Whos The Better Man

As with all Literotica stories, check the tags before reading so you know what you're getting, this one has some potential triggers.

Gratitude to

PepePilot

and

SilkStockingsLover

for taking the time to read and provide feedback.

Who's the Better Man?

Chapter 1:

Billy Clarkson looked into the bottom of his empty beer glass. Nothing left but dregs of foam going flat, just like his life.

"Billy, honey!"

Clarkson had only half turned on his barstool when the woman was on him, throwing her plump arms around him and crushing her massive bosom against his thick bicep.

"Ooh, baby, I've been looking forward to seeing you all day." She released her hug and put one hand on the big arm and the other went straight to his crotch. "How, 'bout you, sugar, you happy to see Esther?"

"Um, Esther..."

Now, no one would ever call Esther Brown the brightest or most insightful person, but she did know men, and between the flat tone of voice and the flatness of his pants, she knew something was not right with Big Billy.

"What is it, sweetie?" she asked.

"I'm broke," he answered dejectedly.

"Broke?" She stepped back. "But today's payday."

"Payday, yeah," he grunted, then he sighed. "When I drove into the parking lot at work this morning, that damned new speed bump cracked one of my front shocks. I have to have my car and those crooks at Harrison's garage said the other was about to die too and they had to replace both. It cost 500 bucks."

"Five hundred."

"Yeah."

"So you got nothin' left for me?"

He reached out and placed a hand on her arm. "Well, not tonight..."

Esther took another step back. "Uh unh, sugar, you know how much trouble I got into the last time I gave you credit." Then she darted back in and pecked him on the cheek. "Maybe you come see Esther next payday." With that, she turned, and Billy Clarkson watched with anguished longing as her big ass rolled away.

Chapter 2:

Young Billy Clarkson seethed as he drove home. Yes, with the new shocks the front end was indeed riding much smoother, but that just made everything else wrong with his old piece of crap Dodge more noticeable. The Neon was 24 years old, a fucking year older than him, and he'd intended to replace it when he finally got promoted to line manager at the rendering plant, but they'd skipped over him again. Sure, the guy they picked had been there two years longer, but Billy was sure the wetback wasn't even legal.

So, now, instead of enjoying a Friday night between Esther's thick thighs, or even just sucking down a few more beers while shooting some pool, his broke ass was already heading home, rattling along in a rust bucket he'd inherited from his damned wife's grandfather. The damn thing had actually looked pretty cherry when he'd taken it out of the garage where the geezer had kept it, but it had been bullshit, the piece of crap had started falling apart from the day he'd started driving it. The fact that old man Perkins had babied the car, believing that any big investment should be cared for, while Billy Clarkson hadn't even changed the oil in the four years he'd been driving it, never came into the young man's calculations about why the car was dying.

When he pulled into the driveway of their house, also inherited from Susie's grandfather, Billy's irritation only grew as he was reminded that the house, just like the old car, had also been a fake. To be honest, knowing she was getting the house was a key reason he'd married her after he knocked her up instead of just blowing her off. It had looked so classic, so pristine despite being a hundred years old, but it was falling apart too. Again, Billy failed to connect the fact that growing up, he'd seen Grandpa Perkins out there almost every day doing something around the house, from mowing to painting shutters, with why the old place had still looked so good before the old guy died.

Looking across the unkempt lawn to the front stoop where he often liked to sit after work and enjoy a beer in the shade of the house, he saw several empty beer cans scattered about. He was going to have to get on Susie to get off her lazy ass and clean up around the yard at least. And she damned well better have restocked the fridge with beer.

As usual, Billy walked around to the back of the house and went through the rear door into the mudroom/laundry room, so he could strip off his work clothes without bringing the always lingering scent into the house. Usually, he'd then walk back to their bedroom in his boxer shorts in case their 4-year-old son Clem was in the living room playing or watching videos, but he remembered that Susie had said that Clem was spending tonight at her mother's house.

Fucking Susie. Almost from the beginning, she'd seemed a reluctant fuck, and it had gotten worse rather than better over their time together, but the last month or more had been ridiculous. She'd actually shown him a fucking doctor's note saying she had a yeast infection or some such shit that he could catch, and then she'd had cramps and bleeding from the treatments and had put him off again and again. When he'd insisted, as was his right as her husband, she'd insisted in return that he wear a condom - to protect him, she said.

Well, not today. He'd been leaving her alone this week, anticipating a pressure-relieving night at The Outpost but since that had been shot to hell, he was going to fuck his fucking cold bitch of a wife. He might even skip the damned condom and take his chances - he'd certainly dealt with worse than some pussy-ass yeast infection. He stripped off his boxers and let his manhood lead him through the house.

Chapter 3:

Billy Clarkson was half-surprised not to find Susie in either the kitchen or the living room; the house wasn't that big. He got fully surprised when he walked down the short hallway toward their bedroom and heard noises coming through the closed door. Noises he shouldn't be hearing without him in the room! He leaned in and put his ear against the wood.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh my God! Nooooo!"

Billy Clarkson's heart dropped into his stomach. Most young men would have ripped the door open and busted in, including Billy not that long ago. But one thing that had managed to get into his often-thoughtless head from working on the dangerous rendering floor was to not rush in, but to take that one or two seconds to understand what the real danger was so he didn't become just another victim.

He slowly twisted the doorknob and found it was at least unlocked. He pressed in until he could get an eye around the corner of the door.

"Noooo, oh, my God, noooo," came again from his wife in a voice that sounded near tears.

That's what his ears registered; what his eyes saw was a naked, black back, clearly a man, flexing as the dark, muscular ass thrust forward and back. Some fucking coon was kneeling behind his wife, raping her doggy style.

"Please, please, oh, God, what are you doing to me?" Susannah Clarkson whined until the asshole muffled her by pressing her face down into the pillow.

Billy Clarkson had barely graduated high school, but in this moment his mind worked sharply and clearly. He'd always anticipated that an intrusion would come late at night, so his gun was in the nightstand on his side, the right side of the bed as he looked at it now.

Making no noise of anger, which would equate to a noise of warning, the former defensive end looped in from the right, lowering his shoulder just like when he'd zeroed in on unprotected quarterbacks, and hit the bastard from the blind side, sending him flying off the other side of the bed. Quickly gathering himself, he turned and yanked open his nightstand drawer. There lay the small six-shot revolver he'd discovered in his father's old tackle box three years before and had taken for himself. Dad hadn't missed it since he was serving 3-5 years after his latest DUI ended with him crashing into a cop car.

Snatching up the.22, Clarkson sprinted around the bed. The motherfucker was just starting to push himself up, he'd apparently smacked his head on Susie's nightstand on his way down. Billy's first instinct was just to put one through the back of his head, but after dealing with the cops a few months back after a fight at The Outpost, his subconscious decided to avoid any unarmed-black-guy bullshit.

Putting a foot between the asshole's shoulder blades, he pressed down, then extended his arms and deliberately pulled back on the hammer, looking to make the click as loud as possible. It apparently worked because the bitch stopped moving.

"Susie, call the cops."

"Wha...?"

"9-1-1, God damn it!" Then it finally struck him that he didn't know what the motherfucker had done to his wife. "Shit, Susie, are you okay? Did this nigger hurt you?" He leaned forward and put the barrel of the gun right against the dark head with its cornrows. "Mother fucker, I'm going to blow your black brains all--"

"I'm alright, I'm alright!" Susannah Clarkson spurted. "He, he scared me bad but didn't really hurt me."

"You're lucky, motherfucker, but it's your last time," the young white man growled at the rapist. "Call 911, baby," he said to Susie as he straightened, never taking his eyes off the asshole under his foot.

From the corner of his eye, Billy Clarkson saw his wife scrambling over to her nightstand, where the bedroom phone extension sat; good thing they'd never cancelled the old folks' landline. Looking down at the dark head he thought it might still not be too late to just pop the asshole. Hell, this time he was in his own home, protecting his wife, didn't that mean he could blow an asshole away with no trouble? As long as Susie didn't say anything about Billy already having the bastard under control, he'd be fine. And hell, she'd probably like to pull the trigger herself. But no, there was no way he was going to give up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

He extended his arms again, saw them shaking with adrenaline. He took his finger off the trigger and drew in a deep breath to steady himself, just like he'd seen in some action movie or another. After exhaling, he reached for the trigger again. Then there was movement off to his right and the next he knew there was a terrible pain in his forearms and the small gun was flying from his hand.

Yelling in surprise and pain, Billy stepped back and turned to his right. Susie was standing there, bringing the big lamp with the solid-wood body back up to shoulder height.

"What the fu--"

The heavy lamp came in sideways, and Billy had just enough time to duck his head and raise his shoulder, so he took the brunt of the blow there. However, snapping his head to the left to escape the lamp turned him directly into the big, roundhouse right from the asshole who'd popped to his feet in blazing speed as soon as Billy's foot was off his back.

Chapter 4:

Billy Clarkson was confused... and in fucking pain! Had he been in a car crash? His head, his face, his arm, they were all fighting for his attention. However, upon opening his eyes he didn't see the expected white of a hospital room, but the old-fashioned wood paneling of his own bedroom.

"Huh, uh. Hmm! Hmm!" He was trying to scream at the horror he saw in front of him but couldn't open his mouth. He also couldn't move his head much, something was restraining him, pulling at the back of his head. Trying to bring his hands up to find out what was wrong with his head he discovered he couldn't move his arms either.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty's finally waking up. How's it hanging, Billy-boy? Oops, it doesn't seem to be hanging at all, seems all shriveled up, doesn't it?"

"giggle"

Billy couldn't believe what he was seeing. Susie and the nigger were both still naked and they were sitting side by side, cuddled up against the headboard like they were the husband and wife here. Then it struck him that he was naked too. Oh yeah, he'd stripped off in the laundry room expecting to make Susie fulfill her wifely duties.

Looking down to take stock, he saw why his bitch of a wife had giggled, his pride and joy was indeed looking afraid and in hiding, as if trying to avoid taking the kind of punishment his arms and head had taken. That's when he also took in that his arms were strapped to the arms of a wooden chair with duct tape. He recognized it as one of the dining chairs they'd inherited along with the house. Solid oak with high-backs, Grandma and Grandpa Perkins had sure loved heavy, wood furniture. Billy automatically flexed his forearms to break loose, but just as quickly stopped and screamed from the pain, especially in his right arm, which felt like it might be broken.

As he gasped and tried to deal with the pain, he was finding it hard to breathe. When he finally registered that his mouth was covered with tape, he began to panic.

"Damn, boy, get a grip on yourself. Just calm down and breathe through your nose."

Billy's eyes flew back to the horrible couple to find the black guy signaling with his hands for the trapped man to calm down. Billy's fear switched back to anger, which actually helped end the gasping. Then he began yelling incoherently as he glared at his wife.

"Oh, hey, baby, you know what? I think I understand what he's saying," said the naked black guy.

"What's that, baby?" Billy's wife asked.

"I think he's asking why you hit him with the lamp."

Susannah thought about that for a moment, then said, "You know, I think it's because I finally got the chance."

The black guy laughed and said, "You naughty girl," before leaning over for a kiss.

Billy grunted and whined some more, snorting through his nostrils.

"Okay, I think now he's wondering why you turned on him when he was saving you from a rapist." He turned his coal black face to Billy. "Did I get that right, oh noble Hubby?"

You could almost make out the 'motherfucker', 'asshole', and 'nigger' in Billy's answer this time, despite the tape, but the black man turned calmly back to Susannah Clarkson and said, "Yeah, that was it."

The light-hearted smile that had been on her pretty face the moment before was replaced with an ugly look that could only be classified as hatred.

"Rapist? The only rapist in this room is tied to that chair."

She suddenly snapped forward and pointed at Billy. "In fact, you came in expecting to rape me again, didn't you, that's why you're naked. You fucking animal."

"Rape? I'm your fucking husband, it's not rape. And if I rape you, it's because you make me, you fucking slut!" Of course, neither Susie nor her companion could understand what the asshole was raving about behind his multiple layers of gray tape.

But the black guy had certainly understood Susannah's words because he was suddenly on his feet in front of Billy. "Is that right, asshole? Did you come in here to rape my girl?"

"Rape? Rape!" Tape-muffled, for sure, but his tormentors actually did understand him this time. What they couldn't really make out was when the black man's last words finally registered in Billy's muddled mind. "What the fuck do you mean, 'My girl'? That's my wife, you asshole!"

The man's dark-skinned face had been hard, scary when he'd got up in Billy's face, but now it relaxed into a grin again as he turned to Susie. "What do you say to that, Babe? He doesn't seem to think it's rape; probably because of that marriage certificate?"

Now Susie came forward onto her hands and knees on the bed, smallish breasts with sexy, puffy nipples hanging below, cute, pixie face transformed into an angry wood elf.

"Marriage? Husband? You think being my husband means you can come in here drunk and force yourself on me whether I want it or not? Can jump on me, crush me, hurt me while you take your pleasure? You're no fucking husband. James has been more of a husband to me in the past two months than you've been the past five years."

The black man, apparently named James, moved smoothly over and sat on the edge of the mattress. He reached out and gently stroked the white woman's back. Her body changed immediately, relaxing away from Billy and toward James.

Clarkson's next muffled sounds were confused whines that went with his furrowed brow.

Susie didn't seem to be responding to him when she sighed, "Five wasted years. It was bad enough I fell for the big football star and then let him knock me up, but to agree to marry him when deep down I already knew he was a loser? What a dumbshit I was. I shouldn't have let anyone talk me out of being a single mother; that way I would have still had my angel, Clement, without putting up with five years of brutishness." She leaned in hard against the Black's side and he wrapped an arm around her.

"Sh, sh, baby, that's all over now. You're gonna be alright now."

Chapter 5:

For Billy Clarkson, things kept going from bad to worse. His wife had apparently regretted marrying him from day one and had only stayed with him for the sake of their son, Clement... Clem. Billy had even let her name the boy after Susie's grandfather instead of himself (true, it was to cement Susie's inheritance, but even so). Now she was being comforted by some fucking nigger who'd been fucking her in Billy's own bed just minutes before.

Susannah Clarkson had stared angrily up at Billy's stupid face after finally letting out the words she'd been harboring all these years. Now, as she nestled up against James's side her eyes dropped and she found herself staring directly at his dark cock, just a foot away. With no conscious thought, she shifted her weight to her right hand and reached out with her left. First, she gently cupped and hefted the balls, heavy with the creamy load he'd been building up for her. Then she gripped the black tube and lifted it as her head dropped until she could begin showering kisses on the velvety head. Once the rod began to fill with blood and stand on its own, she put her hand back on the mattress for balance and began slowly bobbing up and down. With each downstroke she felt him growing harder and going deeper into her mouth and her pussy getting wetter.

When Susie had the beautiful staff at full strength, she pulled away and looked up at James's tough but handsome face. "If I remember correctly, you were proving another way you've been a better husband to me when Billy-boy interrupted us. Feel like showing him how a man is supposed to make love to a woman?"

"My pleasure," sneered James. Then he was moving so fast that the stunned Billy was caught completely off guard. The next thing he knew, his chair was being spun 90 degrees and leaned back on two legs. Then, it and he were being dragged across the floor. When the movement stopped, he was only three feet away from the bed and set up so he was looking across the queen-sized mattress from the middle of the side.

Then the black man was up on the bed on his back, lying along the side nearest Billy and leaning back on his elbows. "Come suck me some more, Mrs. Clarkson. Let Billy-boy see how good my black cock looks going into your pretty white mouth."

Susie immediately got onto her hands and knees perpendicular to James and aiming straight at Billy. With a lascivious smile like young Clarkson had never seen on her face before, the 23-year-old white MILF began making oral love to his enemy's black cock. 'When did she become such an accomplished cocksucker, not to mention such a slut for black cock?' he thought. When she had it so deep in her throat that she could lick the bastard's 'nads, Billy's stomach threatened to heave, while his cock began to leak pre-cum.