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.