Black Man One Ch. 19

I wasn't sure how many hours I had layed there sleeping in the complete and total degradation of seeing this black man fuck my blonde wife. It was nightmarish to witness Julie being "with" such a young muscular black thug-like stud, like Tra'mon. My body and mind were even weaker now.

"How could she even be with this bully of a guy?" I asked myself.

Despite the fact we were recently separated, my thoughts had been that our little disagreement was innocent. Never would I have imagined that it would come to this. Never would I have believed that my wife would find any little excuse to run into the arms of this young and intimidating black man.

I was awakened by the sound of a short, but loud pounding noise at my front door. I woke up startled and literally fell out of my bed and to the floor.

Dazed and confused, I peered towards the window to see the darkness of night and I held my head in pain. The pounding sound had stopped when I gazed over to the digital clock on the night stand. It was 9:30 p.m., and I had been asleep for several hours.

I staggered to the door and peeked through the "peep hole" to see that no one was there. Initially, I thought that I had only imagined the loud pounding sound of someone knocking. I thought maybe it was all a part of my bad dreams. But, then I timidly decided to open the front door of my condo apartment.

It was then that I was faced with presence of the black man's neon-yellow bikini hanging over a small nail on my front door. It was a small, elongated tack-sized nail with a wider head that seemed to be pounded into my wooden door with his fist. There was no hammer in sight and a short note was attached to it.

"What the heck is this?" I thought, in a panic, as I heard the sound of the building door from downstairs closing.

For some reason, I rushed down the stairs in my flustered state of mind towards the glass doors leading to the parking lot. I peered out into the dimly-lit area to see Tra'mon and Julie walking towards the black man's black Bentley car.

They were dressed to go out for the night. My belly felt sick from this intense humiliation as I watched my blonde wife holding the driver's side door open for Tra'mon, once again. My face blushed red as they drove off only moments later.

Defeated, I walked through the hallways and back up to my condo apartment. I removed the black stud's flimsy little yellow bikini speedoes suit with the note nailed to my front door. My weak hands trembled as I opened the note and read it.

"Shit still ain't clean. Make 'em like new and then ya' can talk to her, boy!" the note read.

My shoulders slumped in complete humiliation.

This young black stud was directing me to clean the lipstick stains from his tiny yellow bikini before I could speak to Julie. He was referring to the same faded lipstick lip prints I had degradingly spent hours trying to remove before. I looked closely at them and the faded images and traces of my wife's lips remained embedded in the thin, flimsy neon-yellow nylon-lycra spandex fabric of this bikini.

I felt so ashamed and intimidated by his arrogant and disrespectful behavior. I didn't know what to do. In my mind, I felt that I had already lost Julie to the black stud. My beautiful, blonde wife had already witnessed him emasculating me in the most embarrassing and horrifyingly demeaning ways humanly possible. Now, the black man was giving me a direct "order" and an option to do something before I could speak to my separated wife again.

"Why is he doing this?" I asked, in my humiliation.

"Why is he degrading me so meanly like this?" I questioned.

"Can't Julie see how much of a bully he is to me?" I asked myself.

"Geez. Did she even see this note he left me?" I pondered.

Not understanding how unrealistic and disgraceful this "request" was at the time, and desperately wanting to speak to Julie again, I gave in. Completely humiliated, I walked back into the bathroom to begin "handwashing" the stud's yellow bikini in the sink for a second time.

My attempts were futile and I began to grow even more desperate as I washed the flimsy yellow bikini in the sink for almost another hour. That is when the phone rang, and it was my mother again.

"Hey, honey. I thought you were going to call us back?" she asked, innocently.

"I-I'm sorry, mom. I guess just got, well, uh busy with something again." I fibbed.

"Well, I hope it's not too late. What are you and Julie up to? Can I talk to her about coming up to see you?" she asked.

Again, I knew that I couldn't tell my mom and dad the truth. I couldn't tell them that their big pussy of a weakling son was still handwashing a black man's bikini in the sink. I couldn't explain how I was doing this demoralizing task while the black stud had fucked my wife earlier, and was now taking her out for the night with him.

"M-Mom. Julie's asleep and this is not uh good t-time. Not now, okay?" I lied.

"Well, okay honey. Let us know when. Let us know soon. We want to come up." she said.

"Okay, mom I will." I answered.

Then, suddenly the thought of asking my mom how to get these bikinis cleaned came to my mind. I suppose it was the struggle I was having that caused my desperate question.

"Mom? Before you go, can you tell me how to get a dark stain out of a swimsuit?" I asked her, my face turning red.

My mother was a little surprised and curious by my question, yet she was helpful in telling me that I should use club soda and a light brush.

"Try that, sweetie." she advised.

"Okay, mom. Thanks." I returned, hanging up the phone.

It would have been even more disgraceful if my mom and dad knew the real reason for my question. My cheeks turned a flushed red tone just thinking about it. Looking around, I realized that I had an old tooth brush but I did not have any club soda in the house. I decided to try this anyway.

But, this turned out to be a disaster.

Frantically, I stood above the sink "scrubbing" the black man's little bikini suit that had a large pouch with a small tooth brush and soapy water. Humiliated beyond reason, I grew desperate and began scrubbing as hard as I could to remove the lipstick stains. That is when I realized that I was actually ruining the black man's bikini.

The fabric was now "fraying" in some of the spots and I was horrified that I had brushed them too hard. The stains were starting to come out, but I was actually ruining the material. The thought of this young black stud becoming angry by my carelessness completely overwhelmed me.

I panicked when I stopped washing and began "wringing" the warm water from them. It was a careless mistake and I had no idea what to do now. I held them in my passive hands looking them over while I tried to figure out my next course of action.

That is when I noticed the smallest grey nylon tag stitched into the backside of these bikinis. The tag read "Eleanor's Shop" and it had the address stitched in white into the tiny tag. The idea of just going to this shop to get a new pair crossed my mind. I couldn't believe I was thinking along these lines, but my fear and intense intimidation of this black man had my feeble mind tied in the most demoralizing knots.

That night, I sat down at my desk and wrote the longest letter to Julie. It was mostly a love letter to her and pleading with her to talk to me, and to come back to me. The letter was, admittedly, rather "sappy" and "sniveling" and "groveling." Yet, it was a desperate attempt for her to truly understand my feelings. Like a wimp, I sat at my desk for hours writing this long letter until the early morning hours.

It was 3 a.m. when I heard the faint sound of Tra'mon's car pulling into the parking lot of our building. For a moment, I struggled with myself on whether I should look out from the window or not. But, I felt compelled to. Despite the risk of another humiliation, I just had to see if it was Julie and to know that she was alright. I'm not sure what was going through my mind then, but I stepped passively and hesitantly to the bathroom window to peek out into the parking lot.

In disgrace, I saw my blonde wife kneeling before the black stud who was standing by the trunk of his parked Bentley car. She was blatantly sucking his large, mammoth-sized cock right there in the darkness of our parking lot.

"Oh gawd." I sobbed.

It was a purely grotesque display of the black stud's arrogance. I knew that he could have easily had her do this for him in his own condo unit. But, there he was making her kneel and suck on his black cock in the dimly-lit parking lot, and in plain view of my bathroom window. The young black man was "rubbing it in my face" again, and I peered out in utter humiliation before I finally closed the curtains in disgust.

I did not sleep well that night.

The black man's blatant show of disrespect for my wife, and for me, simply intensified my feeling of intimidation. It was 11 o'clock when I decided to run to the shop that was "tagged" inside Tra'mon's yellow bikini. I knew that I had ruined them from the scrubbing during my futile attempt to remove the lipstick stains. I was hoping to get a quick and easy replacement of them so I could have a real chance to speak to Julie.

When I pulled up to "Eleanor's Shop" in the busiest part of town I became nervous. It was embarrassing to be walking into a shop with another man's bikini suit curled up in my hands as I "slithered" into this classy shop that looked like a boutique of some sorts. Embarrassed, I put the bikini inside my pants pocket as I entered.

Humiliated, I looked around the little shop at the racks and hangers trying to find a matching pair. An attractive white woman in her 40's asked if she could assist, but my first reaction was to say "no, thank you."

I continued looking around, searching for something similar. But, I was unable to find anything close to these neon-yellow bikinis. Just when I was beginning to panic and thinking about running out the door, this white woman store clerk approached me again.

"Are you sure I can't help you find what you're looking for?" she asked pleasantly.

With little choice remaining, I decided to ask her. I pulled out the black man's flimsy bikini from my pocket and, with a beet red face, I asked her if she had these exact same ones in stock.

"Oh, well let me take a look at these." she said, taking them from my weak grip and moving around to the back of the counter.

My face blushed as she began looking at them closer with what appeared to be reading glasses. She seemed to be reading the same little grey tag.

"Oh, these are custom bikinis." she suddenly stated.

"C-Custom?" I asked louder, bewildered.

Another white woman behind the counter with her back to us overheard my words. She turned and began looking at the flimsy little yellow bikini speedoes. She was about 30, and even more attractive than the store clerk helping me. This woman was Eleanor, the owner of the shop.

"Oh, I remember these." she started, suddenly excited and aware of where they came from.

"We had these custom made for a young man months ago." she continued.

"Remember?" she asked the other woman behind the counter, continuing.

"That young black man. His name was Trey." she added.

"Yeah. I remember him. Of course I do. We had like 30 swimsuits and at least 50 pairs of bikini underwear made for him, right?" the 40's woman asked the younger shop owner.

"Oh Yes, that's right. They all have a triple extra large front and a medium backing. We had to stitch them together for a custom fit." Eleanor stated.

"Oh, Gawd yes! How can I forget him?" the store clerk added as both white women looked down at the flimsy bikinis, lost in thought for the moment.

My face could not have been more red. I stood there in shame and disgrace as the two white women seemed to "fawn" over their custom work for the young black stud. Then, they looked back up to me.

"Well, what are you doing with them?" Eleanor asked.

"These are Trey's bikinis." she announced.

Embarrassed beyond words, I tried to explain that I had borrowed them and accidentally ruined them when I tried to get them clean. I explained that I thought it would just be easier to replace them.

Both attractive white women looked at me like I had three heads, curious as to why a tall white wimp would be carrying a black man's custom-fitted bikinis around. They seemed suspicious about my claim to have "borrowed" them. It felt like they knew that this couldn't be possible since I was quite a bit taller than the black stud, and didn't have the same athletic body he possessed.

I really couldn't tell them the truth about this. I couldn't tell them that I needed to replace them so I wouldn't get beaten up, again. I didn't want to admit to them that this black stud was fucking my blonde wife, and that I was scared to take his bikinis back to him in their present condition.

I was incredibly humiliated to be standing there, and I was sure they noticed this too.

"Well, I can have a replacement in a week. That's the soonest I can get this done." the shop owner explained, looking into my defeated eyes with a greater curiosity.

"A w-w-week? Is that the fastest?" I sniveled.

"Why, yes. That's pretty fast. Why? Is that a problem for you?" she asked me.

"W-Well, I-I-I guess I was just h-hoping to get th-them faster." I quivered, my pleading eyes almost begging her to do better.

"Why are these so special? I mean, I remember him and he must still have the other 30 suits." she asked, suspiciously.

"I-I g-guess. Well, I mean I really do need them right away, Miss." I mumbled in shame.

The white woman must have seen more of the fear and horror in my face, and my desperation to get these particular bikinis replaced right away. My embarrassment and humiliation was so obvious to both women that I almost began crying.

"Well, I suppose that I can do a rush job and have a new pair done in a few days. It's a little pricey, but ..." she offered.

"Yes, okay. Please do that!" I answered, and paid the $140.00 for the custom-fitted speedoes suit.

I walked out of the shop mortified by the unbelievable humiliation that I felt.

I was in awe that this young black man had to get custom-fitted bikini speedoes and bikini underwear in an "XXXL" front pouch and a "medium" sized butt portion. The "rippled with muscles" black stud was so obviously well "gifted" in that area that I felt ashamed and defeated even more. I felt like I was far less than half a man he was.

The next two days of waiting were painful. I tried working, but could not concentrate. I kept thinking of Julie and trying to understand why she would want to be with such a man, like this black man. His masculinity was obvious and easier to understand. Humiliatingly, I had to admit that. But, he seemed so overly aggressive and rough. I found it uncharacteristic of my wife to find the 5'9" tall black "bully" and black "thug" type of man attractive. Especially after she had been married to me for years.

To make matters worse, the next few days Tra'mon would be seen out by the pool with Julie when I arrived home from work. They would be there rather than at the black man's fitness center at this precise This was unusual in itself. Generally, they had almost been living at the gym for quite some time now.

Each of these days, I would see my blonde wife emerging from the building and walking out into the pool area. She seemed to walk out at precisely the moment I would look out from my kitchen window, and she was always walking towards the black stud who was sitting at the far end of the pool with his cell phone.

I wondered if he was calling her and telling her to come out when I got home.

Like all the other white women before her, she truly and undeniably looked so well-fucked out of her mind that she could hardly walk straight. It was that blatant as she "staggered" her way to the black man carrying a drink for him. She would then serve him, kneel and instantly begin massaging his feet.

Those few days of waiting for the bikini order and seeing my wife with him were horribly defeating. The young black stud couldn't have made it more obvious that he was fucking Julie with the same intensity that I had demoralizingly witnessed a couple of days before.

Even more defeating and curious was the fact that all the other white women I had noticed with him before started coming around, again. I had noticed 7 different attractive white women with the black stud before. From the time he came to our condo community, he had always been with all these other white women. Everyone knew this. He had made it ridiculously obvious that he was ficking them. Now, they were back and coming to see him.

For the moment, I took this as a good sign. Perhaps, Julie and Tra'mon weren't as "together" as it had appeared? But, Julie was quite different now.

My beautiful, once outspoken blonde wife seemed so much more quiet and somber. Her normal bright and bubbly personality had become more reserved, and she seemed to be lost in thought all the time. It was strange to see that Tra'mon and Julie would spend only about an hour by the pool when I arrived home. Then, they would go back to his apartment for a short time before departing for the fitness center dressed in their obvious workout gear.

After those few days of inhumane degradation, I went back to Eleanor's Shop to retrieve my order. I had to pick up new neon-yellow bikinis custom made for the black stud. It was an exact replica of the ones I had ruined a few days before and the store clerk held them up for my view. My face blushed red seeing the enormous and gigantic front pouch added to the medium-sized ass part of them. I asked her for a darker bag to conceal them better.

Humiliated, I walked out of the shop to what felt like little "snickers" of amusement from the white women in the shop. I couldn't have felt more embarrassed by the thought that these women knew what a total "weak white wimp" I was as I had to "fetch" a black man's bikini. Nervously, I thought of a way to return them to the tough black man as my feelings of terror grew. I had no desire to confront him again.

Later that night, I heard Tra'mon arriving home with Julie. It was around 10.

My entire body froze in fear when I heard his voice speaking to my blonde wife from a distance. They were entering into the first floor hallway.

I wanted desperately to speak to Julie and give her the letter I had written the other day. Still, I was nervous to approach the black man's apartment despite the fact that I had his yellow bikini speedoes suit to return. I had paid a lot of money to get them replaced and, in my mind, I was convinced that he would be pleased they were cleaned of the lipstick stains.

I decided to head down to his apartment but I was afraid of a repeated humiliation of seeing him with Julie. I texted Tra'mon and said that I had his bikini cleaned. I asked if I could return them now and then speak to Julie.

"Bring'em down." his return text read.

Like a big pussy, I meekly walked down to the first floor with the black stud's bikini swimsuit in my trembling hands. My entire tall body shook with every step I was took, and my shaking increased as I drew nearer and nearer to his condo unit.

Timidly, I "tapped" on the door and waited for him to answer. It seemed to take awhile and I could not help but to think he was making me wait in my own fear for a few extra minutes. I wondered if he was doing this on purpose.

Finally, Tra'mon answered the door in nothing but a pair of thin, white sweat pants. His dark, chiseled torso and washboard abs intimidated me to the point of shivering. His stern eyes were as dominant and aggressive as I had ever seen them, and his "look of dominance" alone frightened me.