How Lyle's Wife Became a Black Cock Whore - Part 1
Lyle has been a friend of mine for a long time. The below story is based on actual events, and was drafted by Lyle then written by me - Gracie (aka Gerald):
My name is Lyle. My looks is something I have always been a proud of, as I am a very good looking guy, although a on the short side. Women seem to like my effeminate features, which they seem to relate to. They seem to like to mother me, which I don't mind. I have a small bone structure, slim legs, long slim fingers. Even though I am effeminate, I am not gay, but I suspect some people think I am simply because of how I look and act.
I am married to a wonderful wife, Abby. She is very sexy and beautiful, but also very inexperienced when it comes to sex and "street sex" smarts. She is extremely intelligent, much more so than me. She is also shy and not very socially adept. But I love her with all my might. She is my sole mate, and forever will be.
I had been out of work for a long time, over six month. All of our meager savings was long exhausted. The situation had gotten very dire, and extremely depressing. We were behind on our rent and in danger of being evicted, electricity was about to be cut off. We were going down hill fast. Even our friends were fast abandoning us, as we could not afford to go out to nice dinners or clubbing with them, and we were no longer fun to be with.
In desperation, I researched becoming either a real estate agent, or an insurance agent. After further exploration, insurance agent seemed to be the best fit with my educational back ground and submissive personality, so I took several pre-licensing courses both on-line and at a community college and a private institution. I took more than I needed, until I felt comfortable passing the state exam. I was shocked when I passed, as I had serious doubts I would ever pass.
I passed, and wrote up a resume and went out looking for an employer. My state requires that a new agent be sponsored by, or in other words, employed by, an insurance firm or an experienced agent.
I hit up every insurance agency I could find in my area. Large, small, even single agent shops, it didn't matter, I just really needed to get a job. I knew it would take time, once I started with an agency, to start generating enough in commission to make a living and supplementing my wife's income. As time passed without results, I got more and more desperate. My wife, Abby, was nearly getting hysterical with worry.
The market seemed dead. Nobody seemed all that interested in a newbie agent. I was getting depressed again, having wasted all that time and money to get a license and still couldn't get a job. Several days went by since I had dropped off the very last of my resumes. No call, no job.
Then I got a call. A woman called from an agency and said "Darrell" wanted to interview me for a job at his agency, and he was willing to train me. I was ecstatic. She gave me all the information and appointment time. I was determined that I would, one way or another, get that job.
That night, when my wife, Abby, came home, I told her all about it. She hugged and kissed me and told me she was proud of me. I reminded her I didn't have the job yet, but she said she had faith in me.
Abby said, "I am counting on you. You must get that job!"
I was already under extreme pressure, and that added even more pressure. I was afraid of a nervous breakdown, which, of course, we could not afford. And I actually thought: How could Abby tell our friends and family that her husband was in the nut house? It would be so difficult for her.
The next morning, I was at the insurance agency nearly 20 minutes early, so nervous I was almost shaking. I knew arriving so early would show a touch of desperation, but I was hoping it would also show eagerness to start and learn, too.
When I announced myself to the receptionist, a large black woman, she looked at her watch and tisked, then said, "Have a seat, and I'll tell Darrell you are here when he is ready."
I sat in the reception area and waited. There were several office doors that opened onto the reception area. Some were open, and some were closed. One that was closed suddenly opened, and a black man came out, smiling. I thought he might be Darrell, so I started to rise, but he walked right past me and out the front door. A woman came out of that same office and stood in the doorway, looked at me and smiled. She looked over at the large woman at the reception desk, who just shook her head "no." I guess maybe she thought I was a new customer.
I have to say, I was rather shocked. The woman in that office was young, blonde, and extremely attractive. She wore a little micro-mini skirt that barely covered the essentials, and a blouse that showed so much cleavage that her nipples were barely covered. But when she smiled at me, I smiled back. I couldn't help it.
I thought to myself, "Wow." I think she must have read my silent lips, as she giggled, then went back into her office, leaving the door open. I've never seen someone in a professional office wear something so revealing before. I thought they must have a very loose dress code here. I also thought that it was very unprofessional, and I didn't see how the owner of the agency let her get by with it.
While I sat and waited, there were a couple other customers that came in and went into one or another of the offices. That was encouraging, as it seemed like it was a fairly busy office, which would help me. The customers that I saw were all black, however, so I didn't know just how well they might accept a white agent helping them with their insurance needs. I grew very concerned about getting this job.
After a few more minutes, the phone on the receptionist's desk buzzed. She picked it up and listened, then she turned to me and said, "Darrell will see you now."
She motioned to the door directly behind her. She got up and opened it for me. My knees were weak as I walked. When I went it, she shut the door behind me.
A handsome black man rose from behind his desk and stuck his hand out.
"I am Darrell," he said. "I'm the owner of this agency."
"I'm Lyle," I said, my voice cracking with fear.
His laugh was a deep baritone. His voice was almost electric, like charged the air with static electricity.
I shook his hand. He held on to my hand longer than necessary, squeezing, almost crushing the delicate bones in my hand, while staring into my eyes for a long period. It made me feel very uncomfortable, I looked away. My eyes darting to the floor, trying to avoid his stare.
Through a wince, I said, "So pleased to meet you."
When I looked back up, he finally let go of my hand after staring into my eyes. I felt like he was staring right through me. He motioned me to a chair in front of his desk. He had a very commanding attitude that was hard to resist.
While I sat, he reviewed my resume out loud, asking a few questions along the way. Then he started asking some detailed questions. Most of the questions were very personal and probably illegal, but he likely knew I was desperate and would put up with it. He was right, I would, as I felt I had no choice.
"How old are you," he asked.
"23," I answered.
"How old is your wife?"
"Um, 22."
"Any kids?"
"No."
"Is your wife sexually active with other men?"
I was shocked, and started to rise out of my chair. "What?!"
He told me in a stern voice to sit back down. When I hesitated, he yelled out, "Now!"
I sat, a bit cowed. I crossed one leg over the other, like a girl, like I was trying to protect my private parts.
"Answer the fucking question!"
I shook my head no.
"Answer the fucking question out loud!"
"No, she is not sexually active with other men. But why are you asking questions like this? They are highly inappropriate, and have nothing to do with my qualifications for a job!" I put up a brave front.
He frowned at me, and said, "It has everything to do with your getting a job here. The only reason I am interviewing you is because of your appearance and because of your wife. After you submitted your application, I found you on social media sites, and got interested in her as well as you. She is very attractive. In fact, she is hot. You obviously married way above what you deserve, do you understand that?"
I nodded that I did.
"Answer out loud. I am not telling you again."
"Yes, I know I married way outside my league. I know I don't deserve a wife as good as she is." I looked down, feeling bullied.
"You have any pictures of her that are not on-line?"
Nervously, I dug out my cell phone and pulled up a couple pictures and placed the phone on his desk.
