Blac Man One

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.