as he intentionally shoved it on me with pure arrogance. 

In disgust, I remained sitting there intimidated and humiliated and was almost in tears. This was going on way too long for it to be a simple accident, yet I wasn't sure. My face was the reddest it has ever been from the intense humiliation no man could ever imagine. That is when the young black stud leaned over and set the almost empty carton down on the table to his right. He stood back into an upright position as his cell phone rang. 

With unheard of arrogance, the black man then leaned back to shove his bikini-clad ass in my face one last time, purposely "letting off wind" as he stepped away. It was unimaginable to conceive how intense my humiliation was as the black stud forced me to inhale his degrading tail winds while he stepped off to the side. 

Embarrassed, I looked up at Julie with my red face to see her deep red lipstick had been smeared across her lips and partially onto her cheek. Her face was flush as her eyes followed the black stud who had stepped only a few feet away to take his call. Her carton of chinese food remained on her lap and her chopsticks remained between her fingers, listlessly, as she stared directly at him. 

Her beautiful face looked like a startled "mime" that was frozen in time, her mouth partially hung open and her cheeks a deep pinkish hue. 

I then looked over to the black stud who was standing there with authority with one hand on his strong, dark hips while the other held the cell phone to his ear. The bulge of his flimsy neon orange bikini speedoes pouch was now jutting almost straight outwards from his dark torso with what had to be a full erection. The red lipstick smears from my blonde wife's lips were grotesquely and blatantly displayed on the young black man's bulging and sweating nyloned crotch. It contrasted with the bright orange color of his flimsy bikini suit. 

I have no words to describe the utter arrogance of this black man. Yet, the obvious display of black superiority was one that humbled me. The stud knew that I would not say a word, or contest his rude and obnoxious actions in any way. I was simply not "man" enough to do so. 

In turn, I am sure that Julie knew that I would never be able to find the courage to defend her honor. She must have known that her weakling of a white husband would never be able to stand up to a black man, like Tra'mon Smith, who had just discreetly "violated" her in such a manner. 

The embarrassment I felt was overwhelming as Tra'mon finished his call and looked over to Julie.

"I gots to go. Somethin' just came up. I'll text ya' when I need something." he said to my wife.

"Y-Yes, okay Trey." Julie whispered, acting as if what had just happened was no big deal, or never even happened.

The black stud turned and looked directly into my eyes. He sneered in such a "cocky" manner as he walked way, my blonde wife's eyes following him every step of the way. She had just seen her weakling husband emasculated, once again. But, she wasn't about to say a word about it. There was no thought in mentioning what she could not acknowledge. Not then.

As Tra'mon departed, Julie looked back to me and then back down to her barely eaten carton of rice. 

"I guess I-I wasn't as hungry as I thought I'd b-be." she whispered. 

"Do you mind if I go in and take a n-nap, honey? I'm really not feeling like myself." she stated.

I told Julie to go ahead while I finished cleaning up here at the pool. I had no desire to answer any of her questions, if in fact there would be any. In my mind, I just wanted to be alone since I was ashamed by the lack of backbone I had exhibited when the black stud demoralized me. 

"Thanks, honey." Julie whispered as she left the pool area. 

Even more degrading was the fact that my blonde wife's chair was absolutely soaking wet when she stood up to leave. I noticed it as I was cleaning up the wayward cartons of chinese food laying on the table. Humbly, I finished my task and walked upstairs to lay down on the couch with the hopes of trying to forget about what had just occurred. 

My feeling of defeat was one that I prayed Julie was not entirely aware of. Afterall, she had not mentioned anything about it. 

The next day was Friday. I knew that I had to go into work this day after missing the day before. There was just too much to do. As always, when I left the building at around 6:10 a.m. to head off to work there was another one of the black stud's white "friends" leaving. Again, she looked all used and incoherent but my glance towards her was brief. It had become so routine and degrading to see them, yet it was impossible to ignore. 

The next days to follow became equally degrading. 

end. chapter 12. 



Black Man One Ch. 13



My insecurity continued to grow with each passing day during the next three weeks, as did the insecurities of the other 12 white husbands in our little condo community. Each day during the work week while the husbands worked, the young black stud had all of our wives hanging around him at his soon to be gym. 

The white wives continued assisting and preparing for his new workout center business to open, and they readied themselves for this event. None of us timid white husbands had the courage to ask how this business venture we invested in was developing. 

Every weekday and weekend, our wives were at the workout center for close to 12 hours. The center had not been opened to the public yet and they were spending so much time there. The preparation for this center appeared far more involved than any of us had ever anticipated.

Each day, I also continued to be coersed and intimidated into assisting Tra'mon with his personal workouts. He was adament about this and I was scared to contest him in any way. I assisted him by holding the heavy bag steady as he pounded and flailed away on it. In complete demoralization, each one of these workouts ended with me quietly and passively cleaning up the black man's sweat and spit from the blue matted floors of the condo gym. 

He was rude, stern and mean while during these quick 30 minute workout sessions, which he had suddenly switched back to 6 o'clock a.m., and this caused me to adjust my own work schedule. The young black man's masculine presence and aggressive personality terrified me to no end.

The black stud hardly spoke to me during the next 3 weeks of these personal workouts, except for names and direct orders, and the references to how his new business was coming along. But, during these 3 weeks he also seemed to be "rubbing it in my nose," so-to-speak, in the most subtle "and" the most blatant ways. Often, these little signs of his black dominance over me were impossible to ignore. 

His new business was a woman's workout center, and the preparation to get things ready consumed Julie. It consumed the other 12 white wives as well, but not nearly as much as it did my own wife. This fact was a source of embarrassment for me as she seemed to cater to his every whim. 

They were gone all day long from around 10 o'clock in the morning when they woke up until late into the evenings. And, their absence was not only a few days here and there but all seven days of the week. This went on daily, seven days a week, for the next three weeks. 

Half of these days our wives were back home by 10 o'clock at night, while other days our wives would not return until well into the "wee" hours of the morning, usually between 3:00 a.m. and 4:30 a.m., and a few times even later.

Julie's rather simple explanations and excuses for these much later hours were always so casual and nonchalant. Often, they were curious and secretive to my admittedly paranoid state of mind. Overall, her late days and nights seemed like no big deal to her. But, it was starting to concern me more than ever. 

"Oh, we're all going out for a quick drink after we're finished here, honey." Julie would explain during her quick phone calls or texts. 

"You don't have to wait up." she would text.

"My boss told me I need to stay and finished some things." she would say during her brief calls. 

"We really worked so hard today. I think we all need a drink tonight." she would explain, innocently.

"I'm going to grab some dinner with Trey. Don't wait up." my blonde wife would text far too often.

"We're all gonna stop for a quick drink after work." Julie would text. "Shouldn't be too long."

Every day there were similar messages and calls, or both. I would receive some form of excuse for her staying out each day. 

These three weeks were the most defeating because I knew that she was usually going out to that seemingly insulting club called "The Black Jacques Club" for those after work drink she described. I knew this all too well. 

The sight of all those dark inked spade symbols stamped on the tops of her hands every other day felt like a slap across the face to me. She was always "going out for drinks," in her own words, and always going with Tra'mon and the others from the upstart workout center. The group went out after working at the center all day and night.

This was happening 4 or 5 days a week. But, most irritating to me was the number of those one-inch sized black spade stamps placed on her hands, wrists and arms. The number of them suddenly began to increase after the first week, and seemed to gradually increase even more as the days continued to pass. 

Initially, there were only two of them with one being on each of the tops of her hands. To me, that was insulting and concerning enough. Afterall, Julie wasn't some 22 year old club girl. She was a mature, married women of 34 who was married to me. 

"Why is this no big deal to her?" I asked myself.

One day there was 3 of them. Another day, there were 4 of these black spade club stamps on the tops of her hands and wrists. Then, one other day there were 5 of them running all the way up the length of her left arm.

"Geezuz. What the hell?" I thought to myself. 

For some unknown reason, I decided that I had to ask my pretty blonde wife about these ink stamps again. She knew they bothered me, and I knew that it bothered her when I mentioned them. Her annoyed reaction to my inquiries about the blatant ink stamps was becoming more curious to me. For a long time I held things inside like a timid wimp. For awhile I could not find the courage to ask her about them again, but I really needed to.

It was one of those 10 o'clock nights when Julie arrived home looking exhausted, as usual. She was tired from her long day at the new women's workout center, which had still not been opened to general public. There was only about a week left before the grand opening. 

She walked in with what would become the workout center's new uniform carrying a half dozen shopping bags. I was still awake and watching the late night news, and feeling incredibly insecure already. I was insecure about not seeing my beautiful blonde wife for more than a couple of hours a day for the past three weeks. 

Now, she was suddenly standing there with a fatigued look on her face in this new so-called gym uniform. She looked as beautiful as ever, yet the shock of seeing her in this moderately revealing so-called uniform caused me to swallow the lump in my throat. 

Julie stood there in a solid black thong-styled spandex leotard over a pair of solid, opaque white spandex tights. She was also wearing very feminine-looking pink and white sneakers over a pair of white below the ankle socks, which were folded neatly down to her shoes. The low-cut, scooped v-neck of this black leotard revealed a little more of her supple cleavage than I would have liked. Especially for a simple workout center environment. On Julie's left arm was a black band about 4 inches in width. The black band had the new workout center's name across the middle, "Roar." 

In the middle of the "O" of the center's name "Roar" was an illustrated picture of a black panther head with the animal's body behind it. It was an attempt to depict some form of 3-D illustration the black panther was leaping out from the letter. 

"Look, honey. This is our new uniform." she began. 

"It's for all the assistants of Trey's club." she said, excitedly and naively.

"Trey designed it." she added.

"Trey thinks it's pretty and unique for a workout club. Isn't it the cutest?" she asked.

"Trey really likes it too." she continued.

I was speechless as I stood there looking at my wife in this black over white color scheme for the workout center. She set down one of the bags and turned, walking towards our bedroom with the remaining large bags. I could see her solid white spandex-covered asscheeks sticking out from that black thonged leotard. Meekly, I stood up and followed her into the bedroom while she emptied the bags onto the bed. 

I gazed at the black band around her left arm with a panther head inside one of the letters again. It confused me. At the time, I did not understand it's intended purpose. My eyes just stared in defeat as I stood in the doorway of our bedroom watching my exhausted and excited wife in that sexy leotard outfit. 

She pulled out a total of 7 black thonged leotards, which were reminiscent of those leotards of the late 80's and 90's. Then, she pulled out what had to be at least 40 pairs of those opaque solid white spandex tights that went under the leotard bodysuit.  

"Wh-why so many pairs of tights?" I asked her, nervous and confused. 

"Oh, well you know. White tights can get so dirty so fast and yaou can never have enough of them." she explained, as she quickly walked back out and into the kitchen.

"But, Trey insisted on white under our leos." she added.

"I think they're cute." Julie gleamed.

I followed behind my blonde wife and continued to ask questions. My mind was thinking of the worst case scenerio, and I felt so empty inside that I was not able to see her very much for over 3 weeks. In fact, I hardly seen her at all. 

"Wh-what's that band around your arm for?" I asked Julie. 

"Oh, that's for the assistants. It just shows I work there. It's another good idea Trey came up with." she announced.

"Trey really knows what he is doing." she said.

"I'm learning so much from Trey." she added. 

"Trey has so many good ideas to market his place too." Julie gleemed. 

"Oh." I replied, meekly. 

Julie was walking around our condo apartment quickly, and I was following her around from behind like some pathetic lovesick school boy trying to keep her attention. Her mind was obviously somewhere else. She sauntered into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of apple juice from the fridge. 

She finally stopped and was drinking the juice when the obvious image of 5 noticeable and barely faded black inked spade symbols came into a clearer focus. They were from her time out last night. 

Again, she spent time going out for drinks after her long day at the black stud's workout center. This time, three faded spade ink stamps were on the top of her left hand, wrist and forearm while the other two were on the top of her right hand and wrist.  

I knew that I just needed to ask or at least say something about them as she walked away from me and back into the livingroom. Once again, I followed her like a lost puppy. I was upset as I stopped and questioned her near the foyer of the front door. 

"Honey, why is that club still putting all those stamps on you?" I asked insecurely.

"I thought you were going to talk to them and tell them not to?" I complained. 

"Oh, stop Richard." Julie snapped, becoming irritated. 

"I never said that!" she added.

Her sudden annoyance was apparent when I brought up this subject once again. 

"I thought they only stamped you when you went inside?" I questioned.

"Yes, they do. That's their rule. I already told you that!" she said, firmly. 

There was a slight pause as her casual and uncaring mannerisms began to bother me. She simply began digging through the one bag she left behind as I persisted.

"W-Well, why are th-there 5 of them then?" I asked.

"Why do th-they have to be so b-big? I mean, really." I muttered defeatedly. 

"Does that mean you went back into that stupid club 5 times last night?" I asked, softly drilling her. 

"Damn, Richard. I told you. Yes, whenever you go back in they stamp you. It's no big deal." she explained. 

"And, yes. Sometimes my boss wants to step outside and smoke or get some air." she said. 

I tried remembering all my wife's previous explanantions of why she was stepping outside of this club all the time, and why she "had to" step outside the club in the first place.

"B-But, I-I thought you said that you only uh-stepped out for air 'cause it was so smokey inside?" I asked, rather determinedly. 

"I guess I thought they allowed people to smoke inside the club, I don't know?" I asked, worriedly. 

"Oh, Geezuz. Will you stop that. I meant another type of smoke, you doe-doe bird." she ripped. 

"Trey smokes weed. You know that." she continued.

"Yes, smoking is allowed inside. It's a club." she stated.

"Sometimes, Trey just wants to get a little air." she added. 

"You want me to tell Trey that I can't step outside with him when he tells me to?" she asked, sarcastically.

Her words seemed like some sort of warning and they cut through me like a knife would cut through melted butter. I think my wife knew how intimidated I was around the young black stud and now she was asking me if she should say something to him?! 

"Uh, N-N-No I g-guess not." I returned in a weak, emasculated whisper. 

"B-But, those stamps are r-really ... I mean, they don't seem so necessary in my opinion honey." I added, still red-faced and embarrassed.

"Just leave it alone, Richard. I'm tired." Julie said loudly. 

At that time, there was a firm knock on the door. It was 10:15 p.m.

I had no idea who it could possibly be at this time of the night. I thought it might be one of the condo neighbors complaining about our little argument and disagreement, which was beginning to get louder than I had anticipated. 

"Maybe we were too loud?" I thought to myself. 

Julie looked at me with fierce eyes and contempt. She looked at me with this "I told you so" look on her face that told me I was making such a big deal over nothing. Now, someone was knocking at the door. 

My wife walked over to answer the door as I stood there in the foyer. I was feeling very nervous and uncomfortable. Embarrassingly, when my wife opened the front door the black stud was standing there with an all-knowing look upon his stern face. 

"Oh, hi Trey." Julie said excitedly.

"I'm so surprised to see you, Trey. Didn't you have a date or something, Trey?" she asked.

"Did I forget to do something, Trey?" she continued asking, subserviently. 

The young dark muscular stud just stood in the doorway as I peered towards him. He simply looked back to eyeball me. My weak shoulders slumped and my eyes went to the floor when I noticed him wearing only a pair of black spandex workout shorts and a black muscle tee shirt with the white letters of the club "Roar" across his bulging chest. 

The tight, black spandex shorts he wore had a much flimsier spandex material in the crotch area. It contained an overstated and blatatly obvious bulge that was shifted off center to his left upper thigh and more noticeable than one could ever imagine. His repulsive bulge was massive and as blatant, as always. 

"No, girl. It's all good. I don't want to interupt ya'all or nuthin'" he began.

"Oh, no Trey. God no! It's no trouble at all, Trey." Julie replied.

"Would you like to come in, Trey?" Julie asked her younger thug-looking black boss.

"Yeah. Just fo' a minute." he returned as he stepped inside. 

"Can I get anything for you, Trey?" Julie asked subserviently. 

"Something to drink, Trey? Julie continued.

"Would you like some orange juice, Trey?" my wife persisted.

"Or apple juice, Trey?" she asked, again. 

The black stud glared at me and I stood there shaking in my pants like a big coward. By his stare, I could tell that it was extremely obvious that he had overheard the disagreement my blonde wife and I were having. He must have been standing on the other side of the door for quite awhile listening since we did not hear anyone approaching our condo. 

Usually, there is a distinct sound when someone walks down the corridor leading to our unit This time we heard nothing. 

This thought caused me to feel more embarrassed than I already was. This was the second time the black man had "overheard" me complaining about the black spade ink stamps of "The Black Jacques Club" in just a few weeks. 

"Naw. I don't want anything to drink, girl. Just wanted to stop by and ask Richard for sum' thing." he said.

"Oh, okay Trey. Are you sure, Trey? Do you want to come in and sit down, Trey?" my wife asked. 

"No. I don't have time. I have company. I jus' needs to get that boxing gear back for the workout center." Tra'mon stated. 

"Oh, those pretty pink gloves and headgear you mean, Trey?" Julie asked.

"Yea, those. I figure since we're not sparring anymore I can use them for the girls at the center." he said, iindirectly insulting me. 

My beautiful blonde wife turned to me as to question the whereabouts of the pink and white boxing gear Trey had given me weeks before. These were the very same ones that she had seen me wearing while the black man beat me up during his sparring workouts.  

They were still downstairs in the equipment box of the condo's small workout center, and I stood there passively remembering they were there. My red face blushed in shame.

"I-I can g-go get them now, if you like." I answered passively.

"Yeah, you do that. Just bring'em by my place." he commanded. 

"Now." he added, authoritatively. "I'll be sleeping in when you're getting up fo' work." He finished.

"O-Okay." I responded softly, as I looked into his stern eyes. 

I scurried off to the workout center downstairs like a little frightened rabbit to fetch the things Tra'mon wanted. I didn't dare look back as I listened to hear the young black stud saying "good-bye" to my young white wife. 

"I'll see ya' tomorrow morning, girl. I gots to go." he said.

"Yes, Sir. Yes, okay Trey. Goodnight, Trey." I heard Julie responding to him from a short distance, obviously fawning all over him.

Immediately, I rushed down the stairs to fetch the pink gloves. My thoughts were to grab them from the equipment box and then hand them to him as he came down behind me. 

It was then that I realized how ridiculous this all had to appear to my blonde wife. It suddenly became clear that I could have just told him where the gloves were and he could have gotten them himself. Afterall, his condo unit number one was literally right down the hall from the small workout center. 

My intimidation and fear of this black stud was so great that I actually felt compelled to rush off to fetch the gear for him. Like a meek coward, I just followed the black man's order. I stood there holding the gear in my weak hands embarrassed by what I was doing as I watched Tra'mon through the glass doors walk right past me and into his own apartment.

Humiliated, I stood there for a few minutes then carried the sissy pink gloves and head gear down the corridor to the black man's condo. When I got to within a few feet I stopped. 

The young black stud was already "fucking" his apparent date. The sounds of him roughly pounding away at the white woman in his apartment shocked me to no end. 

"Gosh! He just passed by me two minutes ago." I gasped in silence. 

"He's already fucking this woman?" I asked myself.

My face turned red as I listened for a moment. Then, I quietly placed the pinkish boxing gear on the floor before his door and tip toed away like a big pussy. It was defeating to hear these fucking sounds again. 

When I returned to our condo unit Julie was already showered and getting ready for bed. It seemed like the perfect time for me to try to have sex with my wife, yet my smallish penis was flaccid and uncooperative. It felt like it was shrinking even more after I had been just emasculated, once again, by the black stud. With little hope of an erection, I decided to try anyway.

"J-Julie? We uh haven't had sex in awhile ya' know. D-Do you want to?" I pleaded in a pathetic tone. 

"Did you get Trey his things?" she asked, interrupting my feeble attempt. 

"Uh, Y-Yes." I whispered, defeatedly. 

"Good. Well, I'm tired. Let's go to sleep." Julie said. 

"Trey wants me up earlier tomorrow. One of his kids is coming by with the baby momma for breakfast." she informed. 




Black Man One Ch. 13



I wanted to ask her why this was so, but at the time I decided not to. I simply put on my pajamas and got into bed to find my gorgeous blonde wife already fast asleep. I fell asleep several minutes later curled up in my own humiliation. 

The next day was unexpectedly even more defeating.

It was a Friday, and I went downstairs for the usual embarrassing workout with Tra'mon at precisely 6. This time, he was not there. I waited for about twenty minutes before I decided that I had better get ready for work. There was a sense of relief at the time as I got ready for work. passively, I kissed my wife on the cheek and headed down to the parking lot to begin my commute. 

Like many times before, a beautiful white woman came stumbling out looking noticeably used. She was half-dressed and only had one shoe upon her right foot as she minced her way towards her car. Her pretty face was obliterated with the black stud's dried up seed, and it was that obvious. 

Nervously, I just started my car and left for work. My feeling of insecurity continued. For some reason, I did not want to leave for work that day. There was an overwhelming feeling of intimidation as the thought of the black stud coming out and telling me to get back inside for his workout crossed my mind. This caused me to "dart" off in my car even faster. 

After a few restless hours at work that day I called Julie. When she answered, there was the immediate sound of a child crying in the background. 

"What the heck is that?" I asked my wife, frightenedly.

"Oh, that's one of Trey's sons. He's 2." she answered. 

"Well, wh-why is he there?" I asked curiously.

"Wh-where are you?" I sniveled. 

Julie was not shy about her answer. Actually, she was quite casual and non chalant about the whole reason for the black man's child being there. 

"I'm babysitting. Trey had some sort of appointment with the baby momma." she explained.

"Trey wanted me to watch his son." she continued. 

"Trey said he'll be back in a coupla' hours. I told Trey that I didn't mind." she concluded. 

"Oh." I replied, humiliated as I said my good bye and hung up the phone. 

Now, the black stud had my blonde wife watching one of his many kids? Seemingly, she did this as he went off to fuck one of the white baby mommas he had a child with? This thought was defeating to me and I wondered why Julie would have agreed to such a thing. Nevertheless, I could not envision the image of Julie trying to babysit a child. Her maternal instincts had never been one that could be described as prolific. They weren't in the least and she had always shyed away from babysitting children. 

That Friday night became yet another night of Julie staying out until the "wee" hours of the morning. 

My pretty blonde wife had texted me, on que, stating that everybody from the center was heading out heading out for some drinks. They were heading out after work straight from the gym. Her last text came at around 10:20 p.m., telling me not to wait up. This time, like all the times before, I really didn't want her to go out. But, I began texting her back more than usual. 

"Don't go out tonight, Julie." I texted.

"You should come home early. It's Friday night." I added another text. 

"Don't go to that stupid club tonight." I continued texting.

My texts continued on and on, yet there was no response. 

"Why do you have to go?"

"Are you there now?"

"They shouldn't be putting those stupid stamps on people."

"Tell them not to."

"Don't let them stamp you."

"Maybe you should just stay inside then." 

"I can't believe they need to put those ink marks all over you."

"It's rude I think."

"Why is that spade stamp so big anyway?" 

"Are you coming home soon?"

"Still there?"

"Can you call me when you step outside then?"

"Is it too noisy to talk?"

"You there?"

"Honey?" 

"Can you call now? It's almost 2!"

"There?" 

"They better not be usiing that ink stamp tonight."

"It's moronic."

"Tell Trey you have to go home now."

"Honey? It's after 3. Just letting you know."

"You there?"

"Remember no ink stamps!"

"Where are you? It's 3:30!"

I can only describe some of my numerous texts over those last five plus hours. Many of them revealed an angrier tone about those black spade ink stamps from the Black Jacques Club that I was certain they went to for drinks. My numerous other texts pleaded for her to come home, almost begging her to. 

There would be no responses. Not even one. I fell asleep on the couch absolutely exhausted and insecure. 

My wife must have gotten home after 4 a.m. because I fell asleep on the couch about 10 minutes before 4. I wasn't sure of the exact time. 

It was a Saturday morning and I didn't have to work that day, so I tried staying up later than usual to greet her when she arrived home. My attempt did not work, and I fell asleep on the couch in my empty and incredibly insecure state of mind. I did not wake up until just after nine o'clock that morning.

When I woke up, I was in such a foggy state of mind that I hardly knew where I was. My fatigued state compounded my incoherent feeling as I stood up and walked over to the window overlooking the pool. No one was in sight. Then, I staggered off to the bathroom to relieve myself, still not thinking clearly. 

I peered out through the smaller side window to see the black man's Bentley car parked almost sideways in the lot. It was haphazardly positioned closer to the front door entrance to the bulding, as if a drunk person had parked it there the night before.

When I stepped out and finally looked into the bedroom I noticed Julie. 

She was passed out and laying on the bed, and laying on her right side with her back to me. Curiously, she was still wearing her black-thonged leotard and white tights uniform from the center. There seemed to be no question that she had worn the same outfit going out for drinks right after her work day. I didn't think it was too unusual for someone in the fitness industry to go out with their work outfits still on, but generally they would cover themselves up more. Julie went for drinks with Tra'mon and the other wives, and she was still in her thong leotard. 

I stood at the doorway to the bedroom and looked in longingly. 

"Julie?" I whispered, checking to see if she was ready to wake up. 

There was no response. In my recovering foggy state I decided to step in a little closer, and that is when I noticed the two black spade symbol stamp marks on her white spandex ass cheeks.

I was awed by what I noticed.

There, on the opaque white spandex ass cheeks of my own wife were two perfectly placed and perfectly-centered one inch sized club stamps of a black spade symbol. The thick, dark jet-black ink stamps contrasted with the whiter than white opaque tights of her beautiful heart-shaped asscheeks, and "seeped" through to her skin. 

In shock, I moved in closer as I continued whispering her name. 

"Julie? Julie?" I asked again as I moved to her front. 

My blonde wife's arms were covered by a white sheet and covering her face as if she was shielding it from the morning sun. Still, she was not responding. Julie was incoherent and the smell of heavy liquor and weed began to emminate from her breath. 

"J-Julie?" I whispered louder, removing the sheet from her arm while turning her onto her back. 

What I saw then humiliated me more than words can describe!

There, laying on the bed and on her back in the black leotard and white tights was my incoherent wife Julie. 

In utter amazement, I looked down to see a full black ink spade symbol stamped dead center on the middle of my blonde wife's forehead. Two other black spade symbols were stamped on her face. One was perfectly positioned on the right cheek of her face and the other on her left cheek.

Furthermore, there were numerous black inked spade symbols "stamped" all around her neck, like a degrading necklace of some sorts. It completely surrounded her neckline with a trail of another 8 spades running down the front of her chest and down to her cleavage.

I stood there completely degraded, and in awe.

Humiliatingly, there were a total of 12 more spade symbol stamps placed down the length of each one of her arms. They started from the top of each each hands with the second spade stamped on the tops of her wrists, and then all the way up her forearm to the elbows.

"O-G-Geez! What the ...?" I gasped.

"Wh-what the heck is going on here?" I scoffed. 

The thick, black ink of those so-called club stamps from "The Black Jacques Club" were now all over her body and face! The deepest dark black ink seemed to be settling into her pale skin, and I literally could not believe what I was looking at. 

Julie was passed out cold. She would not respond even when I tried shaking her by the shoulders to wake her up. She looked disgraceful as I stood there degraded looking at my beautiful wife's horrifying condition. 

Even more demoralizing was the sight of my wife's white spandex colored tights at the knees, which were now absolutely caked in dirt. They were filthy dirty and stood out from the pure whiteness of the rest of her spandex-clad legs. 

Defeatedly, I knew this had to be the work of the young black stud that had intimidated me so much since his arrival. He seemed to be "rubbing my face in it" as he boldly and brashly placed spaded ink stamps all over my wife's face and body. It seemed to be some sort of rude and alarming show of strength, and his own arrogant show of black superiority. 

I would have never been able to conceive such a brash display. The humiliation I now felt was unimaginable to me. 

"H-How in the world could Julie be accepting of this obviously rude gesture?" I began thinking.

That is when there was a knock at the door. The sound startled me and I leaped up from my leaning position over Julie.

"Who could that be now?" I thought.

The knock grew louder as I walked over to the front door to answer it. My nerves were shot as I opened it to see young Tra'mon standing in the doorway in merely one of his arrogant and flimsy little bikini suits. 

My eyes widened in a catastrophic fear and I swallowed loudly when his eyes met mine. I instantly became intimidated by his unexpected presence. His bare chest was chiseled and although I towered above him by 7 inches in height, I felt weak and pathetic before him. My curious look of shock prompted him to speak. 

"Here, boy!" he said, handing me Julie's cell phone.

"Your woman left this in my car last night." he said. 

My weak hands took my wife's cell phone from the black stud's stronger grip as I looked down to the floor, in defeat. I was humbled, humiliated and afraid to look back into his eyes. 

"Th-thank you, S-Sir." I mumbled in a whisper. 

"Tell Julie to call me when she wakes up. I'll be by the pool." he ordered. 

"Y-Yes, S-Sir. O-Okay." I replied in the faintest whisper. 

There was an uncomfortable silence as I stood before the 5'9" tall black man shaking in my pajama pants. Despite being a full head taller than Tra'mon, I felt so much smaller and weaker than him. His mere presence made me quiver like a big wimp and I didn't understand why he was making me stand there like this. 

The silence lasted just 10 seconds, yet it felt like a few minutes of agony to me. His obvious superior black manhood embarrassed me and I cowered before him hoping that he would just leave.

"Did you say somethin' boy?" he suddenly asked. 

I paused for a moment as my eyes remained to the floor. 

"Uh, n-no Sir. I-I didn't ..." I began to answer. 

"You gots something to say?" he asked firmly, as he remained standing before me. 

"N-No, S-Sir." I returned, beginning to shake even more. 

The tension was overwhelming as I timidly brought my eyes up slowly. I didn't want to look at him, yet I felt his dominating and intimidating presence making me do it anyway. As my eyes met his, he "sneered" with a cocky and arrogant attitude, and suddenly he put one of his strong hands to my face. 

With one hand, he squeezed my face cheeks and made me look directly into his intimidating eyes. 

"Thought you said somethin'" he said.

I shook my head in a "no" response with hsi right hand firmly grasping my face. 

"N-N-No, Sir. I-I d-didn't." I whimpered.

He held my face for an interminable amount of time before releasing it. He rudely "tapped" my face 4 times with a confident sneer upon his face. I stood there, pathetically, with my arms submissively down at my sides. 

"Well, you let me know if ya' have something to say. Ya' gots that, pussy?" he directed with a firmer tone of voice.

"Y-Y-Y-Yes, S-Sir." I cowardly replied in the meekest whisper.

The young black stud just turned and began walking down the corridor away from our condo apartment. My fear of him literally caused me to begin wetting my red pajama pants, and I looked down to realize that I had started to "go." Humiliated, I ran off to the bathroom to relieve myself, realizing that I had just begun to wet myself. Somehow, I was able to stop it. My embarrassment was beyond belief. 

end. chapter 13. 



Black Man One Ch. 14



I was devastated by the sudden presence of the young black stud at our front door. After I finished relieving myself, I walked out of the bathroom with the front of pants partially wet. I looked over to my wife, Julie, who was still passed out cold on the bed. 

Numerous black ink spade stamps were strategically placed all over her body and face, and they were a blatant show of disrespect for me by the young black. It was a humiliating and demoralizing reality and I feared hearing what her explanation might be when she finally woke up. 

As I walked back into the kitchen still holding Julie's cell phone in my hands I looked down to it's screen. Her cell had been returned by Tra'mon and she had "left it in his car" by his own comments. The worst thoughts crossed my mind as I examined Julie's cell phone closer.

The cell phone screen was turned to the many text messages I had sent Julie the night before as I groveled and pleaded for her to come home. In these texts, I also complained about her being at "The Black Jacques Club" and getting those black inked spade stamps. Initially, I wondered if the young black stud had actually seen Julie's phone last night. I reasoned that "he had to" see it, and perhaps this was the reason he had all those degrading ink stamps placed on her. 

What he had seemingly done was a complete and total "slap in the face" to me, and I was far too much of a wimp to stand up to the black man. His obvious show of black supremacy was insulting and degrading to me, just as I was sure that it would be to any white weakling wimp husband.

Still demoralized, I walked back over to the couch and layed down. It was hard to absorb what had just happened, and what I had just observed. Once again, I fell asleep feeling completely defeated. The young black stud was so cocky, arrogant and mean to me. It couldn't be more obvious that he was rubbing my face in the control he had over my wife, Julie.

I had only been asleep for 2 hours. My brief dream of when things were so good between Julie and I seemed to be no more than a distant memory now. When I woke up and looked over to my passed out wife on the bed, the realization of the nightmare I was living slapped me back into my degrading reality. I stood up and walked over to the kitchen to make coffee for myself when I haphazardly glanced out through the window overlooking the pool area.

Tra'mon was out there sitting by the pool with one of his white women "friends" once again. As I looked longer I was astounded to see this beautiful white woman on her knees clipping the young black stud's toenails. My eyes widened in awe as I realized that she was actually giving this black man a full pedicure by the pool. 

"Geez!" I said to myself, humiliated for her. 

The young stud sat there in a microscopic flimsy teal green bikini ignoring the beautiful blonde woman as she diligently pampered his feet in the most sevile manner. She clipped and filed and buffed his nails like he was at one of those asian nail salons. Humbly, I watched as my coffee finished brewing and filled my cup. It was truly degrading to know that this young black stud had so many white women serving at his feet, in many cases literally. 

It was curious to me that all these white women, and all the white wives from our condo building, could not see his brashness and arrogance the same way us white men did. 

"Can't they see how horrible he is?" I asked myself.

They had to see how he used all these beautiful white women "friends" of his. They had to know. They had to see how obvious it was that he had fucked them into submission, treated them as subservient slaves, and degraded them with such blatant disregard for their self esteem. By now, they had to know that he had fathered 7 children with 7 different white women without a care in the world. They had to know this. The white wives had to see how intimidated all us husbands were, too. 

"How could they not see this?" I asked myself, again and again. 

To them, they continued to see only his pure and overwhelming masculinity, his massive black cock, and his aura of dominance over us weaker white men. It hit me that they were, in their own minds, seeing a "real" man. A black man. And, this seemed to be the cause of them "fawning" all over him like school girls, and obediently listening to words and commands. 

It was clear that all us white men feel helpless, humiliated and embarrassed by how a black man takes complete charge over white women. It is defeating for most, if not all of us. Now, I was seeing this on a more personalized level. This thought, alone, caused my already small package to shrivel up to the size of raisins. 

Another hour had passed when I heard Julie finally waking up in the other room. Eagerly, I rushed over to her to give her a piece of my mind about her young black boss' "marring" of her body. At least, this is how I envisioned our discussion would go.

But, that would not happen. 

As Julie sat up from our bed I entered. She was holding her head in the same manner someone with a hangover would. She never looked worse. It was even more horrifying with all those ink stamps on her.

"J-Julie? Why didn't you answer my text messages last night?" I asked.

My beautiful, blonde wife looked over towards me rather casually and unconcerned.

"Oh, well I lost my phone in the club somewhere." she answered, nearly incoherent.

"No, Julie. I have it here." I said, holding it up. 

"Tra'mon brought it by and said you left it in his car." I said. 

"Oh, well okay. What else did he say?" she asked softly.

"Well, nothing important I guess. Just to call him when you woke up. He's by the pool." I informed her.

Julie suddenly stood up quickly. She walked over to me and grabbed the phone in desparation, then began dialing. 

"Julie? I wasn't finished speaking with you." I shouted.

"Shush, honey. One minute." she replied as she walked into the kitchen and looked out the window towards him. 

"Yes, Trey. Sure. I just woke up, Trey." her whispered voice barely detectable. 

"Yes, Sir. Yes, Trey. I will be right down, Sir." she muttered. 

Immediately, Julie closed her cell phone and began filling a glass of water for herself in the kitchen. 

"Julie? What the heck happened? Why are all those marks all over you?" I gasped, becoming disturbed. 

"What are you talking about?" my wife asked.

"Th-those marks all over your face and arms. You're covered with them! What the hell?!" I snapped.

Julie rushed into the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror. I noticed her first look of shock and awe before her facial expression turned mellow. 

"Oh, that's nothing." she began explaining.

"Trey was just goofing around last night. He stole the door man's ink stamper and was just playin' around I guess." she answered. 

"I'm sure it'll come off with some cold cream." she added. 

But, the numerous spade symbols did not come easily. As a matter of fact, they merely turned the dark black ink into a deep grey color, but the spade symbol markings and images were rather obvious. 

I complained about those ink marks again, and Julie seemed to defend it. 

"Would you stop! I don't have time. My boss needs to talk about some things and I need to get ready." she snapped. 

"B-But, Julie?" I muttered. 

"Stop. I don't want to hear it. They're innocent stamps. They'll come off." Julie said.

"Trey was just playing around with all of us." she added. 

"Trey didn't mean any harm." she concluded.

I watched as Julie put on a small bikini and her sandals. She grabbed a towel and had not even showered. She merely put cold cream on her face and washed her face, arms and body with a rag. The inked spade symbols were so apparent, and utterly humiliating. The full spaded symbol stamps on her asscheeks were the darkest of them all after she washed up. They had been stamped through her white spandex tights, and it was obvious Julie had not tried washing them off at all. 

I watched my young blonde wife walking out the door to go down to the pool area. Both her pale ass cheeks had the black spade symbol "inked" onto her skin. She turned to me. 

"After our meeting you should join us." she suggested. 

"An hour or so." she added. 

"Well, I-I-I don't know?" I replied, cowardly, as my wife scurried out the door to meet the young black man.

When I looked out from the kitchen windows to see her sitting with Tra'mon, the spade symbol markings were blatant. Even from that distance on the second floor, the club stamps were visible and she acted like it was no big deal. I was amazed by this, and even more degraded that the black stud was blatantly making a spectacle of my blonde wife.

I struggled to understand his blatant disregard for Julie. Yet, I knew I was afraid to ever say anything to him about it. I had no backbone to stand up to the tougher, more masculine black stud. 

Defeatedly, I stayed in my condo apartment all afternoon avoiding any confrontation with Tra'mon. Cowardly, I never went down to the pool that day. 

end.



Black Man One Ch. 15



The grand opening of Tra'mon's fitness center came only one week later. This day would be the only time that any of the 13 white husbands from the condo community would be invited, and it was a day that I shall never forget. 

The grand opening was held on a Saturday at 11 o'clock in the morning. It came the Saturday after the stud's grotesque and beligerent display of the black spade symboled ink stamping of my wife at the night club they frequented.

Everyone was amazed by the elaborate and impeccable detail of the black man's new fitness center, which was designed almost exclusively for women. The vastness of this club was impressive.

The young stud chose a newly constructed warehouse building just south of the city, and it measured an ominous 80,000 square feet. Darkened, gold one-way mirrored windows highlighted the entire front entrance. 

When I drove up, I was immediately faced with the large sign on the front of the building. The name of the fitness center "Roar" was front and center in black letters, which were bordered by a thin white trim. A large, fierce looking black panther head was springing out from the letter "O" of the center's name, Roar. The background to the sign was a deep and robust purple color. The front doors were all glass and chrome with a deeper gold one-way mirrored reflection. The sign "Members Only" labeled each one of these doors.

I had envisioned a smaller and less extravaggant building, or something that would be more basic. But, as I got out of my car and began walking to the front doors I realized that no other people were out front. There had to be over 50 cars in the lot, and I looked at my watch to see that it was still 10 minutes before 11 that morning. I had thought that I would be one of the first ones there, but it appeared that I was the last ones to arrive. 

As I entered, I was greeted by my beautiful and trim blonde wife. She looked stunning in her black thonged leotard with deep white opaque tights underneath. The black arm band with the new workout center's name boldly displayed for all to see. She handed me a glass of champagne as I looked around in awe at the exquisitely-decorated front lobby of this fitness center. 

"Hi, honey. Why so late?" Julie said as she greeted me.

"Well, uh y-you said 11, right?" I replied. 

"No." she said, correcting me.

"I told you it was at 10!" Julie snapped. 

I was almost sure my wife had told me the grand opening was at 11 o'clock and not an hour earlier as she now claimed. But, I was far too nervous to argue with her as I stood there beginning to scan the large lobby. Suddenly, Tra'mon called out to Julie from about 25 feet away.

"Julie, I need you over here girl!" the black stud called out, demandingly. 

Julie's bright blue eyes sprung to attention as she turned towards the black stud. 

"Yes, Sir. I'm coming, Trey." she answered as she turned back to me.

"Honey, I gotta go. My boss needs me. Take a walk around. It's an open tour." she said.

I watched as my blonde wife turned and literally scurried towards the young black man with a glass of champagne in her hands. Her long, bright blonde hair was prepared as if she was going out to an upscale restaurant. It billowed out nicely, almost as if she were on some sort of modeling assignment. Here makeup was detailed in an impressive manner. 

Meekly, I stood still and began looking around the large lobby of this new fitness center. The other 12 white husbands of our condo community were all huddled together in the furthest corner off to my right. They were all investors, like me, and each was holding their own glass of champagne. Yet, they did not seem very festive at all. 

Like so many of us white men in the presence of a black stud, their heads were hung in what seemed like a shameful defeat. Quietly, they stood around in the corner sulking. None of them seemed to be talking to one another, and I found this rather curious and strange.

As I scanned the large crowd and the vastness of this carpeted lobby, I began to notice the overall complexion of this crowd. There had to be at least 50 very polished-looking white women in their late 20's to early 40's, and they were all wearing expensive fitness wear. Most of them were dressed in leotards, tights and gym shoes. Some were in spandex leggings and cropped spandex tops. Their outfits were a vast array of different colors and they all were milling around while holding a glass of champagne themselves. 

Then, I noticed the other 12 white wives from our condo community. Like Julie, they were dressed in the black thonged leotard over opaque white tights with the black arm band of the workout club's name. It designated their role as assistants within the black man's fitness center. 

I realized there weren't any black females in the entire crowd of 50-60 people, nor were there any other white men with the exception of us white husbands. But, there were five other black men in their mid 20's standing around. There were 5 others besides Tra'mon, and they were all dressed in revealing black spandex short-shorts and an armless black tee shirt. The center's name "Roar" was printed in white lettering across their muscular chests and each of them was just as dark-skinned as the Tra'mon. 

It was devastating to see these rippled black studs in those obnoxiously revealing short-shorts. It appeared as if the front pouches of their stretchy spandex shorts were custom made with a flimsier material. Rudely, their disgustingly massive cocks seemed to "jut" outwards in the most revealing way possible. 

For me and all the other wwhite men in attendance, it was more than embarrassing to see the arrogant manner in which they seemed to be displaying themselves. I had no idea who these other black guys were. 

Rather than approach the other white husbands sulking in the corner, I decided to take a longer look around the place. Despite feeling uneasy about being a white man in this establishment I waas still very curious. 

The front lobby had a small 6 seat juice bar set off to the left of the large front counter area. Another small area to the right of it seemed like a richly-detailed health food bar with a few small tables. A lounging area was just off to the side of it.  

I walked towards the front counter slowly as the crowd of pretty white women mingled around in the large lobby. I began to notice the entire lobby was decorated with artwork that was obviously of african persuasion. Paintings, carved statues and colors of the African flag accented this refined area. 

When I turned off to my left, there was a large wall with photographs and a bulletin board. A few dozen added pieces of artwork in black frames of black men's carved bodies in black and white photography surrounded the line of photos marked as "staff." The close up carved body parts of black men were marked as "body landscapes" and it was curious to see this in a woman's fitness center.  

The staff photographs were the faces of Tra'mon as the owner and the other 5 black men designated as instructors. They all looked like rougher guys who seemed quite "thug" and dangerous in appearance. Beneath the black men's pictures were the photographs of the 13 white women from our condo building, and they were designated as assistants. 

The feeling of defeat overwhelmed me as I stared at my wife Julie's picture smiling. Her beautiful face framed in that 8 by 11 inch colored photograph with her striking blonde hair apparent for all to see. 

I walked over to my right along this long wall towards the mounted black velvet bulletin board, which was a locked glass and metal box. The fitness center hours were displayed along with upcoming events, like "Upcoming After Hour Parties." The address and phone number of "The Black Jacques Club" was detailed with several dates below it. When I looked closer I realized that the number designated to make a reservation to this club was actually Julie's cell phone number. 

"Geezuz." I gasped to myself. 

In the lower right hand corner of this velvet bulletin board encased in glass was the "new members" area with small, pocket sized photographs of their faces. There were already more than 50 of these little pictures, and every single last one of them was a white women. 

Humbly, I gazed at the numerous pictures of the blondes, brunettes and redheads. They were all quite attractive and a few of them even looked curiously familiar. It was then that I realized that some of them were photos of the white women I had seen walking from the black stud's condo apartment. They were the very same pretty white women who had been so blatantly used and fucked by this aggressive black stud and seemed so blatantly subservient to him. 

I swallowed the remainder of my champagne as I timidly began walking down the halls of this elaborate workout center. The first office was the largest and marked with Tra'mon's name on the door in a gold plaque. It was an exquisitely detailed office with a large wooden desk. Beneath his name was my wife's name on a smaller gold plaque, Julie, with her title of "Trey's Assistant" boldly marked underneath. 

It truly appeared as if they shared this office. 

Further down the first hallway were a series of several workout rooms, some with machines and others without. The ones without were marked as the aerobics rooms. There was also a sauna steam room and a locker room that read "locker room one." 

As I walked around the corner of this first hallway I noticed a large gym with weights and machines that seemed to be more designed for men to work out in. Next to this area, a small men's locker room was exquisitely detailed. Next to that room was an indoor pool room with a large in ground pool that had three large jacuzzi tubs set of to it's side. 

When I turned down the next hallway, I noticed several more workout rooms and another 2 larger female locker rooms. Each of these locker rooms seemed to be able to fit 30 women. That is when I heard the sound of children playing and some crying noises. Slowly, I turned and began walking down this next hallway towards the sounds. 

This room was the largest of the rooms and had full glass windows from the ceiling to the floor. The sign on the door simply read "daycare center." 

It was obviously a daycare center for women with children who would be at the fitness center to workout. Initially, one might think this was a good business decision and a great idea. However, I did not feel this way when I began to look inside. 

There had to be at least 30 black children running around and playing. But, they were not just black children. They were so noticeably "mixed" or "biracial" children, yet still far more "black" than any other race. There were also 4 of the prettiest white women monitoring and attending to these children. The children were all between the ages of 1 and 5, and the prettiest white girls were obviously there as the child care providers or baby sitters. I wasn't sure which. 

I looked in awe at the number of biracial children in this daycare center room. It was like a statement was being made and a slap in the face to all of us white men. I found my shoulders beginning to slump further in defeat and humiliation. 

As I continued the self tour, I was astounded by the rich detail and elaborate designs. It felt like I was in a high class and expensive place. I knew that I had invested a great deal of money into the black stud's new fitness center, and I could see where it was all being spent. There were even massage rooms and an outdoor cafe with a pool in the back of the building. 

"Geezuz Krist!" I thought.

"I've never seen a fitness center like this." I gasped. 

When I returned to the crowded lobby area it was demoralizingly obvious to see that all our white wives were hovering around the young black studs in their skimpy fitness wear. I simply joined the other white husbands in silence as I stood there with my eyes to the floor feeling humiliated.

The other white husbands simply glanced at me and then put their eyes to the floor, once again. It was as if they knew how defeated I felt seeing the new women's fitness center, and how the young black stud had such control over my beautiful blonde wife.  

The grand opening was over within an hour of my arrival, and Julie and the other wives informed us white husbands of the celebration party they were about to attend. 

They told us the party was for the staff members only, and all 13 of us white husbands went home on our own sulking. We never did speak to each other about the events that led up to the grand opening of Tra'mon's workout center. Nor, did we feel like talking about anything else at all.  

Things continued along these lines for the next 3 weeks. 

My pretty blonde wife, Julie, had all but given up on her goal to own her own fitness center business. She would never discuss it again. Julie was 100 percent committed and dedicated to the black stud's women's workout center, which had now been officially opened for three weeks. 

Julie had been consumed with the start up of Tra'mon's fitness center, and now she was even more consumed when the business opened. She acted more like the black stud's personal secretary than anything else. It seemed like she jumped at his slightest command, running personal errands and handling all the accounting for his fitness club. She even babysat his children several times. 

However, even with the opening of his fitness club the black stud continued his personal morning workouts in the condo building's small gym. Each and every morning, I was relegated into being the young black man's workout partner, or assistant. 

Basically, I continued holding the heavy bag for him while he pounded away on it. Then, I had to finish wiping the floor of the black stud's sweat and spit. I hated being there and I was sure that he knew this, but I had become even more intimidated by him at this point. 

I just kept quiet and did as I was told to do. It felt more like I was the young black man's "towel boy" than his workout partner, or anything else. And, he hardly would speak to me at all during these 3 weeks. It was simply a quick 30 minute workout before he would toss his gloves to the floor and walk away in silence.

Another thing happened during these first three weeks. 

Julie would be gone all day and night. Half of these nights she would not arrive home until close to midnight, and the other half of these days she wasn't getting home until 3 or 4 in the morning. A few of these nights were even later than that.

And, yes. Every other night Julie would arrive home with between 2 and 5 black spade symbols in the darkest ink stamped on her hands, face or arms. When the spade ink stamps were on her face she continued to explain that Tra'mon was simply "fooling" around or "playing" around. 

She never viewed this blatantly rude gesture in any other way. Humbly, I stopped complaining about them as it only served to upset her more than I would have imagined.

"Gosh. Why is my wife always defending this black man's actions?" I often thought.  

Every single day, Julie would toss her white tights into the bathroom trash can and I would look at them in humiliation. The knees of them were always extremely dirty, especially on those nights she was out late. Some days the white tights would have holes in the knees and she seemed to be going through a new pair of white tights every day.

I continued to struggle with this. 

I couldn't understand why and I didn't want to ask her about them. I didn't want to think the worst. But, I was unable to. The young, black stud was apparently continuing to rub my face in it, so to speak. He seemed to be rubbing my face in the absolute and uncontested control he so obviously had over my beautiful blonde wife.

Her absence from me continued to grow and grow. Julie even began to take massage classes, which she explained was from the encouragement of her young black stud boss. And, she and the other white wives were continuing to be babysitters for the black man's children. There wasn't more than a day or two that went by that one of Tra'mon's children was being watched at the condo building by one of our white wives.

The pool area of our condo building was now more like his territory. All 13 of us white husbands would purposely stay away from this area while our wives would hang around together, or when the young black stud was around. 

Things had changed so fast in such a short period of time. 

The overwhelming feeling I had of losing my pretty blonde wife continued to consume me. She was always disinterested in sex, and the handful of times when I tried to establish a sexual encounter with her was met with failure. I could hardly get an erection anymore and the few times I was able to lasted no more than a pathetic few minutes. The black stud was making me feel like "less a man" all the time. 

Julie would usually end my futile attempts to have intercourse with her as I deperately tried to please her.

"Let's try again another time, honey." Julie would say. 

"Besides, I'm pretty tired anyway." she often said. 

"O-Okay, honey. I-I'm sorry." I would reply, ashamed by my lack of manhood.

Yes, the three weeks after the grand opening of Tra'mon's fitness center was a difficult time for me. The insecurity I felt was deepening with each passiing day. In desperation, I decided to ask the company I was with for a transfer to another city, and to another state. 

I knew that I wanted to be as far away from the young black stud as I could be, and this rather drastic move was one out of total desperation. 

Nervously, I decided to tell Julie of my desire to transfer as I waited for an answer from my corporate office. I knew she would be upset in many ways. But, never in a million years did I expect the animated response I would get from my beautiful blonde wife.

Julie yelled at me for quitting so soon. She was outraged that I had brought her all the way to Arizona to start a new life and was now, in her own words, "wimping out." She couldn't believe that I wanted to leave already, especially when she had just started what she termed a "new job" and a "new career." My beautiful, young blonde wife actually "scolded" me for even considering such a ridiculous move at this time.

"What kind of man does that?" she yelled.

I could not answer my white wife. I could not answer her honestly. Deep down, I knew the reason was that I was afraid of the young black stud. He had already beaten me up several times, emasculated me in the presence of my blonde wife, and continued to "bully" and intimidate me to no end. 

I also knew that if I would have answered Julie honestly at that time, I would have told her that the type of man who does something like this would be nothing more than a timid "coward."

As I stood there watching my enraged wife gathering her things and putting them in a large duffle bag, I began to think that I had made a mistake. I thought that maybe my request was too drastic at this time. 

"H-Honey? What are you doing? Wh-where are you going?" I asked, in a panic.

Julie grabbed a few more of here things and began walking out the door in frustration. 

"I'm going out. Maybe we just need a few days apart. I'm not happy, Richard!" she yelled, slamming the door shut as she left our condo apartment. 

Suddenly, I felt so alone and ridiculous. 

My beautiful white wife was adament about staying in Arizona and I just knew that my timing couldn't have been be worse. My desire to leave the state and leave my position with the company was all due to this one black man who intimidated me. Somehow, it felt like Julie knew this too. 

That night I must have texted and tried calling Julie a dozen times. She only answered one of the text messages by saying she was okay and that she still needed some time to think things over.




Black Man One Ch. 15



"Where did you go?" I asked in a return text message, but she did not respond. 

The next morning, I did not go down to the condo workout center to be Tra'mon's "towel boy" as I had been pressured into being for weeks. I had been up all night worrying about Julie and simply overslept. I became very nervous about the black stud being upset with me for not showing up that day, but I was more concerned about Julie. 

I decided to call the office and request an emergency leave of absence, and I was quickly granted one. I was just too overwhelmed with the grief of losing my wife to be able to concentrate on work. Desperately, I continued trying to get ahold of my wife to talk to her about things. 

But, Julie didn't seem interested in talking. Nor, did she return most of my text messages to her during the next few days. She merely texted once a day during that week to tell me that she was "okay" and "not to worry," and that was all. 

My numerous requests asking her where she was staying were met with rejection, and I continued to persist to the point of annoyance. I grew more and more desperate to speak to her as the next few days passed. Finally, on the fifth day of our brief "separation" Julie responded. 

"Listen, Richard. Stop texting me so much. I'm staying at Trey's, okay? Now, leave me alone." she answered in an abrupt text.

My heart nearly stopped when I saw those words on my cell phone. My hands shook in fear. The most defeating feeling came over me when I learned that my beautiful blonde wife had been staying at the young black stud's apartment since our little fight. 

"Julie? Why are you there?" I texted her.

"Julie, we need to talk. Please." I texted her in desperation.

"Julie, can we talk?" I begged.

"I won't get a transfer." I wrote, conceding.

"Julie?" I groveled, pathetically.

"Julie, I don't like you staying with that man." I texted with total insecurity. 

There were easily over another 100 text messages to my blonde wife in the next two days. My insecurity and desperation began to grow to unimagineable limits as I begged and pleaded with her to talk to me. I begged Julie to meet with me to discuss things and I admitted that I had made a big mistake. 

These next two days were as emotionally painful as they could be. I could not bear the thought of Julie staying with the black stud while we tried "sorting things out," so to speak. Only, it was me who groveled and tried sorting things out while my wife seemed content to stay away for this period of time. 

My nerves were shot. I was a "mess" as I continued trying to get my wife back, and I thought of everything I could to convince her to come back to me. 

Julie's actions and infrequent return of my desperate text messages would not make me feel better. I did not feel any more at ease. Rather, her few return messages made me feel even worse. 

"Just leave it alone for now, Richard." she texted.

"Will you stop texting me so much." she would write.

"Trey's getting pissed by all these texts." Julie wrote. 

"I have to go to work." she texted many times. 

"Not now. Stop this!" she texted.

"Trey is furious you keep texting." she added. 

"We need this time apart." Julie added numerous times. 

During these days of our separation, Julie continued to work her normal late hours at the fitness center. She also continued "going out for drinks" after a so-called long day of work at the gym. She continued going out with the young black stud and the other white wives, and it seemed like she wasn't missing a single beat of her daily routine.

After the fifth day, I made another cowardly decision as I began to "stalk" my own wife. 

Meekly, I wanted to try and get her alone to talk to me about our little argument. My concerns were growing as I followed her going to Tra'mon's fitness center. She left with the black stud each morning. Demoralized, I watched from my car as my wife continued holding the doors open for the black man. She held his car door open as well as the door to the workout center, and I found this hard to ignore, or accept. I had not yet found the courage to follow them to that after work night club they seemed to frequent after every other work day.

My texts continued at a much more desperate rate, and I begged Julie to meet me and talk. 

Julie continued to text back infrequently.

"Richard. Stop. Trey's getting mad. All these texts are a disturbance." she would text. 

Finally, the next day my wife seemed to give in. She texted back that she would be willing to just "talk" for 5 minutes. She told me to meet her at Trey's condo unit number one.

I was actually terrified to do that. I simply did not have any desire to see the black man there, and I begged Julie to at least meet me in the workout center if she didn't feel comfortable coming back to our condo apartment. My fear of going to Tra'mon's apartment had to be so obvious to her, yet I was relieved that she finally agreed to talk. 

"Is 5 okay, Julie?" I groveled, pathetically. 

"That's a little too early. Trey has me working later. I'd have to ask him." she wrote back. 

"Trey said 10 tomorrow night." she texted back.

Once again, the thought humiliated me. All I wanted to do was to talk to my own wife about getting back together. Noe, there was this young black stud telling her when she was able to accommodate my request. I was more upset than ever, but I knew that I was in no position to bargain. Therefore, I agreed to meet Julie in the condo gym room at 10 o'clock that night. 

I have never been so nervous as that time when I stood in the condo building's workout center waiting for my pretty young wife to speak to me.

It had been a little over a week since our little disagreement, and I had planned to say so many things to win her back. My humiliation couldn't have been greater because I knew she had been staying at the young black stud's apartment all this time. The obvious thought that he was fucking her crossed my mind numerous times, but I did not want to admit that to myself just yet. My hopes were that Julie was simply just staying at her young boss' place to have some time apart, and that she was beginning to come to her senses. 

But, my anxiety to see Julie soon turned to fear. 

It was a few minutes past 10 when the young black stud walked into the workout center wearing nothing but a pair of leopard print bikini underwear. My eyes widened in awe when I saw him. I nearly fainted on the spot as he stepped in with a serious and determined look on his face.

"Wh-what th-the? Where's J-Julie?" I gasped in utter disbelief.

"Julie's changed her mind. She asked me to tell you dat' she don't want to talk to you tonight, boy." Tra'mon informed me loudly. 

I stood there timidly and my eyes instantly fell to the floor. I swallowed the lump in my throat as the 5'9" tall "ripped with muscle" young black stud approached me. His dark, chiseled body in those microscopic flimsy nylon bikinis made my 6'4" tall unathletic body shake and quiver in fear. Like a wimp, my eyes searched for somewhere to run away to.

"Ya' gots a problem wit' that, boy?" he asked rather sternly, seemingly upset with me. 

"Uh, Um n-n-no sir." I quivered, backing up as he continued to approach in a cocky and arrogant slow motion. 

I kept backing up and backing up as the young black man continued stepping closer to me. My face was red and I was terribly afraid of him. His strong presence alone had always intimidated me. Now, he had this angry and disturbed look upon his chiseled face, and I continued to back up like a coward retreating in absolute fear.

Timidly, I backed up until my back was right up against the padded wall to the furthest part of the little gym. Cowardly, I stood there looking slightly downward into his serious and stern eyes as I pleaded in silence for mercy. 

"Pl-Please?" I groveled. 

"I-I-I don't w-want any tr-trouble." I sniveled as the young stud finally stood before me. 

His firm tone became angrier as I cowered above this young black ruffian.

"Trouble? Ya' think I'm trouble boy?" he asked loudly, reaching up to slap my face with a firm and controlled slap. 

"Huh?" he asked, lightly slapping my face a second time. 

"Huh, boy? Is dat' whatcha think?" he asked, adding a third slap to the same side of my face.

My arms were passively down at my sides for these first three slaps to my face, and his last one was firmer than the first two. This caused my arms to unconsciously come up to my reddened and embarrassed face. It was a reflex to protect myself as I began to cry. 

"P-Please?" I begged in a heavy whisper.

"Put your fuckin' arms down, boy!" Tra'mon snapped loudly. 

His strong masculine voice made me tremble even more as I put my arms down to my sides, in defeat. Being 7 inches taller than the young black man only humiliated me more as I groveled before him like a sissy.

"Please what, pussy?" he growled.

"Pl-Please d-don't beat m-me up, Sir." I sniveled, standing there with my arms submissively down at my sides.

"You is a big pussy, ain't ya' whiteboy?" the stud asked roughly, tapping my face. 

I was shaking all over as I looked into the young black stud's fierce eyes. He then simply slapped my face a fourth time.

"Huh? Ain't ya?" he asked, adding a fifth slap.

"Y-Y-Yes, Sir." I replied meekly.

"Say it." he ordered.

I paused in fear and disbelief as I looked into this black man's eyes. I really wasn't sure what he was asking me at the time since my mind was so rattled in fear.

"I said say it. Tell me you're a big pussy." he commanded, slapping my face again. 

"I-I-I'm a b-big p-pussy, Sir." I replied, in shame.

"Again!" he howled, adding another quick slap.

"I-I'm a big p-pussy, Sir." I repeated.

It was at this time, the young black stud grabbed my left hand by the wrist and added pressure to it. His strength was uncanny as he bent my hand down and forced me to my knees before him. 

I continued to cry like a big baby as I begged him to please let me go. I groveled on my knees before the black stud begging and pleading for him to please stop. 

"P-Please, Sir. I-I just wanted t-to t-talk to J-Julie." I pleaded. 

Tra'mon then put my left hand directly onto the top of my head. He then took my weakened right hand and positioned it on the top of my head with the other hand as I looked up to him with petrified eyes. I had no idea why he was doing this. 

With one hand, the black stud held both of my hands on the top of my head as he began to slap my face with his other hand.

"Julie don't wanna talk to ya' now, boy. She's got things to do, and she ain't ready." he growled. 

I was like an oversized ragedy-ann doll as the black man held my hands on the top of my head in place. He continued to lightly slap my face with his other hand as he instructed me to leave Julie alone. 

"No mo' calls, ya' got that boy?" he yelled, slapping my face again and again. 

"Y-Yes, O-Okay. I-I-I-I won't, Sir. P-Please?" I begged.

After a few more slaps to my face kneeling in this unusual and humiliating position, Tra'mon grabbed one of my wrists and pulled it behind my back. He forced me down to where I was on my knees and just one elbow as he mercilessly twisted my arm behind my back. He did so until the right side of my face hit the blue padded mat of the floor. My face was already red from his numerous slaps and black stud added more pressure to my weakened left arm. 

"Julie ain't to be bothered, boy." he ordered.

"She gonna' talk to you when she's good n' ready. Gots dat?" he yelled as he swiftly kicked my backside with his bare foot. 

"Y-Yes, Oww. Oww." I cried. 

"Huh, boy?" he asked rudely as he kicked my backside a second time, and then a third time. 

"Y-Y-Yes, Okay. Y-Yes, Sir. P-Please?" I begged, crying even louder. 

My reddened face was streaming with tears as the strong black man in that obnoxiously flimsy leopard-print bikini twisted my arm behind my back.

"Ow, Ouch. Pl-Please?" I continued groveling. 

"Apologize!" Tra'mon demanded, adding another swift kick to my ass. 

"I-I-I'm sorry, S-Sir." I apologized.

"I said apologize, whiteboy!" he yelled. another firmer kick hitting my backside. 

"I-I apologize. I'm s-s-sorry, p-please?" I begged, writing in pain. 

"Dat' ain't no good apology, boy." the black stud yelled, condescendingly as he swiftly kicked my asscheeks three more times. 

"Apologize to the black race, boy. Do it now!" he commanded, adding two more kicks to my backside.

"I-I-I uh-apologize t-to th-the black r-race, Sir. I-I'm sorry. P-Please?" I pleaded in tears as I began to bawl even louder.

The young black stud finally released my arm from his powerful grip behind my back. He then put his bare foot to my right side at the ribs and shoved me away with force. Weakly, I fell over to my side and then onto my back breaathing heavily. I was now on my back looking up to Tra'mon standing above me with an angry look on his face.

"You white boy pussies never learn." he snarled. 

I was breathing heavy and my face was stained with my own tears. I was already disgraced beyond comprehension, yet I was laying there in total fear of what he was going to do to me next. I felt helpless before the young black man's strength, power and aggressiveness. 

"Pl-Please, no-no more. P-Please?" I begged. 

The black stud's confident "sneer" on his face worried me as I looked up at him with pleading eyes. Demoralizingly, he then lifted his right bare foot and placed it over my mouth and face. He held it there as I had layed there in defeat unable to find the courage or strength to fight it. 

"Did I tells ya' to speak, whiteboy?" he asked. 

His dirty bare foot pressed firmly onto my mouth as I nodded a "no." My eyes widened by the force and anger this young black man was exhibitiing. My worst fears were now right there before me as he continued to degrade me. Humiliatingly, he kept his foot pressed against my lips for several seconds as he continued to berate me. 

"Don't even know why Julie even wants to still talk to a big pussy likes you, but she does." he said, arrogantly as he released his foot from my face after one last shove.

"But, dat' don't mean you're gonna be talking back to her at all. Got dat' boy?" he asked meanly. 

My breathing grew heavier as the black man released his foot from my face and grabbed a fistful of my hair. He pulled me up by my hair until I was back on my knees before him. I fell to the backs of my legs as I knelt there in shame. My face was roughed up as I tried catching my breath.

"But, Julie has somethin' to say. If I lets ya talk to her then you best shut the fuck up and jus' listen." he yelled, threatening me.

"Y-Yes, O-Okay." I whispered, kneeling before him catching my breath. 

"Ya' gots that boy?" he yelled, once again grabbing the top of my head by the hair. He pulled my face to within inches of his. 

I was finding it increasingly difficult to speak. I still had not caught my breath entirely as I meekly looked into the black stud's more serious eyes. I was ashamed and terrified. He held my face before his for an interminable amount of time as I weakly knelt before him, unaware of what to expect next. 

"Or, maybe ya' didn't hear me boy? Maybe you wants dat' ass kicked sum' more?" he asked, arrogantly.

"N-N-No, pl-please?" I continued begging. 

The cocky young black man smiled in an evil-like manner as he held my head by it's hair before him. His face was ridiculously close to mine now. He was sweating profusely as he made sure that his stern eyes met mine. I desperately tried avoiding his tough stare, and this caused me additional fear. 

"Please what, whiteboy?" he asked, sarcastically. 

I paused for another moment, unsure of what he was referring to for a moment. I had to think and this pause just caused the black stud to grip my hair with greater firmness. 

"I don't hear you, boy." he yelled.

"P-P-Please don't b-beat me up anymore, S-Sir. Pl-please?" I sniveled as I began to cry again.

The young black stud laughed at my pathetic begging and groveling before him. 

"Then yor' just gonna have to kiss my ass boy. Kiss my ass and ask me mo' nicely." the younger stud ordered.

I almost couldn't believe my ears. 

At this time, I had already been completely defeated and I had totally given up to his masculinity. 

I had conceded in the most demoralizing and embarrassing way imagineable. Now, the black stud was ordering me to kiss his ass and ask him in a nicer manner not to beat me up anymore. I nearly fainted when I heard his words. My eyes became blurry with humiliation as he released his mean grip of my hair and then turned his back to me. 

The young black man simply crossed his arms and stood with his back to me. His leopard-printed bikini underwear covered his dark and muscular asscheeks, and they were right before my timid eyes. His flimsy bikini was drenched in his own perspiration. His youthful arrogance was something that I could never have imagined before, and disgracefully I knelt looking at his bikini-clad ass in those disgusting flimsy things before my face. 

I was already disgraced beyond words and now this young black man was about to "rub it in" even more.

My pause was caused by my complete and total shock, humiliation and degradation. I was about ready to fall over like a tall building ready to implode. 

"Did I stutter, boy?" he asked with an even former tone. 

"Pl-Pl-Please?" I begged, trying to avoid what he had just commanded.

"P-Please? P-Please? Please?" I sniveled as I began crying more.

"I guesses maybe I did stutter then." Tra'mon said loudly, his sarcastic tone of voice frightening me to no end. 

Disgracefully, I knew that I had absolutely no choice but to comply with the black man's unreasonable and disgusting demand. Degraded and defeated beyond comprehension, I caved in and obediently kissed the young black stud's bikini-covered asscheeks.

"P-Please don't b-beat me uh-up anymore. Sir." I whispered.

"Again!" Tra'mon shouted.

"Pl-please don't beat me up anymore, Sir." I answered, kissing his bikini-clad ass a second time as I continued crying.

"Again!!" the black stud screamed. 

"P-PLEASE d-don't beat m-me up again, Sir." I repeated, kissing the black's backside in those flimsy bikini underwear for a third time. 

"Again, boy!" the ruthless black stud repeated, his arms still crossed with his back to me in confidence.

Defeatedly, I kissed the black man's sweat-drenched asscheeks a fourth time as I prayed for this demoralizing scene to end. 

"Again!!!" Tra'mon shouted even louder, as he began looking at the nails of his right hand in the cockiest manner. 

Embarrassed, I kissed the black stud's asscheeks a fifth, sixth, seventh and eigth time as he continued to order me to do so. I had to repeat my plea over and over, and over again.

"Please dont beat me up anymore, Sir." I continued to grovel at his command. 

The humiliation was more devastating than I had ever experienced in my life. It was the most degrading moment of my life up until the moment I realized that my wife, Julie, was right there in the workout room the entire time. She was there witnessing the entire humiliating scene. 

"Aight, boy. You can listen to what the lady has ta' say now." he said firmly. 

As the black stud said those words and stepped off just inches to the side of me, I was faced with my pretty blonde wife standing at the glass doors to this little gym. She stood there staring at me almost shocked and in disbelief by what she had just witnessed. 

Still, she was surprisingly quiet and compliant, and I was curious as to why she had not said a word during this entire time. 

"J-J-Julie?" I whispered in awe, ashamed by my appearance. 




Black Man One Ch. 15



I had thought Julie didn't want to speak to me. I was sure that she wasn't even there. Her sudden appearance in her regular black leotard and white tights uniform startled me. My eyes fell to the floor like they were weighted as I glanced to my side to see the young black thug of a man removing his sweat-soaked leopard-print bikini underwear. He held them in his hand. 

"And, when I said you're jus' gonna listen I meant it too boy!" he directed towards me. 

I didn't think this could get more humiliating, but it did. Unbelievably, it did! 

With utter disdain, the black stud took the flimsy leopard-patterned nylon spandex bikini underwear into his hands and then placed his other hand onto my face firmly. He squeezed my face cheeks until my mouth opened as I knelt there completely defeated and ashamed. To make matters even more degrading, the stud "stuffed" the sweat-drenched crotch portion of his bikinis into my defeated mouth. 

"You keeps quiet now, boy. Ya' hear? Julie, you say what you needs to say." he ordered. 

"Don't be long, girl. I'll be waiting at my place." Tra'mon directed her.

"Yes, Trey. Okay, Trey." Julie answered him as the young black stud walked out of the gym completely nude. 

Julie's eyes followed the nude black stud as he departed. Then, she slowly turned back to me.

My wife had seen everything. Now, she was looking at me kneeling in shame with the sweaty crotch of another man's bikini underwear stuffed into my mouth. 

She had seen me get slapped by the black man several times as I cowered in fear before him. She had witnessed him holding my arm behind my back as he literally adding numerous swift kicks to my backside. She had seen him making me kneel before him as he held my hands on the top of my head while he slapped me. She had heard him calling me a "pussy" and heard me begging him to not beat me me up. And, she had watched in amazement as the younger black man made me kiss his asscheeks several times while I groveled before him, begging for mercy. 

As my beautiful young blonde wife gazed upon my humiliation, she seemed to have no words. Her look of disbelief and pity for her weakling wimp of a white husband appeared to be overshadowed by something I could not understand. 

I had never been so ashamed as I tried not looking directly into my wife's eyes. Yet, the look in her eyes caused me to stare in disbelief myself as she finally began to speak.

"Listen, Richard. I'm really sorry it had to come to this." she began. 

"I mean, I tried to tell you that Trey was getting really upset by all your text messages to me." Julie continued.

"I'm so sorry that Trey beat you up again." my wife apologized.

"Really, I am." Julie stated.

"But, Trey has such a temper. Trey was so mad. 'm sure Trey didn't want to beat you up. Really, he didn't." my blonde wife continued. 

"But, you kept persisting and well ... Trey didn't like that at all. I wanted to talk to you and tell you, but Trey said not to." she continued curiously, as my eyes widened in shock by her words. 

Here I was kneeling on the mat of the gym in silence listening to my wife's words. She could see what a "wimp" I was compared to the younger black stud. I was kneeling there with the young black man's bikini crotch planted in my mouth after he had just beaten me up. And, he had demoralized me in front of her to show her that he was more of a man than I was. My face was a fire-engine red as I knelt there in humiliation trying to figure out what Julie was trying to say. 

I was beginning to wonder why Julie was speaking in this manner, and why she was listening to the black man during this personal family crisis. 

"I guess I should just tell you." Julie began, again, as I looked at her in confusion.

"Well, Trey and I are kinda seeing each other now. It just happened." she announced.

My heart nearly stopped. 

"It just sorta happened and I don't like seeing him getting all mad and fighting with you." my wife continued. 

"I don't want to see you get hurt and beat up all the time, Richard." Julie added.

"I didn't want it to happen this way and, well, I didn't know how to tell you." she said. 

"We just need time away from one another. Maybe seeing other people will be a good thing for us. At least for now." she said with a tone of finality. 

"But, I have to go now. Trey is waiting. I don't want Trey to get mad, okay?" Julie said, looking at my defeated face. 

I could not answer due to the black stud's bikini underwear in my humiliated mouth as I looked at Julie's beautiful face. She seemed genuinely sorry for me, yet she was so consumed with the black man that I could hardly believe this was happening. 

"We just had a small disagreement and she ran into the arms of this young black stud so easily?" I thought to myself. 

"Maybe be can talk in a few weeks or so, Richard. Okay?" Julie exclaimed. 

"When things settle down." she added. 

"But, I really have to go now before ..." she started to say. 

"Listen, I'll ask Trey not to beat you up anymore. Alright?" my blonde wife said, adding insult to injury. 

I watched as Julie walked out of the small workout center and headed for the black man's condo unit number one. Defeated beyond human explanation, I knelt there for awhile with the black stud's bikini crotch in my mouth. I was in shock and degraded beyond words, and somehow the defeat I just experienced kept me frozen in my own degradation. 

Shamed, I finally removed Tra'mon's leopard-print bikinis from my mouth and walked back to my own condo. It would be the first time that I knew for sure that my beautiful blonde wife would not be coming home that night. 

Despite our brief separation, I had always felt that she could be coming back home at any moment. 

Now, things were different. 

It felt more humiliating than I would have ever imagined it could be. Being defeated by the superiority of the black man in such a blatant and disgraceful manner couldn't have been more embarrassing. Yet, at the time I stupidly felt as if I would still have that one in a million chance to have my beautiful white wife return to me. 

"She has to see just how rough and aggressive this young black man is." I hoped.

"Perhaps, Julie will take pity on me and come home?" I prayed. 

Unfortunately, the demoralization continued.

end.



Black Man One Ch. 16



The following week went by and I had not seen Julie or Tra'mon. 

Many thoughts of texting my wife crossed my mind, but by now I was more timid than I ever was before since I discovered Julie was "with" the black man. I also knew the young black stud would become angry if I tried calling or texting Julie, and I was afraid to get beaten up by him yet again. 

In desperation, I confronted one of the other white husbands in the condo building to see if he had seen Julie or Tra'mon lately. I went to Mark. 

Mark told me that he had heard about them going on a vacation together to the Bahamas. He sympathized with me and the humiliation I was feeling. Then, he hesitated and admitted to me that the young black stud had slapped him when he didn't want to invest in his business, so he gave in and willingly agreed to. 

"Wh-what?" I asked Mark.

"I-I didn't know. Oh my gosh." I replied. 

Mark's eyes lowered in defeat. He informed me that the young black man had "bullied" him and all the other white husbands as well. He admitted that Tra'mon had also told them all not to show their faces around the pool area, and that they were all afraid and intimidated of him too. This explained why I had not been seeing any of the other husbands hanging out in the pool area we loved so much.

"Geezuz, Mark. I-I'm so sorry." I whispered. 

"My wife and I are separating too. I think you should know that I'm leaving tomorrow, and I won't be back." Mark announced. 

"What? Are you serious? Wh-why?" I inquired.

"I'd rather not say. Listen, I better go now. Maybe I'll call you in a few weeks and see how things are going." he explained. 

"Gosh, Mark. I'm really sorry. Please call me." I replied, watching in disbelief as he walked away with a sad look on his face. 

By that weekend, Mark was gone and his wife Karen stayed behind. I couldn't imagine them being separated and ready to divorce, just as I could have never pictured Julie and I being apart. 

This realization of this one 5'9" tall black man intimidating and bullying all 13 of us 6' tall or taller white husbands in the condo building humiliated me. We were all so afraid to confront him as he continued to show off his overpowering black masculinity in the most rude and obnoxious manner possible. 

The black stud was rudely "rubbing our faces in it" and we knew it. Yet, all 13 of us were too weak and cowardly to face him. I was, perhaps, more afraid of the black man than anyone else. 

That Saturday morning I woke up with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wasn't exactly sure why but then I suddenly heard the sound of the black stud's voice. It came from afar and that is when I looked out from the window of my now lonely condo apartment kitchen and down to the pool area.

Tra'mon was sitting in his regular spot on his personal chaise lounge chair, which was positioned across the pool as always. This time, my wife Julie was with him and my eyes opened in utter shock and amazement. 

Like all the other white women we had seen with him since his abrupt arrival into our community, Julie was kneeling on the ground at his feet. She was dressed in a black bikini bottom and topless, and she was obediently massaging the young black stud's bare feet. He just sat back confidently with his shades on and his head tilted back as he relaxed.

"What the hell?" I gasped in humiliation. 

"Now he's making Julie do the same thing as the others?!" I shouted in silent disbelief. 

"How could he be doing this out in the open, and right in my face like this?!" I screamed inside.

"Why doesn't Julie have her top on?!" I screamed even louder inside.

The black man's "in your face" attitude truly demoralized me. He was being so obnoxious and rude as he flaunted his conquest of my blonde wife in plain view. He knew that I would never be man enough to say anything about it either. I also knew that I was far too much of a wimp and timid to approach him. 

In humiliation, I just stared at my white wife kneeling at the black stud's feet with her supple breasts exposed. There were no others in the pool area, but Julie would never have exposed her breasts like that before she met the black man. 

"Julie seems so different." I admitted to myself, in shame. 

"She doesn't really look happy either." I tried convincing myself.

"I've got to find a way to talk to Julie again. I need to." I continued telling myself. 

But, I had no idea how I would accomplish this. 

I was terrified to approach her now that she was "with" the black man. I knew that he would "kick my ass" even worse than ever before if I made even the slightest attempt to engage her in a conversation. Sometime soon, I began to wonder if she would be filing for a divorce. It was this thought of possible divorce that caused me to panic miserably.

I just had to know. 

I certainly did not want a divorce myself. I was still hopelessly hanging onto any meager thread of "hope" to get her back. 

It was later that same Saturday when I noticed the young black stud walking out to his car without Julie. I couldn't believe it, and I shook in fear as I watched him drive away. That is when I began thinking that this could be a chance to finally talk to my beautiful blonde wife. 

We had been separated for a little more than a couple of weeks by now, and I thought maybe there was still hope of convincing her to come back to me. 

My hands trembled as I wrote a long note and then made my way to the black man's apartment. I knew Julie was there alone. 

As I moved to the door I heard the sound of her vacuuming. She was now obviously cleaning his condo apartment when I timidly tapped on the door. She wasn't answering and I knocked a little louder and waited. But, there was still no answer.

"Maybe Julie can't hear the knock?" I thought to myself. 

I thought about knocking again, but I was feeling rather afraid and insecure. Cowardly, I bent to one knee and slipped the note I had written under the door. When I did so, I realized just how ridiculous of a decision this was. 

"Geezuz. Why did I do that? What if he comes home and sees the note before Julie does?" I said to myself. 

My thoughtless decision stemmed from my total and complete intimidation of this black stud, and I began to panic more. Frantically, I bent down even lower on both of my knees to look under the door. I saw the note I had just slipped inside and tried to retrieve it. In desperation, I managed to grasp the folded paper with two fingers. 

The sound of the vacuum continued. 

Just as I was able to pull the note out with my stretched out fingers, I felt his strong and intimidating presence. 

When I looked up and then down the short hallway I noticed Tra'mon standing there holding his car keys in his powerful hands. My mouth hung wide open in shock as he peered at me from 25 feet away. His face was stern and his dominant glare consumed any shred of masculinity that may have remained in me. 

"Oh my gawd!" I yelled to myself in fear, as I stood up holding the note in my weak hands.

I was literally caught "red handed" as I stood in the hallway before the black stud's door. My entire body trembled like it had never trembled before as I stood there watching him step closer to me. 

His short strides were slow and calculated, and as "cocky" and "commanding" as one can describe. It was as if the black man was making me stand there and wait for him to increase the intensity of my fear. He seemed to be doing all this deliberently. 

Humiliatingly, when Tra'mon got to within 10 feet of me I unintentionally "wet" myself. Yes, it was true. I was just so afraid of the young black man's anger and getting beaten up again that I completely wet the front of my pants, and it was right there embarrassingly in plain view. The young stud just smiled, amused by the taller white wimp in front of him. 

He stood before me with this grin upon his face and took the note from my weak grip like he was taking candy from a baby. He read it right before me, in silence, then tapped the side of my face three times as he laughed to himself. His stare further intimidated me before he casually turned and decided to head inside his condo apartment. 

The black stud left me standing alone in the hallway shaking like a leaf after I had just "peed" in my pants before him. 

Embarrassed, I ran off to my apartment like a big sissy feeling relieved that he had spared me. For some unknown reason, the black stud didn't seem to get angry by my attempt to contact Julie. This confused me. 

I felt so embarrassed by what had just occurred, yet I was glad that my wife had not seen this humiliating scene when it happened. Perhaps, the young black man was so amused by my fear of him that he decided not to beat me up again? 

I wasn't sure. But, that small glimmer of hope was all that I had to hold onto.

A few hours later, I peeked out from my little bathroom window into the parking lot to see my beautiful white wife with the black stud. She was dressed in a black, ultra-mini dress with tanned nylon stockings and black heels. Her blonde hair was coifed impeccably and the black man was dressed to the nines. I stared longingly as I realized they were going out for the night, and I shivered in humiliation while I watched Julie holding the driver's side door open for her much younger black boss, who was now her supposed boyfriend. 

The defeat I felt was unbearable. I do not know what came over me but I suddenly felt compelled to know where they were going. Although thoroughly embarrassed, I reasoned that he had to be taking her to the same club they had always frequented, "The Black Jacques Club." 

I decided to look over Julie's dresser where she had so often applied her makeup. Right there on the top was that small, black matchbook from the club he was always taking her to. 

I stared at the matchbook for a moment before making the decision to check it out. I thought that I might be able to "sneak" into the club discreetly to see exactly what was going on. My crazy plan was to wait by the ladies room and speak to her when she came by. 

"Perhaps, I can get her off to the side alone to talk?" I thought. 

"He wouldn't do anything to me there, in a public place." I tried reasoning. 

Nevertheless, I got dressed and walked out to my car to prepare for the drive to this night club. The long drive was 45 miles, and it caused all sorts of new insecurities in me. I had made so many poor decisions in the past weeks and I was being outclassed by this black thug type in every way imagineable. 

That is when I changed my mind and decided to simply watch from the outside of the club rather than go inside.

Sometimes, the loss of a wife or girlfriend will cause a white man to do things that he knows are uncharacteristic of him. It causes us weaker and more humble white men to do immature things, and this would be just one example of that. By the time I got to "The Black Jacques Club" I became a scared, timid and paranoid wreck. 

For some reason, more masculine black men never seem to be as "affected" by the loss of a woman in their lives. They seem to simply go onto the next one, or ones with confidence. 

The parking lot was very large and moderately crowded. Luckily, I noticed the perfect place to park. I positioned my car in the furthest spot off to the left of the arched entrance where I noticed Tra'mon's black Bentley car. His car was parked into what seemed more like a V.I.P. area where only 6 cars could fit. 

From my position, I could clearly see the full driver's side of his shiny black car from about 65 feet away. I was glad that my car was partially hidden under some overhanging trees in the darkest part of this lot, and this provided me with a small measure of comfort for the time being. 

I didn't know exactly what I was doing there, or why I had made such a stupid decision. But, as my paranoia increased I began to sweat profusely. It suddenly occurred to me that I could be in deep trouble if I were to be caught, but I was beyond the point of reproach as the crowd began to filter in. 

I simply sat back and watched the entrance to this luxurious night club from a distance. Two tough-looking black men stood out front as the outside bouncers. Their appearance was equally as frightening to me as I slumped further down into my car seat and watched.

Immediately, I was faced with the obvious and demoralizing fact that every woman entering this club was a white woman. And, every single one of them was with a black man. There wasn't even one single or solitary black woman or white man in site. Every black stud going into the club had at least one attractive white woman with them. Many of these men even had two, three or four white women dressed in a variety of sexier outfits escorting them.

"Geez, what the heck?" I gasped.

I watched astonished as the first 50, 60 and then 70 white women entered the club within the first hour. Then, another 30 or 40 pretty white women entered the massive club in the second hour as the loud music punded away from a distance.

"Krist! There has to be over 100 white women in there with those black guys?!" I shuddered. 

It was amazing how defeated I felt as a white man. I was sitting there alone in my car and "cowering" in the parking lot as I watched over 100 of the most beautiful white women entering this club with black men.

Without notice, I then spotted my wife Julie stepping outside of the club with the young black stud. After two full hours of waiting in my car like a frightened sissy, she suddenly appeared looking as gorgeous as ever. The black minidress she wore was shorter than I had ever seen her in, and the black heeled pumps had to be at least 5 inches high. I sat there shocked as they milled around the front entrance.

Julie appeared a little "tipsy" as she stood quietly and off to the side while Tra'mon began talking to the two black bouncers, who seemed to hand him something that resembled a marijuana cigarette. 

I slithered further down into my car seat as the black stud suddenly took Julie by her left elbow, and his grip seemed a little firm. Without a word being said to her, he began escorting her towards the parking lot in my direction. 

"Oh Gawd. I hope he doesn't see me?" I quivered. 

With my eyes now barely peering over the dashboard I watched in awe as they turned towards the black man's Bentley car. They stopped right before the driver's side door as the young black stud finally released his grip of my blonde wife's elbow. Suddenly, she lit Tra'mon's marijuana cigarette called a "blunt" before placing the small lighter into her purse. I "cracked" my window a little more in an attempt to hear what they might be saying, but no words were ever spoken. 

In total degradation, I watched as my beautiful blonde wife instantly fell to her stockinged knees on the dirty pavement before the tough-looking black man. She didn't hesitate a moment before she unzipped Tra'mon's fly and pulled out his mammoth-sized dark cock. It was devastating to see the gargantuan size of this black stud's thick cock at full mast for that brief moment before Julie took it into her mouth. Even in the dimly lit parking lot it was obvious that his cock was twice as long and five times thicker than mine was. 

Obediently, my blonde wife sucked on the young black man's cock as he stood above her in a commanding position. He casually and carelessly smoked the blunt cigarette without even looking down to her. 

My face "flushed" to an unimagineable red tone as I watched my wife sucking on another man's cock in the parking lot of this club. Ashamed and humiliated, I couldn't believe what I was looking at. 

"This can't be really happening?!" I sniveled. 

My pretty blonde wife just knelt there diligently sucking on the massive black cock of this young stud. It continued on and on for at least 10 minutes before I spotted two other young black men approaching them. They simply greeted Tra'mon with "high five" slaps of their hands while Julie remained on her knees submissively.

"What up, Dawg!" the two black men laughed as they greeted Tra'mon, ignoring the white woman on her knees before them. 

Julie never flinched. It was as if she was used to sucking a black man's cock in the presence of others, and that strange reality made my inferior white balls shrivel up even smaller. The two black men ended their quick greeting by saying something else to Tra'mon that I was unable to understand. 

"Yeah. See ya' later dawgs." he returned as they left the area.

I watched as Julie continued sucking on the black man's obnoxiously huge cock as he firmly gripped the top of her blonde hair with one hand. 

Within seconds, he seemed to be yanking on her hair with greater verocity as my wife's arms moved to a more servile position behind her. Then, he placed the half-smoked marijuana blunt cigarette onto a small, tin ashtray on the top of his black Bentley car. 

He then placed his other hand on top of Julie's head and began pulling her face in roughly. It was embarrassingly obvious that he was now fucking her throat and mouth with force. My wife's arms remained locked behind her back as the black stud increased the intensity.

Moments later, Tra'mon's face grimaced as he began exploding inside her mouth. After a mere second, he pulled his enormous black cock out past the lips of Julie's mouth and completely ejaculated all over her face. He stood there flooding my wife's pretty white face like it was a fire hose putting out a forest fire. The vast amount of sperm coming out of this young black stud was incomprehensible and uncanny. 

I was absolutely mortified and awed as I watched Julie kneeling before him in silence. She simply accepted what seemed like his degradation of her. He simply had used her mouth for his own pleasure and his thick cum was splattered all over her pretty face from her eyes on down to her chin.

Her forehead was untouched, but the large volume of the black stud's cum visibly ran down her cheeks and chin. It dripped onto the front of her black minidress in the most exaggerated manner conceivable. It was obvious even from my distance of 60 plus feet away. 

Almost callously, the young black man "shook" his elephatine-sized cock free of the remaining remnants of his seed. Purposely, he shook it all over my beautiful blonde wife who remained in her kneeling position looking up to him. Then, he simply "wiped" and "smeared" his black cock onto Julie's left arm before placing it back into the pouch of his bikini underwear.

Julie didn't move. She simply knelt before him looking up to him in awe of his masculinity. She was quiet and, in return, the black stud never said a word. He merely grabbed the lit joint from his car and continued smoking it as he glanced down at my wife satisfied.

Tra'mon must have stood there for another ten full minutes. He finished his marijuana cigarette and lit a regular cigarette, and Julie waited on her knees patiently as he finished. That is when he simply "motioned" for her to get up, and she did so without hesitation. 

The young black stud never even offered her a tissue or a napkin. He gave her nothing as she stood there in silence before him with his thick seed plastered and drying onto her pretty face. Moments later, he "motioned" for her to follow. Julie looked flustered and her knees seemed weaker as she obediently followed behind the black man towards the club entrance. 

The shame and humiliation I felt while witnessing this degrading scene was unbelievable. In many ways, I struggled to understand why my beautiful blonde wife of so many years would leave me to be with such a crude man. In another way, I was humbled and completely defeated by seeing this black man's raw strength and power. I knew that I was outmatched by him, and I grew even more intimidated by him after seeing how he treated her. 




Black Man One Ch. 16



I lifted my nose above the dashboard to continue to watch as the black man and my blonde wife finally reached the entrance to the club. I was astounded that Julie's face was such an obvious and blatant mess, especially since I did not notice any effort by her to clean herself off. 

It was disgustingly curious to me as to why the black stud never allowed my wife to clean her face of his cum, or that Julie made absolutely zero effort to do so herself.

Demoralized, I continue to gaze at my wife and this black man from my hidden position in my car. The black man took Julie by the elbow as they turned and looked ready to go back inside. One of the black bouncers stood there with what looked like a pad and something else in his hands. It was at this time that I realized that he was holding that black spade ink stamp and a black ink pad in a small tin box. 

Tra'mon simply pointed to Julie's forehead, directing the black bouncer where to place the black spade symboled ink stamp. The black bounder simply complied, and my blonde wife's forehead was "stamped" with that large, one-inch dark black inked spade symbol. My mouth hung open in utter awe as she subserviently accepted the stamp before they headed inside. 

Defeatedly, I watched my wife disappear into the club with the young black stud who had taken her away from me. Even more embarrassing was the humiliating fact that I felt wetness between my legs. When I looked down into the daarkness of my car I realized that I had just "peed" my pants again. The devastation and humiliation of seeing my wife with this tough thug type black stud had caused me to wet myself, like a baby. 

I was further mortified by my little "accident" and wanted so desperately to go home. I had seen enough. I couldn't comprehend anything being more defeating than seeing my beautiful blonde wife with this young black stud. 

Still, the area was too crowded for me to leave without being noticed. My fear of being caught by the intimidating black man left me no choice but to stay and "wait it out" until the club closed. Then, I would be able to slither away in shame without anyone seeing me. 

I wish that I had not made the decision to stay. 

During the next hour, I watched in awe as numerous other black men walked out into the parking lot with one of their white women. 

In each case, these black men had ther white women suck their cocks by the side of their cars. It was like this grotesque activity was supported and accepted by the nightclub. There had to be at least 20 other white women heading out from the club and towards a car in the parking lot with a black man, all in less than an hours time. 

Although I could not see them performing the humilating act, it was obvious that each one of these pretty white women went to their knees as their black studs stood above them like they were a black god of some sorts. My humiliation grew as I watched Julie and Tra'mon come out of the club an hour and half after they first time he made her suck him off. 

He repeated the ultra degrading action of making Julie suck his enormous black cock and, after another hour, the scene was repeated a third time. An hour later, she sucked his cock in the parking lot on her knees for a fourth time. 

Each time, the powerful black stud "came" all over my blonde wife and had her "stamped" with a spade symbol on her arms before she was allowed back inside. Each of these times, it was the young black stud that directed the bouncer at the front door "where" to stamp Julie. He did so by pointing to the spot he wanted her stamped with the club symbol.

I could no longer take anymore of this. 

I felt like a coward for not having the courage to at least try to stop it. Ashamed beyond my wildest imagination, and like a big sissy, I simply passed out. I fell asleep in the front seat of my car with my wet pants curled up in a fetal position and feeling utterly defeated by the black man, once again.

It wasn't until 10 o'clock that morning when I finally woke up from my demoralized sleep. 

I was awakened by the bright Arizona sun filling my car. I rose to see an empty parking lot and had an overbearing feeling of insecurity. I was especially insecure about whether I had been seen the night before. Nobody had awakened me and, although humiliated beyond disgrace, I felt a small sense of relief that I had not been caught snooping around where no white man belonged. 

The club had been closed for hours and there wasn't a single car in the lot except mine. As I started the engine to my car to begin my journey home in shame, I noticed there was writing on my driver's side window. The backwards writing in a thick, black marker was written so I could read it clearly from the inside. 

The letters "P-U-S-S-Y" in black ink were in full, plain and clear detail on my window. My face turned as red as a turnip. I realized that someone "had" actually noticed me sleeping in my car last night. Someone had spotted me hiding like a coward in the front seat and spying on my wife.

With the little strength I had left, I drove home feeling as weak and pathetic as I have ever felt before. Thoughts of who may have written this on my window consumed me since I prayed that it wasn't Tra'mon. The long drive home in the "wee" hours of the morning was the most demoralizing drive of my life.

"How could this be happening?" I asked myself.

"Was this all a bad dream?" I questioned.

"Why is Julie with such a man?" I asked myself, confused. 

"Things couldn't get any worse." I thought during the entire drive home. 

But, things did get worse for me. Much worse. 

end. Chapter 16.



Black Man One Ch. 17



I drove home with the word "Pussy" literally written on the window of my car. It was there in broad daylight for anyone who might be looking to see. Demeaned beyond any reasonable explanation, I just needed to get home and hide from the world as fast as I could. 

I felt like collapsing during the entire 45 mile drive home. My weakened state of mind and my even weaker body was only partly caused by fatigue. For the most part, it was the humiliation and degradation that I felt after witnessing my blonde wife with the black stud the night before.

Seeing her sucking on his mammoth black cock in the parking lot of this esoteric club sent chills of defeat down my spine. 

I could hardly comprehend this reality as I had witnessed her sucking his cock a total of 4 times in merely 6 hours. 

It seemed more than I could handle from an emotional standpoint. I was devastated.

The number of white women at that one single night club with all those young black studs was uncanny. There had to be more than 150 of the prettiest white women in their late 20's, 30's and early 40's attending last night. They were the most attractive women one can imagine without being professional models, and every one of them was there "with" a very masculine and studly black man.

As I pulled into the parking lot of our condo building, it was close to 11 o'clock in the morning. Defeatedly, I stepped out of my car with my head hung in shame as I minced my way towards the front entrance. I lifted my eyes only once, and only for a moment to scan the area for any passersby. 

Thankfully, nobody was around.

It occurred to me that the area was unusually quiet for this time of day. It was a Sunday morning and an uneasy, unpleasant and shallow feeling began to bubble up inside of me. 

Strangely, when I reached the front door there was a 5 inch black high heeled pump on the ground just laying there on it's side. It was positioned at the glass door of the entrance in an almost strategic manner, like someone had left it there on purpose.  

I bent my unathletic 6'4" tall frame over to get a closer look at it. It was then that I realized this black pump was one of Julie's shoes, and the ones she had worn last night. I simply picked it up and "keyed" the door to go inside, carrying it with me for some unknown reason. 

That is when I noticed Julie's other shoe laying halfway down the hallway that lead to the condo's workout center. 

"What the h-heck?" I said to myself.

I walked in that direction to pick up the wayward shoe when I noticed a pair of stockings. They were laying on the carpeted hallway floor 15 feet ahead of me. After looking around timidly, I slowly stepped in that direction and picked them off the floor. I stared at them and noticed the knees of both tan garter stockings were dirty and had large holes ripped into them. As I looked another 15 feet ahead, I spotted a black garter belt and I began walking towards that. 

"Wh-what's going on?" I wondered in silence. 

As I grasped the black garter belt from the floor and picked it up I was only 10 feet before the glass doors of the little condo gym. My heart began to thump unpleasantly fast. 

Unbelievably, it was Julie's black bra that was hanging on the door handle, and I suddenly realized that this whole event seemed to be some sort of degrading game. It felt like some sort of sick joke that someone was playing on me. It truly seemed as if the scattered clothes of my blonde wife were put there on purpose, like some sort "trail" left behind for me to follow? 

"Oh gawd. Why is he doing this to me?" I quivered. 

As I removed Julie's black bra from the door handle I looked inside the gym. On the blue matted floor, and in clear site, was the little black minidress my blonde wife had worn at the club several hours earlier.

"J-Julie?" I whispered in shame as I looked around.

But, I did not see her at this time. 

Timidly, I stepped inside and picked the dress off the floor. The dried cum stains on the front of the black dress were more than obvious now that I could see them in broad daylight.

I didn't know what to think at this particular time as I held Julie's worn clothes in my weakened and trembling arms. Nervously, I wondered if Julie was even around or if this was some sort of "trap" that I was walking right into. A "trap" left behind by the young black stud who had all but taken my pretty blonde wife from me. 

"Wh-why was he doing this?" I asked myself, feeling scared.

"He has so many other women already. Why does he want Julie?" I cried inside. 

I was already defeated and demoralized, yet it seemed like this black stud wanted to "rub it in my nose" even more. The trail of my blonde wife's clothing couldn't be just an accident, or could it be? 

As I pondered this thought in utter humiliation, I noticed a black slip hanging on the door handle that led to the outside pool area. Meekly, I stepped towards it as I looked over my shoulder and then to the front of me, back and forth, over and over again. I was in complete fear of the unknown. My biggest fear was that I would see both of "them" out there, and this feeling overwhelmed me as I began to shake even more. 

I truly struggled to find the strength to lift my trembling legs to move as I tried walking towards the door in my dried and "peed" up pants. Somehow, I barely managed to keep moving when I reluctantly peered out towards the pool area.

That is when I saw her! 

On the far side of the pool I noticed my blonde wife just laying there. She was laying face down on the same chaise lounge beach chair that was known to "belong" to Tra'mon, and she was obviously passed out cold.

"J-J-Julie?" I mumbled to myself in the slightest whisper, taking one passive step outside. 

From this distance, I could already see that something was odd and unusual. Her beautiful, long bright blonde hair covered her entire face. It cascaded forward over the top of her head and onto the seat of the lounge chair, exposing her bare back. Her pretty face seemed totally buried into the cushion seat of this chair as I looked across this luxurious pool deck.

With her trim back fully exposed, it was ridiculously obvious that the pale skin on her back was completely covered with some sort of unusual dark spots. From my far away distance I could not make out the detail, but it was easily noticeable. My wife's bare legs were also covered with the same dark spots as she layed there motionless, face down, and in merely a pair of the tiniest full-cut black bikini panties. 

Again, I looked around nervously hoping that noone else was in the area. I looked over my weakling shoulders in total fear of the young black stud's possible arrival. Then, I turned back and began mincing my way closer towards my passed out blonde wife. 

"J-Julie? Julie?" I whispered, softly.

After I took another half dozen smaller strides, still looking over my shoulder with every other step, I began to shake and shiver uncontrollably. 

"J-J-Julie?" I tried whispering heavier. 

Still, there was no response. 

I then inched my way closer and closer. My head was mostly turned away from my blonde wife as I was focused, in fear, on the glass entry doors to the pool area which was off to my left and behind me. Like a frightened wimp, I couldn't get the thought of the black stud suddenly aappearing and pproaching me out of my suddenly feeble mind. The intimidation I was feeling truly caused me to look back towards the doors with greater frequency. Scared, I continued to make profress on my way to Julie.

When I finally turned back to my passed out blonde wife laying face down on the beach chair I was only ten feet away. When I looked down to her lifeless body, I was astonished beyond what words can describe. 

Those "dark spots" all over her body were actually more of the same dark, one inch sized black-inked spade symbols from the club. There were many, many more. 

In awe, I stood there looking down in shame. The articles of clothing and shoes I had picked up along the way fell from my weakling arms and to the ground. They fell from my weak grasp in such a defeated way as I stood there shocked. I simply could not comprehend the pure audacity of this young black stud.

Julie's entire back and the backs of both of her legs were virtually covered with several dozen black ink spade symbols. She literally resembled sort form of a "spotted leopard" with the degrading black spade symbols as the spots. They myriad of spade stamps were strategically placed all over her perfectly-shaped pale white body.

My beautiful blonde wife's little black panties were obnoxiously torn open from behind. It was almost as if someone had purposely "cut" a hole in them with a knife. This hole in the back of her nylon panties had to be the size of a coke can and the hole "frayed" at the edges as if they were "ripped" open wider. Embarrassingly, these slightly frayed edges were stained with the grotesquely obvious remnants of dried up cum. 

"Oh Gawd!" I screamed inside when I noticed this, and I began to cry. 

"J-Julie? Are y-you o-okay?" I muttered. 

There was still no response. None at all.

"Julie?" I whispered louder.

Unconsciously, I decided to make a feeble attempt to wake Julie. I don't know why I even wanted to do that at this point in time. Perhaps, I was just concerned for her? Maybe I just needed to hear from her own lips what had happened, or how she could even stand to be around such a man like this young black stud, or tolerate his crudeness. Whatever the reason was, I simpy began to shake Julie at the shoulders for her to wake up.

"Julie? Julie?" I pleaded. 

With no response whatsoever, I passively took my beautiful blonde wife by the shoulders and tried turning her over. I wanted to turn her onto her back, but it was difficult for me. I struggled to do so with the demeaning knowledged that I didn't possess one-tenth the strength as the young black man. 

I was only able to turn her over three-fourths of the way. Her back now layed in silence slightly past a sideways position, and her lifeless bold was only held in place by one of the arms of the chaise lounge chair.

Immediately, I was taken back by the sight of the black stud's neon-yellow bikini speedoes swimsuit that had been laying underneath her face. T flimsy bikini partially stuck to the side of her pretty face. It was painfully obvious that Julie had just had her face buried into the ass portion of this unruly black man's disgustingly flimsy nylon-spandex bikini. They seemed to slowly "peel" off from her face by themselves from her sideways position. 

More degrading was the fact that when these skimpy bikinis fell from her face and back to the seat of this chair I noticed something else. 

The entire butt part of the bright neon-yellow colored skimpy bikinis was filled with perfectly-formed lipstick prints. Astonishingly, they were lip prints in a deep red shade of lipstick color.

There had to be at least 12 fully-detailed kiss marks or prints on the ass of the bikini, and the deep red lip prints contrasted against the bright yellow bikini ass parts. The front crotch part of these ultra-degrading speedoes bikinis had more red lipstick "smudges" all over it. 

I stared at Julie in amazement.

Even worse, my wife's face was covered with at least 10 more black spade ink prints. Her entire chest, arms and the front of her legs were stamped with several dozen more black spade symbol ink stamps. And, I truly do mean seven or eight dozen of them. It was demoralizing to see her like this.

The black spades covered her entire body almost from head to toe, with the exception of her midriff. Julie's toned belly was the only part of her body that was "unstamped" with the blatant black spade symbols. But, that was no consolation at all. 

The name "Trey" was signed on her belly in the largest letters possible, and in a thick black ink laundry marker. His signature on my wife's pale body was one that was written with supreme confidence. It was obvious that he rudely signed her body like that for others to see, especially me. 

It couldn't have been more conclusive that my pretty blonde wife had been fucked into oblivion by this younger black stud. 

Her lips were so fuck-swollen out of proportion that they looked four times their normal size. Tra'mon's thick seed was plastered dry and coated onto her pretty face over and under the black spade ink stamped marks. Traces of his seed also appeared in her "ratted up" bright blonde hair, as well as all over the front of her breasts. 

Her nipples looked red, swollen and nearly "mangled." And, my wife's neckline had no less than 15 of the darkest red "hickies" or "love bites" imbedded into her smooth white skin. 

More defeating was the distinguishable sight of Julie's panty-covered pussy, which continued to stream of the young black stud's cum in a way that I find hard to describe. 

I was speechless and in utter shock. 

My lips moved but no words were coming out. My throat was as dry as the Arizona desert and it closed up on me as I struggled to speak. It couldn't have been more apparent that this black stud had roughly fucked Julie last night and was making a "statement" of his authority. 

He was doing more than just "rubbing it in my face" now. I became suddenly conscious that he was arrogantly and rudely showing off his black superiority. He was doing so in the most blatant manner conceivable. 

The disgrace and shame that I felt at that particular moment could never be matched. Not ever. Or, at least I would have never imagined it could get worse. 

I just stood there in disbelief at this black stud's "over the top" display of his arrogance and crudeness. For one brief moment, I tried to imagine how my beautiful blonde wife would surely leave him after today. In denial, I thought for sure that Julie would never stay with a man like this. Not after what he had done to her last night, and what he had done earlier this morning. 

But, that thought was fleeting and merely a "pipe dream." 

My mind and body literally froze when I felt the young black man's presence behind me. 

His strong presence seemed to penetrate the air around me and draw every ounce of strength from inside my already weakened body. I began to quiver and shake nervously. There was no motivation to turn to him, yet I knew I had to. I bit my lip as I slowly and meekly turned my limp body around in his his direction. 

The dark-skinned stud simply stood there with supreme confidence and his arms crossed firmly one over the other. His dominant "glare" sent the entire insides of my body into a near panic, and my face turned several shades of red. 

He was wearing nothing except a pair if the flimsiest and scantiest neon powder blue bikinis one can envision. His monstrous, thick cock stretched the thin and wispy spandex fabric of the neon-blue bikini pouch in such an atrocious manner. It was inconceivable how large his cock looked in that disgustingly small bikini speedoes pouch, and I gasped loudly. 

"Oh, gawd. N-No?" I blurted out. 

"I figures ya' likes to look and spy like a little pussy so I thought I'd give ya' somethin' else to see, whiteboy." he snarled in amusement. 

I literally froze in place as the young black stud began striding towards me. Once again, his purposely slow and calculated strides revealed his immensely cocky arrogance. It appeared as if the younger black stud was intentionally trying to frighten me to another level, and he truly was doing just that. 

I was absolutely petrified as I stood there quivering like a big sissy about to get bullied, and I stood only a few feet away from my passed out wife as Tra'mon drew nearer to me. 

"Dat' true, whiteboy?" he ripped.

"You likes to sneak 'round and watch shit or somethin'?" he asked, condescendingly, as he stepped to within six feet of me. 

"Huh, boy?" he asked again.

"N-N-N-No, Sir. I-I-I d-don't." I murmured with pleading eyes.

The young, dark black stud in that meager light blue nylon spandex bikini made me tremble as his words grew firmer. His immense cock flopped around like a fish out of water in the horrifyingly flimsy front pouch of his bikini, and it did so with every step he took towards me. 

"You like hiding 'round in parking lots like a little pussy, boy?" he asked.

"Invading my space, boy?" he added as his eyebrowns bent downward, annoyed. 

"Oh, g-gawd. N-No. No, S-Sir. I-I-I didn't mean to." I groveled. 

The young stud "sneered," amused by my groveling and intimidation of him as he suddenly turned and stepped towards Julie. 

"Well, you're just gonna have to apologize to my ass fer' dat' shit. Got dat' boy?" he threatened in a deeper voice. 

"I-I-I'm sorry, S-Sir. I'm s-sorry, pl-please?" I sniveled. 

At that moment I nearly wet myself again. 

His strong, firm words and the realization that he "had" noticed me spying from my car last night destroyed me. My eyes widened in fear as I watched him step back and stand next to my blonde wife, looking down to her. 

"Yeah, you is gonna have to apologize to my ass for dat' pussy shit." he stated.

"I-I'm sorry, S-Sir. I-I apologize for th-that, Sir." I meekly quibbled. 

The young black man took Julie by her two shoulders. She had been laying on her side, and almost on her back when I watched him lift her into a sitting position. He placed her feet on the ground and off to the left of the chaise lounge beach chair. 

Wuth Julie still passed out cold, he began to "tap" the side of her marked up face to bring her into a better state of consciousness. 

"C'mon, girl. Get straight." he said to her, tapping her cheeks firmly. 

"Huh?" Julie replied in her incoherent state, her eyes barely opening as she sat there wobbling in place. 

"Yeah, I thinks my ass needs sum' apologizing, boy." Tra'mon added, releasing my blonde wife's shoulders and then turning to me.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry, Sir. I-I'm so very s-s-sorry." I stuttered, standing in humiliation only a few feet away. 

My beautiful blonde wife's eyes glanced towards me for only a second. She sat up on the beach chair with her feet on the ground, and she barely managed to keep herself sitting up. It was difficult to determine whether or not she was coherent at all. 

"You calls dat' apologizing to my ass, whiteboy?" Tra'mon asked, roughly, as he stared me down from less than 5 feet away.

My fear heightened as I relaized the young stud was not accepting my repeated apologies. I had no idea what he wanted me to say, and I stood there quivering as I tried to apologize again.

"I-I'm sorry, S-Sir. I-I-I'm really s-sorry, Sir." I begged, as my eyes began to tear.

"Dat' ain't no apologizing to my ass, boy." he ripped in a firmer tone.

His stern eyes and his firmer tone made me feel even more weak and pathetic. My limp body felt even weaker, and I literally collapsed to my knees without warning. I fell to my knees in complete fear and humiliation as I looked in his direction, yet I was trying to avoid his eyes. 

I was now kneeling on the marble-stoned deck of this pool area no more than 5 feet away from the dominant black man, who stood next to my wobbling wife.

My passiveness seemed to amuse the young black stud for a moment as he watched me fall to my knees. 

"Look at me, boy!" he commanded in a louder voice.

My eyes raised slowly to meet his. I watched in utter shame as he squeezed Julie's face cheeks with one of his hands, and he squeezed them in firmly. My used blonde wife's eyes opened wider from the pressure of his strong hand. 

"You see dis' boy?" he asked, referring to Julie's marked up and used face. 

"Dis'... Dis' here is what a well-fucked and properly-fucked white bitch looks like." he said, in the most obnoxious tone. 

I almost couldn't believe my ears. My face reddened to an unrealistic deeper shade as I knelt there in shame. I could not speak. My entire body seemed to go limp as I fell onto the backs of my weak legs in this kneeling position. 




Black Man One Ch. 17



"What? You can't see?" he asked, sarcasticaly.

Still, I could not speak. My silence and awe of him was causing my throat to close up as he continued to demean me. 

"Come closer, boy. Ya' can't see?" he asked arrogantly, still holding onto Julie's pretty face.

I just knelt there, in complete humiliation.

"I says come o'er here closer." he demanded. 

I rose from the back of my legs to my knees, terrified. I had no strength to stand up as the young black stud made me move closer in by walking another 2 feet towards him on my knees. 

"Yeah. See that? Now ya' can see better, whiteboy." Tra'mon said with complete sarcasm.

My eyes fell to the ground after he released Julie's face from his grip. Her widened blue eyes were now mere slits as she continued struggling to regain coherence.

"Don't worry, boy. She loves it. She's my bitch now. Ain't dat' right, girl?" he said, speaking to my wife. 

Julie could hardly stay awake. Her eyes squinted in a "flicker" as the young black man tapped her shoulder to gain her attention. 

"Huh?" she mumbled, unconsciously.

The powerful looking black stud in his flimsy micro bikini just stood to the side of of my blonde wife. He smiled at her incoherence knowing that he had completely fucked her into submission the night before. 

"But, you still needs to apologize to my ass for that pussy spyin' shit ya' did last night. Dat' was my territory you was in, boy!" he snarled.

The black stud looked dead into my humbled eyes and face. His eyes scared me half to death, and I was embarrassed kneeling before him as I continued my attempted apologies.

"I-I'm sorry, Sir. I d-didn't kn-know it was your t-territory, S-Sir." I groveled, submissively.

"Pl-Pl-Please?" I added, sniveling as my backside fell to the back of my legs.

"Pl-Please?" I begged, again.

The young, dark-skinned stud was only 5'9" tall compared to my 6'4" wimpy frame, yet he seemed so ominous to me. 

Arrogantly, he took two of the shortest steps in my direction until he stood literally inches before me. I sat there on the backs of my legs kneeling like a wimp as I trembled with intimidation. His obnoxiously immense cock bulge in the flimsy, neon-powder blue pouch of his spandex bikinis seem to "stare" me down. It truly humiliated me to no end as he stood uncomfortably close to me.

"Oh m-my g-g-gawd, p-please?" I groveled, as my eyes lowered to avoid the violating stare of his black cock in the wispy bikinis bulging before me. 

The chiseled black stud looked down at my groveling position, seemingly amused but still stern. He put his left hand firmly under my chin and forced me to bring my begging eyes up to his. 

"You calls dat' apologizing to my ass, whiteboy?" he asked, his eyes getting more serious.

I was just kneeling with my backside on the backs of my legs looking slightly upwards to the dominant young black man. My entire face was shaking as he arrogantly held my weak chin up with his index finger. I couldn't answer. 

"When I says apologize to my ass, I mean it." the young black stud added. 

In utter disbelief, the shorter but far more powerful black man grabbed a fistful of hair from the top of my head. He clenched it tightly and I writhed in the pain it caused my scalp. Without further hesitation, he simply turned his back and pulled my terrified face into the center of his well-muscled asscheeks.

"Mmpfph. Mmpfph." I gasped. 

My timid, pale face was now being held firmly into the young black stud's powerful powder-blue bikini-clad backside. The thin, wispy neon-blue nylon-spandex material was ultra flimsy as it stretched between the black stud's muscular asscheeks. 

This mere strip of spandex material between his powerful cheeks was the only thing preventing my nose from being inside of him. My arms flailed pathetically as he buried my face in his butt cheeks, my wrists unconsciously slapping his strong outer thighs. 

"Put those arms down and apologize to my ass, whiteboy!" he yelled. 

"Mmpfph, mmpfph, p-please?" I begged, my arms falling submissively to my sides in defeat. 

"I said apologize, pussy." he ordered, holding my face into his firm buttcheeks with greater force.

I could hardly breathe as I struggled to obey, and I began apologizing again.

"I'm, mmpfph s-sorry mmpfph s-sir mmpfph mmpfph." I replied. 

The young black stud made me literally apologize to his bikini-covered asscheeks with my face humiliatingly buried on it. 

"I-I mmpfph uh mmpfph apologize to mmpfph your mmpfph ass sir, mmpfph." I sniveled. 

"Again!" he laughed, evilly.

"I mmpfph I uh-mmpfh pologize mmpfph mmpfph to your mmpfph ass mmpfph s-sir, mmpfph." I repeated. 

But, the aggressive young black stud was not satisfied with my pitiful apologies to his asscheeks. He continued holding my face against his muscled bikini-clad ass with force as he made me return several variations of an apology.

"Apologize for bein' in my territory, boy." he ordered.

"Apologize to my ass for snoopin' around." he commanded. 

"Say I'm sorry fo' bein' such a pussy" he demanded.

"Tell my ass you're sorry, whiteboy!" he growled.

"Again!" he shouted.

"Again!!" he yelled.

"Again!!!" he commanded. 

"Say I apologizes to your ass, sir. Say dat' shit 100 mo' times." he commanded loudly.

For the next twently plus minutes, the young and powerful black stud brutally held my face cheeks to his powder-blue bikini covered ass. He made me apologize "to" and "into" his well-muscled asscheeks over and over, and over again.

"Kiss my azz n' apologize, boy!" he suddenly snapped.

"Mmpfph. Mmpfph. Mmpfph." I replied in between almost every other word I struggled to speak, my breathing increasing rapidly. 

"P-Please?" I groveled between the words of my numerous apologies. 

The stud was ruthless. He rubbed and mashed my entire face and nose into his now sweating bikini backside for what seemed like forever. He never relented as I knelt there demoralized kissing the black stud's asscheeks and apologizing with my face fully "stuffed" into his asscheeks.

Degraded, I could feel the dampness of his sweaty muscled butt cheeks on both sides of my face. Inside, I was begging and pleading for mercy, and praying for this true humiliation to end.

But, there seemed to be no end in site. It was like he was making talk to his ass while he held my face flush onto his nylon-spandex cheeks. 

My shoulders were limp and I was nearly to the point of passing out from the aggressiveness of this black stud. I finally surrendered and my limp body weakened even further. He rudely controlled my head and face with relative ease.

Rather than release me after my body weakened in total defeat, the chiseled black stud simply began "rubbing" and "grinding" my already demeaned face all over his spandex-clad ass with the greatest arrogance possible. 

Tra'mon's cockiness completely added insult to injury in the most brazen manner imagineable. With my lifeless body kneeling before him, I simply obeyed. I continued my apologies, counting the number of times I apologized. My counts were in silence but I had to apologize out loud. My voices was "muffled" by his bikini-covered backside the entire time, and in the most demoralizing way. 

Mercifully, he finally released me.

At least 30 minutes had gone by with my face cruelly and crudely "stuffed" with pressure into his bikini speedoes-clad asscheeks. I was demeaned to the point of tears as I noticed that he had stepped away. 

The black man only moved a few feet away from me. Unconsciously, I gazed towards my beautiful blonde wife sitting before me on the beach chair.

Her pretty blue eyes were opened wider as she looked at me. She had sat there witnessing the entire ordeal, and her eyes fell to the ground in obvious shame. Her conclusive stare told me that she was ashamed by my lack of manhood in comparison to the younger black stud. It was a look of awe and acceptance that I was not even 1 percent of a man that Tra'mon was.

To her, I was no more than a big wimp and a "pussy" compared to the black man. Her look told me that I was nothing more than a "lackey" for the younger, shorter but far more masculine black stud. Her eyes seemed to know that I had been completely defeated and humiliated by a "real" man, and that I had been time and time again. 

The humiliating reality of her sorrowful stare of my blatant image of defeat couldn't have been more demoralizing. 

I just knelt there trying to catch my breath from the disgusting ordeal. My eyes blurred as I watched the black stud casually move towards the chaise lounge beach chair, where he picked up his disgarded yellow bikini from the seat. It was covered with my wife's lipstick lip prints in the most revealing detail. 

With further arrogance, he tossed them straight into my beet red face. They fell helplessly to my weakened hands below.

"Git' your wife's lipstick shit off my drawers, boy. You come by at 6 and then ya' can talk to her. She ain't in no mood to do that now." the black stud ordered. 

"And, don't go using no machine on my expensive shit either, ya' gots that?" the black man warned. 

I looked down in defeat at the lipstick-smeared yellow bikini speedoes that fell into my trembling hands. I looked back to Julie. I could not utter a single syllable. The humiliation that enveloped me was far too great to manage any words as I defeatedly nodded a "yes" answer in the most pitiful gesture. 

"Let's go, girl. Git' your things and come one." he commanded, speaking to my wife.

"Y-Yes, Trey. Okay, Trey. Yes, Trey." she responded in a weakened whisper.

Julie then got down to her hands and knees, and she began picking up all the articles of her clothing from the ground. 

She looked so obviously dismantled, and thoroughly-fucked into submission that I could hardly believe it. She gathered her things into her arms and wobbled to catch her balance before she was finally able to stand on her own. 

Without another word, Julie began stumbling towards the entry doors of the pool area, and back to the black thug's condo unit number one with Tra'mon cockily strolling behind. 

Even in her incoherent condition and her arms full of clothes and shoes, she still managed to hold the door open for the black stud to walk through hands free. 

Her brazenly black ink stamped body was full of spade symbols, and they stood out blatantly. They marked her entire body in the most unruly and disdainful manner. 

Defeated, I just knelt there in a deeper shame and watched Julie and Tra'mon walk away. I watched them until they disappeared into the condo building a minute later. 

end.



Black Man One Ch. 18



I must have stayed kneeling by the pool for another 5 minutes after they left. I knelt there in the most complete shame I had ever felt in my life up to this point. 

Confused and unclear why this was all happening in such a degrading manner, my mind wandered. I was so demoralized that my stomach was twisted into large knots as I struggled desperately to find the strength to stand. Finally, I managed to bring my tall and weakened body to my feet. 

I stood there for a moment in shock before I began timidly walking towards my condo apartment in the most defeated posture. My head hung low as I embarrassingly carried the younger black stud's yellow bikinis, which were stained with my wife's lipstick prints. I held them loosley and with disgust in my right hand. To me, this was a slow walk of shame. It felt like it was taking forever as I retreated to the doors of our condo building. My mind continued to wander in a confused fear that I had never felt before. 

"Why was this young black stud being so mean to me?" I cried, in silence.

"Why was he being such a bully?" I asked myself.

"How could he do this?" I quivered.

"How could he be so cruel and hold my face to his butt in that bikini like that, and do that for so long too?" I sobbed.

"That was so mean of him." I thought.

"Why did he do this to me right in the presence of Julie?" I questioned in a subdued humilation.

"Will my wife ever see me as a man ever again?" I asked myself.

"Maybe Julie really didn't seee everythiing that he did to me?" I pleaded in my praying mind. 

When I made it to my apartment I literally collapsed face down on my bed and cried myself to sleep. I had heard my cell phone "chirp" with a text message just moments before I passed out, but I ignored it. I just couldn't find the strength to answer, nor did I even care to speak to anyone at this particular time. 

It was past noon when my red and teary eyes closed, uncontrollably. I fell asleep in complete and utter shame.

It was 4:10 p.m. when I was woke up in my own bed feeling startled. My face was drenched in sweat from what had to be a terrible nightmare. I had been passed out cold for almost 4 hours, and I was in such a "daze" that it took me a minute or two before I knew where I was. 

Fatigued, I sat on the edge of the bed holding my head down staring at the floor. I noticed my cell phone laying next to the black stud's neon-yellow bikini, which was still stained with red lipstick. That is when I began to remember the total degradation that he had subjected me to just hours before. 

I looked back at the clock on the nightstand. It was now 4:13 p.m., and I suddenly recalled some of the words Tra'mon had said to me by the pool when he was "bullying" me around.

"Wait a second. Did he tell me I could see Julie and talk to her at 6 o'clock?" I pondered to myself. 

"Gosh, I think he did say that." I recalled.

"Why would he say that I could? That sounds odd." I began to think.

"Why would he let me?" I wondered.

"But, yes. He did say something like that." I continued thinking.

"Where did he say I could meet my wife to talk to her again?" I questioned, in my mind. 

"Oh, my gosh. He really did say I could talk to Julie!" I remembered, jumping up to my feet.

I reached down to pick up the black man's bikini and my cell phone from the floor. Without thinking, I headed to the bathroom to shower and get ready. I knew that 6 o'clock was fast approaching. With disgust and the minute shred of masculinity I now feigned, I tossed Tra'mon's used bikini swimsuit into the small trash can next to the toilet. 

Still, I had not remembered all of what he had said to me by the pool. My mind was racing as I removed my "peed" up pants and underwear from the night before. Then, I jumped into the shower. I wanted to look clean and presentable when I finally had the chance to speak to my blonde wife. 

As I showered, I kept holding onto this "pipe dream" of getting my wife back. In my mind, I went through a myriad of things that I would like to say to her. Things that I could say to her. Things that I so desperately wanted to say to her to let her know that I was still the same man she married years before. 

Despite all that I had witnessed and now knew, and the degradation that this young black stud had put me through, I wanted to speak to Julie in the worst way. The initial thought of being able to meet her alone excited me. 

But, that is when reality began to set in. As I showered and began to grow more alert in my mind things suddenly changed. My thoughts did a complete one-eighty. 

"Wait a minute. Is he going to be there when I meet Julie?" I asked myself. 

"Oh my Gosh, I hope not." I prayed, silently.

"He's being such a bully to me. Why does Julie like someone like that?" I bawled in silence as I looked down at the soap in my hands. 

I just stood there in the shower looking down feeling nervous. Unconsciously, several minutes passed by and the warm water began to run cold. 

As I emerged from my shower and towel dried my tall, wimpish body I looked over to my cell phone in the bathroom counter. The little red light indicating that I had text messages was "blinking" rapidly. 

"Oh my gawd. Did I miss Julie's call?" I asked myself. 

Knowing that my beautiful blonde wife was really the only one that actually "texted" me on a regular basis for many years, I rushed to grab it and hoped for the best. 

I was disappointed when I looked down to see that I had several messages from an "unknown caller." 

"Who could this possibly be?" I asked myself, curiously.

When I accessed the first of these messages I nearly fainted. It was from the young black stud, Tra'mon. My heart neraly stopped. At the time I could not imagine how in the world he even got my number. 

"This is Trey. Don't forget. 6 sharp!" his first message read. 

My excitement of seeing Julie diminished. My body felt completely deflated and my hands literally trembled as I stared at the little screen on my cell phone. The intense intimidation I always felt being around this black man abruptly resurfaced as I clicked on the next text message in fear.

"Don't forget to have my shit cleaned neither!" the next text read.

My eyes widened in confusion as I read the next text messages, one after the other. I couldn't remember what the young black man was referring to at that moment. 

"No answer, boy?" the third message read. 

"We gonna have another problem, boy?" the fourth message read.

"Answer!" the next message read. 

"Pussy!" the next message said.

"Make that 6:15 sharp, boy!" the seventh text message read. 

"Pussy!" the last text message read, seemingly with even greater authority.

The remaining air in my already deflated body was gone as I stared at his crude messages. Desperately, I tried to recall his words by the pool and tried to remember what he meant by "having his shit cleaned" as I looked down to the floor in my bathroom. 

That is when I noticed the young black man's yellow bikinis in the trash can. Suddenly, I remembered the brazen manner in which he threw them into my face. I now recalled the words he used hours earlier when he told me to have them cleaned. The demoralizing reality hit me like a freight train when I finally put it all together and remembered his cruel "order" to clean the lipstick prints of my blonde wife from his flimsy little yellow bikini speedoes suit. 

"Oh, gawd. How in the world could he make me do something so crazy like this?" I whispered out loud as my face beamed a bright red.

"He wasn't serious, was he?" I pondered.

"How could he be?" I asked, over and over again. 

"Does he really expect me to do this?" I asked. 

I truly could not imagine how he could expect me to do something so ridiculously degrading and embarrassing. My fear of this black stud had grown to such an unbelievable level that I felt terrified by the thought of angering him. I stood by the sink shaking like a big pansy. 

I was so terrified and intimidated by Tra'mon that I knew, deep down, it would be a disaster if I were to show up without them. Humiliated, I stood there before the sink looking down in shame for several minutes as I continued to contemplate my options. All my options were thoughts of fear, humiliation and getting beaten up by him again.

I felt like a complete and total coward. 

Defeatedly, I just bent down and pulled the black man's lipstick-smeared bikinis from the trash can and placed them into the sink. My timid eyes gazed upon them in humiliation, then I began "tearing" asa I turned on the hot water. My eyes were tearing like a sissy's eyes would as I watched the hot water begin to steam. 

"What am I doing?" I thought. 

I really didn't know how what I was doing, but I was so intimidated by him that I began to look around under the sink for some type of laundry soap or cleaner. 

I found a small bottle of "Woolite" that I had seen Julie using once before. She had used this product of delicate wash soap for her leotards and stockings in the past. Now, I found myself reading the directions on the back of the bottle wondering how I needed to use it. Degraded, I began pouring the laundry soap into the sink. The large basin sink now filled with hot water, suds and the black stud's bikini swimsuit.

I couldn't believe that I was actually doing this.

My desire to speak to my blonde wife, who had left me, seemed to drive my motivation just as much as my intimidation of Tra'mon did. In my altered state of mind, our "separated" state of marriage was still so new. Stupidly, I continued to live this "pipe dream" of getting Julie back and thought that maybe if I cooperated I would still have a chance.

In my denial, I continued to believe there was still a chance to keep our marriage alive. Back then, I was not thinking straight. Nor, was I grasping any form of reality. 

Humiliated and digraced, I began to do what the young black stud had ordered me to do. I began "hand-washing" the black stud's skimpy neon-yellow bikini speedoes in the sink. It was degrading and defeating to do so as I tried to remove the lipstick lip prints from the nylon-spandex bikini suit. 

It became an intense struggle to do so. 

I was further defeated as I realized just how difficult this task had become. The red lipstick was deeply imbedded into the flimsy neon yellow matieral, and I continued my feeble attempts to rub them off. Fifteen minutes had passed, then twenty, then twenty-five and I grew more desperate all the time. My tears were streaming down my face as my futile attempts were only partially successful. As time passed and 6:15 drew nearer I began to panic.

"Gosh, I need to get these cleaned." I cried. 

That is when my cell phone rang. With both hands in the sink, I looked over to see that it was my mom calling. I had not heard from her in many weeks, and my first thought was one of concern. I was hoping that all was okay. My second thought was simply that I felt like running to her like a big "mommy's boy" and crying about what was happening. 

I dried off one finger and pressed the call button to access the speaker phone while I continued this degrading task. 

"H-Hi mom." I answered meekly. 

"Hi, Richard. I'm here with dad." she began.

"Hello, son." my dad chimed in.

"Oh, uh hi mom. Hi dad." I replied, embarrassed as my hands returned to the sink in shame. 

"What are you doing? I haven't heard from you. How's Julie?" mom asked, rather innocently and naively.

"Um, well. O-Okay I guess, mom." I lied, my face turning red as I tried concentrating on the ultra degrading task. 

"Oh, are you sure? Is everything alright?" she probed. 

"Y-Yes, mom. It's okay. I'm just in the middle of something right now." I continued lying.

My face blushed a deeper red tone. What else could I say to my mom and dad? I couldn't just tell them what was really happening. How could I?

How could I explain to my parents that a young black man had been picking on me, bullying me and bossing me around? How could I tell them that this younger black man had beaten up their much taller son, and was then made to kiss his ass and handwash his soiled bikinis in the sink like a big wimp? How could I explain to them that this black stud had emasculated me and taken my blonde wife away from me like he was taking candy away from a "big sissy?" How could I admit to them on the phone that I was afraid of this black bully?

I felt like breaking down and crying, and telling my mom everything, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. I stood there in utter shame struggling to wash the black man's bikini in the sink, by hand. I lied and tried rushing off the phone.

"Mom, I-I-I really can't talk now. I-I'm sorry. I'm in the middle of something. C-Can we talk later?" I desperately answered. 

"Oh, well okay. I'm sorry baby. We were just thinking of driving up to see you and Julie, that's all." she announced.

"Mom, no! Oh my gawd no! This is not a good time. It's the worst possible time ever to do that." I cried in a panic. 

My mom was startled by my sudden refusal for them to visit. I had never denied them before. 

"Honey, are you sure everything is alright?" she asked, concerned.

"Y-Yes, Mom. I'm f-fine. J-Julie's fine. I-I-I just gotta go now." I lied.

"You want me to call you later, Richard?" my mother asked, probing.

"Yes, yes. Yes, that's fine mom. I really just need to go now." I pleaded, rushing her off the phone as we exchanged good-byes. 

My head hung in shame. 

I had now spent 30 minutes desperately trying to remove the lipstick stains from the black stud's little bikini. They were nearly cleaned off, but the slight shaded remnants of red lipstick were too imbedded into the yellow material to come out completely. I held them up and cried, knowing that I couldn't do any better. Then, I "rung" them out and set them over a hanger to dry, humiliated beyond comprehension. 

As I looked at the clock I noticed that it was already well past five. I had less than an hour to get ready and hopefully meet Julie at Tra'mon's apartment. My mind was racing and I was so nervous that I could hardly stand still. I was shaking in anticipation of being able to speak to my wife again, despite all that had happened and was happening.

I got dressed and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the time to go downstairs. The minutes were now passing by slowly, and it was excruciating to watch the clock "tick" by in what seemed like slow motion. 

My forehead began to perspire as I ran through all the things in my mind of what I wanted to say to my blonde wife. I was also thinking of what I would say to the young black man, if he was there.

I didn't know what I would do if he was going to stay there while I spoke to Julie.

For some reason, the thought of begging him to let me have my wife back came to my terrified mind. I began thinking that maybe I could "bribe" him or offer him something to "bow" out of this whole thing, and plead with him to stop seeing Julie.

"Maybe if I offered him money he would move on?" I thought, hopefully.

"Maybe that will work?" I began to think.

When 6:10 p.m. arrived, I began walking out the door to head towards the young black man's condo apartment one. Half way down the hall of the second floor, I realized that I had forgotten his yellow bikini suit in my bathroom. Demoralized, I scurried back in desperation to retrieve them with the thought that he might be angry if I didn't bring them along. 

My head hung lower in shame as I carried the dampened tiny bikini speedoes suit in my hands while I walked down to his condo apartment. 

When I reached the end of the small 30 foot hallway leading to Tra'mon's apartment I froze. I heard the "muffled" sounds of what sounded like a grunt. Passively, I tip-toed my way towards the black man's condo as the sounds grew louder. They became louder and louder with each step that I took, and the sounds began "echoing" in the hallway from 15 feet away.

My forehead began to sweat profusely when I stepped to within 10 feet of his front door and noticed that the door was wide open. It was not just opened a "crack," but his front door was opened as far as it could be. 

"Oh gawd! No. No, please. Julie?" I muttered, realizing the sounds were the same sounds of fucking that I had heard from his apartment before. 

The sounds grew louder and louder as I stood in the doorway, terified to step in. It was painfully obvious to me that this young black stud was fucking my blonde wife right then and there. And, he had left the door wide open on purpose to "rub it in" in the cruelest manner conceivable. 

"Oh, God! Ahhh!" I heard Julie's voice suddenly screaming in pain.

"J-J-Julie?" I meekly whispered to myself, stepping inside without thinking. 

I was absolutely petrified and mortified, but somehow I continued to step further into the apartment, walking down to small 10 foot foyer in utter disbelief. I could not even feel my feet on the floor beneath me, yet somehow they continued to move in the direction of the degrading and conclusive fucking sounds.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Please?!" I heard Julie's voice beg, the sound of flesh slapping flesh crackling through the air. 

In total defeat, I reached the end of the carpeted foyer and "peeked" around the corner in the direction of the sound. I was further mortified by what I was now gazing upon. 

There, in the stud's master bedroom with the door wide open, was Tra'mon fucking the living hell out of my blonde wife, Julie. 

"Oh my Gawd! No!" I thought in anguish. 

My beautiful 34-year-old blonde wife was bent straight over the end of the large king-sized bed, her bare feet set on the carpeted floor. She was nude, and her entire pale body was still covered with the obvious and noticeable "faded" grey spade symbol stamps from last night. The once darker black spade symbols were now faded in a deep grey shade from what seemed like an attempt to wash them off hours earlier. 

The young, chiseled black stud was standing behind her and holding Julie's blonde hair with great force,and with one fist. He was roughly and brutally fucking her from behind. His other hand "slapped" my wife's pale backside repeatedly, and as hard as possible. The loud slapping sounds echoed through the whole apartment as I noticed her butt cheeks were already a deep, deep crimson red. 

His enormous dark cock was like a giant slab of dark meat, and seemed to resemble the largest slab of salami one would see hanging in the window of the corner deli. It was easily 10 and a half inches in length, and had to be five times thicker than my own weak one was. 

My eyes looked at him in awe as he pummeled and pulverized Julie's tight blonde pussy into utter oblivion. 

He continued fucking her with great power and strength as she writhed in both pain and pleasure. His rapid and relentless firm strokes pounded her pussy from behind as he moved her around like a rag doll. 

His dark, ebony body was chiseled and drenched in his own sweat as he continued to "destroy" my wife's pussy without a care in the world. In turn, he was also "destroying" every sense of manhood I ever had, and any slight chance that I may have had to get Julie back. 

The black stud "grunted" and "growled" with each and every powerful stroke of his cock into my wife's swollen pussy. He began speaking to Julie.

"Say it, again!" he ordered, firmly, adding a few more determined strokes. 

"I'm yours Trey. I'm yours." my wife answered, her breath trembling in pain. 

"Oh my God. You're my God, Trey." Julie added,

"You're my God, Trey!" she repeated.

"You're my BLACK GOD, Trey!" my wife screamed. 

"What was dat'?" the cruel black stud asked sinisterly, ripping her blonde hair even harder. 

"Oh, yes Trey. Yes, Trey! Agggh!" Julie screeched.




Black Man One Ch. 18



"Yes, Trey. That's right, Trey. That's right, Trey. Owww. Owww. You're my black god, Trey!" she squealed. 

"What else, bitch?" the young stud asked, grinning and slapping her ass even harder.

"Black is beautiful. Black is beautiful, Trey. Black is beautiful, Trey." Julie repeated over and over as he pulverized her sopping cunt. 

"Oh my God, Trey. Oh my God. Please? Please? Pleeease?!" she begged, almost seemingly begging for him to stop causing her so much pain.

But, the muscular black stud continued to fuck Julie even harder and with ruthless abandon. His massive, thick dark cock continued to penetrate and violate her beaten pussy with a force I could never imagine.

"Ohhhh, Owwww. Ahhhh. Pleeeasse, pleeease nooo." Julie screamed louder.

"Pleeease? Noooo more. I-I can't ... pleease?!!" she begged and pleaded, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

With brutal force, the fierce black stud ripped and tore through my wife's once tight pussy with unimagineable disdain. He kept fucking her harder, and harder, and harder while his grip on the back of her hair tightened. It looked almost as if the black stud was tearing her hair out by it's roots, and tearing her pussy to shreds.

"Dis' my cunt now." Tra'mon demanded.

"Oh, oh, ohhhh." Julie squealed.

"Yes, Trey. Owwwwww. Yes, Yes Sir. Ahhh. Ahhh. Your cunt now, Sir. Ohhh, Owww. All yours, Oh my gawd!!!" she yelled in pain and pleasure.

"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! Yes! Yes, my God. Oww. Ouch. YES MY BLACK GOD. Arggghh." she writhed. 

"Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir! Yes, Sir! All yours, my Lord." she continued. 

"Oh, Oh, Oh!... Ohhhhh. Ahhhh!" she yelled, louder.

"Y-yes, Yes please. Oww. Agggh. Yes, black is beautiful. Black is beautiful. Black is the most beautiful thing in the world, Sir!" Julie screeched.

"OWW. Oww. Ohhh, Errr, Owww! NO more. Pleeeease? I-I can't. I c-c-can't, Sir!" she screamed in pain.

The black stud grinned with a stern face. 

"Y-Y-Yes, Sir. All yours. Oww. Oww. Always yours, Sir. Ahhhhg. Ahhhhg! Your pussy. Your cunt now, my God! My black god!!" Julie continued yelling as the fierce black stud pounded her mercilessly.

The young black man had been fucking Julie for 10 minutes in my presence. 

It was terribly obvious that he had been fucking her brains loose so for much longer before I arrived. I stood there, shamed and awed by the images set before me. The yellow bikini in my hands belonging to the black stud had fallen to the floor, aimlessly. My small, flaccid cock had shriveled up into nothingness as I watched the obnoxious brutality of him fucking my blonde wife with his mule-sized black cock. 

I was disgusted and embarrassed, and afraid. I waas intimdated beyond explanation. 

Suddenly, the powerful black stud looked up and peered straight into my worried eyes. He did so as if he knew I was standing there all along. He looked even mmore dominant and determined to pulverize my wife's pussy as he stared me down. I began to shake, nervously. 

Tra'mon then pounded no less than 20 of the hardest strokes into Julie's blonde pussy while he kept his domineering eyes upon me. 

My face turned bright red. He didn't smile, and he did not even say a word as he continued pummeling Julie from behind. Julie's weakened body convulsed and then went limp as she began to orgasm again. 

The black man grimaced and then he came deep inside her pussy as she layed there motionless. Less than a minute later, the stud removed his mammoth cock from inside of her and turned Julie onto her back. 

Her head now layed off the edge of the bed with her long, blonde hair cascading to the floor. Her eyes were barely small slits as she layed there breathing heavy looking upside down in my direction. Yet, I was sure that she was oblivious to my presence. That is when the black stud moved towards her with his gargantuan swollen cock in his one hand. With the other hand, he lifted her head a few inches up before his monstrous slab of dark manhood and held it straight up to her nose. 

Moments later, with her head still tilted upside down looking up a large "glob" of his thick seed emerged from his massive cock. It "coated" her entire beautiful face from the underside of her chin to her forehead. The arrogant black stud then "smeared" his sperm all over Julie's face like he was an artist "painting" it with a large, dark black paint brush. 

The young black just released her head and let her lay there, well-fucked and used as her eyes closed.

I was mortified. 

Tra'mon then turned slowly and began walking towards me in the slowest, most arrogant manner one can describe. His horse-sized black cock "dangled" between his dark, muscular thighs as he looked straight at me. I was frightened and awed, yet I was in utter disbelief seeing his massive thick cock almost hanging down to his knees. The look on his face seemed determined as he took only a half dozen steps towards me before I "wet" the front of my pants again. 

That is when I became even more ashamed. 

In disgrace and fear, I just turned and ran away like a timid little wimp. I could not face him any longer, and I was petrified of getting slapped again. Like a big coward, I just turned and scurried back to my apartment to hide. Pathetically, I began sob liek a cry-baby. 

In awe of what I had just witnessed, I felt completely defeated by the young black stud. There was nothing else I could do but cry myself to sleep in humiliation. I layed there for hours sobbing like the big pussy I knew I was, and the thoughts of how this black man had used Julie so brazenly consumed me. 

I didn't know what I could do at this stage as I finally passed out from the total degradation of it all. 

end.



Black Man One Ch. 19



I wasn't sure how many hours I had layed there sleeping in the complete and total degradation of seeing this black man fuck my blonde wife. It was nightmarish to witness Julie being "with" such a young muscular black thug-like stud, like Tra'mon. My body and mind were even weaker now. 

"How could she even be with this bully of a guy?" I asked myself. 

Despite the fact we were recently separated, my thoughts had been that our little disagreement was innocent. Never would I have imagined that it would come to this. Never would I have believed that my wife would find any little excuse to run into the arms of this young and intimidating black man. 

I was awakened by the sound of a short, but loud pounding noise at my front door. I woke up startled and literally fell out of my bed and to the floor. 

Dazed and confused, I peered towards the window to see the darkness of night and I held my head in pain. The pounding sound had stopped when I gazed over to the digital clock on the night stand. It was 9:30 p.m., and I had been asleep for several hours.

I staggered to the door and peeked through the "peep hole" to see that no one was there. Initially, I thought that I had only imagined the loud pounding sound of someone knocking. I thought maybe it was all a part of my bad dreams. But, then I timidly decided to open the front door of my condo apartment. 

It was then that I was faced with presence of the black man's neon-yellow bikini hanging over a small nail on my front door. It was a small, elongated tack-sized nail with a wider head that seemed to be pounded into my wooden door with his fist. There was no hammer in sight and a short note was attached to it. 

"What the heck is this?" I thought, in a panic, as I heard the sound of the building door from downstairs closing.

For some reason, I rushed down the stairs in my flustered state of mind towards the glass doors leading to the parking lot. I peered out into the dimly-lit area to see Tra'mon and Julie walking towards the black man's black Bentley car.

They were dressed to go out for the night. My belly felt sick from this intense humiliation as I watched my blonde wife holding the driver's side door open for Tra'mon, once again. My face blushed red as they drove off only moments later.

Defeated, I walked through the hallways and back up to my condo apartment. I removed the black stud's flimsy little yellow bikini speedoes suit with the note nailed to my front door. My weak hands trembled as I opened the note and read it. 

"Shit still ain't clean. Make 'em like new and then ya' can talk to her, boy!" the note read. 

My shoulders slumped in complete humiliation.

This young black stud was directing me to clean the lipstick stains from his tiny yellow bikini before I could speak to Julie. He was referring to the same faded lipstick lip prints I had degradingly spent hours trying to remove before. I looked closely at them and the faded images and traces of my wife's lips remained embedded in the thin, flimsy neon-yellow nylon-lycra spandex fabric of this bikini.

I felt so ashamed and intimidated by his arrogant and disrespectful behavior. I didn't know what to do. In my mind, I felt that I had already lost Julie to the black stud. My beautiful, blonde wife had already witnessed him emasculating me in the most embarrassing and horrifyingly demeaning ways humanly possible. Now, the black man was giving me a direct "order" and an option to do something before I could speak to my separated wife again.

"Why is he doing this?" I asked, in my humiliation. 

"Why is he degrading me so meanly like this?" I questioned. 

"Can't Julie see how much of a bully he is to me?" I asked myself.

"Geez. Did she even see this note he left me?" I pondered. 

Not understanding how unrealistic and disgraceful this "request" was at the time, and desperately wanting to speak to Julie again, I gave in. Completely humiliated, I walked back into the bathroom to begin "handwashing" the stud's yellow bikini in the sink for a second time. 

My attempts were futile and I began to grow even more desperate as I washed the flimsy yellow bikini in the sink for almost another hour. That is when the phone rang, and it was my mother again.

"Hey, honey. I thought you were going to call us back?" she asked, innocently.

"I-I'm sorry, mom. I guess just got, well, uh busy with something again." I fibbed. 

"Well, I hope it's not too late. What are you and Julie up to? Can I talk to her about coming up to see you?" she asked. 

Again, I knew that I couldn't tell my mom and dad the truth. I couldn't tell them that their big pussy of a weakling son was still handwashing a black man's bikini in the sink. I couldn't explain how I was doing this demoralizing task while the black stud had fucked my wife earlier, and was now taking her out for the night with him.

"M-Mom. Julie's asleep and this is not uh good t-time. Not now, okay?" I lied. 

"Well, okay honey. Let us know when. Let us know soon. We want to come up." she said.

"Okay, mom I will." I answered. 

Then, suddenly the thought of asking my mom how to get these bikinis cleaned came to my mind. I suppose it was the struggle I was having that caused my desperate question. 

"Mom? Before you go, can you tell me how to get a dark stain out of a swimsuit?" I asked her, my face turning red. 

My mother was a little surprised and curious by my question, yet she was helpful in telling me that I should use club soda and a light brush.

"Try that, sweetie." she advised. 

"Okay, mom. Thanks." I returned, hanging up the phone. 

It would have been even more disgraceful if my mom and dad knew the real reason for my question. My cheeks turned a flushed red tone just thinking about it. Looking around, I realized that I had an old tooth brush but I did not have any club soda in the house. I decided to try this anyway. 

But, this turned out to be a disaster. 

Frantically, I stood above the sink "scrubbing" the black man's little bikini suit that had a large pouch with a small tooth brush and soapy water. Humiliated beyond reason, I grew desperate and began scrubbing as hard as I could to remove the lipstick stains. That is when I realized that I was actually ruining the black man's bikini.

The fabric was now "fraying" in some of the spots and I was horrified that I had brushed them too hard. The stains were starting to come out, but I was actually ruining the material. The thought of this young black stud becoming angry by my carelessness completely overwhelmed me. 

I panicked when I stopped washing and began "wringing" the warm water from them. It was a careless mistake and I had no idea what to do now. I held them in my passive hands looking them over while I tried to figure out my next course of action. 

That is when I noticed the smallest grey nylon tag stitched into the backside of these bikinis. The tag read "Eleanor's Shop" and it had the address stitched in white into the tiny tag. The idea of just going to this shop to get a new pair crossed my mind. I couldn't believe I was thinking along these lines, but my fear and intense intimidation of this black man had my feeble mind tied in the most demoralizing knots. 

That night, I sat down at my desk and wrote the longest letter to Julie. It was mostly a love letter to her and pleading with her to talk to me, and to come back to me. The letter was, admittedly, rather "sappy" and "sniveling" and "groveling." Yet, it was a desperate attempt for her to truly understand my feelings. Like a wimp, I sat at my desk for hours writing this long letter until the early morning hours. 

It was 3 a.m. when I heard the faint sound of Tra'mon's car pulling into the parking lot of our building. For a moment, I struggled with myself on whether I should look out from the window or not. But, I felt compelled to. Despite the risk of another humiliation, I just had to see if it was Julie and to know that she was alright. I'm not sure what was going through my mind then, but I stepped passively and hesitantly to the bathroom window to peek out into the parking lot. 

In disgrace, I saw my blonde wife kneeling before the black stud who was standing by the trunk of his parked Bentley car. She was blatantly sucking his large, mammoth-sized cock right there in the darkness of our parking lot.

"Oh gawd." I sobbed. 

It was a purely grotesque display of the black stud's arrogance. I knew that he could have easily had her do this for him in his own condo unit. But, there he was making her kneel and suck on his black cock in the dimly-lit parking lot, and in plain view of my bathroom window. The young black man was "rubbing it in my face" again, and I peered out in utter humiliation before I finally closed the curtains in disgust.

I did not sleep well that night. 

The black man's blatant show of disrespect for my wife, and for me, simply intensified my feeling of intimidation. It was 11 o'clock when I decided to run to the shop that was "tagged" inside Tra'mon's yellow bikini. I knew that I had ruined them from the scrubbing during my futile attempt to remove the lipstick stains. I was hoping to get a quick and easy replacement of them so I could have a real chance to speak to Julie. 

When I pulled up to "Eleanor's Shop" in the busiest part of town I became nervous. It was embarrassing to be walking into a shop with another man's bikini suit curled up in my hands as I "slithered" into this classy shop that looked like a boutique of some sorts. Embarrassed, I put the bikini inside my pants pocket as I entered. 

Humiliated, I looked around the little shop at the racks and hangers trying to find a matching pair. An attractive white woman in her 40's asked if she could assist, but my first reaction was to say "no, thank you." 

I continued looking around, searching for something similar. But, I was unable to find anything close to these neon-yellow bikinis. Just when I was beginning to panic and thinking about running out the door, this white woman store clerk approached me again. 

"Are you sure I can't help you find what you're looking for?" she asked pleasantly. 

With little choice remaining, I decided to ask her. I pulled out the black man's flimsy bikini from my pocket and, with a beet red face, I asked her if she had these exact same ones in stock. 

"Oh, well let me take a look at these." she said, taking them from my weak grip and moving around to the back of the counter. 

My face blushed as she began looking at them closer with what appeared to be reading glasses. She seemed to be reading the same little grey tag. 

"Oh, these are custom bikinis." she suddenly stated.

"C-Custom?" I asked louder, bewildered.

Another white woman behind the counter with her back to us overheard my words. She turned and began looking at the flimsy little yellow bikini speedoes. She was about 30, and even more attractive than the store clerk helping me. This woman was Eleanor, the owner of the shop. 

"Oh, I remember these." she started, suddenly excited and aware of where they came from.

"We had these custom made for a young man months ago." she continued.

"Remember?" she asked the other woman behind the counter, continuing.

"That young black man. His name was Trey." she added. 

"Yeah. I remember him. Of course I do. We had like 30 swimsuits and at least 50 pairs of bikini underwear made for him, right?" the 40's woman asked the younger shop owner. 

"Oh Yes, that's right. They all have a triple extra large front and a medium backing. We had to stitch them together for a custom fit." Eleanor stated. 

"Oh, Gawd yes! How can I forget him?" the store clerk added as both white women looked down at the flimsy bikinis, lost in thought for the moment.

My face could not have been more red. I stood there in shame and disgrace as the two white women seemed to "fawn" over their custom work for the young black stud. Then, they looked back up to me. 

"Well, what are you doing with them?" Eleanor asked. 

"These are Trey's bikinis." she announced.

Embarrassed beyond words, I tried to explain that I had borrowed them and accidentally ruined them when I tried to get them clean. I explained that I thought it would just be easier to replace them.

Both attractive white women looked at me like I had three heads, curious as to why a tall white wimp would be carrying a black man's custom-fitted bikinis around. They seemed suspicious about my claim to have "borrowed" them. It felt like they knew that this couldn't be possible since I was quite a bit taller than the black stud, and didn't have the same athletic body he possessed. 

I really couldn't tell them the truth about this. I couldn't tell them that I needed to replace them so I wouldn't get beaten up, again. I didn't want to admit to them that this black stud was fucking my blonde wife, and that I was scared to take his bikinis back to him in their present condition.

I was incredibly humiliated to be standing there, and I was sure they noticed this too. 

"Well, I can have a replacement in a week. That's the soonest I can get this done." the shop owner explained, looking into my defeated eyes with a greater curiosity.

"A w-w-week? Is that the fastest?" I sniveled.

"Why, yes. That's pretty fast. Why? Is that a problem for you?" she asked me.

"W-Well, I-I-I guess I was just h-hoping to get th-them faster." I quivered, my pleading eyes almost begging her to do better. 

"Why are these so special? I mean, I remember him and he must still have the other 30 suits." she asked, suspiciously.

"I-I g-guess. Well, I mean I really do need them right away, Miss." I mumbled in shame.

The white woman must have seen more of the fear and horror in my face, and my desperation to get these particular bikinis replaced right away. My embarrassment and humiliation was so obvious to both women that I almost began crying. 

"Well, I suppose that I can do a rush job and have a new pair done in a few days. It's a little pricey, but ..." she offered. 

"Yes, okay. Please do that!" I answered, and paid the $140.00 for the custom-fitted speedoes suit.

I walked out of the shop mortified by the unbelievable humiliation that I felt. 

I was in awe that this young black man had to get custom-fitted bikini speedoes and bikini underwear in an "XXXL" front pouch and a "medium" sized butt portion. The "rippled with muscles" black stud was so obviously well "gifted" in that area that I felt ashamed and defeated even more. I felt like I was far less than half a man he was.

The next two days of waiting were painful. I tried working, but could not concentrate. I kept thinking of Julie and trying to understand why she would want to be with such a man, like this black man. His masculinity was obvious and easier to understand. Humiliatingly, I had to admit that. But, he seemed so overly aggressive and rough. I found it uncharacteristic of my wife to find the 5'9" tall black "bully" and black "thug" type of man attractive. Especially after she had been married to me for years. 

To make matters worse, the next few days Tra'mon would be seen out by the pool with Julie when I arrived home from work. They would be there rather than at the black man's fitness center at this precise This was unusual in itself. Generally, they had almost been living at the gym for quite some time now. 

Each of these days, I would see my blonde wife emerging from the building and walking out into the pool area. She seemed to walk out at precisely the moment I would look out from my kitchen window, and she was always walking towards the black stud who was sitting at the far end of the pool with his cell phone. 

I wondered if he was calling her and telling her to come out when I got home. 

Like all the other white women before her, she truly and undeniably looked so well-fucked out of her mind that she could hardly walk straight. It was that blatant as she "staggered" her way to the black man carrying a drink for him. She would then serve him, kneel and instantly begin massaging his feet.

Those few days of waiting for the bikini order and seeing my wife with him were horribly defeating. The young black stud couldn't have made it more obvious that he was fucking Julie with the same intensity that I had demoralizingly witnessed a couple of days before.

Even more defeating and curious was the fact that all the other white women I had noticed with him before started coming around, again. I had noticed 7 different attractive white women with the black stud before. From the time he came to our condo community, he had always been with all these other white women. Everyone knew this. He had made it ridiculously obvious that he was ficking them. Now, they were back and coming to see him.

For the moment, I took this as a good sign. Perhaps, Julie and Tra'mon weren't as "together" as it had appeared? But, Julie was quite different now. 

My beautiful, once outspoken blonde wife seemed so much more quiet and somber. Her normal bright and bubbly personality had become more reserved, and she seemed to be lost in thought all the time. It was strange to see that Tra'mon and Julie would spend only about an hour by the pool when I arrived home. Then, they would go back to his apartment for a short time before departing for the fitness center dressed in their obvious workout gear. 

After those few days of inhumane degradation, I went back to Eleanor's Shop to retrieve my order. I had to pick up new neon-yellow bikinis custom made for the black stud. It was an exact replica of the ones I had ruined a few days before and the store clerk held them up for my view. My face blushed red seeing the enormous and gigantic front pouch added to the medium-sized ass part of them. I asked her for a darker bag to conceal them better. 

Humiliated, I walked out of the shop to what felt like little "snickers" of amusement from the white women in the shop. I couldn't have felt more embarrassed by the thought that these women knew what a total "weak white wimp" I was as I had to "fetch" a black man's bikini. Nervously, I thought of a way to return them to the tough black man as my feelings of terror grew. I had no desire to confront him again. 

Later that night, I heard Tra'mon arriving home with Julie. It was around 10. 

My entire body froze in fear when I heard his voice speaking to my blonde wife from a distance. They were entering into the first floor hallway.

I wanted desperately to speak to Julie and give her the letter I had written the other day. Still, I was nervous to approach the black man's apartment despite the fact that I had his yellow bikini speedoes suit to return. I had paid a lot of money to get them replaced and, in my mind, I was convinced that he would be pleased they were cleaned of the lipstick stains. 

I decided to head down to his apartment but I was afraid of a repeated humiliation of seeing him with Julie. I texted Tra'mon and said that I had his bikini cleaned. I asked if I could return them now and then speak to Julie. 

"Bring'em down." his return text read. 

Like a big pussy, I meekly walked down to the first floor with the black stud's bikini swimsuit in my trembling hands. My entire tall body shook with every step I was took, and my shaking increased as I drew nearer and nearer to his condo unit. 

Timidly, I "tapped" on the door and waited for him to answer. It seemed to take awhile and I could not help but to think he was making me wait in my own fear for a few extra minutes. I wondered if he was doing this on purpose. 

Finally, Tra'mon answered the door in nothing but a pair of thin, white sweat pants. His dark, chiseled torso and washboard abs intimidated me to the point of shivering. His stern eyes were as dominant and aggressive as I had ever seen them, and his "look of dominance" alone frightened me. 




Black Man One Ch. 19



I stood there like a timid rabbit, shaking nervously as I struggled to speak.

"I-I finished cl-cleaning th-these, S-Sir." I whispered, humiliated as I handed them back to him.

The young black stud took them from my limp grip and seemed to inspect them for a brief moment. 

"Good. Ya' did good, boy." he snarled in a condescending tone of voice. 

I remained quiet for a moment as I stood towering above him in absolute fear. That is when he bent over and picked up something off the floor from behind him. It was a small mesh bag and he callously tossed it to the ground at my feet.

I couldn't see what it was as I gazed down to the floor, then looked back into the stud's eyes. His bold stare was frightening to me. 

"Do deez' too." he suddenly said.

"Wh-Wh-What is it, uh, is J-J-Julie h-here please?" I asked in a petrified tone. 

The young black stud then bent down and reached into the small mesh bag. He pulled out a pair of his flimsy bikini underwear and held it in his hands. They were his leopard-print bikinis and he paused for a moment as he sneered at me.

"I said do deez' first." he said, commandingly. 

With utter disdain, he reached up and put them to my face. He placed them over my head until the crotch portion was flush over my face and nose, and the leg holes were over my eyes. 

I looked down into his domineering eyes in disbelief as I stood there shaking like a leaf. The disgusting, musky scent of this black stud's cock and balls was now covering my nose as I remained standing in his doorway. I was scared to respond to his rude and obnoxious action. 

He grinned, evilly, then repeated his order.

"Do deez' too." he commanded.

My face blushed a deeper red. 

"I-I th-thought that I-I-I could ..." I began groveling, speaking through his bikini underwear and asking him why I couldn't speak to my blonde wife.

He did not answer for a moment. 

"She's busy now, boy." he replied, firmly, making me stand in this ultra-demoralizing position.

"Ain't dat' right, Julie?" the black man asked, turning his head over his broad shoulder and yelling out towards my wife.

Julie was deeper inside his apartment.

That is when Julie scurried from the kitchen and into the living room that adjoined the small foyer. She was now at a distance and in plain view of me standing in the black man's door way entrance. 

"I'm sorry, Trey. What was that, Trey?" she asked, noticing me from a distance of about 20 feet. 

My humiliation couldn't have been worse. 

My pretty white wife coming into view and then seeing her white wimp of a husband standing there with her black stud boyfriend's bikini underwear "draped" over his head. I must have looked like a complete fool to her. 

It had to be shocking to her, as well. Her eyes looked straight at me and how the stud was demoralizing me for only a mere moment. But, it felt like several minutes to me. Immediately, Julie turned her eyes away and downward, almost as if she couldn't bare the sight. 

She seemed ashamed that she had been married to such a "wimp," and someone who was so obviously less of a man than the black stud she was with now. Part of her soft, brief gaze told me that she was embarrassed and humiliated for me as well.

"Ya' almost finished with my dinner, girl?" Tra'mon suddenly asked Julie.

"Y-Yes, Trey. I'm almost finished, Trey. It will be done very soon, Trey." Julie answered obediently, her eyes remaining down to the floor. 

"Well, git' to it." he ordered her. 

"Yes, Trey. Right away, Trey." she replied as she turned and quickly ran off. 

The young black stud then turned his attention back to me. His stare made my entire inner and outer body shake. I remained standing with the crotch of his leopard-print underwear over my face, afraid to stand up to him. 

"Talk later, boy." he snapped, slamming the door in my face. 

I stood there for a moment in shock. I reached down and grabbed the mesh bag from the floor and submissively walked away from his door. I removed the black man's bikini from my embarrassed face as I tried to comprehend the utter shame and humiliation he had just put me through. 

The dominant black man had just ordered me to wash whatever else was in that mesh bag, which I assumed at the time was more of his bikinis. I couldn't have felt more defeated than I was at that particular moment.

When I got back to my apartment, I emptied the contents of the mesh bag onto the bed. 

There were 25 pairs of the young black man's bikini underwear and a few added bikini speedoes swimsuits inside. They were all obviously worn and in a variety of different shades and prints. Unbelievably mortified, I just looked down at them knowing that he had just ordered me to "handwash" all of these as well.

I could not have conceived such a more demeaning task. 

I literally cried, in shame, at the manner in which this young black man was treating me. Yet, I was even more frightened and terrified of him. I knew that I had to do this obnoxious and degrading task in order to speak to Julie again. He was "holding all the cards" and I felt intimidated by the fleeting thoughts of refusing. 

For the most part, I was absolutely refusing to do this. In my mind, I could not take any more of the utter degradation he was putting me through. 

"How can any man put up with this?" I asked myself.

"Julie's gone. She'll never come back. I know this now. I don't need to do this." I told myself. 

But, this so-called refusal in my mind would not last long. 

It was the next day while I was at work thinking about the humiliation Tra'mon had put me through the night before. My feelings of losing Julie forever consumed me, and I had all but given up on the hopes of getting her back. I knew that I had been so fortunate to have such a young, beautiful blonde wife like her. 

Deep down, I knew that I could never compete with this younger black stud. I knew that Julie wasn't making any attempts to contact me either, and that made me especially curious. She had always been the type of person to at least "talk" about things. 

"Maybe he is not letting her talk to me?" I thought. 

"Perhaps, she really does want to talk to me but can't?" I attempted to convince myself.

When I returned home in the early evening I got out of my car to see Tra'mon's black Bentley car parked in the lot. 

"Oh, gosh. They're here again." I whimpered. 

Defeatedly, I bowed my head and began to walk inside feeling as awkward as ever. 

I knew the black stud's mesh bag of worn bikini underwear was still sitting in my apartment, and I had no intention of completing the degrading task he ordered. 

I told myself that I was not going to look out towards the pool this evening. Not this time. I certainly had no desire to see my blonde wife kneeling at Tra'mon's feet once again.

"No. No. I'm not going to do that!" I convinced myself as I made my way through the parking lot.

But, that is when I ran right into him!

Just as I was reaching for the glass doors leading to the building, the young black man was quickly stepping out. He was dressed in one of his flimsy bikini speedoes suits. This one was a dark navy-blue color and, perhaps, one of the flimsiest of them all. 

"What up, pussy-boy?" he snarled, holding his car keys in his hands.

He bumped into me and literally shoved me off to the side. Weakly, I absorbed the shove as he purposely pushed me away and waited for my reaction. My shoulders slumped as he took another two steps passed me, but then he then turned back to me. 

"Is there a problem, whiteboy?" he asked, speaking loudly.

Petrified, my eyes simply lowered to the ground and I was unable to speak. I just stood there, ashamed. All I wanted to do was run away and go inside. But, the black stud seemed disturbed by my lack of response as he stepped in closer until he was directly in front of me. 

I cowered before Tra'mon looking slightly downward into his stern and threatening eyes. In my mind, I was pleading for him not to beat me up again. Yet, I was finding it increasingly difficult to speak. I could not form any words with my tightened lips and throat. 

"It's a simple question, boy." Tra'mon said in a much firmer tone.

His presence before me caused my body to weaken. I was so scared that I literally trembled, and I was sure the black stud found some form of amusement in my petrified state. 

"N-N-No." I finally muttered, a weaker whisper coming from my lips.

"No?!" Tra'mon asked, his eyes growing more disturbed.

"N-No, S-S-Sir. There's n-no pr-problem." I answered, meekly as I began to tear.

"Dats' good then. Reeeel good." he replied. 

The young black thug made me stand there shivering for another moment before he turned and began walking away, again. 

I stood there still weakened and affected by this brief "confrontation" as I watched him walk out towards his car. His well-muscled asscheeks in that skimpiest navy-blue bikini speedoes "swayed" back and forth with complete arrogance. His strides were "cocky" and "confident" as he reached his Bentley and quickly pulled out something from inside of it. 

I was still standing there afraid as he closed the car door, turned and began walking back towards me. He was coming back to the building. My heart began to pound. Cowardly, I turned and fled into the building and up the stairs to my condo unit, closing the door behind me as my heart raced. 

The intimidation I felt was beyond explanation.

Within a few minutes, I did what I had promised myself I wouldn't do. I looked out to the pool area. It wasn't something that I wanted to do, but felt that I needed to do. Somehow, I needed to see Julie. I will never be able to explain the reason why. It was not that I wanted to see them there. Not at all. Perhaps, it was simply a "look of hope" that this whole situation was not real, or that it could not possibly continue like this.

I could not explain it. 

When I gazed out to the pool, Julie was sitting on the marble-deck on the ground at the foot of Tra'mon's chaise lounge chair. She was patiently waiting for him to return. She looked so beautiful, yet she was in a very somber mood. The black spade symbols on her body inked from nights before were gone and I was relieved to see this. Longingly, I just looked at her from my apartment window. 

Her pale body looked so much better when it wasn't "marked up" so rudely like it had been.

Moments later, I saw the black stud walking out into the pool area in his navy-blue bikini. He put his shades onto his stern face and sat down without a word being said to Julie. Like always, she immediately began to massage the black man's bare feet. 

The image of seeing my blonde wife alone by the pool was like a dream, but then was disrupted by his sudden presence. 

For just that moment, seeing Julie alone by the pool kept me longing to see her again. 

Part of me didn't want to face her ever again. I didn't know how I would be able to explain what a "big pussy" I was when the young black stud had "bullied" and pushed me around like a rag doll. But, the other part of me wanted to see if there was still a chance to get her back.

Humbly, I just turned away from the window and walked back inside. I saw the mesh bag filled with the black stud's dirty bikinis laying on the floor. In complete defeat, I just took them to the bathroom and began "handwashing" them, one by one, in the delicate liquid soap I had used before. 

Embarrassed by my compliance and my fear of Tra'mon, I felt that I had little to no choice but to do what I was told to. If there was even the slightest chance to see her again, I reasoned this humiliating "chore" had to be done. I knew that having a purpose to go down to his apartment or the pool area would be the only way. 

I spent most of the night feeling pressured into performing the degrading task of washing the black man's bikini underwear. Humiliated, I washed them all by hand and placed them on small hangers to dry on the curtain rod above my bath tub. In utter disgrace, I just did what I had promised myself I would never do.

I did not finish until nearly 10 o'clock that night. I looked down at my hands that were now "pruned" from hours of being in the soapy water. Then, I looked up to see the 25 pairs of the stud's dampened and freshly washed bikinis on hangers on the shower curtain rod. 

My feeling of defeat couldn't have been greater. 

With this most humiliating feeling of being completely defeated, once again, I just wanted to pass out and go to sleep. But, my mind was racing with thoughts of seeing Julie. I knew that I wanted to see her right away. I wanted to talk to her so badly. It occurred to me that I could just bring the black man's handwashed bikini underwear back to him and talk to my blonde wife right now. But, they were still damp and drying over my bath tub.

"Geez. I can't bring them back to him dampened like this?" I thought. 

"I don't think he'd accept that?" I quivered. 

Again, my defeated mind was not thinking straight. I was desperate to see Julie that night and, for some reason I can not explain, I decided to get his bikinis dried faster. I pulled out a hair dryer from my wife's cosmetics drawer and was about to turn it on. Like a defeated wimp, I was just about to "dry" the young black stud's bikini underwear. But, that is when I heard his voice speaking to Julie in the parking lot.

I could not make out his words.

Rushing over to the window, once again, I saw them dressed and getting into Tra'mon's black Bentley. The sight of them leaving to go out so late caused my entire unathletic body to weaken. I knew then that I would have little to no chance of speaking to Julie this night. 

Even more defeated, I walked into my livingroom and sat on the couch. Thoughts of her going back to "The Black Jacques Club" with that arrogant young stud consumed me.

"Gosh, why is he always taking her to that club anyway?" I began thinking.

"Why there all the time?" I pondered. 

"What kinda' club is that anyway?" I began thinking, once again.

Awake and alone in my degradation, I decided to find out more about this club. All the white wives in our little condo community had been frequenting this place with Tra'mon after work, and they had been since the conception of his new fitness center. 

I suddenly realized that they had been going to this club for several weeks now, and I hardly seen any of them since. Also, I rarely seen any of the other white husbands besides Mark, who had moved out for reasons he would not explain. 

That is when I searched for that little match book from the club, and I found it minutes later. I decided to look up their website, which was listed on the back of the black cover.

When I looked up the website of "The Black Jacques Club" I was in awe. 

Being a computer person myself I could easily see that the site was professionally done. A great deal of work was put into the detail of this website, and I quickly clicked past the "enter" button and towards the main page. I sat there scrolling through the words and images on this page. 

"The Black Jacques Club" had been only been opened in this location for about a year. Previously, it had been opened under another name and in 4 other cities for the past 8 years. It was a night club, but unlike any club that I had ever seen before. The numerous images of the club's many areas revealed one-hundred percent black men and one-hundred percent white women. 

"Geezuz." I cried.

There were hundreds of pictures of the "club life" with people dancing, drinking, smoking and partying. They were all white women with studly black men, and there seemed to be many more pretty white women than there were black men. 

Black spade symbols adorned every photo. More black spade symbols were strategically positioned around the pages. Several circular symbols of a black power fist with the actual words "Black Power" written in them were situated at the top of each paragraph describing the rooms and events. 

There was a page that read "Stud of the Week" and I clicked on that to see images of their weekly contest. These pictures showed dozens of white women "hooting" and "hollering" as black men were up on a small stage in the tiniest speedoes bikinis one can envision. This week's photo of the "stud of the week" was Tra'mon. I clicked on past winners to see that Tra'mon had won this so-called contest for the past 9 weeks in a row. A few others had won in the 6 weeks before him, but then I noticed that Tra'mon had won at least 15 weeks in a row before that. 

"Gosh." I gulped in shame.

The members page was especially humiliating. There was a "count" at the bottom of the link of photos that read "male members" and "female members." There were 67 males members and I clicked on that link to see that every last one of them was a black stud between 20 and 32 years of age. Most of them were darker-skinned athletic guys, like Tra'mon. When I saw Tra'mon's photo I clicked on that with great hesitation. 

There had to be 40 photos on Tra'mon's "personal" page. Many of them were in his skimpy bikinis, and from his bodybuilding days. One was in a pair of tight spandex shorts with boxing gloves as he stood there in a boxing stance. Another was of him sharply-dressed on the dance floor with other white women. Several were of them were close-ups of him sitting in the booths having drinks or smoking with white women, partying. Three of these were with my blonde wife, Julie, and my heart nearly stopped as I viewed these images.

Uncanningly, one of the photos of Tra'mon and Julie showed them smiling. A one inch black spade symbol was clearly positioned directly in the middle of her forehead as the photo was taken. Julie's eyes seeemed a little weary as she was being held by the black stud, and that black inked spade symbol "had to" be known, right? My blonde wife had to know this black man had put it there, right? It was as defeating as it could be. 

Tra'mon's profile was positioned below. It read, "Trey, 25, 5'9" 185 lbs., former-dancer, business owner, fathered nine."

"N-Nine?" I gasped.

"Wh-what the heck? I thought he had seven children?" I asked myself, thinking of the brief conversation I had with one of his white women in the parking lot.

I looked at the group of miniature photos of the female members. The count was 281, and when I clicked onto this page it was obvious that 100 per cent of the female members were white women. All were pretty white women between the ages of 25 and 45, and my heart raced in humiliation as I clicked "next" repeatedly, scrolling through this vast list of club photos. 

Many, if not most of these women had their profiles listed at the bottom of their photo pages. I read through them quickly and was stunned to see the numbers listed after their status as mother. 

"Mother to five. Mother to three. Mother to two. Mother to eight. Mother to one. Mother to six." they read. 

More than half of these women were already mothers. I could not help but to look closer at the white woman who listed her profile as having eight children because she seemed so young. Her name was Annie, and she was 32. She was a beautiful auburn-haired woman with a trim body and large breasts. The photos of her and her children who were obviously from black men. All of them were. Her smiling photo made my heart fall as her occupation read "attorney." 

"Gosh. I can't believe all these children are hers?" I gawked.

When I got to Julie's profile, it read, "Mother: someday." Below that her status read "Belongs to Trey." Her occupation read "Trey's assistant." 

My throat closed tightly as I viewed the only 3 photos of my wife on her profile page. She was smiling in two of them, and was dressed in only a black bikini and black heels in one of them. I was absolutely mortified to see her on this page, and I felt her slipping away from me and into the more masculine black stud's arms. 




Black Man One Ch. 19



Other photos of the rooms and V.I.P. section weer equally defeating. A large glass door that read "VIP" had the front glass acid etching of that same "Black Power" symbol in a circle. Numerous other photos of showed regular club life, but they were all of black men and the prettiest white women anyone can describe. 

I couldn't look any longer. There were numerous other pages, a "letters" page, and a page for "future outings" listed. I couldn't bring myself to look upon them. I had seen enough. 

The looks on these black men's faces were ones of complete control and confidence. They seemed arrogant and "cocky" as their white women seemed to cater to their every whim. Their stares of dominance were ones that told me they were taking all these white women from us white men, and I began to feel suffocated by the realization that all of us white men were helpless to stop it. 

At that time, I thought it would be best to tell the other white husbands in the condo community about this club. I knew that Mark had left, and there were 12 of us remaining. But, I had not seen any of them in such a long time. I reasoned that all the wives were probably out at "The Black Jacques Club" tonight, since Julie and Tra'mon had left for the club a short time ago. 

For some reason, I felt compelled to at least try to talk to them. I don't know why, but I did.

Perhaps, it was a desperate attempt to find out exactly why I hadn't seen them for so long. Part of my need to do this was an attempt to get my blonde wife back. Maybe, the reason was that I was feeling so all alone in the world since the young black had "taken over," and that he had taken my wife away. 

I wasn't sure what the main reason was. But, I found myself leaving my condo apartment and walking towards the other white husband's apartments. It was now closer to midnight when I finally summoned enough courage inside to make this uncharacteristic attempt to speak to the other husbands. 

end.



Black Man One Ch. 20



I could hardly comprehend how nervous I felt as I began walking down to the first floor of the condo building. The greater part of me wanted to know how the other 11 white husbands still living here felt, and why I had not seen them more than a few times in weeks. Another part of me was truly afraid to know. 

My purpose was unclear to me at the time. I suppose that I just needed to be "consoled" at the same time I wanted to share my discovery of "The Black Jacques Club" with them. 

I wanted them to know more about the place we all "seemed to know" our beautiful white wives were going to hang out all the time.

When I tapped on the door to David's condo unit he was completely shocked by my unexpected visit. He was also quite apprehensive to talk and said that I shouldn't be here. In turn, I was also quite shocked by his attempt to shut the door on me while he was asking me to leave. 

"David? Wh-Why? What's wrong? Please?" I pleaded, putting my foot inside and preventing him from closing the door. 

David suddenly gave up trying to shut his front door. He then broke down in tears. I couldn't believe the look of fear I was seeing on his face as he tried to explain. Unbelievably, he told me that Tra'mon had ordered him not to discuss anything about what was going on. He explained that the young black stud was very adament about keeping things personal and quiet, and that was the reason for him keeping to himself. 

David admitted that he was scared to talk to anyone else, and didn't have any desire to do so either. The 6'5" tall white man confessed to me that he was terribly afraid of Tra'mon, just as I was. 

"Why? What do you mean? Wh-What?!" I gasped.

"W-What's happened? David, please?" I cried. 

I stood there shocked beyond belief as he further broke down and continued to explain. David told me that his wife, Tammy, had "an affair" with Tra'mon and he was almost certain that she was now pregnant with the black stud's child. 

"Oh my gawd, David. Are y-you serious?" I asked, meekly.

"H-How? W-What happened?" I asked, almost not wanting to know.

"Sh-She told you th-this?" I asked, pleading.

The tall white man had a much sadder look on his face now. I sympathized with his embarrassment and the intimidation he so obviously felt from this strong black man's blatant invasion into his once peaceful life. 

David wouldn't describe how or when it happened, or even how he found out. He only admitted that he knew for sure that it was Tra'mon's baby and that his wife was now seeing "someone else" from the workout center where she worked.

"David, how could that be? You do know Julie left me and is seeing Tra'mon, don't you?" I asked. 

"H-How could he have b-been with Tammy?" I mumbled passively.

"I guess so. I know he is with Julie. I heard that. We all did. I-I'm sorry for that but I really d-don't know how he g-got with Tammy." he cried. 

"H-He just did." David sobbed. 

"P-Please, Richard. Just go. I-I really need you to go, okay?" he said, his eyes pleading for mercy. 

It looked like David was about to break down into a deeper level of tears. He seemed embarrassed by the whole situation, and the knowledge of his pretty white wife carrying a black man's baby. Furthermore, she was seeing another black man from the fitness center, and it was too much for him to bear. 

He confessed that Tra'mon was still coming by on occasion and "picking on" him, and he didn't know what to do about it.

"I-I'm sorry, D-David. I d-didn't know." I returned, consoling him just as much as I felt I needed consoling.

As I began to leave I suddenly stopped at the front door and turned back. David's face was more than embarrassed and worried. I felt as if I needed to say something. He was feeling just as defeated by the masculinity of black men as I was, and for some reason I spoke out.

"D-Do you th-think that maybe if w-we talked to him together h-he would stop bullying us?" I asked David. 

David's eyes widened in horror. 

"Are you kidding? N-No. No w-way. I-I'm not going to do th-that. I'm not getting my ass kicked, again!" he shouted.

"Uh, Again?" I replied.

"Wh-what do y-you mean, David?" I asked, fearful of his response. 

But, David "clammed" up. He wouldn't speak. With the embarrassment written all over his face he asked me to leave. His pleading eyes begged for me to leave him alone in his own degradation, and I understood exactly how he was feeling. 

I was shocked and embarrassed as I left David's apartment. Yet, I finally knew the reason for not seeing him in all these weeks. It occurred to me that all the other 11 white husbands in the condo may have felt the same way as I did. I reasoned this may have been the reason for Mark's curious and sudden departure weeks ago. 

That suspicion was confirmed after I defeatedly and deperately knocked on the doors of the remaining ten white husbands in the building. In every case, the white husbands were home alone and their attractive wives were out. It was passed midnight and it appeared that all of our wives were out partying at "The Black Jacques Club" after working all day at the gym.  

One by one, each of the other husbands practically shut the door in my face after a few carefully chosen words or quick statements. All of them seemed afraid and embarrassed to talk to me, and each and every one of them merely provided nothing more than a small "blurb" of what "may have" been going on these past weeks.

In my mind, I unwillingly gathered all the information that I could. I had "pieced" together all the little pieces of informationto discover the ultra-humiliating truth - the truth that all 13 of us taller white professional and moderately wealthy husbands were intimidated by this one young athletic black stud. 

We all felt he was a "bully" type. 

All of us were afraid of him and felt nervous by his rude and overwhelming masculine presence. Every last one of us felt "defeated" by him in many, many ways. We were all very saddened and embarrassed by our wives spending so much time working at his new fitness center, and then going out most nights after work until the "wee" hours of the morning. 

It was confirmed that Mark's wife, Karen, had been "knocked up" by the young black stud. This was the reason for Mark's rather sudden and abrupt departure. He was embarrassed after a "confrontation" with the black man, and then he decided to flee. His wife, Karen, simply stayed behind. 

It was also confirmed that David's wife, Tammy, was pregnant with Tra'mon's child. David was still living here, but he was obviously so much more confused about what to do next.

The information I was gathering was demoralizing. 

Besides Mark, David and myself, the remaining 10 white husbands all "suspected" their wives were having an affair of some sorts. They were suspicious of their wives' affair with someone from Trey's fitness center. 

The others could not pinpoint what was going on, nor could they confirm this. Still, all of us knew that the only men working at the fitness center were other young black men instructors.

All 5 of them were instructors, and they were all either close friends or colleagues of the young "thuggish" black stud we had grown to fear. 

Additionally, some of the other husbands embarrassingly admitted that they had gotten "slapped" by Tra'mon, just as I had. Some of them mentioned, in passing, the black spade ink symbols from the club placed on their wives after a night out. Some even mentioned seeing other wives and the other white women who he had been seeing coming from his apartment, or from his car.

By their accounts, they had seen several other white women around besides our wives. 

But, all of us were terribly afraid to stand up to this one black stud. All of us had been emasculated by him in some way or another, and some of us had gotten it worse than others. For me, I was getting the worst of it all and by a long margin. 

All of us white husbands were saddened by the fact our white wives had gone to work at his fitness center. They were spending so much time going "out" with him, and they rarely stayed home anymore. 

Every one of us seemed to "tremble" in fear and intimidation by even the thought of this black man's presence. All of us were ashamed that our pretty white wives had gravitated to this young stud's masculine personality, and they had become a fixture in his so-called "circle" or group.

In defeat, I walked back to my condo with my head hung in shame and feeling even more worried. 

I realized that all 13 of us taller, weaker and wimpier white husbands were afraid of this one young muscular black stud. He intimidated all of us, and so far he even caused one of us to flee. 

He seemed to be doing whatever he wanted with our wives and was openly "rubbing it in our faces" in the most exaggerated manner possible. I couldn't get it out of my head how arrogant he had become. 

Blatantly, he had fucked three of our wives and "knocked up" two of them. Brazenly, he "bullied" all of us right in front of our pretty wives and acted like he was more of a man than all 13 of the white husbands combined.

Arrogantly, he showed off his massive black cock in his little bikini suits. Openly, he had showed off and "put on display" how he had fucked so many other white women in the most demeaning ways conceivable. 

All 12 of us remaining sissy white husbands could not summon up enough courage to face the 5'9" tall chiseled dark stud. All 12 us together were afraid to speak to him even individually, or even as a group. None of had the courage to confront him in any way. 

It seemed quite obvious that he knew this too. 

Cockily, he had been walking all over us white husbands and demeaning us. He was rubbing it in and even slapping some of our faces. He intimidated all of us, especially me. We could only show our wives what cowards we were as he continued humiliating us in the presence of them.

We took it all from him and didn't fight back. Were were taking it all from him, even when he openly called us "pussies" or "wimps" right in front of everyone. 

It was terribly embarrassing to discover a lot of what was happening. Unbeknownst to me, Tra'mon had confronted and intimidated all the other husbands, too. None nearly as much as me. As I returned to my condo unit in complete shame, I felt more helpless and powerless. Not even a group of us together could find enough courage to face this one black man. 

I didn't want to believe this way back then, and it is embarrassing to admit, but it was and is the absolute truth.

For yet another night, I fell asleep feeling as embarrassed, ashamed and defeated as any man could possibly feel. It was difficult to comprehend what has been happening in our once peaceful and secluded upscale condo community since the arrival of the young black stud.

The next morning I woke up with the same feeling of being defeated. 

Inside, I knew that I still wanted Julie as my wife. As hopeless as it seemed to get her back from this black man, a large part of me remembered and longed for the better days. Afterall, she was still my wife and we hadn't discussed a divorce or anything. It was curious to me why she hadn't filed for one.

"Maybe this is all just a phase for her?" I wondered, naively.

"Maybe Julie will reconsider and come back to me?" I hoped. 

"Will she ever see me as a man again?" I wondered.

"Do I even want her back after all this?" I questioned. 

But, the greatest part of me was still incredibly intimidated by Tra'mon. His temper and aggressiveness concerned me to no end, and I was genuinely afraid to try anything or do anything "rash" to get her back. 

I reasoned that it would be in my best interest to be patient and go along with things for now. I tried to rationalize that it was best to just do what he said until Julie came to the realization that she belonged with me, and not with this young "bully" of a black man. 

I was taking the cowardly, sissy approach and didn't do a thing about it. 

But, that is when the black stud turned up the level of humiliation and degradation. Just when I was completely and undeniably defeated, he "turned the screws" to me even tighter. Just as I had mentally submitted to the will and raw masculinity of this black man, he purposely and intentionally "rubbed it in" even more. 

He became even more cocky, arrogant and "bossy" with me.

As I walked into the bathroom I noticed Tra'mon's bikini underwear on hangers above the tub. In humiliation, I had spent hours handwashing them the night before. Now, I came to the realization that I had to return them to him. My face turned as red as a tomato while I gathered them into one pile, still on hangers, and set them onto the bed. 

For 2 hours, I wallowed in my own humiliation as I tried summoning enough courage to bring them down to his condo. I kept looking out towards the parking lot to see if his car was still there. In many ways, I had hoped his car would be gone and this would give me a good reason not to approach him. But, his Bentley car had not moved. It was obvious that he was still in his condo apartment with Julie.

I took a deep breath and gathered up the 25-plus pairs of his bikini underwear on hangers, then headed down the stairs to condo unit number one. In my hapless mind, I had envisioned him allowing me to speak to my blonde wife since I had done what he told me to. Despite the humiliation I felt, I wanted to see her again. Deep down, I knew there was a chance to speak to her. 

But, when I arrived at the stud's apartment with his handwashed bikini underwear on hangers, he merely grinned. He wouldn't let me see her. Rather, he tossed another bag of his bikinis and bikini underwear at my feet and gave me another order. 

"Hangers, huh?" he snarled, noticing how neatly I had placed them on little clothes hangers.

"Nice touch, boy." he said approvingly.

"Deez' are next. Two days." he ordered, tossing another mesh bag of bikinis down at me feet.

I stood there in the doorway of his apartment with an even deeper red tone on my cheeks, blushing in embarrassment. I couldn't believe what I was seeing as I trembled nervously. I was silent and there was a long pause as I kept my eyes anchored to the floor.

"Is there uh' problem, whiteboy?" Tra'mon suddenly asked in an even firmer tone.

I swallowed loudly as I stood there quivering in absolute shame. My entire body went limp from the fear of angering this young black man, once again. I truly "cowered" before him. 

"N-N-No, S-Sir. I-I uh, I..." I answered, my soft and passive whisper barely detectable.

"Good. And, be in the gym tomorrow at 6!" he ordered.

"I'm startin' my workouts again." he instructed.

"Maybe, in time, I'll lets ya' talk to her. Understood?" Tra'mon added, not waiting for an answer and then slamming the door in my face.

Defeatedly, I simply picked up the bag of his bikini underwear and walked back to my own apartment. My mind was cluttered and my desire to fight for Julie was almost gone. My already deep fear of this black man was intensifying, and I was confused by my own feelings of intimidation.

Somehow, I felt even more afraid to run away like Mark had. The thought of him finding out and taking it out on Julie consumed me. The fear of angering him and getting beaten up again crossed my mind many times. 

This would be my life for the next 11 weeks. 

Every other day, I was made to "handwash" the black stud's little bikini speedoes suits and bikini underwear. Whether they were used and dirty, or not, he had a mesh bag full of bikinis for me to wash for him.

I couldn't believe how many pairs of bikini underwear he had, and he kept ordering more and more. He even had me ordering them for him. 

In these eleven weeks, Tra'mon handed me a note that read "get 60 more" a total of four times. He was referring to his custom-made bikini underwear from Eleanor's Boutique Shop in the city. 

Every few weeks I was made to go into this little shop to face the white female store clerks, then order 60 custom-fitted bikinis for Tra'mon in his size. The medium backside with the "XXXL" front pouch was demeaning to know. 

In disgrace, I could see and feel their amusement as they made me pick out the colors, shades and prints for the many new pairs. They all knew the many pairs of custom bikini underwear weren't for me, and they seemed to know that I was just another white wimp being made to do this for a black man. They seemed to know everything, but they said nothing. 

My face blushed red the entire time I was in their shop as I painfully selected anything from girafee-prints to solid shades in a myriad of colors. This couldn't have been more embarrassing as I knew that I would be handwashing all these pairs of bikinis myself, eventually. Paying for them by myself became even more defeating for me since the price of $55.00 a pair seemed high. 

Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for these 11 weeks I had to be Tra'mon's workout partner, once again. Like before, this meant trying to hold the heavy bag steady as the black stud furiously pounded away on it for 30 minutes. He continued working out in just a pair of the flimsiest bikini underwear imagineable. He seemed to be doing this to add further insult to me. 

At 6 a.m., he would wake up and work out with such fury. Then, he would rudely toss his obnoxiously sopping wet and "drenched in sweat" bikinis right into my face before walking out.

Like the earlier workouts, I was there to simply hold the heavy bag and clean his spit and sweat from the blue padded mats of the condo gym. He rarely spoke to me during these workouts. He was rude, arrogant and disdainful. Yet, the intimidation I felt was growing to levels I would have never known could exist. 

The young black man literally "flaunted" his powerful control over my wife, Julie. During these weeks, it was painfully obvious that she was now "his." He seemed to go way out of his way to put her on some sort of display. He was going overboard as he continued rubbing my nose into the degradation and defeat I already felt. 

Not one day went by that Tra'mon was not out by the pool with Julie when I arrived home from work on the weekdays. Not one day in eleven weeks. Tra'mon stayed out by the pool area even longer on weekends. But, 7 weeks into this 11 week period some things began to grow more curious to me. 

Julie was completely different now. From my distant and cowardly gaze she seemed more like a "zombie" than anything else. And, in that 7th week she began wearing darker tee shirts with her bikini bottoms out by the pool. It was the most curious thing to see as it seemed like she was keeping the top of her body covered up. Her sudden style change seemed to make no sense. 

What I didn't realize then was that this black stud was fucking my Julie three to five times a day, and everyday, during these 11 weeks. 

I watched in utter shame as she knelt out by the pool before his "throne" and at his feet massaging them. She massaged them like he was some sort of imperial black god. She was much more quiet and demure, and hardly ever spoke a single word. I even noticed her feeding him, on occasion. And, Julie always looked so incoherent and "fucked out of her mind" that I could hardly bare the sight of her in the conditions I would see her in. 

On most weekend nights, I would see her leaving the condo building with Tra'mon dressed in the shortest black minidresses and the highest high heels possible. In that seventh week of the eleven she also stopped wearing dresses that revealed her cleavage. Her breasts were always fully covered now. But, I didn't really take that as anything serious back then. I never did get a very good look at her during this time, anyway. 

On other late nights, she would be coming home from "The Black Jacques Club" after 2 in the morning. She would be wearing her black thonged leotard and white tights with dirty knees, seemingly after a long day at Tra'mon's fitness center before heading to the club. At least once a week for these next eleven weeks I would see Julie in the darkness of the parking lot. Those times, she was on her knees sucking the black stud's massive black cock like she was a servant. 




Black Man One Ch. 20



Like a big pussy, I did nothing and said nothing. I merely continued handwashing the stud's bikini underwear like an intimidated fool, and assisting with his workouts while feeling the most humiliation possible. My work was suffering greatly. I was barely doing enough to get by and enough to keep my high-salaried position. 

In these weeks, three more of the white husbands had mysteriously left the condo community. Now, there were only nine of us. Still, none of us said anything and we all seemed to cower in our own apartments, alone. We would stay away from the pool area. Essentially, we stayed away from the area we were told to stay away from.

In turn, the young black stud now seemed to "own" this pool area. Everyday I would look out towards the pool and see how his overpowering and masculine presence intimidated everyone. The white women continued to "fawn" all over him while us white husbands either stayed away, or fled. 

Embarrassingly, none of us could face him yet. We were certain that we would never take that option.

After 11 weeks of this, I didn't think things could get more humiliating. I was already a defeated, insecure and intimidated mess. I was just doing as I was told. Part of me didn't think I could take the emotional stress of losing Julie. Another part of me wanted her back. But, all of me was still too scared to run away like some of the others had. 

It was at this time that Julie disappeared for a period of 4 days. This was even more curious to me than her wearing those full shirt-sleeved tee shirts for the past 4-5 weeks. Since I had been seeing a glimpse of her every single day for eleven weeks, things felt different and on edge for me. It had been obvious that Tra'mon was making sure that I saw her everday, and now she was gone. Her absence confused me. 

Now, Julie seemed to be gone and I began to see more of those "other" white women reappearing and then leaving the black man's apartment. 

Like before, they would arrive dressed impeccably and carrying things into the building. They would leave in the early morning hours as I entered my car to go to work. Like before, they all looked completely "used" and so "fucked into oblivion" that I could hardly look at them for more than a moment. Their used "condition" seemed to be put on display.  

"Oh my gawd. Where's Julie?" I asked myself everyday for the next 4 days.

"Did he get rid of her?" I cried to myself.

I was far too nervous and scared to ask Tra'mon where my wife Julie was. 

When I humiliatingly delivered his cleaned bikini underwear to him twice in those 4 days I passively kept quiet. I had convinced myself to ask him when I went down there. But, both times I was so timid and nervous that I just "caved in." I could not "babble" a single syllable.  

It was a Saturday morning around 11 when I looked out towards the pool the next time. 

I peered out only to see Julie in her black bikini by the pool. After several weeks in those darker colored tee shirts, they were suddenly gone. She sat with her bare back to me with her bikini bra line tracing across her back. My worst fears about her leaving the state were gone. The fear of her leaving me still existed, but this fear was suddenly replaced by an entirely different fear. 

Something was not right. Something was even more different about her at this time. Her long, blonde hair was fully covered in a dark red scarf and it was fully tucked in underneath. 

She had her back to me as she continued to kneel at Tra'mon's feet, massaging them as usual. Now, she had large bandages on both of her arms, and another one right across her lower back just above her bikini waist line. Strangely, when she turned ever so slightly to her left there was a fourth bandage that covered both of her breasts.

Then, I looked closer. 

I had to do a "double take" as I realized that Julie's breasts were now much larger than before. The huge elastic bandage covered the majority of her chest under that smaller black bikini bra, but it seemed to mold her swollen breasts almost perfectly. 

"Wh-what the?" I mumbled.

It couldn't have been more obvious. 

When I finally realized Julie had breast enhancement surgery to augment her once beautifully supple large "C" cups I nearly passed out. There she was with an overstated "Double D cup" set of breasts jutting almost straight out from her tiny stretched out bikini bra. 

I imagined the elastic-type bandage was there to cover any scars. I didn't really know this at the time I was staring at her. I was just in awe of what I was looking at. I was curious about that bandage and the other 3 bandages across her lower back and arms, and I was confused by their sudden appearance. Their large size seemed overdone. 

My first thought was of her being hurt or cut in some way, or another. But, that quickly faded. 

"Oh, my gosh. What is all this? What's wr-wrong with Julie? How could she be hurt just those spots on her body?" I gasped. 

My mind wandered in disgrace as I peered out almost in disbelief. Julie was extremely somber as she diligently and obediently massaged Tra'mon's feet with baby oil. Like always, the black stud just sat there with unimagineable arrogance and confidence. He sat there acting like a ""King" while relaxing with a drink. 

Many thoughts ran through my head at this time. But, none of them were close to resembling the full impact that I was about to witness the next day. 

The curious sight on this Saturday caused me to stare longingly out towards Julie sitting by the pool. Timidly, I "peeked" out from the curtains of my kitchen until the black stud looked up and towards me. 

He glared in my direction and began staring back. Quickly, I moved away from the window in the worst fear that he may have seen me peering out. The thought embarrassed me beyond belief.

When I finally summoned enough courage to peek out again, only fifteen minutes had passed and they were gone. They seemed to disappear into thin air. My entire weak body felt completely deflated. In defeat, and realizing this was one of Tra'mon's laundry days, I simply turned and walked inside and towards the bathroom. 

It was there that I spent the next 2 hours completing the demoralizing task of handwashing the black man's bikini underwear, yet again. I had been doing so, in shame, for the past eleven plus weeks by now. The humiliation never subsided while I did this "chore." 

If at all possible, it was a much greater humiliation that I felt when being told to do this for the first time.

The next day was Sunday and I woke up to a call from my mom. I had the most dreadful feeling when I heard her start talking about finally visiting. It took me nearly an hour to convince her that it was still not a good time, and I promised her that I would make some time for her very soon.

But, this was not the only reason for my dreadful feeling of inadequecy. There was something else I did not understand. 

As I finished my little white lies to my mother and hung up the phone, I heard the sounds of a small gathering coming from outside by the pool area. This was now Tra'mon's territory and I was startled to hear what seemed to be heavier male voices. 

Passively, I minced my way towards the windows of my kitchen to "peek" outside. I felt like a spy, yet my hands were shaking like a wimp as I reached for the curtain sheers and pushed them off to the side. 

What I saw shocked me. 

There, milling around in the pool area, were all 13 of the white wives from our condo community dressed in bikini swimsuits and heeled sandals. Obviously, this included Julie. But, Tra'mon and the other 5 young athletic black "instructors" from his new fitness center were also present. They, too, were dressed in the same type of disgustingly microscopic bikini speedoes suits as Tra'mon wore. 

The sound of "rap" music was filling the air and the small crowd was gathered around a group of small tables. I watched in awe as the image of my wife was obstructed by the others, and I kept trying to catch more than a mere glimpse of her from my window. Cowardly, I peeked out trying not to be noticed by anyone. 

This seemingly simple and innocent gathering was actually a planned meeting for the fitness center team. But, it appeared more like a champagne brunch. They were eating rolled up veggie wrap type of sandwiches and drinking champagne while they milled around. For the time being, my view of Julie remained predominantly obstructed by the others. 

As I looked over the area where all us white husbands once hung around with our beautiful wives, I realized that it almost felt more like some sort of "invasion." These younger, chiseled athletic black studs in their little bikinis displayed an unreal confidence. They had "taken over" our little comfort area and spending time with our pretty white wives. 

All of them looked so "tough" and "aggressive" as they milled around the pool with our wives acting as if they owned the place. 

The obvious sight of these young black men "touching" the shoulders, legs and asses of our white wives sent a chill of defeat down my spine. They touched the white women in the most exaggerated and blatantly disrespectful manner possible, yet the white wives never made any protest about it. 

They simply accepted it. 

The louder "black" music and actions of these black studs were so overwhelmingly disrespectful to the 9 remaining white husbands in the building, including myself. By now, four of the other white husbands had "fled" from our community without their wives. All for reasons I was unsure of. Nine of us white husbands still lived here and it was embarrassingly obvious that we were all "peeking" out towards the pool area in shame. 

At the time, I knew this because I ran to the side bathroom window for a moment to gaze out into the parking lot to see all their cars parked. I knew they were home. Later, they would humiliatingly admit they saw this little gathering in our pool area but didn't want to talk about it. 

Desperately, I kept trying to get a closer look at Julie. All the women seemed more quiet and demure as these black studs ate, drank champagne and smoked what looked like marijuana blunts. They were so blatant about how they "touched" the white women dressed in their bikinis and heels. In many cases it was almost as if these black guys were "feeling them up" in the most rude ways they could conjur up.

Like a bunch of "timid pussies," all the white husbands just watched from our windows afraid to go down there. Passively, we just watched as these young black men "rubbed it our faces" in a most disdainful way. They seemed to grow bolder with each passing moment as the white women served them glasses of champagne and lit their "blunt" cigarettes for them. 

After the first 15 minutes, the small group began to move around a little more. A few of them spread out closer to the pool and a few others towards the champagne cooler. As they stepped away, my view of Julie was finally unobstructed.

My weak jaw literally dropped when I saw her come into a full and clearer view.

Julie's back was now towards me as Tra'mon stood besides her. His back was to me as well, and they were simply facing the pool and holding their glasses of champagne. His strong, large black hand was firmly placed on the small of her back. The view I had from my second floor condo couldn't have been clearer as I noticed Julie's new hairstyle.

My wife's long, brilliantly bright blonde hair was now in "corn rows" and "braids," styled like that actress, Bo Derek, from the movie "10." 

Her distinct african-styled braids hung down past the middle of her back and cascaded over her pale shoulders. She was clad in the brightest neon-yellow two-piece bikini with a pair of translucent platform stripper heeled mules that had to be at least 6 inches in height. 

Her normal 5'6" height standing in those 6 inch platform heels even made her seem slightly taller than the 5'9" dark black stud standing beside her.

Moments later, Tra'mon casually removed his dark hand from the small of Julie's back. There, in plain sight, was an even larger black spade symbol than the black-inked spade symbols or club stamps from "The Black Jacques Club." But, this wasn't a stamp. It was a blatantly obvious tattoo, and it was astonishingly huge.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I stared, in awe, at the 2 inch sized tattoo of a black spade centered on Julie's lower back. Two thin-lined scroll type ribbons were tattooed next to the grotesquely large spade tattoo, one on each side, and the centers of them were blank. 

Their intended purpose was unclear to me at the time. 

However, the sheer size of this two-inch darkened solid black tattoo just above her bikini waist line was startling. One could easily notice it from one hundred yards away.

My entire face turned red. I knew Julie. She never even liked tattoos. But, there she was with an ominous and obvious tattoo of a black spade symbol on her lower back. It was in the same position as one of those marks commonly referred to as a "tramp stamp" and I couldn't believe it. 

I simply could not fathom this reality. 

Even more degrading was the fact that when Julie turned to her left towards Tra'mon, her swollen breasts were noticeably massive. The elastic bandage from yesterday was removed and her firmer "Double D sized" breasts bolted outward in unimagineable fashion. They stretched her yellow spandex bikini bra well beyond it's intended purpose as her cleavage "billowed" out. 

Another tattoo adorned her left breast from my angle, but initially I was not able to make out the image. But, it was painfully obvious that Julie's left arm was "tattooed" with the blatant image of a black panther head. The fierce-looking black panther head with yellow eyes was not the same image as the "Roar Fitness Center" symbol. It was distinctly different and more blackened. 

As I gazed upon Julie in disbelief I found myself unable to breathe regularly. I had no idea what to do next as I just stared out towards the pool. I watched my wife standing besides Tra'mon in silence. So many thoughts ran through my head. Losing my wife forever seemed more than a probability now. It seemed inevitable.

A few minutes later, I noticed the young black stud putting his lips to Julie's ear. He handed her the glass of champagne he was holding and I watched him walk with arrogance towards one of the smaller table and chair sets. He walked hands free as Julie barely minced her way in another direction. Her tiny steps in those tall platform heels seemed uncomfortable as she struggled to move towards the cooler holding the two empty glasses.

I looked back towards Tra'mon for a moment. He was now sitting at the table and chair set with his right foot arrogantly placed onto the table top. His left foot was placed on the seat of the wicker chair across from him. 

His zebra-print bikini speedoes suit was one that he had worn before. It was one of the flimsiest he owned, and I humiliatingly remembered having to handwash that exact pair myself several times during the past 11 weeks. They made his already mammoth black cock look even larger as he boldly sat there with his powerful legs spread wide. 

He simply gazed towards the cooler and waited for Julie to return from fetching another glass of cold champagne for him. 

"Gosh, he is such a brute." I thought to myself, in shame.

As Julie minced her way back holding two filled glasses of champagne, her eyes remained downward. I could not see her pretty face. 

But, that is when I noticed the other tattoos. On her right arm, was a matching black panther head tattoo as the one on her left arm. On the very tops of her newly-enlarged breasts stretching that miniature yellow spandex bikini top were two more tattoos. 

My eyes teared as I strained them to make out the images from my second floor window. Uncanningly, both tattoos on her larger cleavage were matching one-inch blackened spade symbols with the letter "T" mockingly carved out in her flesh tone. This "T" was inside the black spade.

They were black spade symbols with Tra'mon's initial inside, and they symbolized "Black Power" in the most obnoxiously bold manner. They were large enough to read from a second floor window more than 35 feet away.

"Oh my gawd." I shouted inside.

"Th-those can't be real. They just can't be?!" I cried.

"Wh-Why? H-How?" I sniveled in embarrassment. 

Astonished, I just watched as Julie sat down on the seat across from the black stud while handing him a glass of champagne. She placed the other glass on the table top away from Tra'mon's other foot resting. 

Immediately, the young black man placed his left foot into Julie's lap and she began to obediently massage it. Her eyes remained downward and her braided hair still covered her pretty face and blue eyes. The black stud must have known I was "peeking" out from my window like a big wimp, but he didn't seem to care in the least. 

My body felt frozen in a near panic as I watched Julie sitting across from Tra'mon. I stood there watching them for hours, turning to look at the rest of the group further away only on occasion.

It was ridiculously obvious how all the other wives were "fawning" over these young black muscular studs, and letting them "touch" them in any way they decided. It seemed every half hour one or two of these black men would disappear with one or two of the other white wives for awhile. 

"Geezuz. Their husbands have to see this happening?!" I thought. 

After three hours I noticed the black man leaning over to talk to Julie. This was unusual because it never seemed like he had actually "spoken" to her by the pool before. He had always given her what appeared to be non-verbal commands. This time, he was noticeably speaking directly to her.

At first, Julie's face appeared scared. She nodded a "no" several times as I noticed her lips looking blatantly "fuck-swollen" out of proportion. The black man's face was stern and he seemed to be directing her in some way. When Julie began nodding another "no" Tra'mon literally put his strong, powerful right hand to her face. He "squeezed" her face cheeks firmly and began speaking to her again. 

"Oh my gawd. H-He touched her face?!" I gasped. 

"Julie?" I mumbled silently. 

Being the absolute coward that I was, I knew that I would not have the courage or strength to defend the honor of my wife. I had to stand there and take it as I watched him boss her around. Suddenly, Julie nodded a "yes" and the black stud removed his hand from her face. He lit another marijuana blunt and then sat back as I noticed the rest of the group leaving the pool area together. 

"Where are they all going?" I asked myself. 

But, as they departed my attention went back to my wife sitting across from Tra'mon in his zebra-print bikini speedoes. Five minutes later, he held his weed cigar between his lips and appeared to be texting a message from his cell phone. 

That is when my cell phone went off, "chirping" an alert that I had a message. 

Startled, I ran to my phone hoping that it wasn't from him. But, it was. My hands trembled as I clicked on the message to read it. 

"Time to talk to ur' wife, boy." the message read. 

I couldn't believe my eyes. Shocked out of my mind, I just stared at the message. Sweat began to bead from my weak forehead as I contemplated the message. After I had all but given up hope on getting Julie back, and after seeing her body "marked" with tattoos and "altered" by surgery, I had thought it was over. 

Now, this young black stud who had emasculated me so much over the past months was telling me to talk to her. I didn't understand. I was confused, and I was more scared than ever before.

"Now?" I finally texted in return. 




Black Man One Ch. 20



"Now! And, bring my shit down too." his next text read.

My face turned red. I knew what his words meant, and I hesitated for a moment before I began moving towards the bathroom. 

I could hardly feel my feet below my body, but there I was gathering the black stud's handwashed bikini underwear from over the tub, where they had been air-drying on hangers since yesterday.

Demoralized, I carried them through the hallways as I headed down to the pool area where Tra'mon and Julie were sitting. During my short journey of shame, a third text message came through.

"Pussy!" the black bully's text simply read.

My face was flushed with humiliation as I stepped outside into the pool area. My tall and unathletic body began shaking as I peered in their direction. My arms were cradling more than 25 pairs of the black man's bikini underwear and bikini swimsuits which I was made to wash the night before. Embarrassingly, he was making me deliver them to him right before my wife, Julie.

The feeling of complete degradation pervaded ever pore of my limp, weakened body. 

Tra'mon stood up as I drew nearer and my steps towards him suddenly became more tentative. Part of me was afraid that he was going to slap my face, but another part of me was terrified to face Julie. My confusion and the fear of the unknown completely changed everything around me as I stood before him. 

The black stud simply grinned in the evilest of ways as I handed him his handwashed bikini underwear. Julie's eyes glanced upwards, then went down to the ground in shame. Seeing her wimp of a husband emasculated in such a blatant and ridiculous manner appeared to embarrass her. Seeing her 6'4" tall weakling white husband "cowering" and "trembling" before this 5'9" tall athletic black man nearly 20 years younger made her face appear "ashamed" to even know me. She seemed embarrassed by the years she had spent with a weaker white man, like me. 

In turn, I was embarrassed ten fold.

"Talk!" Tra'mon ordered, his one word command echoing in my ears. 

Timidly, I sat down on the same seat that the young black man had just vacated. I was now sitting directly across from my gorgeous blonde wife who had her head down, in tears. Tra'mon simply strolled away in an arrogant and cocky manner. He was leaving us in the area alone. 

Speechless, I just gazed over to my slumped over wife. Her african-style braided blonde hair draped over her face while her bare arms revealed the two black panther head tattoos. Her huge enhanced breasts jutted out in an almost unreal fashion, and they peeked out from her slumped over head. The two smaller black spade tattoos with the letter "T" strategically placed inside adorned the cleavage of her enhanced pale breasts.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes before Julie finally regained her composure. She lifted her head and stared straight into my pathetic, beaten and worried red eyes. 

Uncontrollably, my face beamed a bright red as I sat there ready to speak to Julie for the first time in 3 months. 

The conversation did not go as I would have thought it would. 

end.   



Black Man One Ch. 21



It was apparent from the start that we had not rehearsed what we wanted to say to one another. It was more obvious that Julie didn't want to be there at all. I had not expected to be having this embarrassing opportunity to speak to her at this time. Nor, did Julie expect to be speaking to me. The conversation began rather slowly and tentatively as we "danced around" the uncomfortable situation. 

"Are y-you o-okay, Julie?" I asked softly.

"Yes, I'm fine." she answered in a faint whisper, her eyes moving away from mine.

There was an uncomfortable pause that seemed to last forever. In shame, I looked over my beautiful wife who had been so outspoken in the past. Now, she was quiet and demure, and so obviously well-fucked by the younger black man. It was so obvious that it was difficult to comprehend. 

"I-I really don't kn-know what to s-say, Julie." I whispered, even softer.

Julie paused.

"Well, Trey said that I needed to speak to you. So, I am." Julie finally said, her soft voice ringing in my ears. 

"Oh." I meekly replied, trying to avoid direct eye contact with her. 

The silence between our verbal exchanges was already deafening, and becoming more uncomfortable with each passing moment. 

"Trey says you've been being really good about helping him out." she suddenly said, trying to make small talk. 

I looked at Julie confused by her words. Her unplanned response surprised me. My face blushed as I did not understand what she was referring to at the time.

"Yeah. Trey says you've been helping out with his laundry and his workouts in the gym." my blonde wife said, continuing her attempts at small talk.

Her words cut right through me like a buzz saw would cut through plywood. Here was my beautiful wife mentioning in a "round about way" the demoralizing fact that she was fully aware of my embarrassing predicament. 

She was aware that her young black stud was making her tall, weakling white husband handwash his worn bikini underwear every other day. She was aware that her "pussy" of a husband was back to being her black stud's workout assistant, which simply consisted of being his "spit and towel boy." Her innocent little comment told me that she knew that Tra'mon was making me "fetch" things for him, like his custom-made bikinis. She seemed to know everything. 

In many ways, it seemed as if Julie felt compelled to mention these embarrassing facts. I didn't understand why she needed to bring all this up at this time. I was already embarrassed enough.

"Y-Yeah, I-uh-guess." I answered meekly. 

My eyes could not look into hers for more than a second. Not after those words she just spoke. The shame I felt was unbearable. The long pauses between our responses felt so disheartening. It was like we had become teenagers on a first date, or even worse strangers.

"Well, at least Trey is not beating you up anymore." Julie suddenly said in a soft tone.

"Not so much, I mean." she added, in an afterthought.

My body felt limp as Julie mentioned this humiliating fact.

"I mean, Trey just has such a temper sometimes." she added.

"Trey can get so physical when he gets mad." Julie continued.

"Trey says that's just how he is." she added. 

"And, I know it must hurt you when Trey does all those things to you." she said, rather innocently.

"I guess that's why you're so afraid of him." she added, a faint whisper coming from her lips. 

I was speechless. I sat there embarrassed that my wife would continue to mention these things. It was even more curious as to why she felt compelled to continue on and on. Her direct and indirect references to Tra'mon "beating me up" and me "being afraid of him" were so embarrassing to hear. My throat was tightening. 

It felt as if Julie was suddenly remembering all those humiliating images and situations that she had witnessed, as well as the ones she was keenly aware of. Now, she was verbalizing them. 

Julie was indirectly referring to the many times she had seen Tra'mon slap my face, and the times he would roughly put my face to his backside. She seemed to be referencing the times she had seen him place his dirty foot on the side of my face and twist my arm behind my back as he literally kicked my backside with his bare foot.

"But, that's just how Trey is. You shouldn't get him mad, ya' know." she added in a matter of fact tone.

"I-I know." I replied in a barely detectable whisper. 

Her references to these things were digging into my already low self esteem, and I needed for her to stop. I do not think she knew how she was making me feel at the time. Talking about the ways this young stud had emasculated me was far too demoralizing for me to handle. My face burned red from the degradation I was feeling inside. In desperation, I then interrupted her train of thought. I just had to. 

"Julie, please?!" I shouted.

"Wh-Why are you with him?" I babbled.

"H-How can you b-be with a man like th-that?" I suddenly gasped. 

I do not know where my words came from. They suddenly came out and I knew that my frustration must have caused this brief eruption. The humiliation I had experienced didn't need to be repeated, as far as I was concerned, and here she was dwelling on the degrading details of them. 

My brief eruption startled Julie as she looked back at me ready to shout back. But, then she regained her composure and slipped back to her softer side as she contemplated what her response would be. 

"Richard, I don't think you'll ever understand." she began, speaking casually.

"Trey is just a different man." Julie continued. 

"A different man than you." she added.

"A much different type of man. A proud man. A strong man. A strong black man." Julie explained.

As I heard those words come from my wife's lips I became even more embarrassed. I did not intend to "set off" any comments from her. Not like this. The soft, casual tone she took while explaining what type of man Tra'mon is truly carved into my heart even deeper.

I tried changing the subject fast.

"Julie? Your h-hair. Wh-why?" I asked.

"It's what Trey wanted." she answered.

"B-But, it's-uh." I attempted to respond.

"Well, Trey likes it. I like it now too." Julie said, softly. 

"Y-Your br-breasts, Julie? Wh-Why in world would you d-do something l-like that to y-yourself?" I gasped, suddenly feeling a surge of energy to ask.

"I just thought it was time for a change. Trey said they would look good on me. Trey was right." she answered, her tone softening again.

"B-But, they're so b-big now Julie." I bellowed, my eyes looking even more worried.

Julie just looked at me as if she couldn't believe I was concerned by the size of her boobs. She wasn't about to honor my curiosity with an answer. Not at this time. 

"And, y-your arms? Th-those tattoos?" I gasped, pleading for an explanation.

"Wh-What is..." I cried.

My blonde wife just peered back at my defeated face and offered up a rather non chalant response to the large black panther head tattoos on both of her arms. The blackness of those tattoos slightly draped over each one of her shoulders and covered her upper arms nearly to the elbows.

"They're just symbolic. The fitness center's logo is a black panther. Trey said they'd make things easier." she said.

"Easier f-for what, J-Julie?" I asked with begging eyes.

"Just easier. They identify me." she said. 

"Besides, they're easier than wearing those uncomfortable arm bands all the time. That's what Trey said." Julie explained.

"Trey was so right about that, too." she added.

My eyes lowered in shame as another long pause filled the air between us. From my side, there was unbelievable tension.

"Julie? I-I saw that tattoo on your b-back too." I stated. 

"It's the club's symbol. That's all. It identifies me too." she explained.

"I-Identifies you? What does th-that mean. I-I don't understand? Wh-Why do you keep saying that?" I asked with desperation. 

"It's nothing you should concern yourself about, Richard. Don't worry about it. It's honorary for certain club members." she explained.

"Trey insisted." she said.

"I wanted to do this for him." she added.

"Wh-what do you m-mean by that?" I sniveled.

"What a-about us?" I asked. 

Julie wasn't answering. Her soft, demure tone disappeared for the moment and she seemed frustrated by my questioning. She was becoming more annoyed. Stupidly, I persisted. 

"Th-those are tattoos on your b-breasts too? Did he insist on them too?" I asked.

"Why are there T's inside those spade symbols?" I added, feeling more desperate and insecure.

Again, Julie did not offer up an answer. She was growing weary of explaining herself. That last question caused her to withdraw for the moment. Suddenly, she felt more distant to me as she pondered a response. 

"Listen, Richard. I don't want to talk about them. This is not the reason why we need to talk." she said, her whispers becoming more faint.

The sudden change to a softer and more conceding tone caught me off guard. I felt like I had a small opportunity to ask more quesions. I needed to know where we stood, and I was curious why she had left me for such a man. In reality, I was truly groveling.

"B-But, why him? Wh-Why a guy like th-that, Julie?" I quivered. 

After a brief pause she decided to answer.

"Well, he's just a different type of man. It's hard to explain." she answered.

"B-But, they way he treats you J-Julie ..." I interrupted.

"Richard, please? I told you. He's just different." Julie continued.

"He's just misunderstood." she explained, trying to dismiss my comments.

"Wh-what? I-I mean h-he's just so rough and mean." I quivered.

"That's just his personality." Julie returned, defending him.

"H-He's such a b-big b-bully, Julie. How can y-you be with a guy that's so mean like th-that?" I probed. 

Julie certainly didn't want to discuss this with me. My questions were beginning to further annoy her, once again. My eyes were pleading for an explanation that I could understand as she finally responded. 

"I told you. Trey's just different. Things are different now." she said even softer.

"Different, Julie? P-Please? H-He's such a big b-bully to me." I quivered. 

"Trey's a man." she replied.

"H-He treats you s-so rough, J-Julie. Is that th-the kind of man you w-want? He's a b-big bully. H-He's a thug!" I shouted, unable to take back my thoughtless words. 

"I told you. Trey's just a different man. That's all. A man that knows what he wants." she explained. 

"H-He's a big bully." I repeated, in shame, as my voice quivered to a softer tone. 

"It's just the way Trey is." Julie said, still trying to get away from the topic of conversation.

"H-He has other children, ya' know." I sniveled, trying to convince her that Tra'mon was no good.

"Yes, I know that." she answered.

"And, h-h-he sees other women too. Y-you know that, don't y-you?" I groveled.

"Yes, I know that too." Julie whispered.

"A-And, you know what else J-Julie?... h-he got Karen and T-Tammy pregnant too. I-I heard that." I said, continuing my attempts to bash the black stud's reputation.

"I-I-I even heard that he w-was in prison before, J-Julie?!" I lied, completely. 

"Yes, I know Richard. I know all that. Stop already." Julie snapped, her tone still soft.

Even my attempted total lie of Tra'mon once being in prison did not dissuade Julie. Her acknowledgment of something I simply "made up" seemed to be true. 

"Th-that man is such a b-big bully. He's so rough." I added.

"That's just his culture, Richard. It's a black man's culture." Julie suddenly said.

"You just don't understand." my wife added.

I looked at my wife in disbelief. She didn't seem to mind in the least bit that this young black stud was seeing so many other white women. 

It didn't seem to bother her that this black man had fathered 9 other children with 9 different white women, and that he had two other white wives from the condo community "knocked up" at the same time. 

She didn't seem to care about the rough and seemingly disrespectful manner in which he treated her. It didn't concern her at all. 

The way he "bossed" her around all the time didn't seem to bother her at all, either. The manner in which he picked on me, beat me up and disgraced me beyond reasonable explanation wasn't deterring her away from defending this young black stud at all. 

"I-I don't understand, Julie. Really, Tra'mon is just a big bully. Th-that's all he is." I repeated, once again. 

"Richard, I tried telling you not to get him mad. He just has a little temper." Julie said, still defending the black man.

"H-He's a b-big bully, Julie. Can't y-you see that?" I persisted.

"A b-big bully!" I repeated louder.

My persistence and attempts in trying to "bash" the actions of this black man took Julie's tolerance of annoyance to it's limit. She became even more annoyed than I had ever seen. Suddenly, Julie snapped back at me.

"Well, ya' know you're big too Richard. What are you, like a foot taller than him? You're even bigger than he is, ya' know! Just stop!" she snapped, now boiling over.

"Just stop. You don't want him hearing you say all those things, do you?" Julie asked, snapping back. 

"I-I don't care." I gasped without thinking, feebly attempting to seem more masculine. 

Her words cut through me like a knife. I was speechless for a moment when I realized what I had just said. My wife mentioning that I was taller than the younger black man embarrassed me, although I was not exactly a foot taller like she had stated in anger. But, I was in fact a full 7" taller than him. My wife's interpretation of our size difference only caused more humiliation inside of me. 

"B-But, he's still such a b-brute of a man." I finally cried.

"He's different. A different type of a man, Richard. Different than you. Just different. Please just stop this already." she returned.

At the time, I did not realize that Julie was simply trying to be cordial by not stating the obvious. 

Naively, she had made statements that embarrassed me but she was holding back so much more that was on her mind. Her explanations of Tra'mon being so "different" did not resonate with me. Not entirely. The way she seemed to be defending the black stud while I continued my attempts of "bashing" him and "bashing" his personality weren't working. They weren't working at all. 

Still, I was making a futile effort to do so. Pathetically, I was directly and indirectly groveling before her. I was pleading with her while I continued trying to convince her that Tra'mon was so bad for her. 

"D-Different how? Different that h-he sees all those other w-women and d-doesn't care?" I sniveled, almost crying. 

"That doesn't matter. You don't understand." Julie replied. 

"H-H-He's just a mean guy. A THUG!" I cried louder, trying to argue back

"He's a man, Richard. Trey is a man. A different man. Trey has taught me a lot too." she replied.

"H-He's a th-thug." I cried, desperately.

"Stop, Richard. Trey's a man." Julie replied.

"B-But I'm a m-m-man too, Julie." I sobbed. 

"Not like Trey is." she sputtered under her breath, an off the cuff whisper trailing behind her previous statement.

As I looked into Julie's face I was confused by what I saw. She had changed so much. She had changed physically and she had changed emotionally. Everything about her personality and her views on life had changed too. 

Like so many other white women before her, it was like his actions and his attitude towards other women didn't matter. The only thing that seemed to matter was the pure masculinity of this young black stud, and that she was now "a part of it."

My thoughtless persistence was steering her determination to keep a softer attitude towards me. She was becoming more disturbed. 

"Wh-What about us, Julie? I-I'm still y-your husband. I'm still y-your man." I groveled, pathetically. 

"Things change, Richard. You're not the same kind of man Trey is." she answered. 

"H-He's just a mean man. A b-bully." I gasped in frustration. 

"That doesn't mean anything, Richard. It doesn't matter. Trey's different." she replied, softly.

"I-I'm a M-Man too." I cried. "J-Julie, please?" I quivered. 

"Richard, stop!" she said firmly. 

"Wh-Why him, Julie? Please?" I begged. 

"Richard, enough already. Stop crying like a little baby!" Julie snapped.

"I told you. Trey's a different kind of man. A man that's in my life now." she added, as I continued to cry like a big sissy. 

"B-But, I-I-I thought I was your man Julie. H-He's a mean man. A b-brute. H-He's vicious. A th-thug!" I mumbled as Julie grew more annoyed. 

"Trey's different." Julie replied.

"Different? That's d-different? Different how?" I repeated, persisting.

Julie finally had enough. 

"I told you. Now, please stop. I'm getting sick of this, Richard!" Julie began.

"Trey is different. Trey is a strong black man. A powerful man. He's a proud black man. A man that can protect me. He's a BLACK MAN... A REAL MAN!" she suddenly snapped. 

Her comments stunned me. 

"B-But, I can b-be a real man too Julie." I groveled. 

"Please, enough." Julie replied sarcastically, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

"I-I can, Julie. I can be a real man for you. I am a real m-man." I blurted, begging and sniveling before her.

"Really, Richard? Is that so?" she asked, with sarcasm.

"Y-Yes, Julie. I-I can be." I sniveled.

"Oh, Really?!" she answered firmly, as she began her tangent. 

"Really, Richard? A man that washes the feet of another man? A man that gets beaten up all the time? A man that is made to kiss the ass of another man ... and then washes his bikini underwear for him?" she continued.

"Is that a man?!" Julie ripped.

"A man that is afraid all the time? A man that can't protect me, or defend himself in any way?" Julie continued.

"A man that wipes the spit off the floor of another man? ... is that a real man, Richard? Huh? Is it?" she snapped.

"Is it, Richard? What kind of man is that?" she yelled, again.

Mercifully, Julie stopped her tangent for the moment as I sat there with the reddest face possible. I was ashamed by her words, and even more so by her obvious recollection of the things that had happened. Like always, I tried to "lie" my way out of this ultra-demoralizing situation.

"B-But, Julie. H-He just c-caught me off-guard, th-that's all. I-I wasn't ready th-those times. And, it-it-it was..." I cried.

My attempts at an excuse were becoming more pathetic than ever. Trying to convince my beautiful wife that the things she witnessed were simply an aberration was futile. 

"H-He was just such a bully and I-I didn't know what t-to do. B-But, I-I do now Julie." I added in a weaker and unconvincing whisper.

"He's a black man, Richard. That's how black men are! They're strong, proud, virile and they know what they want. I understand all this now." Julie said, returning to her demure tone.

"Trey taught me a lot. Trey made me understand. I owe so much to Trey." she added.

"You're a white man, Richard. You wouldn't understand." she said, trying to explain. 

I looked into Julie's somber eyes. She was right that I didn't understand, and I certainly did not know why she was saying all these things to me when it seemed to be over between us. 

My body was slumped over in utter defeat. At the time, I knew I had lost her. The silence was deafening for minutes as I began to contemplate life without Julie.

But, that is when things suddenly and uncanningly changed. Julie's attitude seemed to change as well. 

My "pushy" attitude and attempts to berate the young black stud had prompted her to "lash" back at me in a humiliating way. My disrespectful attitude caused her to defend Tra'mon as a man. As a man in her life. 




Black Man One Ch. 21



Part of Julie's "lashing out" came from her frustration of being with a "lesser" man all these years, and in some ways I wondered if she even regretted saying these things to me. 

"That's not the reason we are talking now, Richard." my wife suddenly said. "It's not the reason why I needed to talk." she finished.

"Wh-what do you mean, Julie?" I asked, puzzled.

"Well, if you weren't such a jerk and saying all those things I was going to tell you." she said.

"Tell me what?" I asked curiously.

My nerves were "frazzled" beyond belief. The silence between us was uncomfortable as I sat across from Julie anticipating what she was trying to say. My first thought was that Julie was ready to ask me for a divorce. I felt it coming, and I braced myself for what I thought would be the inevitable. 

From all that she had said about me during our little argument there could be no other possible end result. In my mind, I was convinced of this. But, unbelievably there would be another result. 

"Well, I was going to tell you that I was coming back. That I was moving back into our condo." Julie said, pausing.

"With you I mean." she added. 

I sat there in complete shock. In my mind, her words couldn't have been real. She could not possibly be serious about this, not at this time. I thought for sure I was imagining things when I heard Julie say those words. 

"W-What do you mean?" I asked.

"Y-You broke up with Trey?" I asked, confused.

"Well, no. I mean yes. I guess. Sort of." Julie replied. 

Her response was even more confusing to me. Just minutes before she was praising him like he was some sort of "black god" and defending all the things I said about him. Now, my beautiful blonde wife was telling me that she was planning on coming back to me?

"Was she? Was this really happening?" I asked myself. 

Many thoughts came to mind. I wondered if Julie was being "kicked out" of Trey's apartment or they were simply breaking up. I thought that maybe she realized that things weren't going to work out with Tra'mon. Perhaps, Julie was coming to her senses and realized that she belonged with me? 

But, then other thoughts entered my mind. 

I wondered about her changes. If they were, in fact, breaking up then why did she have her breasts enhanced like that? Why did she get all those tattoos that he supposedly chose? Why was Julie defending the black man in such an adament way? 

Nothing made sense to me. 

Julie had all but admitted that she felt Tra'mon was more of a "man" than I was, and that I was a far lesser man. She had conveyed a total feeling of disappointment in seeing her taller white wimp of a husband "bowing" to the masculinity of a powerful young black man. 

She had given me a clear impression of how she felt so strongly about having this black stud in her life. She had all but conveyed a real feeling of frustration by my lack of manhood, and the frustration of how the arrogant "bully" of a black man had made me kiss his ass. She had even vocalized many, if not most of these feelings she was having.

Her explanation would make me feel shallow inside. 

Julie went on to explain that Tra'mon "needed some space" and "wanted some space." She told me that he was not ready to settle into a relationship just yet, and that he was feeling a bit confined. 

Even more embarrassing, Julie told me that she completely understood this. She said that she accepted it and respected his decision for her to leave. She completely and totally supported the black man's decision for her to go back to me. 

"Wh-what? Oh my gawd! He's treating y-you like g-garbage, Julie." I screamed out in a heavy whisper. 

"That doesn't matter." she replied. 

"What d-does that mean? Wh-Why doesn't that m-mater?" I asked, in disbelief. 

"It just doesn't." Julie replied, timidly. 

"Y-you know he's seeing all those other women, and ... and, now he's m-making you leave?" I asked, worriedly. 

"Yes. I know. Yes, that's what he decided." she answered. 

"B-But, how... h-how could you just accept that, Julie?" I asked, in desperation.

"I do accept it. Trey is a young, virile man. A black man." she began.

"Trey is a single man. Trey knows what he wants. Trey doesn't need to feel pinned down with, well, with just things. I understand this about Trey." she added. 

The carefree attitude my wife was exhibiting was completely foreign to me, and it would be foreign to almost all white men. 

She didn't seem to mind that this young black stud was making her leave his apartment after more than 12 weeks. He had fucked her into oblivion and now he was seemingly tossing her to the curb. Yet, Julie was telling me that she understood this and accepted it. She was telling me that she supported what she termed as "his decision" and I could hardly believe my ears.

At the time, I wasn't sure about my feelings. 

As much as I wanted my beautiful wife back there was still a "glimmer" of doubt in my mind. After all that had happened, and all that she had said about the black man, I knew that I would never be more than a second rate husband to her. A second rate man. 

Still, I wanted her back as my wife so badly that I would have done anything. In my dillusioned mind, I just knew that if I had my wife back for awhile she would come to the realization that I was the man for her. These feelings of getting her back were winning over my other feelings of disgust about what had been happening. I sat there quietly thinking through these options.

My silence prompted Julie to continue.

"Listen, Richard. If you don't want be to come back then I'll just move in with Karen." she said, suddenly.

"N-No, no Julie. I-I do want you to come back. I really do." I groveled.

"P-Please?" I begged.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Well, uh-yes. I-I am. I-I've wanted you back for so long." I cried. 

"You're my wife, J-Julie." I pleaded.

That is when Julie's eyes fell to the ground. She wasn't elated like I had hoped she would be, nor was she responsive to my groveling to get her back. 

She appeared to be lost in thought as I gazed at the top of her head in that african-braided hairstyle. I didn't know what else to say at the time, and I sat there crying and wondering what to do next. Finally, she raised her head and began speaking.

"Well, then I guess I'll just tell you Richard." Julie started, as my eyes grew weary from the tears of shame. 

"I'm 8 weeks pregnant with Trey's child." she confessed.

I couldn't even imagine things could get any worse. I was absolutely "floored" by her admission, and I sat there with my weak jaw hung open in complete awe. 

"Wh-wh-what?" I stuttered.

"I'm pregnant, Richard. It's Trey's child. The baby is going to be black." Julie answered with affirmation.

"Oh my gawd. Julie?" I quivered. 

Immediately, I went into a panic and I "rambled" on and on with my words. I told Julie that we were moving away from here. I told her that we could move right away. I told her that I would support her getting an abortion, and that I was quitting my job right away. I explained that we could find another place to live. Frantically, I proposed that we could leave today and stay with my parents until things settle down. 

I even berated Tra'mon for being a "thug" and a "bully," and for being "disrespectful" in getting her pregnant when he had gotten so many other women pregnant. I said so many bad things about the black man in a weak attempt to further convince Julie of his crudeness. 

I was carrying on and on like a ranting fool as I began making all these plans to run away. In a sense, I was telling her how we were "running away" from the whole situation, and from the young black man. Like some of the other white husbands from the community, I was all set to "flee" like the wimpy coward that I was. I carried on as Julie listened patiently before speaking up. 

"Richard? Richard?!" Julie screamed, trying to break the flow of my rants. 

"Richard, stop already!" she yelled louder.

"Be quiet!" she added. "Please?" she asked. 

My head was beading from sweat. I only stopped my rant as Julie's voice grew louder. I realized that I was still sitting outside by the pool with Julie, and that my flustered state could have been making a scene if I had continued. With a red face and breathing heavily, I stopped talking. I stopped and looked at Julie sitting across from me. She was now patient and calm as she waited for me to clear my head.

"Richard, I'm not moving." she said casually.

"I'm not getting an abortion." she continued.

"I'm having this black baby. I'm having Trey's baby." she explained.

Again, I couldn't believe my ears. My look of shock only prompted Julie to explain further, yet she still appeared to be holding some things back. I was speechless and did not know how to react as my eyes begged my own wife to take back her last statement. 

"That part hasn't changed, Richard. It's not going to change." Julie said. 

"Trey is still going to be the father of my baby." she continued.

"Trey is still my boss. I'm not quitting my job." she added. 

"B-But, Julie?... my parents, y-your parents... our families?" I pleaded in a questionable tone.

"I no longer care about that, Richard. I don't care what they think. I don't care what anyone thinks. Not anymore." she answered with a definitive tone.

"I'm having this baby. I'm having this black baby." she added. 

My wife's words couldn't have been more shocking to me. I wondered if this is how all white women felt when they got "knocked up" by a powerful young black stud. She seemed so defiant towards my opinion and any one else's perception of what she would soon become, which was yet another white woman with a black child. 

My head hung almost between my legs in complete defeat.

"I need to move my things now, Richard." Julie suddenly said. 

"Maybe I should just go to Karen's?" she proposed. 

I lifted my pathetic eyes up to Julie's beautiful face and I was about to answer her. I was about to say "yes" and beg her to come back to our condo apartment with me. Then, I froze when I felt "his" presence once again. 

In the peripheral vision of my left eye I could already see the massive bulge of the young black stud inches away. He was standing right beside me just to my left. His mammoth-sized black cock packed in the flimsy, zebra-printed nylon-spandex pouch of his bikini was literally "jutting" straight outward.

Obnoxiously, he was more than half erect already. His zebra-printed cock pouch couldn't have been more than 3 inches from the side of my face. My face blushed and my eyes "bowed" to the ground, unable to look up at Julie. I simply couldn't believe the black man was suddenly here. 

All the references I had made to Julie about not standing up to the black man because I was "caught off guard" disappeared. I was uncontrollably trembling in the fear of what Tra'mon might have heard during our lengthy conversation.

"Yor' things are by my door, girl." Tra'mon said, suddenly speaking.

"Oh, okay Trey. Yes, Trey. I'll get them right away, Trey. I'll go now, Trey." Julie replied as she slowly began to get up from her chair.

"Stay put, girl!" Tra'mon commanded.

Julie suddenly stopped her ascent. Slowly and nervously, she sat back down on her chair as she looked over to me cowering in fear. 

"Yes, Sir." she answered him quietly.

My eyes went back to their downward position, and to the ground. I only lifted them for a few seconds towards Julie. Her face seemed worried now as she could easily see that her weakling husband was shaking in fear. She didn't know what to expect, nor did I. 

Sitting there and "cowering" before the black man caused my eyes to begin tearing up, once again.

"Thug, huh?" Tra'mon snarled, his voice seemingly disturbed.

"Bully, huh?" he added. 

"Brute too, huh?" he continued, sarcastically.

"Dats' a good one, boy." Tra'mon added. 

Tra'mon was making reference to the insolent comments I had made about him to Julie. The comments I had made about him were out of anger and frustration, and it was now apparent that he had overheard them. I was speechless and panicked as I remained in my sitting position while he remained standing to my left side. 

With complete arrogance and disdain, the young black stud then bent down and removed the zebra-printed bikini speedoes suit that he had been wearing all day. He was now standing off to my side completely nude, and his massive dark cock appeared stimulated by my humiliation. 

His chiseled body intimidated me and his presence now standing in the pool area with such boldness made me feel sick to my stomach.

Tra'mon then put his strong fingers to my weak and pale chin. He pushed my chin upwards from underneath until my face met his, yet my eyes steered away from his stern and angered face with helplessness. 

That is when Tra'mon placed his skimpy bikini speedoes suit directly over my head. Demoralizingly, he positioned them until the crotch part of his bikini suit was over my nose, mouth and chin. He stretched them out and then "snapped" them into place over my head and face. Arrogantly, he took his time in making a complete and utter fool of me. The legholes of his bikini were over my eyes and part of the spandex bikini covered both of my ears. The zebra-printed crotch was stretched and snapped into place directly over my nose, and "tucked" under my chin to keep them in place. With even more arrogance, he "snapped" the crotch of his bikinis on my face another time. 

"Dats' what a thug-nigga's cock smells like, boy." he ripped. 

"Dats' the smell of a bully's cock, white boy." he added, grinning in a disturbed tone.

"Dats' what a REEEEL MAN'S cock smells like." he shouted, his stern voice thundering in my ears.

I was too weak and scared to fight back. 

"Stand up, boy." he commanded.

Like a big "pussy" I began crying. Nervously, I stood up to my feet as I obeyed the black stud. I could only imagine what Julie must've been feeling watching how this young bully was treating me. 

In the back of my mind I was pleading for her to say something to stop him from beating me up, once again. I felt that he would hurt me, and I didn't want this to happen in her presence.

"P-please?" I blurted in a whisper, as I stood above the now nude black stud. 

Although I towered a full head above Tra'mon, I was shaking all over, inside and out. My insignificant little penis shriveled into nothingness, once again. Embarrassingly, I was being made to inhale the raw, musky and horrific scent of his massive sweaty cock that had been held in that bikini crotch all day. No man could ever feel more degraded. 

"Please what, boy? You gots somethin' to say to this thug nigga?" he asked.

"N-N-No. No, S-Sir ... I-I didn't mean th-that. I d-d-didn't mean a-any of that. R-really, I-I didn't." I begged. 

"I-I'm sorry. Oh gawd, I'm s-s-so sorry." I cried, as I spoke through the crotch of his bikini speedoes.

"Please?" I groveled. 

"Oh, please S-Sir." I pleaded, as my crying increased.

The nude, muscular black stud just sneered.

"Shut th' fuck up already, pussy." he commanded.

"You gonna be taking care of my bitch for me ... ain't cha, boy? And my nigga' baby too." he began. 

"Dats' what all y'all whiteboys are good fo' huh? Takin' care of our nigga' babies." he continued.

I could not answer. His disrespectful tone and added fury petrified me. I could not move. Humiliated, I just stood there in utter shame hoping and praying that he wouldn't slap me. I felt helpness to do anything. 

"C'mon. I'll show ya' her things." He suddenly said as he reached upwards to grab my left ear.

"Let's go, girl. Ya' gots some things inside too." he ordered. 

"Y-Yes, Trey." she answered passively, afraid to say anything else at all. 

In disbelief, the young now nude black ruffian began pulling me along the deck of this pool area by my ear. In complete disgrace, I was being "lead by the ear" to the condo building with Tra'mon's musky bikini crotch placed over my nose and face. The rest of bikini suit stretched over my head, ears and chin in demoralizing fashion. 

Uncomfortably, my much taller weakened body was hunched over as the considerably shorter black stud pulled me along by my ear. My arms remained submissively down at my sides, in defeat, while his firm grip pinching my ear turned beet red.

Julie simply followed behind in silence. The mere thought of what she had to be witnessing demoralized me to no end. I could hardly bear the humiliation of my own futility.

As Tra'mon pulled me inside the bulding and down the short hallway that lead to his condo unit, I saw 4 large bags. They were Julie's bags. 

His apartment door was wide open and the naked black stud let go of my ear,then confidently stepped into the foyer. I held my earlobe from the wrenched pain as I watched Julie obediently step towards the black man. In awe, I watched as she immediately fell to her knees before him and placed both of her hands to her lap. 

The 5'9" tall muscular black stud wasted no time in putting his elephantine-sized dark cock to her mouth. I watched as she began sucking his black cock while I stood there in the hallways just outside the foyer. I was disgraced. The stern face of this studly man intimidated me. He just gripped Julie's blonde braids and began fucking her mouth harder. 

"Her things." Tra'mon snapped, speaking to me and referring to my wife's bags on the floor.

Defeatedly, I picked up two of the large duffle styled bags from the floor in the hallway before his front door. I began carrying them towards my condo apartment when I realized Tra'mon's bikinis were still over my head and covering my face. The obnoxious musky aroma pervaded my senses, and I dropped the bags to remove them from my head as I began to bawl. In tears, I finally made it to my condo unit and dropped the bags. 

I was fearful of heading back down the stairs to gather the last two bags, yet I knew I had to. I minced my way through the halls with the black stud's repulsive bikinis now held in my hands. My face was red from the humiliation and I had no idea what to expect. My mind was racing thinking that maybe Julie was just saying "good bye" to Tra'mon for the last time? At least, this was my hope. 

I tried so hard to think about the more positive side of Julie moving back in with me. 

But, when I got down there the front door to his unit was still wide open, and he was fucking Julie. Right there in the carpeted foyer of his condo unit, with the door wide open, Julie was bent over onto her forearms and knees. Her face was to the floor. The black stud was absolutely pulverizing her pussy from behind. 

In awe, I stood there to see this image. Julie was screaming and writhing in pain. 

"Oh, God! Oh My God... Oww, Oww... Ahhhh!" she screeched as Tra'mon ruthlessly fucked her blonde pussy from behind.

See this grotesquely bold and arrogant sight caused me to freeze in my tracks.

Unconsciously, I dropped the black stud's zebra-printed bikini to the floor in the door way. I watched him pummeling my wife with his horse-sized black cock. My feeble brain was scattered. I had no idea what to think. I did not know what to do, or how to react to the brazen actions of Tra'mon. 

Julie had just told me that she was moving back in with me, and now she was getting fucked into oblivion by this young black man. 

Tra'mon just peered at me and sneered. He seemed amused by the sight of me and how flustered I must have looked. He never stopped fucking Julie as he looked straight into my eyes. His stern eyes scared me, as always.

"Bring'em here boy." he suddenly ordered. 

My eyes widened by the sound of his voice. I wasn't sure what he was referring to, but that is when he repeated his command.




Black Man One Ch. 21



"I said bring'em here!!" he snapped.

Tra'mon was referring to the flimsy zebra-print bikinis I had dropped, and when I realized this I nearly fainted. He was telling me to bring them to him while he was still fucking Julie.

"O Gaawd." I thought to myself. 

Nevertheless, the fear and intimidation I felt was like no other. I found myself walking towards him as he continued pounding away on my wife's pussy. Julie, in turn, had her eyes closed and was grimacing in both pain and pleasure at the same time. 

Timidly, I approached. In defeat, I just handed the bikini speedoes suit to the black stud. My hands never trembled so much before. 

With uncanny arrogance, Tra'mon simply pulled out his monstrous cock and grabbed his bikini from my limp grip. That is when he wiped his cock with them. I stood there in disbelief as he then put them back over my head and face. Once again, he snapped them into place over my face. This time, it was more than just the disgusting scent of his large cock and balls in them. Now, they were wet and also contained both his and Julie's cum juices. Non chalantly, he put his ominous black cock back inside Julie's pussy.

"Leave us." he demanded. 

Submissively, I turned and began walking out the door with the sound of Julie groaning and moaning, once again. She didn't even look up to me. She simply accepted Tra'mon's ruthless and brutal fucking of her as if it was expected.

As I stood out in the hallway looking back, the black man pounded Julie in the most fierce way one can imagine. The intensity of his fucking of her had just increased to a level I thought would never be possible.

"Oww.. Arghhh.. Oh, Oh, Oh God!" Julie squealed. 

"Close the door and git' the fuck out." Tra'mon ordered.

"I'll bring dis' cunt back when I'm done usin' it." he added, now with a firmer and more commanding tone.

"And grab that other bag too, boy." he ordered, referring to the small mesh bag of his laundry sitting against the wall near the door. 

Unbelievably defeated, I just did what I was told.

With the cum-smeared soiled bikini speedoes suit over my face, I picked up the remaining two bags and his bag of worn bikini underwear from the floor. I carried them back to my apartment. 

The disgusting sounds of Julie being fucked in severe pain combined with her intense groans of pleasure echoed in my ears. They echoed through the entire building. I couldn't have felt more degraded. The sounds could be have been heard from outside the building as well. They were that loud this time. 

Finally back in my apartment, I just slumped into a chair. I sat there feeling confused and defeated as my arms "drooped" to the floor. Demoralized, I just sat there confused and wondering what all this meant. I questioned if Julie would be coming back at all now, and my mind wandered in and out of wanting her back. My emotional state was one that I had never felt. 

end.



Black Man One Ch. 22



Sitting alone in my livingroom, I was shocked by the events that has just taken place. Suddenly, I realized the black stud's "cum-soaked" sweaty bikini was still over my head and face. In disgust, and like an angry child, I removed them and threw them towards the front door. I cried in the shame and humiliation of knowing that I was not even close to being the "man" he was. 

My worst nightmares of losing Julie to a younger and more masculine black stud had been realized. Or, so it seemed. It had been going on for over 3 months now, and the feeling of her finally coming back to me felt so shallow. After hearing that their relationship was pretty much "over" I couldn't understand why he was fucking her, once again. To me, it didn't make much sense at all. The manner in which he was doing so was insolent, like he was "rubbing it in my face" ven more.

I also couldn't believe that I was actually sitting there waiting for Tra'mon to finish fucking my wife, Julie. In disgrace, I was waiting for him to return her to me so we can get our life back to the way it was.

But, that seemed more like a distant dream now. 

With mixed emotions, I contemplated how my life would be now that Julie would be back. That is, if she came back at all. I wondered how she would perceive me. Now that she was fully aware of the extent of humiliation, and what the black man had been putting me through, how would she perceive me?

"Will Julie ever see me as the loving and respectful husband that I was, again?" I asked myself. 

"Oh, Geez. Will Julie EVER be able to even see me as a man again?" I wondered, insecurely.

As I sat waiting with the most awful feelings of complete shame and utter defeat, I became lost in thought. Time had become insignificant as I tried to make sense of all that was happening, and what I was going to do next. The thought of running away and starting a new life with Julie entered my mind for a moment. Even the thought of calling the police and filing some sort of "false" charge for harrassment came to mind. But, that was merely a fleeting thought as I reasoned that I would surely get my "ass kicked" if I ever attempted such a thing. Besides, the less people knew about this the better. 

That is when my cell phone "chirped" another incoming message. 

Panicked, I had the dreadful feeling that the message would be from Tra'mon. And, it was. I looked at my phone and realized that it had been 35 minutes since I last saw him fucking Julie in the foyer of his condo apartment. My first thought was that he must have finished "using" her, and I jumped out of my seat. 

"Don't forget 'bout my shit either, boy." the message read.

By now, I knew that the black man referred to his dirty, worn bikini underwear as "his shit." Embarrassed, I glanced over to the little mesh bag sitting on the floor near Julie's duffle bags. I didn't even remember bringing them back from his apartment. Not at the time. 

I was appalled by the thought that he was expecting me to continue "handwashing" his bikinis after my wife would be returning. 

With such unreal arrogance, the young black man was expecting me to continue the demoralizing task. Even after he was seemingly "dismissing" Julie from his apartment he was telling me to continue this. 

"W-What the?..." I moaned. 

"H-He can't POSSIBLY be serious?!" I groaned.

"How can that b-be?" I sniveled.

It was at that time when I heard light "tapping" of fingernails at my front door. My entire tall body became even weaker with fear. I rushed to the door and looked through the "peep" hole as scared as a rabbit. I could see Julie standing there, hunched over and completely naked. 

She looked a complete and total wreck!

"Oh my gawd, Julie?" I screamed inside.

As I opened the door, Julie was standing there in the hallway literally "crouched over" in pain. Her arms were crossed and covered her bare, enhanced breasts. Her face was partially bent to the floor. She seemed embarrassed by her appearance, and for obvious reasons. 

The black stud's thick "cum" blatantly ran from her swollen pussy and was literally cascading down both of her inner thighs. Julie's blonde, braided hair was a "tangled" mess, and looked like it was filled with the same thick seed. Julie's partially hidden face was as red as I had ever seen it. 

"Julie?... Julie?!" I cried. "Are y-you okay?" I asked in my startled and worried state. 

Julie simply began walking inside. She was flustered and obviously in the deepest pain I had ever seen. My wife "winced" in pain with every step she took as she literally "tip-toed" her way inside. 

"I-It's fine. Just leave me alone, Richard." she said, her voice shaking in pain. 

I tried reaching out to help her, but as soon as I touched her hand and shoulders to assist she immediately withdrew. 

"Don't!" she yelled.

"Don't touch me! Please. Just don't touch me!" she screamed, slapping my hand away in the most abrupt and angered manner.

Taken aback, I simply withdrew my hands. Seeing her in such pain caused feelings of anger in me. I didn't know how to respond to them since I have never had any backbone before.

"Wh-what happened, J-Jules?" I quivered.

"J-Jules?!" I repeated as she made her way to bedroom croched in severe pain. 

"Richard, stop. You know what happened. Please, please just get me an ice pack from the freezer." she said. 

As I watched Julie pass me by in her bent over position I could see the black man's cum spilling out from her backside. She was literally leaving a train of the black stud's cum on the carpeted floor as she minced her way towards the bedroom. It was more than obvious that he had also fucked her in the ass, and I gasped out loud. 

"J-Julie? Wh-What? Did he h-hit you? Oh my gawd, Julie?!!" I cried.

"Richard, stop that! No, he didn't! That doesn't matter. Just get me an ice bag and some ibuprofen." she said firmly. 

Humiliated, I ran off to the kitchen and prepared an ice pack for my obviously well-fucked wife. I was becoming irritated by the sight of her being in such pain. I was demoralized beyond what words can describe.

When I returned, Julie was laying on her back on the bed writing in pain. I literally dropped the ice back when I finally had a straight on full view of her face. On her forehead, written in a thick black laundry marker, were the obnoxious words, "NIGGAZ' FUCKHOLE."

"Oh gawd, Julie!" I yelled.

"H-He wr-wrote on you?!!?" I stammered.

Julie didn't seem to care. She didn't care in the least, and she was actually becoming disturbed by the sound of my voice more than anything.

"Just give me the ice pack, Richard. Let it go." she warned. 

"Trey was just angry. Trey was just extremely rough and aggressive with me today, that's all." she stated as I handed her the ice pack. 

Julie placed the ice bag onto her swollen and "beaten to a pulp" pussy. She winced in more pain as she tried holding it in place. Her nude body laying on the bed in such a "used" condition that I could hardly believe it. 

"B-But, he wrote on you Jules. D-Do you know what he wr-wrote?!" I gasped. 

"No, Richard. I don't and it doesn't matter." Julie returned. 

"Just leave it alone. It's all your fault, anyway. Don't make things worse." Julie accused. 

"M-M-Me?" I asked, in shock. 

"Just let it go, Richard. Trey was so furious after talking to you. I'm sure that's why he was so rough with me." she explained, writhing in further intense pain.

I couldn't believe the words coming from Julie's lips. She was bascially telling me that I had put Tra'mon into this rough and overly-aggressive mood. She was saying that I had set him off. 

"B-But, Jules. I-I didn't do anything. I-I swear. I d-didn't. I-I-I mean... he wrote all that stuff on y-you?!" I asked, grabbing a small mirror from the chest of drawers.

"Can't you see wh-what he wrote?" I asked, holding the mirror up to Julie.

But, she just pushed my hand away. She didn't want to look. My wife didn't want to see the condition the young black stud had put her in. She simply didn't care to. 

"Just stop. It's not his fault. I told you not to anger him like that, Richard." she yelled.

"I warned you." she lashed back.

"But, J-Julie... he wrote..." I began, wondering why my wife was actually defending the black man that had fucked her so brutally.

"Just leave me alone, Richard. It doesn't matter what he wrote." she yelled, pushing me away.

"I'm whatever he says I am. I'm whatever he decides I am. Just let it go already!" she said.

"I'll be fine." she added.

Her words stunned me, once again. 

"Just leave. Get out. I need to rest. Please, Richard. Please. Just go." Julie returned.

Defeated, I just placed the 3 pain pills in Julie's delicate pale hands. I began walking out of the bedroom with a feeling of helplessness. Part of me was angered as I turned and looked at how "roughly fucked" Julie was. 

I was beyond shocked as she layed there so thoroughly used with that nasty writing on her forehead. Julie layed there after being fucked harder than she had ever been fucked before, and I was both worried and humiliated. 

It was painfully obvious that Tra'mon was making another statement. He had written that on her forehead on purpose to get back at me in some sort of unusual way. He did that to "rub it in my nose" even more. My brief anger began to boil over as I watched Julie fall asleep minutes later.

Unsure of what I would do next, I stood looking out to the pool area for quite awhile. Part of me wanted to go down to the black man's apartment and say something. I knew Julie might even be proud of me "if" I defended her honor and told him off. 

But, the reality was that I was scared to. 

Cowardly, I contemplated the way I was going to "run away" more than I thought about confronting him. That thought crossed my mind even more so. But, I couldn't stop thinking about Julie and the things she had said earlier. With a defeated feeling, I couldn't get her words out of my mind. 

She had said so many things that hurt my pride. She had made so many references that I was a "lesser" man than the young black stud. She had told me that I could never defend her, like a real man should. These thoughts replayed in my head over and over. 

It was around midnight when I finally decided that I needed to step outside and get some air. I "peeked" out into the parking lot first to make sure Tra'mon's car wasn't there. Like a "big pussy," I was not yet ready to face the black man again. The thought made me feel weak in the knees. 

Julie had been passed out for hours by now. I stood in the dark parking lot, alone, and thinking about how I could possibly manage this marriage after all that has happened. 

To me, the young black stud had "ruined" my life. He had "ruined my wife, too. Nothing could have changed what happened, yet I worried about how I would be able to get over the horrific events of the past 3 months. I wondered why Julie was still defending him after all that had happened, and I was embarrassed by the cowardly feelings I had.

As I sat on one of the curbed concrete blocks in the parking lot, I out my head down into my hands to think. That is when I heard a whisper coming from the direction of the condo building entrance, and from the darkness. 

"Richard?... Richard?" the heavy whisper shouted.

When I turned, I spotted a group of the other white husbands huddled between a sea of large bushes that bordered the fenced in pool area. I couldn't tell who's voice it was, but it was obvious they were hiding.



Black Man One Ch. 23



As I peered through the darkness of the parking lot and towards the bushes where the other white husbands were hiding, my feelings of curiosity grew even more intense. 

"Richard? Come on already." one of the weaker, white husbands yelled in a heavy whisper.

"Yeah. Hurry up." another whispered voice shouted from the darkness. 

Tentatively, I minced my way towards the group as I looked over my shoulder with every other step. I couldn't understand the reason why this group of 8 white husbands were cowering behind the bushes at the edge of the parking lot and wanting to speak to me at this particular time of the night. 

By now, there were only nine of us white husbands left in the condo community. I realized this and the ultra demoralizing fact that it was now 4 of the other white husbands who had already fled our once peaceful small community. It truly felt as if this ONE dominant black man was "picking us off" one by one, like some sort of Black Sniper would be picking off his weak, white prey. Only, he was doing so with his superior black masculinity and using our fear of him to add an even more demoralizing exclamation point. He was doing so by intimidating each and every one of us white husbands and taking our beautiful wives for his own. 

It was a humbling, humiliating and revolting thought as I began walking towards the bushes. 

As I reached the shadows of the large bushes that framed the parking lot entrance leading to the pool area I noticed that it was Kevin at the front of the group doing most of the talking. 

"K-Kevin?" I squealed.

"What are all of you doing out here?" I asked, nervously. 

Suddenly, I grew even more scared. The looks on all the other white men's faces were ones of panic and fear. We were now a group of 9 white husbands cowering together behind some bushes in the middle of the night. We were cowering and talking like a bunch of sissy school girls. 

"What are you guys doing out here?" I repeated, adapting to the same heavy whispering tone.

"The meeting. The investors meeting. Didn't you get the memo?" Bradley spoke out. 

"W-What meeting? What are you talking about?" I asked, concerned yet rather annoyed. 

"I didn't hear about any meeting, and here at this time in the middle of the night behind some stupid bushes? What the heck is going on?" I stammered. 

"No, no the meeting isn't here. It''s in the gym." Kevin said.

It was then that Kevin explained. 

He explained that Tra'mon had called, what he termed "an investors meeting" precisely at 1:00 a.m., and this meeting was to be held in the small workout center of the condo building. I glanced down to the expensive Movado watch on my left wrist to see that it was 11 minutes before one. Suddenly, I felt very nervous. 

"W-Well, I didn't know about any m-meeting?" I quivered.

"I-I didn't get any memo." I cried. 

"W-Why are we all standing out here then?" I probed. 

Kevin continued his explanation. 

"Well, we thought we'd get together and talk about it first. Ya' know, talk before we go into this meeting. I mean, we just don't know what to expect." He said, worriedly. 

"I-I don't want to go inside there." one white husband cried.

"Me neither." another husband chimed in.

"I'm not g-going." a third husband stated, nearly crying out loud. 

"Gosh! I, uh, I really do not want to face him. Not tonight. I'm scared." yet another husband sniveled. 

Kevin went on to say that the memo instructed all of us white husbands to bring our check books. He added that they all felt that the young, black stud would be asking for more money. They were all very confused about what to do. The group had no desire to invest again, yet they all felt like they were going to be "pressured" into it by Tra'mon. 

"M-More money?" I asked, in utter disbelief. 

"H-He ... Well, I just d-don't know? Are you sure?" I asked in a panicked tone. 

"I don't know. Maybe?" Bradley returned. "I just don't know what he will want from us now." 

That is when I looked into the fearful eyes of the other 8 white husbands. We were all quite intimidated and afraid of this young, black man. We were literally just like a bunch of "pussies" hiding in the bushes. We were like big cowards huddled together and talking about what to do when the "school bully" came around. None of us had any desire to face him, nor did we want any part of his so called "investment opportunities" for his new business. Not anymore. Not after he had been intimidating us and taking our wives out all the time. Not after we had all but known that he had fucked all of our wives before, or was still fucking them. We just didn't know. I was quite sure that all of us wanted to "bow out" of our investment by now.

Yet, we were all scared and timid creatures that felt less like men. Even as a group, all of us white wimps were quite aware that this one much younger black stud could very easily beat us up. There seemed to be no resistence or fight left in any of us in this group. There was just talk. 

We had less than ten minutes before the scheduled meeting and we were all huddled closely together talking about this one single "bully" type of a black man who had been so "mean" to us. All of us felt so defeated by him and his bold, in your face actions since he arrived in the community. It was almost surreal how pathetic we all felt. 

During this group conversation by us cowardly white wimpy husbands, I discovered or reaffirmed that Tra'mon had "bullied" or "slapped" or "beaten up" all of us at one time or another. This humiliating fact was confirmed now.

Furthermore, he continued to intimidate every one of us consistently and had "fucked" all of our wives. Or, so we overwhelmingly suspected he did. The others did not know how many times this might have occurred, yet they were all convinced that it did. I can only speculate the others had "very good reason" to believe this. It had to be true. 

"Maybe they really did know?" I asked myself. 

Even more defeating was the fact that the wives of the 4 white men who had already departed were pregnant with Tra'mon's child, and the wives had decided on their own to stay behind. I had a difficult time comprehending this at the time. I had only known about two of them. But, Kevin confirmed this. He knew. Others knew too. 

He also knew that these husbands were literally "told" to leave. They weren't asked to leave, nor did they leave on their own. Kevin explained they were "told" to leave as it would be best. They were told to leave by Tra'mon Smith. 

The remaining eight husbands, excluding myself, confessed that they were afraid of the same thing happening to them. They actually believed it was already happening now, and they had no idea how to handle the situation. 

At this time, my feelings of utter defeat consumed me. I decided to confess to the group what was going on and how I was feeling. I broke down and told the group that Julie was 8 weeks pregnant with the black stud's child. In defeat, I finally admitted this horrifying truth.

"Oh, no. Oh my god. I'm so sorry, Richard." one of the husbands moaned in humiliation. 

"Yeah, Richard. I-I'm sorry too." another added. 

"We're all sorry, Richard. We all know how tough he has been on you, beating you up all the time and all those things." Kevin said.

"Yeah. We saw how mean he was to you by the pool yesterday. It's, well uh, just that we really didn't know what we could, uh, do to help you? We didn't want to step in or interfere." Michael added, chiming in.

"Oh, gosh! Doesn't he already have 7 children with 7 other white women?" Charles finally chimed in, asking in a more desperate tone. 

"I heard he has nine." Bradley pouted.

"Yeah, I heard nine too." Michael added.

"Nine? And now there are 4 others pregnant by him?" Charlie returned.

"Five others." Kevin said. "Richard's wife, Julie, is pregnant now too. He just told us."

"Oh, Geezuz." Bradley said, nearly in tears.

That thought, alone, made me shiver in humiliation. But, I was thinking back to the time when I was "bullied" by the young black stud by the pool. I was not aware the others had noticed.

The humiliating fact that all 8 of the other husbands had witnessed how Tra'mon had degraded me so badly by the pool now crossed my mind. They were all afraid to "step in" or "come to my rescue" as they watched some or all of his demoralization of me from a distance in utter shame. They watched from the windows of their condo apartments, peeking out in fear of being noticed themselves. 

"It's okay, I guess I, uh-understand." I replied. 

"He's such a bully." another husband whispered, crying. 

"Yeah." Bradley added in a faint tone.

"Yeah, h-he really is." Kevin added, his face looking even more worried. 

There was a long pause from within the group as we stood around feeling like a group of big "cowards" and "wimps" hiding from this one younger athletic black stud. That is when we heard the sound of Tra'mon's black Bentley car racing into the dark parking lot. The headlights "glared" brightly away from our position as he pulled in, and he was completely unaware of the group of "white pussies" hiding behind the bushes talking about him. 

"Oh, Gawd! He's early! What are we all gonna do then?" Michael yelped, the fear in his voice ringing through the night air. 

"I-I don't want to get beat up again. I'm going inside. I th-think we better all go inside?" Bradley added.

"Yeah, we b-better just go inside." Kevin said, worriedly. 

Suddenly, the entire group of white husbands turned and began slithering their way past the bushes and towards the back pool area where the cross walk met the workout center. 

I simply stood behind in awe of just how intimidated we all were. No, I didn't blame them at all. I was, perhaps, the most intimidated of all of us. But, seeing them scurrying towards the workout center a few minutes before one o'clock in the morning sent another shiver of disbelief and humiliation through my veins. I realized that I was not the only white husband terrified to confront the young black man. 

Seconds later, I decided that it was in my best interest to follow suit. Although I never did see any invitation for this so-called investor's meeting, I simply followed behind with the most timid and worried feelings possible. I began thinking about whether I was invited or not. Maybe, I was not invited on purpose? I just didn't know. 

I was so afraid to move that my feet felt like heavy boulders as I walked. Somehow, I managed to bring myself to the workout center and I opened the glass doors to see the other white husbands standing around very quietly. 

Nervously, I entered the condo workout center room and waited with the rest of the group for the young black thug to arrive. The tension in the air was thick as we waited around in a near dead silence. 

Unbelievably, we waited at least 10 minutes for Tra'mon to finally arrive. It almost seemed that he had gone back to his condo apartment to change first. It occurred to me, and even felt as if the young black ruffian was making us all wait for him "on purpose" just to add to our anguish, our intimidation and our uncanny fear of the unknown. 

Finally, at 1:10 a.m. Tra'mon entered the workout center room.

I could almost hear the air coming out of everyone. The deflated feeling he caused all of us was unimaginable as we stood around worried and concerned. We had no idea what to expect. 

With complete and total arrogance, the commanding young black man had changed into a more "casual" outfit that revealed himself, disgustingly. He was wearing a pair of his typical black nylon spandex bikini speedoes suits with the thin sides. Our faces turned beet red seeing the ominous and insultingly large bulge his massive cock caused in the front pouch of those flimsy things. 

This new pair of flimsy bikinis he wore had the black panther head logo insignia on the left front side, a mere half dollar sized logo patch in a white print with the letters "Roar" beneath. The white print contrasted with the darker, shiny black silkened material of his little suit. A crisp, tight white "wife beater" tee-shirt adorned his dark torso as he strolled inside with the most supreme confidence anyone can imagine. Tra'mon was holding a small pile of black envelopes with a gold circle sticker to hold eaach of these envelopes closed. 

"Why don't cha' all line up over there." he commanded, pointing towards the wall that was closest to the heavy boxing bag.

Passively, and in complete silence, we simply obeyed and took our positions standing near the wall. My nerves were "frazzled" as I was quite sure the others were too. I could feel it. That is when Tra'mon began to speak and explain to the group his purpose for the meeting. 

In disbelief, the young black stud began handing out the envelopes one by one. He handed each of us one envelope with our names on it and told us not to open them yet. All nine of us stood there confused as we looked down at the envelopes in our trembling and weakened hands. 

Then, Tra'mon began to speak to our small group. 

"My new workout center is doin' fine and I've already made some money back. Most of dat' is due to a new sponsor for athletic gear." Tra'mon began to explain. 

"For starters, in y'all pussy hands is a cashiers check wit' your initial investment plus anutha' 10 per cent for all your trouble." He stated. 

"It's all good. Open it and sign dat' letter of acceptance, too, whiteboys!" He shouted as he tossed a handful of pens onto the floor before us.

His tone of voice seemed quite aggressive and stern for this particular event. The others bent down to grab the pens as I stood there unable to move. There were only 8 pens in the handful he tossed to the floor anyway, and this fact worried me as well. 

There was a sense of awe in all of us as we timidly opened our envelopes to see a cashiers check with the accompanying letter. It was shocking that this young, black stud had not only returned our initial investments, but he had made each one of us a profit. 

In only a few short months he had turned our rather tenuous investment into a profit, and I waas sure that we were all in a complete state of shock and disbelief. 

The silence in the room was deafening for a moment as Tra'mon stood before us with his ripped black arms crossed in a commanding stance. 

"What up? Y'all pussies didn't think a nigga could run a business all legit n' shit?" He asked us loudly and sarcastically as he noticed our surprised expressions. 

The young black man took slow, calculating strides towards us and he seemed to be doing so with great authority. He stepped towards the group until he stopped and stood before Bradley.

"Huh, boy? Is that what 'ya think?" He asked in a sudden increasingly stern tone.

Bradley was noticeably affected by Tra'mon and I could see his pale face turning all sorts of red shades. 

"Um, N-No Tra'mon, Sir. No S-Sir." he replied with terrified and pleading eyes. 

"What about you, boy?" He asked Michael, taking another strong stride to stand before him.

"N-No, Sir. Th-that's not what I, uh, think. N-Not at all, Sir." he answered timidly, a small tear forming in his left eye.

"And, you boy?" He asked Kevin in an even firmer tone. 

"Oh, gosh no. No, Sir. No, Sir." Kevin quivered.

The young black stud only needed to look at Charlie from a distance to get a reaction. His stern eyes simply glared towards him.

"N-Not me either, Tra'mon. N-No, Sir. I, uh, wasn't thinking th-that at all, Sir. Oh my gosh, N-No Sir." Charlie feebly replied.

Tra'mon turned and began slowing stepping down this uneven line of us white husbands standing around. he began looking each one of us dead in the eyes. His silent glare was stern, intimidating and dominating as each one of us felt weaker in the knees when he approached the remainder of the group one by one. 

All of us basically "caved in" by answering the young black man's rather curious question with a "no, sir" reply. He even "tapped" some of our faces gently and mockingly added the words "good boy" as we responded in compliance. I was one of those who got their faces "tapped" with such arrogance and disdain. 

Satisfied with the responses by us nine white "wimp" husbands, Tra'mon simply strolled back to the front and center of the group then faced us. 

"Dis' thug nigga did well for y'all pussies, didn't he?" he asked with obvious sarcasm. 

He stared me straight in the eyes and my head immediately bowed in shame. I knew he was referencing the insolent comments I had made to my blonde wife when I was feeling upset and angered. The mere thought that he had overheard me saying those things to Julie scared me to no end. Now, he was referencing them again in front of our small group. I began to cowardly tremble even more. 

"Now dat' we're done with this investment business and it's all legal and shit there's somethin' else, whiteboys." Tra'mon Smith announced.

Again, all of us looked up with a confused look upon our already blushing and reddened faces. The intimidation we all felt waas immeasureable. At this moment the tension could be felt in the room as many thoughts ran through my head. 

"Maybe this was all too good to be true?" I asked myself. 

Deep down, I could easily detect that the other white husbands felt like I did. The money being "legally" returned to us didn't seem nearly as important as what this black stud was doing to us, and how he had been controlling our beautiful wives. I believe all of us would have easily accepted losing the investment money over losing our wives and losing our dignity. We would rather lose our money and not feel so intimidated or get slapped around by the young black man. The returned money simply seemed insignificant to all of us at the time as all nine of us cowered before him in a fearful silence. There didn't seem to be an ounce of elation over the money we had just made from an investment, an investment that we were all "bullied" into making in the first place. 

But, that is when this powerful black stud began to talk about an "organization" that he had just created. Yes, an organization. 

He called it a "charitable organization" and described it as a foundation for Black professionals in the athletic and fitness fields. He told us that it was created by him and for black athletic instructors who wanted to start up their own business someday. He said this organization would "help "da' brothas" as he termed it, and it would be helping them with everything from equipment to property to child care to transportation and designing fitness programs.

He called it B.O.A.S., which he described getting the name from the boa-constrictor snake tattoos on both of his strong, muscular dark arms. 

B.O.A.S., or Black Organization for Athletic Supremacy, was a charitable organization that Tra'mon had just created. Now, he was standing before us and stringently "requesting" a donation or a "tribute" to his cause. Only, his requests were more non-verbal and intimidating for us white husbands. 

We looked at each other in utter disbelief, then we instantly looked back down to the floor. It was like we all knew, deep down, that this so-called charitable organization was simply a means for the tough black stud to get us white wimp husbands to support his fitness lifestyle. Or, at least we strongly suspected this. 

I certainly had these thoughts. 

Yet, all of us were so intimidated by the young black stud that we just stood there frozen in a near panic. Our heads were bowed and totally ashamed by our own cowardice. 

"Y'all white pussies don't think it's a good cause to help us niggas whip some asses into shape, do ya? Huh?" Tra'mon added. 

I glanced upwards for a moment to see the others faces deeply red and blushing. Not one of us could answer. Not one of us could find the strength or courage to contest him in any way, or to ask him any questions about this organization of his. In a sense, he was intimidating us into providing a "tribute" for black men as they continued to start up their own businesses and even take our wives from us. This feeling of defeat swept over me like a swarm of locusts eating away at my lack of feeble masculinity, inch by inch. 




Black Man One Ch. 23



"Give what you want but be respectful, mutha' fuckers!" He commanded. 

In silence, and with great apprehension, the other 8 timid white husbands took out their check books and began writing out checks. Their faces were veiled in fear and intimidation as I stood there with my arms down at my sides. I was confused about what to do and shaking in fear. 

Since I was not aware of the meeting in the first place I did not have my check book with me. The others had theirs. For some reason, this worried me. I was more worried about how this young black stud would perceive my "lack of generosity" towards his so-called organization than anything else. I stood there quivering in fear as the others finished their check assignments and began handing them to Tra'mon. 

"Good Boy. You're dimissed." He announced to each white husband, one after the other, as he took their donation checks from their hands. 

I had no idea how much they wrote their checks for. I would never know. But, I believed the amounts were considerable. I still believe this.

As the other white husbands departed with their heads hung low in total shame, I stood there with nothing in my hands but the returned investment check her handed me minutes before. I had been at the end of this staggered line of husbands and now I was the last one standing in the workout center room with the dominant black man. He quickly leafed through the eight checks in his hands and grinned, almost knowingly. Then, he turned and looked upwards and in my direction. 

I literally swallowed the lump in my throat when he looked my way. My eyes immediately fell to the blue padded floor of the little gym as I shivered in fear of what could happen next. The returned check and unusual black envelope fell from my limp grip and gently drifted to the floor about two feet before me.

"What? My nigger organization ain't good enough for ya' whiteboy?" He shouted, as he began to stroll towards me in his flimsy bikini suit. 

"N-N-No. N-No, Sir. I-I just, uh, d-don't have my check book w-with me, Sir." I mumbled. 

Perspiration began to form on my forehead and the top of my head of thinning hair. My tall frame shook with fear as the younger black stud approached me and began to circle me in an obnoxious and arrogant slow-motion. His cockiness and arrogance was intimidating me to no end, and my eyes began to form tears as he strolled around me with tremendous cockiness. 

"P-P-Please?" I blubbered, an unconscious whisper coming from my suddenly parched lips.

"Please? Please what, pussy?" Tra'mon asked almost amused, using an even more sarcastic tone as he continued to circle me.

My knees weakened even more. They were growing weaker by the second as I felt his strong presence finally stopping for a second behind me. 

"P-Please d-don't beat m-me up, Sir?" I groveled. "Puh-puh-please?" I repeated. 

As Tra'mon moved directly in front on me he looked upwards into my passive eyes. My 6'4" tall frame towered above his more masculine, muscular and dominant 5'9" tall frame, yet I cowered in absolute fear. Like always, I felt weakened standing before him. Two tears from the corners of my eyes unconsciosuly began to run down the sides of my flustered face. 

"What? You think I'm gonna kick dat' weak, white pussy ass of yours again cus' you ain't donating to my cause, boy?" He asked rather sternly.

His voice seemed irritated and almost insulted by my sudden pleading. My eyes lowered a past his firmer eyes and to the floor, once again.

"N-No, I-I guess not. No, S-Sir. I-I don't th-think that, Sir." I pleaded, swallowing loudly.

Tra'mon then put his index finger to my weak chin and lifted it ever so slightly, forcing me to look downward and directly into his dark eyes. His actions made me quiver even more. 

"Huh, boy? Is that what cha' think?" He began, looking at me with a fierce look that scared me.

"I already kicked dat' ass, haven't I? And, I'd kick dat' ass for other reasons, like when you talk shit 'bout me to my cunt." he continued, his strong finger remaining under my chin.

"But, not for somethin' like this charity organization I'm serious 'bout, got that boy?" he asked speaking louder.

"Y-Yes, Sir. I, uh, I, uh g-got that Sir." I meekly whispered. 

"I-I uh just d-didn't bring my ch-check book, Sir. Th-That's all." I added, trying to explain. 

The black stud simply released his finger from the underside of my chin and stepped back about three feet from me. He stared me down for a moment as my eyes fell back to the floor. I felt so intimidated that I could hardly look up. 

Tra'mon began looking down to the blue padded floor in front of him. He noticed the wayward returned investment check that had fallen from my hands. Rudely, he placed the toes of his beach sandaled right foot on the very corner edge of it. 

"Well, looks like there's a check right here boy!" He suddenly snapped with greater sarcasm.

Passively, I looked up to see the young black stud with his foot on the corner of the check he had just given to me. The check was for $132,000.00, which was my initial $120,000.00 investment plus the added 10 per cent. Now, he was strongly suggesting that I sign it all over to his B.O.A.S. charity organization.

"Like I said to all y'all white boys. You give whats ya' want to. Or, you thinking your white bread ass is too good to donate to my nigga charity?" Tra'mon asked, fiercely. 

"Huh, boy? Is that what it's all 'bout?" He asked, with an even firmer tone. 

His tone petrified me and my knees weakened to the point where I finally fell down. I collapsed to my knees on the padded blue mats of the gym. I simply knelt there and looked at the seemingly angered young black man I had just "insulted" again as he stood 3 feet before me. 

"N-No. N-No, Sir. I-I ..." I stammered. 

"I-I guess I could, um, s-sign the check back over to y-your cause, Sir?" I replied, defeatedly. 

At the time, I was so unbelievably intimidated by this younger man that I thought signing over this rather large check back to him would spare me. I felt that it might spare me yet another demoralizing situation and yet another ass kicking. I felt doing so might passify him for now.

This wasn't the only thing that crossed my terribly affected mind, but it felt like the pressure to do so was unbearable. Yes, I knew Tra'mon was pressuring and bullying me into donating this large sum of money to his black charity. Yet, I was too weakened to protest in any way. Weakened, I was giving in once again. 

"You guess, boy?" he suddenly returned. 

"Oh, gosh! I-I meant I could. I m-mean I will, S-Sir." I trembled, accepting his suggestion.

"You sure, boy? You pussy ass whiteboys tend to talk lotsa' shit. You gots to be sure." He stated, sarcastically.

Once again, the young black thug was forcing me to say it again. He was making me tell him that I was willing to scarifice my earnings as an investor to his cause, which was a cause that didn't feel real at all. Still, I defeatedly accepted these ridiculous and unrealistic conditions. They were conditions of acceptance that I am sure he knew would stand up in any court of law. 

"Y-Y-Yes, Sir. O-Okay. I-I will, S-Sir. P-Please? I j-just wanna go, please." I replied in a faint, meek and pleading whisper.

"Go? Go where, boy?" He asked, rather sternly.

I could not respond.

Tra'mon Smith then tossed a black pen to the floor at his powerful, sandaled feet. It landed right next to the investment check he was stepping on and securing. The very corner of the back of this check was covered by his black sandal-covered right foot. 

"Well, git' to it. Sign it, boy!" He ordered. 

I was visibly shaking by this time. I knelt there too afraid to look back up into his eyes as he stood there with this authoritative stance that made him seem more ominous to me. To him, it was more than obvious how terrified and weak I had become in his presence. Even more obvious was the fact that he was waiting for me to slither over to him and sign over the check to the B.O.A.S. "charity organization" which he created. In his own way, it felt as if this young black stud was telling me to sign over the check "at" his feet to add to my humiliation?!

My throat was as dry as an ashtray and I swallowed loudly at the thought of the humiliating task he was so firmly and non-verbally suggesting.

"Oh, my gawd! Why is he doing this to me?" I muttered inside.

"Maybe I can just take that check from under his sandal and then stand back up?" I thought.

I was beginning to feel such pressure. The seconds that went by during this short pause felt more like minutes as I contemplated what I should do next. In contrast, the much younger black stud simply stood there with a non chalant and commanding attitude. He knew that I was defeated as I cowered on my knees before him, and humiliatingly he was right. 

Defeatedly, I leaned over onto my hands and knees and made a feeble attempt to slip the check from out and under his foot. But, he would not budge. His right foot actually pressed onto the back of this check with greater force while the perspiration on my face intensified.

"What cha' waiting for, boy? I don't got all night. Sign it. I gots to get my dick sucked before I go to bed!" He commanded. 

"Y-Yes, O-Okay." I mumbled in disgrace. 

With my hands trembling nearly out of control, I signed my name and the "pay to the order of" designation onto the back of the check, releasing the funds to the black man's organization. Despite the utter humiliation of sacrificing my entire investment back to the B.O.A.S. Organization, I felt that at least I still had a shot of having my beautiful blonde wife back. She was asleep in my bed and I just wanted to get back to her as quickly as possible. 

As I cowered on my knees and elbows at the black stud's feet, I simply couldn't stop thinking about running back to Julie and begging her for another chance. I would do anything for that chance. I would do anything just to see her. 

Ashamed, I completed the signing of the check and then dropped the black pen from my quivering hand. I simply put my head down in shame before I made another feeble attempt to slide the now signed check out from under Tra'mon's black sandal-covered foot. My purpose was merely to take the check and hand it to him, in defeat. 

But, Tra'mon was still not allowing me to do this. I was perplexed for a moment as I made a second and third attempt to do so. Still, he was not removing his foot from the signed check. My face burned red as I remained in this inferior position wondering why he would not allow me to pick it up. That is when he spoke. 

"First kiss my foot, whiteboy!" He suddenly ordered.

"Kiss the top of my nigger foot and thank me for allowing you to support black fitness!" Tra'mon commanded, his louder voice ringing in my ears like a siren.

My face turned a fire-engine red.

"Oh, Gosh! Please? P-Please, S-Sir? I-I just want to go home, Sir." I groveled. 

"P-Please don't make m-me do that? P-P-Please?" I sniveled as I began to cry. 

Accepting my defeat and turning over my full investment wasn't enough for the demanding young, black stud. He simply wanted to "rub it in" even more and disgrace me further beyond my limits. I could not fathom a more vile and unpleasant thing to do, with the exception of the way he made me kiss his backside all those other times. 

"I'm getting impatient boy!" Tra'mon shouted. 

"O-okay, Okay, Sir. Okay." I stuttered, conceding to the strong stud's ultra-degrading demand. 

With unprecedented humiliation, I was made to bend over and kiss the top of the black stud's sandal clad foot. I did so quietly as I had forgotten his words. 

"Again! Thank me, pussy!" He snarled.

For the second time, I bent my face down from my elbows and knees position and kissed the top of the black stud's right foot. 

"Th-Thank you, Sir. Thank Y-you for allowing m-me to support your ch-charity." I blubbered in a soft whisper.

"Again!" he howled as he stood above me.

Again, I bent my face down and put my lips to the top of Tra'mon's bare right sandaled foot and kissed it in humiliation. 

"Thank you f-f-for allowing m-me to support y-your charity, Sir." I mumbled. 

Tears were now streaming down my pale red face in utter disgrace. I was afraid to look back up as the black man remained standing above me. 

"The other one!" He snapped, referring to his other foot. 

Humiliatingly, I knew I had no choice. In my weary and intimidated mind, I was already beyond the limits of human degradation and I bowed to kiss the top of the black stud's left foot. 

"Th-Thank you for allowing me to, uh, h-help support your charity, S-Sir." I answered. obediently and ashamed. 

"Again, Mutha'fucker!" he yelled. 

Again, I humbled and debased myself by kissing the top of the black man's left foot for a second time. 

"The otha' one!" he ripped, ordering me to repeat this demoralizing act to his right foot. 

The young, muscular black stud went on to make me kiss the very tops of his masculine feet several dozen more times, switching from his left black foot to his right black foot, and then back again. I couldn't have been more ashamed by my own fear of his overly aggressive attitude and tone of voice. Tra'mon made me repeat several demoralizing "thank you's." He even made me thank the black race and he made me thank him for allowing me to help support the black race, too. 

After nearly 10 minutes he removed his foot from the check and ordered me to hand it to him. I could hardly move. I was so devastated by the demeaning act I was just forced into that my arms weakened as I attempted to get up to my knees. Somehow, I did. Compliantly, I handed him the signed check in tears of my mortified disgrace. 

Even more defeating was the fact that Tra'mon was now rock hard as I knelt there before him. The absolutely mammoth sized bulge in the pouch of his flimsy, skimpy almost liquid-looking black bikinis had "swelled" to almost unimaginable proportions. 

The disgusting bulge "billowed" almost straight out to a point I had never seen before. The black stud's repulsive bulge was sickening for me to witness as I watched him begin to dial a number on his cell phone. He looked at me for a moment and "sneered" as his caller answered. 

"My dick is hard!" He snapped, simply and authoritatively to the caller before rudely hanging up on her. 

Then, Tra'mon turned back to me again. 

"Respect! Dat's what it's all about whiteboy!" He snarled, turning his back to me. He began to strut out of the workout center room with superior confidence, his muscular and powerful black ass in those bikinis strolling slowly and with utter confidence.

I was ashamed, yet relieved by his departure. Meekly, I placed my hands to my pathetic face and cried. Part of me was relived that he didn't "beat me up" again. I was also so humiliated that I just knelt there weeping like a big pussy for the next 15 minutes or so. 

It was hard to imagine how this young stud was demoralizing me, and never letting up on me. I feared him even more now. I feared his aggression and the manner in which he was always defeating and demoralizing me. He made me begin to fear his actions at all times. Then, I began to think about Julie again. 

Finally, I got up from my knees and staggered out the door. My weak legs could barely make it up the stairs as I thought about the humiliation Tra'mon had just put me through. I looked around and realized that all the other white husbands had already scurried back to their condo apartments like frightened mouses. 

But, maybe just seeing Julie would make me feel better? It was passed 2 in the morning when I finally entered my own condo apartment. 

But, Julie was not there!

I looked around and was mortified that Julie was not sleeping in the bed now. She was passed out when I had left not much more than an hour before. I looked in the bathroom and scanned the entire apartment for her, but she was gone. That is when I noticed the written note taped onto the livingroom television.

"Had to talk to Trey. Be back in 30 minutes." the note read.

My heart fell and my shoulders slumped. It was now obvious to me that this black stud had called Julie and said those simple words, "My dick is hard!" It was my blonde wife that he was talking to?! 

Julie simply scurried off to him in the most obedient fashion. It was at this time, the overwhelming defeats I had been experiencing these past months hit me even harder. I was confused as it seemed like Tra'mon was "toying" with my emotions. I had no clue of what to believe, and could not figure out whether Julie was back with me, or not? 

"I will never be able to win her back." I thought to myself, in complete defeat.

"What should I do now?" I asked myself, sitting on the sofa and resting my head on my hand. 

Within minutes, I heard Julie "keying" the front door of our apartment. My head sprang to an upwards position in surprise as I realized that she was back sooner than I had expected. In the dim lighting of our apartment I could see Julie's silhouette as she entered. She was not covered on top and only dressed in a pair of little white panties. Her long, now african-braided blonde hair looked like it was out of place and a mess beyond anything I had ever seen before.

"J-Julie? W-Where did you go?" I asked, pathetically. 

I knew where she had went. For some reason, I just needed to ask anyway. Perhaps, I was merely trying to start up a conversation? I don't even know why. 

"I wrote you a note. Trey needed to talk to me for a second." she answered softly.

As I finally stood all the way up from the sofa and moved closer to Julie I could see her trying to shy away and hide her face from me. Her braided hair looked so "mangled" in the shadows and I drew to within 15 feet of her when she told me to stop. 

"Richard, stop! Please? I really just need to get some sleep. I need to sleep alone tonight." she said, her voice softening once again. 

My eyes didn't have to strain very much in the dim lighting to see that Julie's pretty, pale face was absolutely "plastered" with an unrealistically thick coat of the black stud's seed. The large amount of his "cum" was revolting and startling to see. The sight of my beautiful white wife's face in this condition, and in the shadows of our condo hallway made my shoulders slump in further defeat. 

"G-Gosh, J-Julie? D-Don't you want to shower before b-bed?" I asked, again just trying to make light conversation. 

"No, Richard. I can't. Just sleep out here. Okay? Good night, Richard." Julie whispered. 

"Wh-what do you mean you c-can't Julie?" I probed, terrified by her words. 

"Richard, please? I'm tired. Just go to sleep. I mean it." Julie whispered louder. 

"Well, o-Okay." I meekly replied as I watched Julie turn and walk towards the bedroom. 

Pathetically, I just stood there in awe. It was ridiculously obvious that the young, black stud was now "seemingly" getting turned on by his total destruction of me. It seemed that the more he humiliated and disgraced me the more he wanted Julie? After demoralizing me, he simply picked up his cell phone and said the words, "my dick is hard" and my wife went running to him, obediently. It was like his words were so routine.

In the middle of the night, Julie went running to him to suck his massive black cock, only to get her face plastered with his seed. Now, she was going to sleep with her face coated and telling me to sleep on the couch. The feelings of insecurity and defeat continued to grow within me. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, and that I may have had a real chance of working my way back into Julie's life, Tra'mon was instilling more fear and confusion in me. 

Humiliatingly, I returned to the sofa and layed my head down to fall asleep in shame once again.




Black Man One Ch. 23



end. Chapter 23.  



Black Man One Ch. 24



The next morning would not provide any consolation to the total defeat and humiliation I experienced just the night before. 

It was 9:20 a.m. when I was awakened by the subtle sounds of "clattering" dishes coming from the kitchen area. I sat up from my sleeping position on the sofa and held my head, which was suddenly throbbing in pain. I looked towards the faint noises and noticed Julie in the kitchen from afar.

From the short distance across our condo unit I could only see Julie from behind. She was reaching up into the cupboards and putting away some dishes, which she was removing from the dishwasher. She was wearing nothing but a pair of peach-toned nylon panties and a matching bra. 

From behind, I could see that her bright blonde, now african-braided hair was styled and coifed in the manner it was intended. Her long hair was no longer the mangled mess it was when she got back from Tra'mon's apartment the night before.  

Just 7 hours before, the young black man had debased me again. Finally, I was able to stand up and begin to shake the cob-webs from my head and these memories began to resurface inside me. I continued to look towards the kitchen area where Julie remained with her back towards me, stretching her fit torso to complete her task. I was deadly curious as to why she was suddenly doing all this.  

I glanced to me left and towards the open bathroom door where I noticed the light was on. Small traces of steam were still coming from the shower, and it was apparent that my blonde wife had just finished washing up. Now, she was suspiciously milling around in the kitchen. Unintentionally, I was still in my morning quiet stage as I took a few steps closer towards the kitchen area. 

From a distance of more than 20 feet I could see the blatant and bold large blackened spade symbol tattoo centered on her lower back. The black outlined and "blank" ribbon-like markings on either side of the spade symbol remained a mystery to me at this time. They were almost like an open slate to place half in letters inside, and they made the tattoo look incomplete. Still, I was not comprehending their intended purpose at this particular time. 

Julie's blonde, braided hair flowed back and forth as she continued putting away dishes. The obnoxious black panther head tattoos on both of her shoulders and upper arms stood out from her pale, perfect skin. Her altered, now larger breasts barely "peeked" out when she bent over to retrieve another plate from the dishwasher. The soft scent of her perfumed soap and skin filled the air of the entire condo apartment. It was a scent that I had been missing for so long. 

My view of Julie's beauty from behind only served as a reminder that she had "been with" the young black stud. He had literally "marked" her once flawless body like some sort of demented artist, yet it seemed that she had been unconcerned and fully accepting of them. Truly, I couldn't understand why. To me, they were like another insulting slap in the face to me and to all men of the white race. 

"Julie?" I whispered, just loud enough as to not startle her like I had in the past. 

She barely turned her head towards my weakened voice.

"Oh, you're up." she returned, non chalantly.

"You know, if you're going to put dishes in the dishwasher you should actually turn the machine on so they would wash." she said, matter of factly. 

"They were beginning to smell." she added in a casual, yet avoiding tone. 

Her back was still completely turned away from me. 

"Um, Uh, Okay." I replied as I took a few steps closer. 

"Wh-What are you doing?" I asked, humbly.

"Nothing really. I don't have much time. Trey wants me to run some errands with him." she whispered.

"Oh." I meekly answered, in defeat.

I stepped into the kitchen and towards the frige, then opened it. There was a large fruit bowl inside covered with celophane in front. Julie had apparently prepared it just this morning. I realized that I must have been so passed out that I didn't even hear my wife leaving the apartment to run to the store. I didn't hear her showering either, so it must have been one of her quickest showers ever, I reasoned. In my mind, I felt as if I had been knocked unconscious for days. 

"C-Can I get you a bowl of fruit, Julie?" I asked. 

"M-Maybe we can have breakfast?" I asked, groveling. 

"I really don't have much time, Richard! I don't think that's a good idea." she whispered.

"P-Please, Julie? Maybe we can um just sit and have breakfast and, ya' know, talk a little." I begged.

"I really don't have anything to say, Richard." Julie returned, quietly.

"Please? J-Just 5 minutes?" I asked, desperate for even her slightest attention. 

"Richard, please. I don't think ..." she began as I interupted her.

"P-Please?" I continued begging. 

"Jeezuz! Alright already. 5 minutes. That's all. I have things to do!" Julie returned, increasing the tone of her voice and becoming slightly irritated. 

With her back still turned to me, Julie put away the last of the dishes and walked over to our little kitchen table. I removed the large bowl of fruit from the refrigerator and prepared two smaller bowls on the counter. One for her and one for myself.  

When I finally turned around to face Julie with the two smaller bowls and spoons in my hands, the sight of her before me was absolutely mortifying!

There, sitting at the kitchenette table in her bra and panties was my beautiful blonde wife. She looked straight at me. Unbelievably, Julie's face was still covered and coated with the young black stud's powerful, thick seed. It was completely dried up by now and left stains. The faint darker white color at the edges of these "blotches" of the black man's cum made it stand out even more as it framed the lighter interior. It was that obvious. 

"Oh my gawd! Julie?! Y-Your f-face?" I screamed.

I nearly dropped the little bowls of fruit from my trembling hands. I was absolutely mortified by the image sitting right before me. 

Here was my beautiful wife, freshly showered, cleaned and ready to get dressed but her face was completely "plastered" with several large blotches of dried up semen from Tra'mon Smith, who had "marked" her hours before.

"What the hell?" I screamed inside. 

"Richard, stop! We're not going to talk about that." Julie replied, her eyes looking downward to the kitchen table, almost ashamed herself. 

"B-But, Julie? D-Didn't you just shower? I mean ..." I gasped.

"Just stop. Give me the bowl, Richard. I told you that I'm not talking about it." Julie warned. 

I was astounded. 

"Julie had quickly showered, fixed her hair, shaved her legs and cleaned every other part of her body before putting on a fresh pair of panties and a bra. But, she had not touched her face?!" I thought. 

"Did she actually run out to the store to get fruit earlier that morning like this, too?!" I gasped, inside.

"H-How? Wh-Why?" I trembled to myself, in silence.

Defeatedly, I placed the small bowl of fruit and spoon before Julie. I sat down on the other side of the table and gazed back at her. She was looking down and began spooning her breakfast in a slow and casual manner. 

Her altered breasts were jutting straight outward now, and they billowed over the top of her bra exposing her cleavage like some sort of bimbo would be doing. The two smaller black spade symbols tattooed on each breast with the letter "T" traced out in her own skin tone were so blatant. There wasn't a person alive that would not notice them. But, the condition of her beautiful face coated with dried up sperm humiliated me the most. It covered the vast majority of her entire forehead, cheeks, jaw line and chin.

Just seeing her in this condition was demeaning for me. It had to be for her, too. Yet, I couldn't understand why she was being so casual and non chalant about it. I just had to know why. I had to know why this wasn't bothering her as much as it bothered me. 

"J-Julie? Y-You are going to w-wash up again?" I asked, again trying to converse. 

Julie's eyes rolled into the back of her head, in disgust over my mild persistence.

"Damn it, Richard. Please? Can't we just sit and have a quiet breakfast?" she asked, quietly and more annoyed. 

"B-But, Julie. Your face? W-Why w-would you? I m-mean ..." I began to ask sullenly.

That is when Julie abruptly dropped her spoon into the bowl. It made a loud "clinking" sound as she grabbed her cell phone from the kitchen table and began dialing a number. 

"You want to know why? Well, you're gonna have to ask Trey. Not me!" she said, further annoyed as she put the phone to her ear.

"Trey? One second, Trey." she said, speaking into the phone.

Julie simply reached over and held out the cell phone for me to take. My face turned a timid red shade as I stared at the little cell phone in her hands. My hands trembled. My throat ran dry. 

"Here. Ask him!" Julie snapped. 

But, I could not take the phone from Julie's hand. Petrified, I just shook my head in a "no, please" motion as I stared into my blonde wife's suddenly disturbed eyes. It was obvious to her that I was absolutely terrified to speak to the younger, black stud. In just a few short seconds, I went from being persistent to being totally quiet and humbled. 

Mercifully, Julie finally withdrew her extended arm and put the phone back to her ear. My face had to be a fire-engine red by now, and my heart was beating unpleasantly fast. 

"Yes, Trey. I'm sorry, Trey." she began, as she spoke to him. 

"No, Trey. Yes, I'm sorry, Trey. I'll tell you later, Trey." I heard her speaking to him in the softest tone. 

"Yes, Trey. Yes, I'm almost ready, Trey. Yes, Trey. Whatever you say, Trey." she continued as I sat across the table in utter shame. 

Julie's voice grew even softer as she continued speaking to the apparently curious black stud. I am sure he was more curious about the reason for her sudden call to him, and he must have been asking questions. 

"Yes, Sir. Yes, I did Sir. Yes, Trey. Yes, I will, Trey. Okay, Trey." Julie continued before finally shutting the cell phone closed.

My eyes literally fell to the table, humiliated beyond reason. I was afraid to look back up to Julie's eyes after her little "threat." I figured that I must have persisted a little too much this time. I was merely trying to make sense of something that was so foreign to me at the time. Something that was so disgusting and humiliating for me to witness. Yet, more humiliating was the fact that my blonde wife was now actually defending the actions of the young, black man. She was accepting how he was treating her as well. 

Being "shut down" so abruptly made me feel even more like a "wimp" than I was. I had absolutely no response to her actions as I sat there humbled and broken down. My mind wandered for a moment as I thought about what Tra'mon might be thinking after a call like this. To be honest, I was worrying about whether or not this little cell phone scene would anger him?

"Listen, Richard." Julie began.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk for awhile. Maybe we should just try to be around each other first and not talk about anything, not say anything. Just see how things go." Julie proposed. 

I finally looked up. 

"W-What do you mean, Julie?" I asked, shaking and confused.

"Y-You don't want to talk t-to me? Wh-What do you mean?" I repeated nervously.

"I mean what you heard, Richard. I'll stay here and see how things go for now. That's all. But, we don't need to say so much to each other." Julie said, more firmly. 

"N-Not talk?" I quivered. 

"It's either that or I'm going to stay with Karen. You can explain that to Trey yourself." she said, sternly. 

Another subtle threat? 

My eyes lit up in fear, once again. Julie knew without question that I didn't want that. My beautiful, blonde wife knew all too well that this younger black stud had "outclassed" me in most every way, and that he instilled a fear in me like no other. She knew that her taller, weaker and older white "wimp" of a husband cowered in intimidation just thinking about this black stud and every time she mentioned his name. 

She had seen him beat me up, make me wash the dirt and spit from his muscular black feet, and be pushed around like a helpless oversized raggedy ann doll. She had witnessed the powerful, more masculine black man "stuffing" my face into his bikini-clad asscheeks, and being made to kiss his ass as he degradingly made me apologize to his asscheeks before. She had already seen me degraded and intimidated and bullied by Tra'mon so many times. My wife knew that her white husband was, indeed, a "big pussy" compared to the tougher black thug stud of a man. Yes, she knew. 

"Well, I have to go." Julie suddenly said. 

I then watched her get up and scurry off to the bedroom. My head slumped in shame as I remained quiet, looking down at the fruit in my little bowl. Within minutes, Julie emerged and began putting things into her purse.

I watched as Julie readied herself to "run errands" with the black man. She had quickly slipped into a light tanned ultra-short and tight micro mini-skirt that barely covered her pussy region. Her shoes were 4" tall white strappy sandals. The pure white blouse was spaghetti sleeveless and cut off at the navel with a ridiculously low cleavage. Her now altered and tattooed huge breasts billowed out uncontrollably for anyone to see. And, the undersized white blouse that exposed her entire midriff, blatantly revealing the bold and ominous 2 inch black spade tattoo on her lower back. From the view behind, it was staggering just how obvious and noticeable that tattoo was against her pale flesh. 

Much worse was the fact that Julie was "running out" in public with Tra'mon with her pretty face astonishingly "plastered" with the obvious remnants of his dried up seed. My once shy blonde wife was now looking like a billboard for an over the top and in your face statement of Black Authority. 

"I'll see you later. Bye." she said, simply and coldly, as she quickly bolted out the door. 

This time, I had no strength to get up from my chair right away. I reamined in the kitchen rather than watching her walk out to the parking lot. I couldn't bare to witness yet another display of his uncontested control over her. 

Meekly, I sat there contemplating my future with Julie for close to an hour. A great part of me knew that it was over, and that I should simply "stay away" from this whole situation, like I imagine the other husbands that fled were doing. 

I really thought about "running away" like a big coward and sissy before he confronted me and told me to leave. A smaller and weaker part of me was hopeful that Julie would eventually return to me. Another small part of me wanted to keep the "perception" that our marriage was fine, and my family would never know. However, the greater part of me was afraid of the dominant, young black man. I feared his anger and, although my wife seemed to be so into him, I also feared for her in some strange and unusual way.

At the time, I felt totally confused and trapped.

Eventually, I managed to get back up to my feet. I began clearing the table and cleaning up around the condo, trying to stay busy and keep my mind off the humiliation I felt. My thoughts were all over the place as I finished cleaning the bathroom, bedroom and making the bed. 

An hour had passed when I stepped back into the livingroom. 

That is when I noticed the ultimately demoralizing mesh bag belonging to the black stud. It was laying on the floor and filled with Tra'mon's worn bikini underwear and bikini speedoes suits. I had tossed them to the corner in disgust the other night after he had all but told me that I would have to continue handwashing them. Now, they were staring me right in the face like one of his harsh slaps.

I paused in anguish. My entire body felt limp and tense just thinking about the anger the black stud might exhibit if I had not completed this demoralizing task. I reasoned that I had little choice but to comply, if I knew what was good for me. It had already been more than horrifying that he had me doing this insulting chore for more than 11 weeks now, and I had thought it would be over. I was wrong. My tremendous fear of him caused me to "give in" and accept this degradation, once again.

In defeat, I picked up the mesh bag and brought it into the bathroom where I layed them on the counter. Repulsed, I stared at them for a moment and tried to find the any last shred of masculinity inside me. But, I could not. Beaten, I simply began to handwash the young black stud's 20 plus pairs of nylon-spandex bikini underwear.

My stomach tightened in disgust as I began the degrading "chore" I had been becoming accustomed to, once again. Like a wimp, I remained standing in the bathroom washing another man's masculine and studly power bikini's while he was out shopping with my wife. 

I realized mt humiliation would continue.

By the time I finished my humiliating chore and cleaning our entire condo unit, I looked at my watch to realize that it was barely past 12 noon. Julie had been gone for about 3 hours and I was curious as to when she might return. I walked to the back window overlooking the pool area to see a deserted area. This was not unusual but the entire condo community had an erie, empty and desolate feeling about it now.

The parking lot area had only a few cars in it and I wondered if everyone had gone to work, or someplace else. At the time, I barely knew what day of the week it was. I had already requested sporadic time off from work, lying about a family illness that required my attention. It was called F.M.L.A., and the H.R. Director told me I had a combined 12 weeks of this sporadic time off, which I accepted. It was either this or lose my job. I had been coming in late and missing more days than what was typical. 

With nothing else to do at this time I sat on the sofa and turned on the television. I looked down at my cell phone and questioned whether I should try to text Julie, to see when she would be returning. I couldn't remember if she had made me aware of how long she'd be gone, or not? But, I was nervous to do so. I knew texting her while she was out with the young, black stud wasn't always the greatest idea. 

For the next two hours I looked at my phone every 10 minutes contemplating this. In some way, I suppose that I was hoping for her to text me too. 
By 2:30 in the afternoon, I finally broke down and texted my beautiful wife. 

"Julie, will you be home soon?" I texted.

"Will you be home for dinner?" I texted ten minutes later. 

"Are you there?" I texted 20 minutes after that.

"I can make dinner." I texted around 3 o'clock. 

"Julie?" I texted a few minutes after that. 

"Can I make you dinner, Julie?" I texted again, a half hour passing.

There was no response. 

"I can make you a nice dinner if you want." I texted just past four. 

Finally, Julie returned one of my text messages. 

"Alright already, Richard. That's fine." her message read. 

"Oh, okay. Great. What time will you be home?" I messaged my wife, in return. 

"A couple hours still. Stop texting me already Richard." Julie's message read. 

"Oh, okay Julie. I won't. I'll make dinner for 6:30 then, okay?" I texted. 

It took five minutes for her to return this last text. 

"Fine." her message simply read. 

"No more texts!" she added. 

It was humbling to visually see my blonde wife's rather "abrupt" and "annoyed" text messages to me. It was obvious, but now I had work to do. I had a meal to prepare as I realized that she was actually agreeing to have dinner with me?!

My sullen and defeated mood changed ever so slightly at this thought. There was a "spark" of hope that we would be able to sit down and have dinner together and, perhaps talk some more. I wanted to text her back and ask Julie what she wanted for dinner, but I didn't want to press my luck. Eagerly, I decided that I would run to the store and just get her favorite things. Desperately, I did just that. 




Black Man One Ch. 24



For the next two hours, I prepared a small chicken roast with mashed sweet potatos, peppers and asparagus. I made a raspberry mousse dessert and prepared a robust salad. I worked hard to prepare a great dinner for my wife in the hopes we would be able to sit and "talk" and share a meal together for the first time in so long. My warped and dillusional mind still felt some small measure hope. I could not imagine why, but I waas going through "all the motions" for whatever reason. I simply could not explain why?

Ad everything was prepared and the chicken roast was nearing completion, I decided to take a quick shower and change clothes. It was 10 minutes past six when I walked into the bathroom to start getting ready. Humiliatingly, I was greeted by the site of 25 pairs of the black stud's bikini underwear hanging and drying on hangers on the rod of the shower curtain. My shoulders slumped with this "slap in the face" of reality when I was reminded that hours earlier I had been handwashing them at his command. 

Disgraced, I just felt them to see if they were dry yet. They still were not. I placed them off to the side on the extra towel rack and quickly went about washing up.

"Geezuz. What am I doing?" I asked myself, my feeling of defeat resurfacing.

"Why would Julie agree to dinner after all this?" I pondered. 

"Why is she out with him running errands for over 9 hours when she said she was moving back in with me?" I asked myself. 

Confused, I continued "going through the motions" as I tried deperately to hang onto any shred of hope for us there still might be. I was getting changed into something nicer now. Yet, the thoughts of her being pregnant with this young black man's baby and living with me made no sense to me at the time. 

"What was the meaning of all this?" I continued questioning myself. 

It was past six-thirty when I returned to the kitchen dressed in a pair of khaki slacks and a white short-sleeved shirt. I checked on the chicken roast and dinner, and kept the oven low to keep it warm. I even lit 3 candles and closed the curtains to keep the late afternoon Arizona sun from peeking in, a feeble attempt to create an even more relaxing mood. 

"Afterall, Julie did say that she was just running some errands with him. Right?" I reasoned, trying desperately to convince myself. 

Even more pathetically, I went to the bathroom cabinet and took one of my viagra pills "just in case." I wanted to feel "something" I suppose. This young black thug of a man had demeaned and disgraced me so much that I hadn't had an erection in so long. It was as if his demoralization of me shriveled up my puny, insignificant so-called manhood for so long. 

In the bathroom, I looked at my defeated and desperate image in the mirror. Then, I looked over to the small pile of Tra'mon's handwashed bikinis on the towel rack, which were still on hangers. I figured it would be best to hang them back up onto the shower rod, and did so. I covered them with the shower curtain so Julie would not see them if she had to use the toilet. 

Finally, I returned to the candle lit livingroom and sat down and waited. I looked at the clock on the wall and noticed that it was 6:40 p.m. now. She was about 25 minutes later than she had indicated in her texts. 

"I guess she will be home any minute now." I tried reasoning. 

Like a fool, I just sat there and waited. I checked on the meal a few times and hoped for a text message or call from Julie telling me of a time when she would finally be home. 

At 7:10 p.m., that text message finally came. 

"I'll be a little late." it read, simply. 

I froze when I read that message. It felt insulting that she had texted me she was going to be "a little late" when she had already been almost an hour late. It felt demeaning that she had already been gone for close to 10 hours "running errands" with the aggressive and mean black stud. I couldn't even return her text. I simply waited. 

At 8 o'clock, Julie texted me again.

"We'll be on our way back soon." it read.

Once again, I had no strength to text her back. I tried not to think the worst and 30 minutes later I was placing the cooked roast under the silver cover and tray set. I placed the salads out and covered them with a glass dome. I poured two glasses of expensive red wine and simply sat back and waited, downing one full glass myself to calm my nerves. I decided to sit at the table and just wait, in humiliation and hoping my blonde wife would be stepping through the door at any moment. 

Unconsciously, I dozed off with my head in the crook of my arms on the dining room table. I had no idea how long I had waited up to that point. None whatsoever. I had passed out cold.

When I finally awakened, I was startled. It was a bad dream that I couldn't remember that woke me so suddenly. My face was sweating and my thinning hair was beading with a heavier perspiration. My sleepy and blurred vision looked straight out towards the burning candles. They were more than halfways burned down by now and I glanced at the clock on the wall through the darkness of our condo. 

It was 10:45 p.m.

I pulled my head up slowly and glanced around. It was then that I heard the faint, but obvious sounds of grunting and moaning. I looked towards the sound and realized that it was coming from the bedroom. The door was closed shut. 

"Oh, no? Oh, Gawd?! N-No, please?" I moaned in disgrace.

Yes, I knew what was happening. It had to be. Those sounds couldn't have been anything else, yet I found myself slowly walking towards the bedroom door in utter disgrace. The pain in the pit of my stomach tightened as I began to smell the obvious scent of a marijuana cigarette.

The moans and grunts were coming from my beautiful, blonde wife as the young black stud was fucking her. Her sounds were not loud but constant and there were no words spoken by either Julie or Tra'mon. There were only steady fucking sounds coming from my bedroom. My face blushed another shade of red in the dimly lit condo as I hung my head in defeat. I listened for only a few moments before I turned and walked away in shame. I suppose a real man would have "bolted" through the doors and stopped another man from fucking his own wife, and in his own bed. Yet, my growing fear of the younger black prevented this. 

Meekly, I stepped back into the livingroom and sat down. I looked over to the still burning candles for a few moments as the steady and soft fucking sounds intensified, becoming only slightly louder. With that, I decided to get up and clear the table. It was apparent that the dinner I had prepared for Julie would not be shared. I stood up and turned on the small above the oven night light as I removed the fine china plates from the table. But, that is when the fucking noises suddenly stopped.

With the forks and knives in my trembling hands, I merely stood there as looked into the direction of the bedroom. There was a pause, and then the sound of the bedroom door opening, which caused me to freeze in a panic.

The condo apartment was still dimly lit. The little kitchenette light had only made the small area a shade or two brighter. But, that is when I noticed him! In the dim shadows, it was Tra'mon slowly and methodically strolling right towards me. My frozen panic suddenly turned to fear as I stood there grasping the silverware from our failed dinner. 

The young black stud was shirtless and wearing nothing but a pair of his usual flimsy nylon-lycra and spandex blend of material bikinis. These were of a noticeable animal, giraffe-print design as watched him approach with such cockiness. I swallowed loudly when he got to within a few feet of me. 

The black stud did not stop. He merely sneered as he approached and my eyes immediately fell to the floor to avoid his dominant and "cocky" stare. Tra'mon siimply "tapped" the side of my face three times, yet quickly as he passed by. The arrogance he exhibited was insulting, almost as if he was laughing inside as he "tapped" my right cheek to say "good boy" as he passed. He seemed almost amused by my presence standing there like a big wimp in the dimly lit kitchen after he had just fucked my wife. 

I turned ever so slightly towards him as I heard Tra'mon opening up the refrigerator door. The sound of things being moved around inside of the frige made me turn a shade more. The shadowed side view of his silhouette in the light of the opened frige was devastating. His already massive bulge in those obnoxiously flimsy bikini underwear hung low and outward, almost as if his now "spent" large cock was still swollen and searching on it's own for a more comfortable position. He was leaning down and looking around inside the refrigerator as he cockily scratched and shifted his ominous ball sack and cock inside of those flimsy bikini things. 

I grew more tense as I watched him grab the bottle of orange juice and stand straight up. 

Rudely, he opened the bottle of expensive orange juice and began to drink from it. I watched in awe as he gulped down nearly half of that bottle and placed it back into the frige, letting out a loud "after drink" sound of relief. He did not even close the frige door as he wiped his mouth with the back of his right hand. Casually, he glanced back towards me. My eyes fell to the floor, once again, avoiding his eyes. I could hear him catching his breath as he "belched" loudly and obnoxiously. The loud sound caused my eyes to move upward towards him. His bare, muscular and chiseled dark chest was covered in sweat as he began looking at the table where I had prepared dinner. 

Cockily, he took a step in that direction as I stood there, timidly, and on edge with every move he was making. 

With the light from the open refrigerator door beaming out, he noticed the table settings I had already started to clear. He removed the cover from the bowl of mashed sweet potatoes and rudely put his three fingers into it, scooping it up and putting it to his mouth. He smacked his fingers and repeated the callous action. 

Tra'mon then continued to look around the barely lit table. He was on the side Julie would have been sitting, and I wasn't sure that he knew this. But, the young black stud arrogantly grabbed the glass of red wine that I had poured for Julie. He swallowed it down with one large gulp and placed the glass back down onto the table. His eyes moved to my direction, and once again, my eyes fell to the floor. 

I felt Tra'mon approaching and my eyes began to tear. Inside, I was trembling just like a big sissy hoping and praying that he would not slap me. It almost felt as if he was amused by my lack of words and my inability to look him in the eyes. My eyes remained downward, in defeat. A bead of sweat began to form on my forehead. That is when I heard the "ping" sound of a crystal glass. The sound made my eyes move up from the floor and to the table where my half empty glass of red wine sat. 

I just looked at the glass of wine and saw Tra'mon "pinging" the glass with the finger nail of his index finger, once again. His strong fingers basically "toying" with the half filled glass I had been drinking from earlier that night. He seemed amused by making the sound as he "pinged" it a third time, and then a fourth time. His arrogance was ungodly. Nervously, I remained standing there in the darkness near the kitchen feeling terrified to look anywhere else but at that glass. I was frozen with the fear of the unexpected. 

With total and complete disdain, the black stud gently picked up my glass of red wine and "spat" inside of it. My eyes widened in disbelief as he gently set it back down onto the table and began turning his strong torso back towards me. My eyes fell back to the floor in a blink of the eye. I simply could not believe this act of total arrogance and disrespect. Yet, I was more afraid of what was still to come. 

No words had been spoken by him. He was doing this in total silence. But, just when I began to brace myself for yet another confrontation, the intimidating black stud approached me and rudely wiped his fingers off onto my nice white dress shirt before strolling right past me. 

I breathed a temporary sigh of relief as I turned my head to see him literally "strutting" away and towards the bathroom. He was walking in an obvious and riduclous slow motion walk. His flimsy, giraffe-printed bikini asscheeks blatantly and powerfully strode away from me with such arrogance. Still, I was standing there in my silent fear as I heard the young black man begin to urinate in the bathroom. He left the door halfways opened and was now pissing. The sounds of his long stream hitting the inside of the toilet bowl suddenly broken into smaller, jetting and pulsating-like streams.

I tensed up even more as I heard a long, deafening pause. I had expected to hear the sound of a flushing toilet, but that never came. It seemed to be taking him a few minutes longer before I heard the soft creaking sound of the bathroom door opening up more. In awe, I watched Tra'mon in the dim shadows of our condo apartment stroll boldly back into my bedroom and casually shut the door. 

Part of me was relieved that he didn't feel like confronting me that night. Another part of me was humiliated beyond anything because he had gone back inside the bedroom to be with Julie. I was mortified to think that he was making it seem like he would be spending the rest of the night here? He had made that so clear. 

Within seconds, the sound of the black man fucking my blonde wife started again. It was a faint, but very abrupt and noticeable sound. 

"Oh, gawd!" I gasped. 

I was demoralized by how quickly he had began fucking her again. His breif and sudden presence to "take a break" was defeating. I was shocked and scared that he was even here in the first place. None of this was making much sense to me at the time. I only knew that my mere shred of hope to be with Julie again was diminishing even more. Further defeated, I just turned and continued cleaning up in the kitchen and clearing the unused dinner table. I closed the refrigerator door he had left open on purpose. I was appalled by his rude actions, and in total disgust I threw away the bowl of mashed sweet potatoes he had stuck his fingers in. I also tossed the glass of red wine he had spit in down the the drain of the kitchen sink. 

Within a few minutes, the fucking noises stopped. The soft, subtle moans and grunts from Julie had ceased. It was so sudden, and it made me feel as if he had been fucking her while she was passed out, or sleeping? I couldn't imagine any other reason why her sounds were so faint, quiet and mellow before stopping so quickly. They weren't the sounds of her reaching an orgasm. They were more like sounds of the black stud simply using her for his own purpose. 

The thought was terribly revolting to me. 

I knew that I would be sleeping on the couch again while Tra'mon was in my bedroom with my wife. In utter shame, I minced my way to the bathroom to turn off the light he had left on.

The sight of what I was now looking at nearly made my heart stop!

With utmost arrogance, Tra'mon had "purposely" and "deliberently" left a mess. A small mess, but an obvious and disgusting mess. 

On the bathroom mirror were the words "CLEAN THIS SHIT UP, PUSSY!" written in Julie's lipstick. I looked down to the floor to see that Tra'mon had left two large droplets of his piss on the rim of the toilet, and he had spit onto the floor. His thick, arrogant "glob" of saliva was a red pinkish hue from the wine he swallowed minutes before. Yes, it was that obvious. There was also a balled up and used tissue sitting on the floor before the toilet bowl. It was the tissue he used to wipe his cock after he had urinated.

"Oh my gawd!?!! What the ...?" I screamed inside.

The sight of this was uncanny. It was truly the most rude act I had ever witnessed. I couldn't conceive the gall he had. This younger black man had such gall by doing this. I realized that he was not only making another "statement" of his black authority, but he was making a complete "mockery" of the entire situation now, and I had no idea what to do next. 

Like a tremendous "pussy," I reasoned that I had no choice but to clean up. I simply could not just leave the bathroom looking like this. The tought of leaving it alone had crossed my mind, yet other thoughts of getting slapped around came to my affected mind again. Part of me wanted to leave it alone so that Julie could see just how mean her black stud was being to me, and how "crass" he was acting. But, then I wasn't sure how she might react. 

With the feeling of complete and total defeat and humiliation running through my entire body, I bent down and cleaned up. I never felt so demoralized as I wiped the intentionally left piss stains from the toilet rim. I winced in degradation as I wiped the black man's spit from the tiled floor of the bathroom. Cleaning up after him was even more defeating than having my timid face stuffed into the center of his nylon-spandex covered ass cheeks. Humiliatingly, I finally managed to clean the lipstick printed words from the mirror. It took nearly 15 minutes to do that, alone. 

Totally embarrassed, I walked back to the sofa in shame and set my head down upon the pillow. I just wanted to go to sleep. I wanted to forget about this night in the worst way. It was past 11:30 that night when I finally was able to fall asleep in shame, once again.  

I was briefly awakened just past 3 o'clock that morning by the sounds of Tra'mon fucking Julie again. Once again, the sounds were subtle and soft yet detectable. They lasted only 10 minutes as I layed there cowering on the sofa. I layed there, curled up in a near fetal position listening to the young black stud pounding away at my wife's pussy in the middle of the night.

The tears in my eyes blurred my vision as I stayed still, curled up on the couch like a frightened and timid little rabbit. I was relieved when the noise finally stopped and I was able to close my eyes again. 

I fell back asleep, in utter shame.



Black Man One Ch. 25



The next morning I woke up startled once again. I was not exactly sure what had awakened me so suddenly, but I reasoned that it had to be yet another bad dream. 

I was laying on my right side on the sofa couch curled up as I peered outward. The bright morning sunlight was trying to peek through the curtains which I had closed last night. It was my feeble attempt to create a nicer mood for having dinner with my wife several hours before. Then, the faint sounds of Tra'mon fucking Julie reached my ears. 

"Oh, gawd." I cried. 

"Not again?" I moaned to myself.

Yes, he was fucking her again. I was mortified and in awe that he was fucking her for the fourth time since 10:45 p.m. last night. I had no concept of time then, but I reasoned it had to be past 8 in the morning. The brightness of the Arizona sun trying to break through the closed curtains provided this answer for me. 

As the sounds of fucking grew more intense, I finally managed to pick myself off the sofa to look at the clock on the wall. It was already 9:30?! My shoulders fell in defeat as I stood up and walked over to the kitchen and opened the curtains. It was an extremely bright and sunny day, yet I felt as if there were a grey cloud looming over the top of me.

The fucking sounds grew slightly louder, but only for a moment. The grunts and moans coming from Julie behind closed doors were much more pronounced than they were from the night before. I reasoned that she had to be more awake this time, and her moans were a demoralizing combination of both pain and pleasure. It felt as if my face turned another shade of red with every grunt and moan overheard. 

Defeatedly, I stood at the kitchen counter and put on a pot of coffee. As the coffee brewed, I glanced down to my side past the edge of the tiled kitchen floor and to the carpeting bordering it. I noticed a red "spot" on the light carpet between the kitchen tile and our bedroom. Initially, I had no idea what it was until I bent down to examine it closer. It looked like a quarter-sized spot or blotch of dilluted red wine. 

"How did this get there?" I asked myself, confused. 

I returned to the kitchen to fetch a small towel and dampened it. When I knelt down on the carpet with this wet rag-like towel I could see this spot was, in fact, a dilluted spot of red wine. It seemed to be caused my the young black stud literally "spitting" onto the carpet. At least, this was my first humiliating thought. 

"It c-couldn't be? H-He wouldn't?!" I contemplated. 

Nevertheless, it seemed to be staining the lighter shade of carpet and I began trying to rub it out. I was still confused by how it got there and I then reasoned that, perhaps, I had accidentally spilled a "glob" of it from my glass last night. As I continued cleaning it, the sounds of Tra'mon fucking Julie finally ceased. And, it ceased abruptly. 

I froze as I heard his muffled voice saying something to my wife. From my kneeling position, I fell to the backs of my legs into more of a sitting position. I held the dampened towel in both of my hands and on my lap before me. The brief verbal exchanges suddenly stopped as the bedroom door slowly opened. Now, I knelt there frozen in fear of the unknown. 

That is when I saw Tra'mon stepping out of the bedroom and into the living area. 

The young, black stud was only slightly perspiring this time. My view was facing straight towards him and the bedroom door as He began his first strides towards me. His mammoth cock bulge in those skimpy and ultra flimsy giraffe-printed, nylon-lycra spandex bikini underwear literally "jutted" outward in the most obnoxious and disgusting manner. My eyes immediately fell to the floor as I suddenly realized the compromising position I was in. I was still sitting on the backs of my legs, on my knees and holding a dampened towel after attempting to clean the red wine stain from the carpet. 

Silently, I kept my head down. I was hoping that the black stud would simply have mercy on me and leave our condo apartment. Tra'mon had gotten exactly what he wanted already. He had gotten what he wanted last night, and there was no reason for anything else to happen. This was my thought at the time. 

He had taken my wife out all day yesterday, and he had fucked her on and off all night long. He had already disgraced me, and I had already been defeated and humiliated. I had already cowered in fear before him, and I had no fight in me whatsoever. These are the thoughts that came to mind as I felt his strong and powerful presence now standing before me. He truly intimidated me. 

In silence, my head remained down and "bowed" in shame as Tra'mon continued standing before me. His silence was making me even more nervous, and the few moments that he had been standing there so far truly felt like several minutes of anguish for me. I was extremely confused. I could not understand why he was just standing there as I knelt there humbling myself before him. I wondered if he was waiting for me to look up to him, or say something. 

His presence and the awkward delay alone seemed to command my eyes to begin crawling upwards towards him.

The young, black man's horrifying cock bulge in those wispy animal-printed bikinis were insulting to me. He was still wearing the same ones from last night and his swollen and "spent" cock bulged ridiculously out of control. I could see they were freshly dampened by the combination of his seed and my wife's pussy juices. It was also noticeable that the crotch region of these bikinis had been dried with previous cum stains.

As my eyes noticed this, I could no longer bring them up any higher. Submissively, my eyes lowered back down to the floor at his feet, demoralizingly catching the brief image of the bedroom door, which was wide open in the distance behind him. 

Still, no words had been spoken. 

The uncomfortable silence was beginning to make me quiver. I felt as if the black stud was going to do something to me, but I had no idea what? He certainly didn't have to. I was already defeated and my eyes were lowered in shame. Somehow, and in unconscious fashion, a whisper came from my lips. 

I have no clue as to why a sound came from me. Perhaps, this long delay caused my fear to heighten and my unconscious pleas became vocal. 

"P-P-Please?" I groveled in a barely detectable whisper, a single tear beginning to well up in the corner of my eye.

Tra'mon did not return any words. 

With uncanny arrogance, he simply put his powerful right hand to the top of my head. He grasped a fistful of my thinning hair and clenched it even tighter. He even tightened the grip a extra notch as I knelt there feeling the rush of pain to my scalp. That is when the young black man turned his torso until his muscular ass cheeks were in plain view and right before my petrified, weak face. 

In silence, I was forced to look at it for a brief moment as I feared the worst. With one sudden and calculated move, he then pulled my face dead center into his bikini-covered backside. Aggressively, he stuffed his ass into my face and began "rubbing" and "grinding" my face into the thinly nylon-spandex material of his bikini clas ass.

"Mmpfph, Mmpfph." I echoed in defeat. 

My weak shoulders slumped and my arms grew even weaker. My hands remained on my lap as I clenched the dampened towel. Arrogantly, he simply continued controlling my head and "mashing" my flustered face into his sweat-dampened giraffe-print bikini butt cheeks. He further reddened my cowardly face. Humiliatingly, he continued this ultra-degrading motion for no less than an eternal two minutes before finally letting go of my hair.

I breathed a demoralizing sigh of relief as I tried catching my breath. 

His cockiness and arrogance were unreal. Despite the breifness of this obnoxious action, my face felt like a beaten mess once again. My breathing remained heavy as I tried to catch my breath, again. My eyes were barely opened in shame as I glanced forward to see Tra'mon's now bare crotch area. He had removed the flimsy, worn bikinis from his body and was now holding them inches before me. 

My weakened arms remained down on my lap as the black stud placed them over my head and face. 

With disdain, he had positioned his bikini underwear over my face, once again. Arrogantly, he made sure the musky-scented crotch area of his bikinis rested over my nose with the leg holes over my eyes. He snapped the waist band of them over my ears, forcing me to wear this disgusting bikini underwear like some sort of mask of of complete and total degradation. 

Intimidated, I barely looked straight ahead as I heard the slight sound of his amusement. He stood there only for a moment almost as if he was waiting for me to contest this act of arrogance. But, I did not. I simply knelt there as I watched Tra'mon turn and strut his powerful body into the bathroom. He was nude as he did so. Seconds later, I heard the sound of running water ashe turned the shower on to it's full potential.

It was obvious that the young black man was now taking a shower. I remained kneeling in this position for a moment, uneasy and totally humiliated. I simply did not know what to do. In fear, I contemplated whether or not it would anger Tra'mon if I removed his raunchy bikini underwear from my face. I certainly did not want that. Not at all. But, that is when I glanced up and towards the open bedroom door 25 feet before me. I noticed Julie. 

There, sitting on the edge of the bed was my blonde wife with her head in her hands. Her african-braided blonde hair cascaded down over the top of her head, and towards the floor. It was obvious that she was completely "fucked out" as her body position was facing directly towards me. 

"Oh, Gawd!" I thought.

"Did Julie see all that?" I wondered. 

Without much thought, I quickly removed the black man's giraffe-printed bikini underwear from my head. Perhaps, I was trying to convince myself that I had removed them before Julie could actually see me with them on my face. I felt like such a weak wimp. Desperately, I curled them up into a tight ball and put them into the palm of my shaking hand, attempting to conceal them. I managed to do this a mere second before I noticed her getting of the bed and standing up. She got to her feet and non chalantly slipped into a pair of white panties. Then, she slipped on a black half tee shirt that had been laying on the bedroom floor before the bed. 

My face felt flush as Julie began stepping out of the bedroom. Humiliated, I rose to my feet and stood there. My eyes were staring straight at her now, yet her eyes remained fatigued and uunconcerned by my presence. Her large, enhanced breasts stretched that miniature black half tee shirt outward as I noticed the letters and symbol on the front. In white letters, the words "Black Jacques Club Arizona" were displayed with a black power fist symbol in the same white print beneath it. The lump in my throat felt even larger. 

Here was my beautiful, blonde wife who had never worn black before, now wearing black again. 

It was so apparent that Julie was totally "fucked out" of her mind. She appeared so incoherent as she held her head and walked right past me, and into the kitchen. She was either ignoring me or could barely comprehend that I was standing there. I felt almost invisible to her. 

"Is that coffee you're making?" she whispered. 

Her sudden words caught me off guard. I was stunned that she had just spoken to me, and with the black stud in the same condo apartment as we were in too?! She had rarely spoken to me in his presence before, even though he was in the bathroom at this time. 

"Um, y-yes. Would y-you like some, Julie?" I quivered, surprised by her request. 

"Please." she answered, simply and politely, her head remained down into hand trying to wake up. 

As I poured Julie a cup of coffee, it occurred to me that she never really drank coffee before. She had the occasional latt'e from Starbucks, but those times were extremely few and far in between. Just as I placed the cup onto the saucer, I heard the sound of the shower turning off. 

It had stopped and I became tense. It was the quickest three minute shower I could imagine as I placed the coffee before Julie. She was sitting at the kitchen table when I realized that Tra'mon would be emerging from the other room soon. It felt defeating that I would not be able to continue speaking with Julie, just when she had finally initiated a conversation. 

Julie glanced up when she heard the sound of Tra'mon getting out of the shower. It was as if she suddenly realized that he was still here. But, the expression on her pretty face actually mortified me. 

My beautiful, blonde wife had left for a day of running errands with an obvious "cum-stained" face. Now, her pretty features looked considerably worse. It appeared there were several additional blotches of the black man's thick seed dried onto her once flawless face. Her face had the horrific stud's powerful cum seed now "caked" dry onto her cheeks, chin and forehead. There had to be three times more dried up sperm on her face now?! 

"Geezuz?!" I moaned inside. 

Julie put her head back down to her coffee and began sipping the hot beverage. I turned and looked towards the bathroom, trembling nervously as I heard the sounds of hangers rustling around and being tossed onto the tiled floor. They were the hangers where I had placed Tra'mon's bikinis onto after I was made to handwash them. In my mind, it sounded as if he was selecting a pair and then disgarding the others. This turned out to be almost accurate.

Moments later, the black stud emerged from the bathroom wearing one of the skimpy and flimsy pairs of underwear I had dutifully washed. They were a darker, neon pewter-colored pair of bikini underwear which made his already massive cock look even larger. Tra'mon also had a small white hand towel around his muscular neck. His presence made my eyes fall to the floor, again. 

I simply stood there shaking like a leaf on a tree as he drew nearer. My knees weakened even more with every step he took in my direction. I swallowed loudly and clenched his used giraffe-printed bikinis in my right hand as my tall, weakened body tensed up. Casually, he strolled right past me and headed straight to the refrigerator. He intimidated me to no end, yet it was as if he hardly was concerned by me at all. 

Julie reamined at the kitchen table cradling her cup of black coffee with her eyes looking deeply into the steam rising from it. 

Boldly, Tra'mon opened the fridge and repeated the rude action of drinking orange juice from the bottle. He swallowed another "gulp" of the juice and held the bottle in his left hand. That is when he extended the top of his right hand towards Julie. As she noticed it, she paused for merely a moment before she reached for it and then took his hand into hers. She then kissed the top of his right hand. 

I was appalled and shocked beyond belief. 

His act of arrogance in holding out his hand for my wife to kiss it was astonsihing. It was like he was acting like some sort of "black god" or "black king" as he gestured his command for her to pay homage to him. Unbelievably, Julie complied. She obeyed, kissing the top of his dark hand as if she was his servant.

The image of this action was humbly, to say the least. No words were spoken. He simply made her kiss the top of his hand before turning and walking out of our condo apartment with the remainder of the orange juice in his hand. Just seeing Julie return to her coffee lost in thought sent a shiver of defeat through my veins. There was a long pause before I could even move my lips. I didn't know what to say, but I felt compelled to say something. I do not know why. 

"Are y-you going to sh-shower now, Julie?" I asked, hoping for a positive response.

She looked so awful. So used. It was mortifying to realize that she might even go out in this condition, again. I couldn't fathom the idea of Julie going outdoors with her face looking like that. Perhaps, this is the reason I was asking. I wasn't exactly sure why at this moment. 

"In a minute." Julie returned, softly. 

Meekly, I stepped away from my wife. I had so many questions as to why she was out so long "running errands" yesterday. I was curious as to why she had agreed to dinner and then left me stranded, alone. I wanted to know where she went and what took so long to get home. I had all these questions, yet I felt too defeated and weak to ask them. 

As I stepped into the bathroom, I was greeted by the site of what the black stud had left behind. A larger wet towel was callously splattered on the floor. Small puddles of water from the black man's feet were all over the floor as well. Numerous pairs of his bikini underwear which I had "handwashed" the day before were now laying in the bathtub. He had tossed them, hangers and all, into the foot of the soapy shower water of the bath tub. They were dirty, once again. 

My eyes widened in disbelief. It was such a rude action that it made my heart fall in shame. When I looked out from the bathroom and back to Julie, she was still sitting at the kitchen table. I felt humbled. It was then when I reasoned that I had better just clean up his mess before she came into the bathroom. 

Worriedly, I gathered the strewn pairs of bikini underwear from the tub in my weak arms. I placed them onto the counter top next to the sink and began cleaning up after the black stud. I was having one of the worst feelings ever as I knelt on the floor wiping up the water Tra'mon had left behind, and that is when I heard Julie entering the bathroom.

"I need to shower now." she said, casually. 

Startled by her presence, I glanced behind me and noticed my blonde wife putting on a shower cap over her blonde african-braided hair. Her eyes were avoiding me as she seemed more focused on getting showered than my degrading position on the floor and on my hands and knees. 

"O-Okay." I whispered, meekly. 

Julie casually swept past me and turned on the shower. She was leaning over in merely her white bikini panties and black half tee shirt. In complete humiliation, I noticed my wife's backside was still dripping with the black stud's thick seed. The back of her tiny white nylon panties were drenched in cum, and noticeable trails of it were streaming down her inner thighs. My eyes widened for a moment in shock, and then fell to the floor as she turned around. Her swift and casual motion had caught me off guard. 

When I finally stood up and turned towards the door, Julie spoke again. 

"Will you take those off the counter now?" she asked, referring to Tra'mon's flimsy and now soap-dampened bikini underwear. 

My face flushed as I watched Julie remove her tee shirt. For a brief moment, I was stunned by the sight of her new large, enhanced breasts jutting out in the open like that. More degrading were the two spade symblol tattoos with the letter "T" for Trey carved out in flesh in the middle of each of these black spade images. 

Defeatedly, I gathered up the large pile of 25 pairs of Tra'mon's bikinis. I held them in my arms and stood there, motionless and confused. Julie wasn't even paying attention to me as I watched her now slip out of her delicate white panties. Her eyes remained "Shying" away from me as I stood there in complete shame. 

Even more humiliating was the fact that my beautiful wife took her panties off and held them for a moment before her with two fingers. She didn't even look at them, but it was obvious that they were nearly dripping with the thick cum from the black stud. She proceded to place them gently and directly on top of the pile of the young black's man's skimpy underwear I was holding. 

Her non chalant action was truly demoralizing. She has just placed her cum-soaked and cum-stained white panties right under my nose, in a sense, and directly on top of the pile of Tra'mon's soiled power bikinis. 




Black Man One Ch. 25



Julie did not utter a syllable. She simply turned away and gracefully stepped into the shower. Mortified beyond belief, I stood there holding all pairs of Tra'mon's bikinis in my arms with my own wife's soaked panties resting on top of them. 

It was truly a degrading slap in the face for me. Ashamed, I passively turned and walked out of the bathroom as my gorgeous blonde wife began her morning shower. 

I was appalled by her actions. She was so casual and unconcerned about how this was making me feel, or so it seemed. It appeared the only thing on her mind was getting washed, dressed and ready for the young black man. For some reason, I expected Julie to at least apologize for not making it home on time for dinner. But, there was nothing. She said nothing about it. 

Not a word would ever be said about it, either.

Degraded, I simply walked into the bedroom and placed the pile of dirty bikinis onto the floor near the door. I sat on the edge of the bed with my head hung in shame listening to the distant sound of Julie showering.

A fleeting hope that I might just be able to have a few words with my blonde wife after her shower was crushed 15 minutes later. As Julie emerged from the steaming bathroom, I looked up to see her scurrying into the bedroom with her bath towel hanging from her supple breasts. She ran to the chest of drawers and began pulling out articles of clothing. Her actions were those of a rushed maniac. 

"Wh-Where are you going, Julie? I th-thought we might sit and talk for awhile." I sniveled. 

Julie's frustration seemed to begin to reach a boiling state. 

"Talk? I don't have time to talk, Richard. We have nothing to say right now. I've got to go to work for awhile, so just let it go!" Julie snarled. 

Her sudden outrage silenced me. It was obvious that I was beginning to push her limits, and her "new rule" of not talking to one another so much was something she meant. I realized this now.

My wife stopped talking as she readied herself faster than I had ever seen before. 

She put on a pair of new white spandex tights and the black thonged leotard club uniform over them. Julie added pink anklet socks and matching sneakers as she turned and faced the mirror to prepare her makeup. I watched humbly as I noticed her now massive, altered breasts pounding forward to proudly display her two black spade tattoos. When she coifed her long, brilliant blonde hair and added a thick coat of bright red lipstick to her lips I stared at her longingly. Julie noticed me looking at her from her view in the mirror. 

"Stop staring at me like that, Richard. I'm getting sick of those sad puppy dog eyes." Julie scolded. 

I had no words. I looked back down to the floor as my wife gathered a few extra things from her bureau and shoved them into a large gym bag. 

"We'll be back by three. My boss says he's leaving the gym early today." Julie warned as she turned and darted out the door.

Like a love sick puppy, I decided to go to the window this time and watch my blonde wife leave with the young, black stud. It wasn't that I wanted to add more humiliation to my already beaten mental state. I simply couldn't believe how much Julie had changed. I was awed my the changes to her once flawless body, and I was in shock by the changes to her demeanor. 

Things were beginning to feel different now. Unfortunately for me, though, this wouldn't be more than a glimpse of what was yet to come. 

end. chapter 25.



Black Man One Ch. 26



There was still a great deal of confusion left inside of me. Those who can relate to the events leading up to this point believe that I should have simply fled, like the other 4 white husbands. Others think I should have stood up to him. But, I could never do that. I knew this now. 

My intense fear of the young, black stud and the desperate sliver of hope that I still had getting Julie back were the only things keeping me around for the time being.

I knew that I had been defeated. 

I had been defeated by black men in the past, but those times weren't anything remotely close to this demoralization. I did not revel in this defeat, nor did I want it. I was not "excited" by my defeat in the least bit. Like millions of other weaker white men who have lost their woman to the dominance of a black man, I was confused. Simply confused. I was also terribly afraid of what was yet to come.

My beautiful, blonde wife had left our condo apartment with Tra'mon. Several minutes later, I recalled her last words as she was leaving for work at his workout center. She had referred to the time they would be returning. This thought would bring on additional feelings of insecurity and concern. I wasn't sure why they would be coming back so soon on this particular day. Generally, being at the black man's new workout center was an all day event followed by an all night "after work drink" at that terrifying club.

But, today they were coming back early and I had no idea what I should do. 

The other remaining 8 white husbands in the condo community had obviously left for their offices already. Their cars were no longer in the parking lot. I was now the only husband at home. 

With the concern of Tra'mon returning earlier than usual still looming over me, I decided that I should just complete the degrading chore that he had resurrected. I felt it would be best for me to finish handwashing the flimsy little bikini things he had purposely re-soiled in the soapy bath water that morning before he left. The brazen manner in which he so rudely tossed the previously-washed bikinis into the tub water after his shower was insulting for me. 

He didn't have to do that. But, he did. The thought of him doing this as some sort of "test" crossed my mind as well. 

Defeatedly, I completed this humbling task by the end of the hour. Then, I began taking a shower myself. With my head bowed in shame I began getting dressed. 

After cleaning up in the kitchen and making the bed my wife and I once slept in together, I became fatigued. The horrfic thought that this young black stud had been fucking my wife all night in this bed was tremendously humbling for me. My weak arms felt weaker, and my mind continued to wander. I knew that I needed sleep, and after another 2 hours of cleaning I finally rested my head down upon the arm of the sofa. With one quick glance over to the clock on the wall I closed my eyes and passed out. It was ten minutes after 1 o'clock in the afternoon. 

Once again, I would dream of the days when Julie and I were together. These were the days when she thought of me as a man, and as a real man. All the "little white lies" of my masculinity were working so well back then. Now, this powerful and aggressive young black stud was exposing me for what I really was. He was forcing me to face the truth, and he was completely relentless in doing so. 

But, reality hit home when I was "jolted" out my peaceful slumber by the sound of music coming from the pool area. My forehead was beading with sweat as I sat up and then jumped up from the sofa looking back at the clock. It was half past four and I had been sleeping for more than 3 hours. It felt like only 15 minutes had gone by. 

"Holy Krist! It's past 4 already?" I yelped. 

The sound of the black rap music from outside was literally pounding away. I could even feel the vibrations against the building and on the floor under my feet. The faint sounds of a crowd mingling around the pool area below became more and more apparent. The greater part of me knew that my wife and Tra'mon were out there now, but a smaller part of me felt compelled to look anyway. The sounds just seemed so unusual to me at this time of the day, and it felt like there were many other people out there too. 

Tentatively, I stepped into the kitchen and towards the back window of my condo unit to take a look. But, then I "chickened" out. I did not want to see what I was suspecting in my already defeated mind. I decided to rush over to the bathroom window first, peering out towards the parking lot to the front side of the building. There were numerous cars parked. Only some were familiar. 

There were several cars that were not recognizable to me. But, the cars of the other 8 white husbands who lived in the building were now parked there, too. Theirs seemed to be parked in the general area next to my car. Unconsciously, it was as if all the white husbands' cars were huddled together in the same manner we were all huddled together talking about the tough black man nights before. 

I reasoned they had already returned from their jobs, but it also seemed to be a little earlier than usual for them.

Curiously, I walked down to the parking lot entrance in back to take a closer look. I was in the hallway peering out as I noticed two other white women exiting their cars. They began walking towards the building in my direction, and they were dressed in bikinis, small bikini skirts or wraps around their waists, and high heels. I was just standing there with a timid look upon my face when they looked towards me. They barely looked at me for a moment as they approached. Strangely, they suddenly turned to their right and headed in the direction of the back pool area.

That is when I noticed the bright yellow sheet of paper taped backwards onto the glass door in front of me. It was taped backwards for those approaching to read, and it felt odd that I had not noticed it before. When I first came downstairs, my focus had been on those white women approaching the building and I looked right past it. I stepped outside and looked back to read it. It read "Trey's Club Roar Party out back. No white boys!" with a bold, black arrow pointing to the right. The arrow directed guests to the back entrance to the condo's large pool area where the music was eminating. 

"Geezuz. That seems kinda rude?" I pondered, shamefully.

The young, black stud had made a statement that us white husbands or investors were not invited. It was not like I would have any desire to do so, anyway. Nor, would the other white husbands. I was fairly sure of that. Yet, the fact that he made this point very clear, and in writing, the humiliation began setting in much deeper.

As the loud rap music vibrated from the short distance around the back of the building, I decided to go back upstairs and take a look for myself. I suppose it was the curiosity, once again. Or, maybe it was that I just wanted to see Julie again? I wasn't sure. 

Looking back, I wish that I hadn't been so curious. I now wish that I didn't look back there at all. I should have left it alone and accepted the fact they were having this little "get together" for the fitness center and it was none of my business. 

I returned to my apartment and now stood at the back window ready to peer out towards the pool. By the sound of it, this "little party" seemed to be going at full mast. Although I reasoned that it had to begin only a short time ago, the energy seemed more like the middle of a party.

Passively and cowardly, I "peeked" out past the kitchen curtains to see the rather large group of people milling around. Many, if not most of them, seemed to be from the black stud's workout center, or gym. They had to be. 

What I saw was completely and totally humbling.

There, right before my eyes one floor below was the group of young black men and white women gathered around the luxurious pool area. The young black men consisted of Tra'mon and the 5 other athletic trainers from his Club Roar workout center. I had not spotted Tra'mon just yet, though. The white women consisted of all of the white wives from the condo building, which included Julie, and at least another 10 beautiful white women between the ages of 25 and 40. 

My eyes scanned the entire pool area searching for Julie. I did not see her initially due to parts of the small crowd blocking her position. Everyone was dressed in swimwear. The 5 young, black stud trainers from the gym were dressed in skimpy black bikini speedoes suits. They were the same obnoxious liquid-appearing black bikini suits with the small, half-dollar sized logo from the club positioned on the left front side nearest their thin waistbands. The numerous white women were all noticeably attractive. Each was dressed in merely a two-piece bikini varying in colors, with 4 to 5 inch high heels upon their feet. Many of these women were the same "friends" of Tra'mon's, which I had seen before. A few of them were not. 

"Gosh! There must be close to 25 women here?" I thought.

"Where's Julie?" I asked myself, as my eyes continued canvassing the pool area. 

The longer I looked, the more I observed. It suddenly occurred to me that all these pretty white women were so "attentive" to these younger, black stud men. The 25 white women and the total of 6 black men hanging around the pool area was more like a "dagger through the hearts" of all white men. The manner in which these gorgeous white women remained so attentive to these black studs was almost surreal. I found it so humbling and hard to believe what my eyes were just beginning to observe.

Two of the five black stud trainers were sitting on chaise lounge chairs with their feet extended outward resting on the ends. Both of them had two white women on their knees, sitting at their feet and massaging one foot each. One woman was at their right foot and the other was at their left. A third white woman sat off to their sides. Those 2 black trainers were simply sitting and relaxing so casually with their shades reflecting in the bright sun light. Drinks were in their hands as they spoke to each other in a very non chalant manner. 

Those two black trainers were just sitting there as if they were kings while the white women at their feet obediently massaged them. The white women sitting off to their sides just knelt there quietly, sitting on the backs of their legs as if they were servants in waiting, and waiting for the next command. 

"Geezuz!" I gasped inside.

"Where's Julie? Where's Tra'mon?" I asked myself, again.

The three other black trainers were standing around in their black bikini speedoes suits and sandals. They were fairly spread out, one being closer to the Tiki Bar setup and another closer to the pool. The last one closer to the small set of tables with picnic umbrellas placed into the center of them. Each one of these other 3 black trainers had 4 or 5 white women standing around them, dressed in their bikinis and heels. From a short distance they seemed more like "groupies."

Shockingly, one of the white women "groupies" around each black man was holding a small paper plate of food with a plastic fork in her hand. The other pretty women standing around each of these black studs was holding a glass of champagne, or holding two glasses in their hands. One would be holding a drink glass and an ash tray.

Still, I hadn't seen my beautiful blonde wife and Tra'mon at this point. The small, broken apart clusters of people may have been concealing my full view of them. I wasn't sure. Everytime I thought I saw Jule and did a double-take she appeared to vanish from my sight.  

I continued to watch in utter amazement as the small group of pretty white women stood around one of these tough-looking black men in silence. Each woman seemed so mesmorised by the "buff" black stud standing before them in the most catastrophically small bikinis. Astonishingly, the one woman with the plate would begin to feed the black trainer before her as he remained standing with his powerful arms crossed. When he wanted a drink, another woman would hand him a glass of champagne and wait for him to take a sip of it. When they smoked a "blunt" cigarette or regular cigarette another white women held it up for the black stud to disgard his ashes. 

The women would accept the glass back in a subservient manner when he decided he was finished with it. When I "cracked" open the sliding back door a few inches the scent of marijuana was evident in the afternoon air. 

"What the?..." I bellowed. 

"They're acting like they're some sort of gods or something?!" I scorned, my face feeling flushed.

Defeatedly, my eyes continued to scan the area searching for Julie. I noticed the top of Tra'mon's dark-skinned shaven head between some people milling around, but I could not see Julie. Not yet. It was a mere glimpse at this point. 

But, I noticed the 4 white wives that had been "rumored" to be pregnant with the black stud's baby. These were the 4 women whose husbands had already left the condo community. Their faces seemed rather unaffected, almost as if they were focused upon something else. I looked at their bellies and it didn't "really" seem like they were carrying a child. I suppose that I was trying to convince myself they weren't pregnant. I don't know why? It was more likely just too early in their pregnancies to notice? 

However, let the truth be told that every one of these 4 wives had the same, distinct 2-inch sized large spade symbol tattooed dead center on their lower backs just above their bikini lines. 

I peered closer, but was unable to see clearly. Their standing positions were more off center and to the side. This is the reason why I ran to the closet and grabbed my pair of binoculars. For some unknown reason, I just had to see these tattoos for myself. 

I've had these miltary-issued binoculars for many years, obviously since my military days. I had hardly used them since, but I just had to know if their blatant spade symbol tattoos were the same ones as Julies' bold ones. I wasn't sure why I needed to know. I just did. Looking back, it was another poor decision stemming from my defeated and humbled mind.

With my binoculars in hand, I spotted Karen and "zoomed in" to her lower back. Yes, it was the exact same grotesquely large spade symbol tattoo in black. The two blank black-inked outline of ribbons were positioned on both sides of this tattoo. The black outline with the flesh toned blank spots inside was "seemingly" waiting for something to be added, or filled in.

"Oh, Geez!" I muttered.

"What is it with these women with black guys always having tattoos?" I asked myself. 

When I spotted the other 3 white wives rumored to be pregnant, I did the same. Yes, they had the exact same tattoo on their lower backs. It was like the new tattoo was now their new "tramp stamp," to use a term I had heard in the army. 

With a strange feeling of confusion, I began focusing in on the other white women that I was able to see. All of them had a large spade tattoo printed in deep, dark ink on their lower backs. Not some of them, but all of them. 

Not all of them had the accompanying blank ribbons darting outward to each side. Yet, they all had these massive two-inch spade designs on their lower backs. Some of these women did have a smaller spade tattoo on their breasts, like Julie had. But, just one of them and not on both breasts. Some of these women had another tattoo on their arms, back shoulders or neck. But, I was unable to determine exactly what they were due to their body positions and consistent subtle body movements. 

Then, it occurred to me that none of these other white women had their entire arms and shoulders tattooed with the "Roar Club" symbol, like my wife Julie had. She was the only one. 

"Geezuz. Julie told me she got those for the club and they were easier than wearing an arm band?" I thought. 

"She said those meant she worked at the club?" I gasped, remembering her own words.

"Why don't the other women who work at the club have those?" I pondered. 

With my eyes in the binoculars, I began scanning the small group of people from left to right, and then back again. It was humiliating to see all these beautiful white women acting so casual and non chalant in this more than obvious subservient manner. I glanced at the women massaging the feet of those two sitting black trainers. Their faces didn't seem happy or sad, nor did they seem very festive for this type of party. Their faces simply appeared to be exceptionally "accepting" of the situation. 

Again, I continued peering side to side, back and forth, and now with greater shame developing inside. My throat ran dry as my casual observations of shock and awe began to feel even more defeating. But, nothing would prepare me for what I was about to witness when I finally spotted my blonde wife, Julie, and the terrifying and intimidating young black stud, Tra'mon.

My eyes caught a mere glimpse, or at least I initially thought it was them. My eyes had to double back to make sure. As one of the small clutters of people standing around "shifted" ever so slightly, I was now faced with a much more clearer view of them. 

"WHAT THE HELL?!" I yelled out loud, dropping my military binoculars from my weakened hands.

There, at the furthest corner of the marbled pool area was Julie and Tra'mon milling around with 3 of the most beautiful white women in the entire group. The young black stud was the only black man not wearing a black speedoes bikini for this little gathering. He was clad in the most ultra-flimsy bikini of a neon hot pink color that I ever saw. I wasn't even sure if they were a speedoes suit or merely bikini underwear in this blatant wispy nylon-spandex material. I had never seen them before, and I had never "handwashed" this particular pair for him either. 

The bright boldess of the neon hot pink color contrasted with the muscle-ripped black man's dark skin. He stood there with his strong arms crossed in authority. I had seen him with this stance before, and I knew what it meant. When Tra'mon stood this way with his stern glare I always felt he was even more serious. I always felt even more intimidated.

Even more degrading was the fact that the pouch of his ultra-flimsy bikinis were literally "jutting" nearly straight outwards in the most disgusting and revolting manner possible. Even from the distance of the second floor condo I was watching from it was so blatant and obvious that this young stud was more than halfways erect. His massive, thick and imposing black cock stretched the unusually thin and stretchy fabric of his neon hot pink bikini pouch outwards. Yes, outwards. His sweat-drenched bulge surged to unimaginable proportions. 

I swallowed loudly as I then turned to see Julie sitting on the edge of the wooden chaise lounge chair, and directly behind him. The 3 other white women who were dressed in bikinis and statuesque heels remained standing before him, in total silence. Their eyes remained slightly downward as they listened to Tra'mon speak. 

Initially, I could not see Julie's face. I could only see part of her body and the obvious tattoos of a black panther head on one of her arms. Her right arm and shoulder from my viewpoint was obvious. Then, a slight turn of the young black stud's torso changed things. Tra'mon remained facing the three women standing before him as he barely shifted his stance. This move now revealed the entire image. 

My knees literally buckled. 

There, sitting directly behind Tra'mon was my beautiful blonde wife. And, she was literally, and I do mean literally, kissing the young black stud's ass cheeks. Yes, this was happening right before my very eyes, right there in the middle of this pool party! It was absolutely impossible to comprehend at the time.




Black Man One Ch. 26



The black man was standing so close to Julie's sitting position that his neon hot pink bikini backside was directly before her face. His asscheeks were a mere inch before her. Her arms were down upon her lap as she slowly and methodically continued to "kiss" his muscular ass in those ridiculously flimsy bikinis. It wasn't just one kiss, or two. It wasn't merely a dozen kisses, either. It was repetitive and seemed as if it was merely routine for her to do so. 

Disgracefully, Julie continued kissing his bikini-covered backside while he continued speaking to 3 other white women.

I was in awe as I bent down to pick the binoculars up from the floor at my feet. This shocking image mortified me to no end. It was unfathomable that this could be happening. In my mind, I must have been seeing a "mirage" of some sorts. 

"How could this be real?" I asked myself. 

"How could he make her do this?" I trembled. 

My stomach turned to knots and my disbelief prompted me to look even closer.With my hands shaking nearly out of control, I put the binoculars back up to my eyes to take an even closer look. Part of me did not want to. Part of me had to. I watched in amazement as Julie's hands suddenly moved to the black stud's hips from hehind him. She now placed her delicate hands on either side of Tra'mon's bikini waistbands. She gently continued kissing his ass cheeks. 

Julie was dressed in a two-piece mono-chromatic gold bikini swimsuit with 5 or 6 inch high stripper heels on her feet, which were translucent platform styled shoes. Patiently, she simply continued kissing the black man's ass cheeks as he completely ignored her. His primary focus was elsewhere. His main attention was on the other three white women standing before him, who appeared knowledgable yet unconcerned to what Julie was doing. 

All of them in this small side group seemed unaffected. They "had to" know what was going on. Tra'mon certainly did, and I reasoned this was the main reason for his obnoxious and obvious erection "bolting" forward from his skimpy spandex bikini pouch. Still, everyone's face seemed so unaffected. So unchanged. It was as if this ultra-degrading act was a common occurrence, or something similar. For some reason, their casual and non chalant mannerisms made this whole "scene" seem even more demoralizing to me. 

Still, the casual "ass kissing" continued. Fifteen minutes went by. Then, twenty minutes passed. Julie remained sitting behind Tra'mon as she continued kissing this young, black stud's bikini-clad ass cheeks with obvious obedience. 

To me, it appeared unusual. The young black stud had demoralized me by "stuffing" my face into his chiseled bikini-covered backside several times beforehand. I knew the disgrace I felt as he forced me to do so. Now, he was having Jules do this as well, and it appeared as if this act of dominance had become more like some sort of routine duty. 

"Wh-Why is he makng her do that?" I muttered to myself, in humiliation, again. 

"That's so crass!?" I yelped.

"Why is his bikini such a bold, neon hot pink glow in the dark color? That doesn't seem so masculine?" I began thinking. 

It was mortifying for me to witness this black man being so arrogant. It was deafening to witness this whole scene unfolding right before my very eyes. I was curious as to why he was making Julie kiss his ass while he stood there talking to other women. I could not understand why he was making her do this, yet it also seemed that my wife wasn't doing this entirely against her will.

"Why isn't Julie upset?" I asked myself. 

She appeared to more "accepting" of this command from this meaner, bully and thug type of a black man. Still, this image repulsed me as I placed the binoculars down to my belly in shame. I was in disbelief. The utter disgrace I felt was just as immeasureable as it had been before. Maybe even more so than ever before.

"Oh, Gosh. How could things possibly get any worse?" I asked myself.

As I stood "peeking" out from my condo, I felt like such a coward. It was so obvious that Tra'mon was "rubbing my nose in it" even more. He was also humiliating Julie as well. 

He had to know that I was still home, just as he had to know all of us white husbands were home from work by now. Still, he had this little gathering right before our passive faces and was exhibiting his uncontested control over our wives. His complete youthful arrogance was mind-boggling, to say the least. His confidence in knowing that the other 8 white husbands and myself would never confront him felt humiliating. He knew that we were all "pussies" that would never utter a syllable of resistence, or fight back. He knew all too well that we were all afraid of him and not protest because of this fear. 

And, we didn't. 

I had to step away for a moment to prevent myself from falling over. I felt faint with the knowledge that Julie was so subservient to the young black stud now. It was terribly obvious. 

Like all the other white women, it did not bother them that Tra'mon had fathered 9 other children with white baby mommas, or that he had "knocked" up another 5 white women from our small condo community. They didn't seem to be the least bit affected by this fact. Nor, did they appear repulsed by the rough and dominating manner in which he treated them, and many other white women. All they seemed to care about was the overly masculine presence of this stern, young black stud. They appeared so attracted to his bold and stern presence that it felt confusing and defeating for us white men. We couldn't understand why.

After an hour away from the window, I felt compelled to return. Julie and Tra'mon were gone. Two of the other young black stud trainers had also stepped away. I watched in awe as this little party continued, and the mood had become so different after everyone had a few glasses of champagne in them. 

Minutes later, two of the black trainers returned with a white woman on their arms. They looked thoroughly fucked out. It was extremely clear that they had departed with one of these young black men and had been totally "used" by them.

After 20 minutes, I spotted Tra'mon walking back out to the pool area in that ultra flimsy and repulsive neon hot pink bikini. His confident strides were slow, strong and cocky, as usual. I watched as he stepped towards the center of the pool area before turning around. He peered up to the sliding glass doors of our condo with one sudden move. Cowardly, I hid my face behind the curtains hoping and praying that he did not see me. My heart was beating faster now and I began to shake in fear. My face turned the brightest red of all. It took a full minute for me to attempt another "peek" outside. 

When I did, young Tra'mon was still standing there. Thankfully, he was no longer looking upwards to my condo apartment window, and I was relieved by this. Somehow, though, I believe he sensed my presence and knew I was cowering behind the curtains of this glass door looking his way. 

I watched for a few moments before Julie stepped out onto the marbled deck of this pool area. My eyes widened in disbelief as to how thoroughly "fucked out" she looked too. She looked even worse than the others. Far worse. 

My beautiful, blonde wife was still in her gold bikini but now topless. She was also barefoot and holding her heels and bikini bra in her hands as she literally stumbled slowly towards the young black stud. She was also carrying something else in her hands which I could not make out since it was "curled up" tightly into the palm of her right hand. 

I didn't need a set of binoculars this time. I didn't need them to see that Tra'mon had just finished fucking Julie into oblivion, once again. It was so obvious that I "cringed" in shame. 

Julie's face was decisively plastered and obliterated with mounds of the black thug's thick cum seed. Much of it was still wet and dripping down from her pretty face cheeks, chin and neck to the marbled deck beneath her. Blatant streams of his seed were running down the lengths of both of her pale inner thighs from behind, with some of his powerful "cum" reaching her slender, bare ankles. 

"Oh, Gawd!" I cried, inside. 

"Oh, my gawd. No?" I trembled. 

I stood there passively peeking out as I watched my wife looking just like one of the many "fucked into submission" white women I had seen with this black bully before. My humiliation and defeat increased as I observed Julie stumbling incoherently towards the black stud, where she stopped before him and glanced into his eyes before they fell to the ground at his feet.

Tra'mon simply grabbed the top of her blonde, african-braided hair in a pony tail and began "escorting" her by it to the far end of the pool. He was taking her back to the area they were at earlier. This was the same area where he had been making her kiss his bikini-clad ass for so long. Degraded, I just watched.

Even more degrading was when they reached this area. Tra'mon released his grip from her blonde hair when he stopped. He just stood there as another white woman approached him and handed him a glass of champagne. She departed quickly. Another one of those black stud trainers soon approached him as well as I watched in utter amazement. Julie simply fell to her knees and then placed the things in her hand on the ground to her side. She had fallen to her knees before him. I reasoned that he must have said something to her, but I wasa not sure. 

Just asa Julie fell to her knees, she immediately put her hands to the young black's "spent" cock bulge. It seemed to be growing again. She slipped it out from the neon hot pink spandex bikini pouch and immediately put her soft lips to it, kissing it over and over again. The back trainer who had just approached gave Tra'mon a "high five" and smiled. They seemed to be discussing something that had nothing to do with Julie. It was truly defeating to see my wife passively kneeling before this black stud, and kissing his cock like that.

Seconds later, she began obediently sucking Tra'mon's mammoth-sized black cock. Right there and in the open, and in this pool area, Julie started sucking his cock. The other black trainer lit a "blunt" cigarette and began sharing it with Tra'mon as my wife continued sucking him. I was in absolute shock seeing just how "bold" he was in demeaning Julie in this manner. Initially, he acted like she was not even there. 

Within a few minutes, Tra'mon handed the "blunt" marijuana cigarette back to the other black trainer. He also handed him his partially-filled glass of champagne. That is when he placed his strong, muscular right hand under Julie's chin and grabbed onto her throat firmly. His left hand grabbed her blonde pony-tailed hair aggressively. 

Systematically, he began to literally pummel her throat with his monstrous and obnoxiously massive dark black cock. He continued on and on, becoming more and more firm with Julie's head until he finally exploded once again. Astonishingly, the black stud did not cump his seed entirely in Julie's mouth. He pulled out and came directly over Julie's pretty face, adding yet another thick coat of his cum seed to her facial cheeks, forehead, lips and face. Arrogantly, he shook his huge cock of the excess remnants right over her face. He did so until his cock was drained. 

Julie simply leaned back to catch her breath, her body weakened as she remained kneeling before him. Tra'mon casually took the blunt cigarette from the other black stud and took another "hit" of it. He loomed above Julie with great authority as he waited patiently for her to catch her breath. 

Within a minute, Julie put her delicate hands to the black man's waist. I watched in shame as she removed those horrifyingly skimpy and flimsy bikinis from his body and began cleaning his gargantuan, drained dark cock with them. He was now standing there completely nude as my blonde wife cleaned him after servicing him. That is when Tra'mon took the soiled and sweaty neon hot pink bikini from her hands. Disgracefully, he placed them around her streamlined neck, using the leg holes to place them around her neck like some sort of collar or degrading "necklace." 

It was shocking. 

Julie remained passive and compliant during this entire time. In the most non chalant manner, she bent down to pick up another pair of bikinis from the marbled deck floor. I concluded that this was the other article of clothing she had curled up into the palm of her hand when they stepped outside. These were a micro mini chocolate brown pair of nylon-lycra spandex bikini speedoes with very thin sides. In amazement, I watched as Julie "dressed" the black stud again by putting these flimsy bikinis onto him. Strategically, she placed his massive cock and balls into the unusually flimsy pouch before taking great care in gently covering them. 

The subservient activity astonished me. I just watched my wife suck the cock of this black stud in broad daylight. I had just witness her cleaning him, and kneeling before him with a cum-drenched face and then dressing him in another one of those ultra-demeaning masculine power bikinis. 

A moment later, the young black stud swallowed the remainder of his champagne and handed the empty glass to Julie. She was kneeling before him with his soiled and cum-soaked bikini around her neck and her face "plastered" with thick cum seed, which was now drying on her pretty face. She sat on the backs of her legs as she continued kneeling before him in dead silence, patiently waiting. 

Unbelievably, she knelt in this position for several minutes. My knees were shaking in complete horror and fear. I stood there like a big coward observing the young black treating my wife like this. Moments later, I watched as he simply and arrogantly "snapped" his fingers right at her. I could not hear the "snap" of his fingers over the loud and revolting rap music, yet the gesture and the image was quite obvious to me. 

Tra'mon literally "snapped" his fingers at Julie and right in front of her face. Casually, she lifted herself up from her knees, gathering her bikini top and his empty champagne glass along the way. I watched as she walked towards the tables with coolers positioned on top of them and poured another glass of champagne. 

My eyes were obviously focused upon Julie during her act of subservience and also as she "fetched" the black man another drink. Then, I looked back towards Tra'mon and the other black trainer who had stepped towards two wooden chaise lounge chairs. They sat upon them as if they were royalty. 

In utter disbelief, I watched as 4 other white women scurried over to these two black men. They immediately fell to their feet and began massaging them. Two blonde women began massaging the bare feet of Tra'mon, one obediently at his right foot and the other obediently at his left. A redheaded woman and a brunette women began massaging the other black stud trainer's feet in the same manner as I looked back to Julie. She began walking back to the small group that was now forming around Tra'mon Smith. 

Julie gently handed the now full glass of champagne to Tra'mon. Obediently, she return to her knees and now knelt to his right side like some sort of servant. Her face remained coated with his thick seed and her bare breasts were fully exposed. Her ravishing blue eyes met the ground. The two black studs were grinning almost ear to ear as they conversed with each other. Their white women "subordinates" simply remained kneeling at their feet, with Julie to the black man's side. 

Mortified by what I had just witnessed, I closed the curtains and headed back to the sofa. I sat down and began to to wallow in my own depravity. There was little else I could do to convince myself that I could win Julie back. My hopes continued to diminish as I realized that I was defeated and debased by a stronger, more virile and masculine man. 

I couldn't even imagine what I would do next. Or, what I should do. Not at this time. The emptiness I now felt had reached a limit that I could never have conceived. I felt powerless. I felt hopeless. Yet, I felt confused as well. There "had to" be a reason why Julie had moved back with me. But, then I asked myself why this was all happening immediately right after she returned?

At the time, I wondered where the answers would come from. Asking Julie directly would upset her. She said so herself when she directed me to "not talk" to each other as much, at least for the time being. 

With this defeat coarsing through my veins, I decided to try to eat something. I felt "faint" now, and knew I had to have something.



Black Man One Ch. 27



I felt a little less faint after I had finished some chicken soup. The sounds of the pool party continued as I returned to the sofa and tuned into a mindless program on television. Clutching my small pillow, I tried desperately to drown out the sounds of this gathering. 

It seemed never-ending. 

The clock reached 8:30, then passed the 9 o'clock hour. It wasn't until nearly 10 o'clock that night when the music suddenly and surprisingly stopped. In my mind, I was expecting Julie to come right through the front door at any minute. But, that did not happen. After more than 20 minutes, I decided to "peek" back out towards the pool area. The darkness of night enveloped the entire area as only one small deck light was left on, and it appeared to be left on, on purpose. 

Nobody was around. 

The entire area had been left a mess. Glasses and plates were spewn around the marbled deck randomly. Emptied bottle of champagne was left all over. I was curious as to where everyone had gone to, and of course I was more concerned about where Julie went. As I stepped out from the sliding glass doors and onto our little terrace, I looked over the area with bewilderment.

I was glad the party had ended. Yet, there was an uneasy feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. 

No more than a few minutes later, I heard the sounds of a small crowd coming from the parking lot, which was now off to my right. Cars were starting and the distant sound of conversation pierced the quiet night air. I scurried over to my little bathroom window to peer out towards the parking area and these concerning sounds. 

All 25 white women and the 6 young black studs were now dressed to go out. They were heading out to their cars. I spotted Julie walking beside Tra'mon dressed in a micro mini black satin dress which exposed her entire cleavage and midriff. Her braided blonde hair was put up in a pony tail, as it had been earlier that day. Her huge, milky-white breasts "jutted" outward in a bra that was at least two sizes too small. 

I could not see Julie's face in the distant darkness, but I watched in humiliation as she opened the black man's car door for him, once again. Like a servant, she closed the door behind him and then "scooted" around to the other side to let herself in. The others were all getting into their cars too. Within minutes, all cars had left the parking lot. 

To me, it was fairly obvious this entire group was heading out to that club again. The Black Jacques Club seemed to be their primary gathering point or hang out, as it had been for quite some time. I pondered this thought for a moment before I put my head down in shame and walked back inside. It would be another night alone as the black stud was out with my wife.

Less than three minutes later, my cell phone "chirped" with an incoming message. Excitedly, I ran to my phone thinking that it was Julie. It was merely a reaction. 

"Maybe she will let me know when she'll be coming home?" I thought. 

For me, any communication with my wife at this point felt a little encouraging. I was hopeful that this period of time with her seeing the black man was simply "a phase" of some sorts. Afterall, Julie had moved back in and this might take a little more time for things to settle in. But, these thoughts quickly evaporated when I picked up my phone and saw the message was coming from Tra'mon. 

"Get Dat' shit cleaned up, boy! No talking!" his text message read. 

My face beamed red. Humiliatingly, I figured out that he must have been talking about the dirtied pool area where they had their little party all afternoon. My throat tightened as I looked down at this message brightly displayed on my little cell phone screen. 

His brash command was insulting to me, just like everything else the young black stud confronted me with. I simply looked down at the screen in shame as I pondered what to do. I had no intention of answering his message. 

But, Tra'mon was expecting a response. Seconds later, another text message came flashing through the screen. 

"?!" it read, simply. 

Yes, the black man sent a message to me with a question mark followed by an exclamation point. Just that. It was so obvious that he was expecting an immediate answer from me. For a moment I thought about pretending to be asleep and pretending to not see his rude message. But, I was afraid. Nervously, I gave in and finally texted him back with a deeper feeling of degradation welling up inside of me.

"Yes, Sir." I replied by text, meekly. 

There would be no other response from Tra'mon. In defeat, I gathered myself and headed down to the pool area to begin "cleaning up," as ordered. I was doing so rather passively and mindlessly, and in fear of upsetting the black stud again. Admittedly, I knew that it would not be in my best interest to anger him. I simply did as I was told. 

Unbelievably, within minutes the other 8 white husbands entered the dimly lit pool area and began cleaning up as well. Yes, Tra'mon had "texted" all of us at the same time and told us to clean up their mess from the party. All of us looked at each for a mere moment, surprised. I think we were all shocked that the young black had directed all of us to do this humiliating menial task. 

Then, we simply looked away from each other and continued cleaning. All 9 of us were rather speechless then. We remained speechless. 

It was easy to see that we were all so embarrassed by our compliance that we could hardly stand it. We barely ever looked at each other for more than a split second. I could see the "fear" and "humiliation" in their eyes growing as we obediently cleaned the area. Their fear felt like the fear I had been feeling all along. 

Thirty minutes later, all 9 of us white husbands were headed back to our condo apartments. I wanted to speak up and say something, but I couldn't. I think that I was so embarrassed that words couldn't come from my trembling lips. It seemed as if the other weakling white husbands felt the same was as I did. I know they did. 

These young black studs had just spent the entire afternoon and evening as they brazenly "partied" and "fucked" our wives before heading out to a night club with them. Now, here we were being ordered to clean up after them?! Nothing felt more defeating at the time. The humiliation we all must have felt was uncanny and many will say unbelievable. 

But, yes. It did happen, and it was happening. 

After returning to my apartment, I layed back down upon the sofa and put my head down. Once again, I clutched my small pillow for security as I tried to ignore the images of Tra'mon and Julie being at that club. Desperately, I tried convincing myself that this would all be over soon, and that Julie and I would move away from this area someday. I fell asleep trying to think "good thoughts" yet deep down I knew that this was unlikely. My slim chances of getting Julie back had already spiraled out of control, and the truth set in as I realized my defeat would continue. 

It was just past 7 o'clock the next morning when I was awakened, abruptly. It wasn't a bad dream this time, but the distant sound of a car alarm going off startled me. It was merely a random alram, and meant nothing. I looked around and reasoned that it was not coming from our parking lot, and I curiously looked around outside when the sounds suddenly stopped. As I looked back into the apartment, I noticed that Julie had returned, and she was sleeping in the bedroom all alone. 

"Geezuz! I didn't even hear her come in." I said to myself.

"I wonder what time she got home?" I asked myself. 

There were no clues telling me when she got home, but it did not matter. I reasoned that Julie must have "tip-toed" her way in sometime last night and didn't want to wake me. Tentatively, I stepped into the bedroom to take a closer look at my blonde wife. She was laying there, still dressed in her black satin mini dress with her midriff exposed. Strangely, her high heeled shoes were still on her feet. Her face was partially covered by a the white bed sheet to block out traces of the sun rising. 

Julie's cell phone was laying on the bed just off to her right, and had apparently slipped from her grasp. 

Julie was passed out cold.

I looked closer and gently pulled the white sheet down. Julie's face was, once again, literally "plastered" with the black stud's dried up cum seed. A blatant one inch black inked spade symbol from the club was deeply imbedded in the middle of her pale forehead. I had seen her face and forehead marked up like this before, yet at this particular time it felt especially humiliating for me. 

The "added" humiliation stemmed from my beautiful, blonde wife's curious acceptance of how this younger black stud was treating her. 

I swallowed loudly as I looked down upon my noticeably "fucked out" wife. I felt so helpless and defeated. So much, in fact, that I could hardly look at her for more than a few seconds at a time. She was sleeping very soundly. 

Then, seconds later her cell phone "chirped" an incoming message.

At first, I simply ran out of the room and hid around the corner to peek inside. Cowardly, I didn't want to be around when Julie woke up and finally answered her message. But, as I looked into the bedroom she was not moving. She was not waking up at all. Julie was completely incoherent and non-responsive as a second message chirped in a minute later. Then, a third text followed less than a minute after. Still there was no response from Julie. She did not even "flinch," which was unusual for me to see. Before meeting Tra'mon, Julie had always been somewhat of a light sleeper. 

Now, she was totally passed out and completely unaware.

For some reason, I stepped back inside and looked closer into Julie's "used" looking face. I decided to grab the cell phone from the bed. My initial thought was to put it away someplace so it wouldn't wake her. But, I had to look at her messages. I just had to. And, as expected, these text messages were from the young black stud.

"My dick is hard again!" the first message read.

"Yo, bitch! I said my dick is hard!" the next text message read. 

"Yo! Get your ass up bitch!" the last message read. 

I looked down at Julie's phone embarrassed by the way he was texting her. These words he was using were so insulting, so demeaning. Yet, I felt embarrassed for Julie as well as for myself. I was humbled by the way he spoke to her and the manner in which she so easily accepted this treatment, explaining all of this as "his culture." 

As I closed out that last text message, I was suddenly faced with the little wallpaper on Julie's very expensive cell phone. The animated image of a dark, black fist clenched tightly adorned the screen. There was a red background and the words, "Black Power" in black print just below this symbol. It was her acceptance to this black man's culture and lifestyle. 

My face felt like it was made out of wax, and was melting. But, I was glad Julie was asleep. 

I also remember thinking how glad I was that Julie was not seeing me like this. She was passed out cold, and she couldn't even answer the black man's demand. In some strange and unusual way, it felt like a mild victory for me. I don't know why. I was dillusional as I felt this very microscopic sense of victory, and knowing that my wife would not be available for him right now. 

However, that is when an abrupt knock on the door shattered my entire thought. 

Immediately, I tensed up and dropped Julie's cell phone. In the back of my mind, I knew that it was him. It was Tra'mon. I thought about not answering the door, and I nearly convinced myself to ignore it. Perhaps, I could just pretend that we were both asleep? Perhaps, he would accept this and then go away?

Another short series of pounding on the door then began. It was obvious that he wasn't giving up just yet. As I walked into the livingroom my fear continued to increase. I stood before the closed door listening for any sign that he had gone away, hoping for a miracle that Tra'mon would just leave and understand that we were both asleep. 

But, the third series of knocks were a degree louder and I grew more intimidated. Rationally, I thought that maybe I should answer the door and avoid another "ass kicking" from him in the near future. Despite his patience, he also seemed fairly disturbed that his knocks on the door weren't being answered. With every second that went by I was feeling more and more nervous. 

Defeatedly, I finally gave in and decided that I had better just answer the door now. Once again, I gave into the intimidation I was feeling in his powerful presence. My weakened hands were absolutely trembling as I reached for the door handle, hoping and praying Tra'mon wouldn't be as angry as I imagined he would be. Then, I opened the door.

There, standing in the door way, was the young black stud. His face was stern, yet he didn't seem upset or angered. This surprised me. The 5'9" tall muscular black man was shirtless, and wearing the black dress slacks and shoes that he had worn when going out the the club that night. But, the top of his dress slacks were barely unbuckled and his black leather belt hung freely.

Casually, he stood there with one hand in his pocket looking me over. 

My 6'4" tall, unathletic and pale white frame felt so insignificant next to his. In silence, my eyes widened in distress as I felt his intimidating presence swallowing every ounce of my manhood. His dark, chiseled chest simply felt overpowering to me as I looked downward into his stern eyes. I was sure the young black stud could feel me "shivering" in complete fear, and in the same manner that a wild predator could sense the fear of his prey before destroying it. 

Tra'mon didn't speak. He did not say one word. With one smooth, casual move he simply placed the index finger of his right hand to my weak chest. Like a bully, he poked my chest once and then returned his finger back to my chest. The black stud then pushed me backwards, out of his way and off to the side. I was "literally" pushed away, off to the side and out of his pathway in the most callous, intimidating way conceivable.

Arrogantly, Tra'mon had used just one of his strong fingers to move me off to the side like a big, cowardly wimp. 

Like a big pansy, I backed off passively as the young black stud stepped right into our condo apartment. He had just pushed me off to the side, and I was now up against the side wall of the foyer entrance perspiring and trembling in fear. My mind wandered as I comtemplated what he was going to do next. At the time, I really had no idea what to expect. Not at all. My intense fear caused my weakened mind to go blank as I watched him taking his first two slow strides past me and into our condo unit. Both of his hands were in his pockets now. 

Then, Tra'mon suddenly stopped. As he casually and cockily turned back towards me, my head bowed and my timid eyes fell to the carpeted floor at my feet. I felt him slowly stepping back to me once again, and this caused me to tense up to yet another level. 

"Oh, gosh! What does he want now?" I asked myself, silently, as my forehead began beading with sweat.

The young, black thug of a man now stood directly before me. My eyes remained downward and unable to look at him as I contined cowering in fear. As I looked down, I saw his two hands still inside the pockets of his black dress slacks. That is when he pulled something out of the left pocket and held them in his hands. 

It was the same pair of flimsy neon hot pink colored nylon-lycra spandex bikinis that he had worn at the pool earlier that day. The very same pair he wore when he had made Julie kiss his ass cheeks. Humiliatingly, I watched as he seemed to stretch them ever so slightly while he looked down upon them. It was like he was contemplating what to do next, or that he was pausing to make me feel even more degraded while he feigned the curious studying his masculine bikini. 

There was a long, uncomfortable pause as I continued looking down at him manipulating this obnoxious bikini with his strong hands. 

My nervousness was at it's peak. Then, with complete disrespect and disdain for me he placed them over my head and face. Once again, the black stud "strategically" placed his repulsive bikini speedoes underwear directly over my head, stretching the ends over my ears and placing the crotched pouch portion right over my nose. With arrogance, he made sure the leg holes were over my eyes and the crotch part of the waistband stretched over my weak chin. 

The demoralizing musky scent of this black man's dried up sweated crotch combined with his dried seed and my wife's pussy was strong. It was, by far, the worst ever. Submissively, my arms remained down at my sides in a defeated posture. Tra'mon seemed to be taking his time positioning the disgusting bikinis over my head and face, and it felt like he was mildly amused by his own actions. His youthful arrogance was overwhelming, and I felt like I was putty in his hands. There was no thought of resistence in me, only shame. 

Tra'mon turned and began walking away. With his hands now back in the pockets of his dress slacks, he strolled ever so slowly towards the bedroom. Looking back through the leg holes of these revolting little hot pink toned bikinis, I felt so degraded. I watched the young black man strut right into our bedroom where Julie was fast asleep. She had been passed out cold for quite some time by now. Then, he abruptly slammed the door shut.

Within merely seconds, I could hear the sounds of him fucking my blonde wife pervade the air. Even from my standing position in the foyer, the sounds were apparent. The young black man had wasted no time as he began pummeling Julie's pussy with his enormous cock while she slept. 

"Geezez?! H-How can he be fucking her when she is passed out like that? Why?" I mumbled under my breath.

Yet, the soft but dense sounds of Julie's grunts and moans were quite evident. The sound of Tra'mon pounding away at her pussy with his 10 plus inch black cock was so authoritative and convincing. Timidly, I stepped back into the livingroom and towards the distinct sounds. Then, I stopped. 

It felt unreal that Tra'mon would just barge in here, into our apartment and this early in the morning to fuck her. In disgust, I removed the black man's soiled bikini underwear from my head and tossed them down to the floor. I felt so ashamed. Standing 15 feet from the closed door and hearing my blonde wife's subtle moans of pain and pleasure overwhelmed me. The humiliation I felt was overbearing. Defeatedly, I just stood there and hung my head as Tra'mon continued pulverizing Julie's blonde cunt with abandon. 

A few minutes later, the sounds stopped. I found myself standing in the middle of our livingroom stunned that he had only used Julie for 4 or 5 minutes. Before I could even think about what to do, or where to move to, the bedroom door opened and Tra'mon emerged. 

An almost evil grim traced his lips as I watched him step out into the livingroom. His dress slacks were still unbuckled at the top and his belt remained hanging freely at the ends. It was as if the young black man did not even remove his slacks while he fucked my blonde wife. It was like he had just used Julie for this early morning "quickie" to get himself off and then he would be on his way.

Still, I felt frozen in my panic as I continued standing there. My eyes went back down to the light carpeted floor as I felt him drawing nearer to me, once again. My nerves were "frazzled" already, and even more so when I realized that I had thrown his bikini underwear to the floor in disgust just a few minutes earlier. In my mind, I was hoping and pleading that he would ignore this fact. Or, perhaps, he would not notice as he left. 




Black Man One Ch. 27



But, Tra'mon did notice. And, he did not ignore this either. 

The young, dominant black man casually walked over to his underwear I had cast off to the side and picked them up. Again, he stepped right up to me and placed them back over the top of my head until the crotch and pouch portion were over my nose. Then, he simply began walking away as I turned and watched him finally strutting out the door. He closed the door only three-quarters of the way on his way out.

Demoralized, I continued standing there in my livingroom as I removed his well-worn hot pink colored bikinis from my head once again. I held them in my hands realizing that he was now gone, and it was safe for me to do so. I merely looked back at the front door feeling so upset and ashamed by the manner in which he had just degraded me. 

I also felt disgusted by the way he would just put these demeaning bikinis over my head and face like that, and intimidate me so much even after I had all but given up. 

As I stood there, my heart nearly stopped when I looked back up and saw the young black man standing there once again. He was now standing at the front door, holding it open almost as if he was "checking" to see what I had done after he left. 

"Oh, my gawd!" I muttered, in fear. 

Again, my eyes lowered in defeat. He made me feel as if I was a child who was caught doing something they shouldn't be doing. My lowly and humiliated feelings were more pronounced now. The black stud had not used any words, but now he was approaching me once again. 

Tra'mon walked straight back up to me in slow motion, almost comtemplating what he was going to do to the tall, weak white wimp standing before him. He had to know that I was shaking all over in fear, and that I was completely intimidated by him. Yet, his cockiness and arrogance were so blatant that I began to feel my weak knees begin to collapse. I struggled to stay on my feet, and my eyes remained down to the floor feeling his powerful presence before me. 

With further arrogance, Tra'mon began to "circle" around me slowly. In total silence, he walked around me once, twice and then a third time as I literally cowered in total fear. With every second that passed I felt even weaker. 

It seemed as if the young black stud was purposely intimidating me more and more, using his powerful presence to overwhelm me. After a few long, drawn out minutes of circling me he finally stopped. 

Non chalantly, Tra'mon removed his neon hot pink flimsy bikinis from the weak grip of my hand. For the third time, he cruelly placed them directly over my face and head and strategically ensure the pouch of his pungeant bikini crotch was right over my nose. My face turned a "beet" red and I was terrified as I was forced to inhale his horrific, masculine scent once again.

It was beyond feeling defeated at this point now. 

The humiliation and degradation that I felt equaled what I have been feeling all along since his arrival. But, in some strange way I was just glad that the young black man began walking out the door again. He had instilled an even deeper fear within me, and now I was afraid that he might be returning once again. 

He used no words this time. Yet, I felt just as powerless and intimidated by him as I ever did before.

Disgracefully, I felt that I had no choice but to leave his flimsy, revolting and cock-scented bikini underwear over my head. At least, for the time being. 

Demoralized, I did just that.

An hour had passed, then two. Julie was still passed out cold and I was horrified by thought of her waking up and seeing me wearing this black man's bikini over my head like this. I certainly had been humiliated before, but somehow this felt more demeaning than anything else. But, I was so nervous and afraid to remove the black stud's bikini from my head and face that I began to shake all over. 

The disgusting, degrading scent of his musky and pungeant-smelling bikini crotch was beginning to make me dizzy. I could no longer stand the shame I was feeling inside, and the thought of even more desperate measures began to enter my unclear and intimidated mind. 

I decided that I would just remove them. But, then I stopped. A strange fear came rushing over me like a waterfall, and it was one like I had never felt before. 

"What if he comes back and sees that I removed them again?" I thought.

"Oh my gawd. He might get so mad?" I thought to myself, worrying now.

"Why is he doing this to me?" I cried inside.

"How will he ever know, anyway?" I pondered. 

"Gosh! What if he comes back and sees?" I asked myself, feeling more frightened. 

"He might just beat me up again." I said to myself, in silence. 

As the intimidation I felt by this black stud "loomed" over me like a dark cloud of degradation, my mind began to pound inside. I was making myself even more scared, and only now do I realize this. 

The intense fear a person feels causes them to do things that they normally would not do. For me, feeling so utterly defeated and terrified caused this same reaction. 

Julie was still asleep and showed no signs of waking up anytime soon. My thoughts of her seeing me like this were too humiliating to bear, and they remained. I needed to just stand up and remove them and, perhaps, suffer the consequences of the young stud returning and seeing me, and perhaps becoming angry. I felt as if I needed to take this risk anyway, and to salvage any shred of dignity that I may have had left.

But, I did not do that. 

Timidly, I decided on texting the tough, young black stud.

"Please don't do this to me, Sir?" I texted. 

"Sir? Is it okay that I remove your bikini underwear from my head now please?" my text to him read. 

"Sir, may I please take your bikini off my face?" I pleaded, in my next text message.

His response came a full 10 minutes later. 

"What, you don't like sniffing nigga' dick, boy?" he replied, sarcastically. 

I had no idea how to respond to that sarcasm. I waited and waited for another return text but one never came. Demoralized and further intimidated, I just removed them and placed them down onto the bathroom counter. Deep down, I felt humiliated knowing that I would have to hand wash them later, or at another time. 

Thirty minutes later, I peered outside to the pool area when I heard what I thought were human voices. I was right. It was Tra'mon, and he was now sitting by the pool accompanied by one of his other white women, who was at his feet massaging them. As always, he was lounging by the pool as a beautiful white woman obediently massaged his feet as if he was an Egyptian King. 

My face blushed as I realized that he wsa still seeing other white women, yet Julie was still totally fixated upon him. She was also carrying his child. 

"How can Julie even be with a man like this?" I asked myself. "How is this possible?" I wondered. 

Disgracefully, I watched from a distance as Tra'mon looked at his phone, sneered, then put it back down onto the arm of his chaise lounge. He seemed to be reading an incoming text message, but I wasn't sure. He picked up the phone again and finally texted back. He paused as the beautiful white woman at his feet continued the massage. 

That is when I heard the cell phone of my blonde wife alerting her to an incoming message. I turned to see if Julie was awake. As I stepped into the livingroom I saw her leaning over to read her phone. Then, my own cell "chirped" in another message from him. As I looked down at his message in horror, I realized that he was on his way back upstairs. 

"Coming up." the message read. 

"Oh, Gawd!" I screamed inside.

With total intimidation, I ran back to the sliding glass door to look back out towards the pool. He was not there. That wave of fear I was feeling suddenly returned. In desperation, I ran back to our bathroom and grabbed his little neon hot pink bikini underwear, wondering if Tra'mon would be angered that I removed them from my face. The only thought going through my mind at the time was that he had never really answered my plea. 

"Oh, Gawd. What am I doing?" I mumbled. 

Seconds later, the young black stud was walking through the front door of our condo apartment again. I was literally standing there in the middle of our livingroom with Tra'mon's hot pink bikinis in my weakened hands. He simply strutted in without as much as a "tap" on the door, drenched in sweat from being outside and wearing a scanty, revealing lime-green speedoes bikini.

I froze. Tra'mon boldly and cockily walked right up to me and, once again, he removed the neon hot pink bikini underwear from my hands and placed them directly over my head and face. For the fourth time now, he was degrading me by forcing me to wear his flimsy bikinis over my head.

I was trembling in fear as he did this. Within seconds, and just as I was becoming aware of my surroundings again, Julie popped her head of of the bedroom.  

"Richard, What are you doing? Trey, what's going on here?" Julie asked, gathering her senses from her morning awakening. 

Startled, I turned to see my blonde wife standing right there by the bedroom door. She looked confused, but she was also staring straight at me in shock. She was looking at me with her young black stud's bikini underwear placed over my face. I just stood there in shame. I reached up to my face to remove the degrading bikini from my head when Tra'mon slapped my hand down. 

My face was a crimson red under his hot pink colored flimsy bikinis as I looked back at Julie's incredibly "well used" and "fucked into submission" overall appearance. 

I was speechless. 

But, by now it was quite obvious. That other person Tra'mon was texting earlier was, in fact, Julie. He had alerted her to "wake up" and, as she did, he was purposely making a "fool" out of me, her tall weakling husband. When she got up and saw me in this condition, she seemed almost ashamed to even know me. Her eyes bent downward as Tra'mon finally spoke. 

"C'mon, girl! Get showered. We gots business to do." he commanded.

Without hesitation, Julie replied.

"Yes, Trey. Okay, Trey. Right away, Trey. Yes, Sir." Julie answered, quickly scurrying to the bathroom and shutting the door.

As the young black stud turned to look back at me my head bowed in shame and defeat. Again, he didn't say a word but I could feel his stern and aggressive stare. I was relieved when he simply turned and walked away, once again, leaving me "cowering" in the middle of my own livingroom with his worn bikinis still over my head. 

I just stood there for several minutes, humiliated once again. Then, I moved over to the sofa and sat down afraid to make a move. Finally, I layed down and listened to the sounds of Julie getting ready and rushing out the door to meet Tra'mon. My feelings of defeat completely enveloped me as I layed there in such shame and humiliation. 

This day would become more like a table setting for what was about to come, and how things would be for quite some time.