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Editor’s note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.
*
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 Maltepe Escort 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 Kartal Escort “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 Kurtköy Escort 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.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32