Black Man One Ch. 19

I stood there like a timid rabbit, shaking nervously as I struggled to speak.

"I-I finished cl-cleaning th-these, S-Sir." I whispered, humiliated as I handed them back to him.

The young black stud took them from my limp grip and seemed to inspect them for a brief moment.

"Good. Ya' did good, boy." he snarled in a condescending tone of voice.

I remained quiet for a moment as I stood towering above him in absolute fear. That is when he bent over and picked up something off the floor from behind him. It was a small mesh bag and he callously tossed it to the ground at my feet.

I couldn't see what it was as I gazed down to the floor, then looked back into the stud's eyes. His bold stare was frightening to me.

"Do deez' too." he suddenly said.

"Wh-Wh-What is it, uh, is J-J-Julie h-here please?" I asked in a petrified tone.

The young black stud then bent down and reached into the small mesh bag. He pulled out a pair of his flimsy bikini underwear and held it in his hands. They were his leopard-print bikinis and he paused for a moment as he sneered at me.

"I said do deez' first." he said, commandingly.

With utter disdain, he reached up and put them to my face. He placed them over my head until the crotch portion was flush over my face and nose, and the leg holes were over my eyes.

I looked down into his domineering eyes in disbelief as I stood there shaking like a leaf. The disgusting, musky scent of this black stud's cock and balls was now covering my nose as I remained standing in his doorway. I was scared to respond to his rude and obnoxious action.

He grinned, evilly, then repeated his order.

"Do deez' too." he commanded.

My face blushed a deeper red.

"I-I th-thought that I-I-I could ..." I began groveling, speaking through his bikini underwear and asking him why I couldn't speak to my blonde wife.

He did not answer for a moment.

"She's busy now, boy." he replied, firmly, making me stand in this ultra-demoralizing position.

"Ain't dat' right, Julie?" the black man asked, turning his head over his broad shoulder and yelling out towards my wife.

Julie was deeper inside his apartment.

That is when Julie scurried from the kitchen and into the living room that adjoined the small foyer. She was now at a distance and in plain view of me standing in the black man's door way entrance.

"I'm sorry, Trey. What was that, Trey?" she asked, noticing me from a distance of about 20 feet.

My humiliation couldn't have been worse.

My pretty white wife coming into view and then seeing her white wimp of a husband standing there with her black stud boyfriend's bikini underwear "draped" over his head. I must have looked like a complete fool to her.

It had to be shocking to her, as well. Her eyes looked straight at me and how the stud was demoralizing me for only a mere moment. But, it felt like several minutes to me. Immediately, Julie turned her eyes away and downward, almost as if she couldn't bare the sight.

She seemed ashamed that she had been married to such a "wimp," and someone who was so obviously less of a man than the black stud she was with now. Part of her soft, brief gaze told me that she was embarrassed and humiliated for me as well.

"Ya' almost finished with my dinner, girl?" Tra'mon suddenly asked Julie.

"Y-Yes, Trey. I'm almost finished, Trey. It will be done very soon, Trey." Julie answered obediently, her eyes remaining down to the floor.

"Well, git' to it." he ordered her.

"Yes, Trey. Right away, Trey." she replied as she turned and quickly ran off.

The young black stud then turned his attention back to me. His stare made my entire inner and outer body shake. I remained standing with the crotch of his leopard-print underwear over my face, afraid to stand up to him.

"Talk later, boy." he snapped, slamming the door in my face.

I stood there for a moment in shock. I reached down and grabbed the mesh bag from the floor and submissively walked away from his door. I removed the black man's bikini from my embarrassed face as I tried to comprehend the utter shame and humiliation he had just put me through.

The dominant black man had just ordered me to wash whatever else was in that mesh bag, which I assumed at the time was more of his bikinis. I couldn't have felt more defeated than I was at that particular moment.

When I got back to my apartment, I emptied the contents of the mesh bag onto the bed.

There were 25 pairs of the young black man's bikini underwear and a few added bikini speedoes swimsuits inside. They were all obviously worn and in a variety of different shades and prints. Unbelievably mortified, I just looked down at them knowing that he had just ordered me to "handwash" all of these as well.

I could not have conceived such a more demeaning task.

I literally cried, in shame, at the manner in which this young black man was treating me. Yet, I was even more frightened and terrified of him. I knew that I had to do this obnoxious and degrading task in order to speak to Julie again. He was "holding all the cards" and I felt intimidated by the fleeting thoughts of refusing.

For the most part, I was absolutely refusing to do this. In my mind, I could not take any more of the utter degradation he was putting me through.

"How can any man put up with this?" I asked myself.

"Julie's gone. She'll never come back. I know this now. I don't need to do this." I told myself.

But, this so-called refusal in my mind would not last long.

It was the next day while I was at work thinking about the humiliation Tra'mon had put me through the night before. My feelings of losing Julie forever consumed me, and I had all but given up on the hopes of getting her back. I knew that I had been so fortunate to have such a young, beautiful blonde wife like her.

Deep down, I knew that I could never compete with this younger black stud. I knew that Julie wasn't making any attempts to contact me either, and that made me especially curious. She had always been the type of person to at least "talk" about things.

"Maybe he is not letting her talk to me?" I thought.

"Perhaps, she really does want to talk to me but can't?" I attempted to convince myself.

When I returned home in the early evening I got out of my car to see Tra'mon's black Bentley car parked in the lot.

"Oh, gosh. They're here again." I whimpered.

Defeatedly, I bowed my head and began to walk inside feeling as awkward as ever.

I knew the black stud's mesh bag of worn bikini underwear was still sitting in my apartment, and I had no intention of completing the degrading task he ordered.

I told myself that I was not going to look out towards the pool this evening. Not this time. I certainly had no desire to see my blonde wife kneeling at Tra'mon's feet once again.

"No. No. I'm not going to do that!" I convinced myself as I made my way through the parking lot.

But, that is when I ran right into him!

Just as I was reaching for the glass doors leading to the building, the young black man was quickly stepping out. He was dressed in one of his flimsy bikini speedoes suits. This one was a dark navy-blue color and, perhaps, one of the flimsiest of them all.

"What up, pussy-boy?" he snarled, holding his car keys in his hands.

He bumped into me and literally shoved me off to the side. Weakly, I absorbed the shove as he purposely pushed me away and waited for my reaction. My shoulders slumped as he took another two steps passed me, but then he then turned back to me.

"Is there a problem, whiteboy?" he asked, speaking loudly.

Petrified, my eyes simply lowered to the ground and I was unable to speak. I just stood there, ashamed. All I wanted to do was run away and go inside. But, the black stud seemed disturbed by my lack of response as he stepped in closer until he was directly in front of me.

I cowered before Tra'mon looking slightly downward into his stern and threatening eyes. In my mind, I was pleading for him not to beat me up again. Yet, I was finding it increasingly difficult to speak. I could not form any words with my tightened lips and throat.

"It's a simple question, boy." Tra'mon said in a much firmer tone.

His presence before me caused my body to weaken. I was so scared that I literally trembled, and I was sure the black stud found some form of amusement in my petrified state.

"N-N-No." I finally muttered, a weaker whisper coming from my lips.

"No?!" Tra'mon asked, his eyes growing more disturbed.

"N-No, S-S-Sir. There's n-no pr-problem." I answered, meekly as I began to tear.

"Dats' good then. Reeeel good." he replied.

The young black thug made me stand there shivering for another moment before he turned and began walking away, again.

I stood there still weakened and affected by this brief "confrontation" as I watched him walk out towards his car. His well-muscled asscheeks in that skimpiest navy-blue bikini speedoes "swayed" back and forth with complete arrogance. His strides were "cocky" and "confident" as he reached his Bentley and quickly pulled out something from inside of it.

I was still standing there afraid as he closed the car door, turned and began walking back towards me. He was coming back to the building. My heart began to pound. Cowardly, I turned and fled into the building and up the stairs to my condo unit, closing the door behind me as my heart raced.

The intimidation I felt was beyond explanation.

Within a few minutes, I did what I had promised myself I wouldn't do. I looked out to the pool area. It wasn't something that I wanted to do, but felt that I needed to do. Somehow, I needed to see Julie. I will never be able to explain the reason why. It was not that I wanted to see them there. Not at all. Perhaps, it was simply a "look of hope" that this whole situation was not real, or that it could not possibly continue like this.

I could not explain it.

When I gazed out to the pool, Julie was sitting on the marble-deck on the ground at the foot of Tra'mon's chaise lounge chair. She was patiently waiting for him to return. She looked so beautiful, yet she was in a very somber mood. The black spade symbols on her body inked from nights before were gone and I was relieved to see this. Longingly, I just looked at her from my apartment window.

Her pale body looked so much better when it wasn't "marked up" so rudely like it had been.

Moments later, I saw the black stud walking out into the pool area in his navy-blue bikini. He put his shades onto his stern face and sat down without a word being said to Julie. Like always, she immediately began to massage the black man's bare feet.

The image of seeing my blonde wife alone by the pool was like a dream, but then was disrupted by his sudden presence.

For just that moment, seeing Julie alone by the pool kept me longing to see her again.

Part of me didn't want to face her ever again. I didn't know how I would be able to explain what a "big pussy" I was when the young black stud had "bullied" and pushed me around like a rag doll. But, the other part of me wanted to see if there was still a chance to get her back.

Humbly, I just turned away from the window and walked back inside. I saw the mesh bag filled with the black stud's dirty bikinis laying on the floor. In complete defeat, I just took them to the bathroom and began "handwashing" them, one by one, in the delicate liquid soap I had used before.

Embarrassed by my compliance and my fear of Tra'mon, I felt that I had little to no choice but to do what I was told to. If there was even the slightest chance to see her again, I reasoned this humiliating "chore" had to be done. I knew that having a purpose to go down to his apartment or the pool area would be the only way.

I spent most of the night feeling pressured into performing the degrading task of washing the black man's bikini underwear. Humiliated, I washed them all by hand and placed them on small hangers to dry on the curtain rod above my bath tub. In utter disgrace, I just did what I had promised myself I would never do.

I did not finish until nearly 10 o'clock that night. I looked down at my hands that were now "pruned" from hours of being in the soapy water. Then, I looked up to see the 25 pairs of the stud's dampened and freshly washed bikinis on hangers on the shower curtain rod.

My feeling of defeat couldn't have been greater.

With this most humiliating feeling of being completely defeated, once again, I just wanted to pass out and go to sleep. But, my mind was racing with thoughts of seeing Julie. I knew that I wanted to see her right away. I wanted to talk to her so badly. It occurred to me that I could just bring the black man's handwashed bikini underwear back to him and talk to my blonde wife right now. But, they were still damp and drying over my bath tub.

"Geez. I can't bring them back to him dampened like this?" I thought.

"I don't think he'd accept that?" I quivered.

Again, my defeated mind was not thinking straight. I was desperate to see Julie that night and, for some reason I can not explain, I decided to get his bikinis dried faster. I pulled out a hair dryer from my wife's cosmetics drawer and was about to turn it on. Like a defeated wimp, I was just about to "dry" the young black stud's bikini underwear. But, that is when I heard his voice speaking to Julie in the parking lot.

I could not make out his words.

Rushing over to the window, once again, I saw them dressed and getting into Tra'mon's black Bentley. The sight of them leaving to go out so late caused my entire unathletic body to weaken. I knew then that I would have little to no chance of speaking to Julie this night.

Even more defeated, I walked into my livingroom and sat on the couch. Thoughts of her going back to "The Black Jacques Club" with that arrogant young stud consumed me.

"Gosh, why is he always taking her to that club anyway?" I began thinking.

"Why there all the time?" I pondered.

"What kinda' club is that anyway?" I began thinking, once again.

Awake and alone in my degradation, I decided to find out more about this club. All the white wives in our little condo community had been frequenting this place with Tra'mon after work, and they had been since the conception of his new fitness center.

I suddenly realized that they had been going to this club for several weeks now, and I hardly seen any of them since. Also, I rarely seen any of the other white husbands besides Mark, who had moved out for reasons he would not explain.

That is when I searched for that little match book from the club, and I found it minutes later. I decided to look up their website, which was listed on the back of the black cover.

When I looked up the website of "The Black Jacques Club" I was in awe.

Being a computer person myself I could easily see that the site was professionally done. A great deal of work was put into the detail of this website, and I quickly clicked past the "enter" button and towards the main page. I sat there scrolling through the words and images on this page.

"The Black Jacques Club" had been only been opened in this location for about a year. Previously, it had been opened under another name and in 4 other cities for the past 8 years. It was a night club, but unlike any club that I had ever seen before. The numerous images of the club's many areas revealed one-hundred percent black men and one-hundred percent white women.

"Geezuz." I cried.

There were hundreds of pictures of the "club life" with people dancing, drinking, smoking and partying. They were all white women with studly black men, and there seemed to be many more pretty white women than there were black men.

Black spade symbols adorned every photo. More black spade symbols were strategically positioned around the pages. Several circular symbols of a black power fist with the actual words "Black Power" written in them were situated at the top of each paragraph describing the rooms and events.

There was a page that read "Stud of the Week" and I clicked on that to see images of their weekly contest. These pictures showed dozens of white women "hooting" and "hollering" as black men were up on a small stage in the tiniest speedoes bikinis one can envision. This week's photo of the "stud of the week" was Tra'mon. I clicked on past winners to see that Tra'mon had won this so-called contest for the past 9 weeks in a row. A few others had won in the 6 weeks before him, but then I noticed that Tra'mon had won at least 15 weeks in a row before that.

"Gosh." I gulped in shame.

The members page was especially humiliating. There was a "count" at the bottom of the link of photos that read "male members" and "female members." There were 67 males members and I clicked on that link to see that every last one of them was a black stud between 20 and 32 years of age. Most of them were darker-skinned athletic guys, like Tra'mon. When I saw Tra'mon's photo I clicked on that with great hesitation.

There had to be 40 photos on Tra'mon's "personal" page. Many of them were in his skimpy bikinis, and from his bodybuilding days. One was in a pair of tight spandex shorts with boxing gloves as he stood there in a boxing stance. Another was of him sharply-dressed on the dance floor with other white women. Several were of them were close-ups of him sitting in the booths having drinks or smoking with white women, partying. Three of these were with my blonde wife, Julie, and my heart nearly stopped as I viewed these images.

Uncanningly, one of the photos of Tra'mon and Julie showed them smiling. A one inch black spade symbol was clearly positioned directly in the middle of her forehead as the photo was taken. Julie's eyes seeemed a little weary as she was being held by the black stud, and that black inked spade symbol "had to" be known, right? My blonde wife had to know this black man had put it there, right? It was as defeating as it could be.

Tra'mon's profile was positioned below. It read, "Trey, 25, 5'9" 185 lbs., former-dancer, business owner, fathered nine."

"N-Nine?" I gasped.

"Wh-what the heck? I thought he had seven children?" I asked myself, thinking of the brief conversation I had with one of his white women in the parking lot.

I looked at the group of miniature photos of the female members. The count was 281, and when I clicked onto this page it was obvious that 100 per cent of the female members were white women. All were pretty white women between the ages of 25 and 45, and my heart raced in humiliation as I clicked "next" repeatedly, scrolling through this vast list of club photos.

Many, if not most of these women had their profiles listed at the bottom of their photo pages. I read through them quickly and was stunned to see the numbers listed after their status as mother.

"Mother to five. Mother to three. Mother to two. Mother to eight. Mother to one. Mother to six." they read.

More than half of these women were already mothers. I could not help but to look closer at the white woman who listed her profile as having eight children because she seemed so young. Her name was Annie, and she was 32. She was a beautiful auburn-haired woman with a trim body and large breasts. The photos of her and her children who were obviously from black men. All of them were. Her smiling photo made my heart fall as her occupation read "attorney."

"Gosh. I can't believe all these children are hers?" I gawked.

When I got to Julie's profile, it read, "Mother: someday." Below that her status read "Belongs to Trey." Her occupation read "Trey's assistant."

My throat closed tightly as I viewed the only 3 photos of my wife on her profile page. She was smiling in two of them, and was dressed in only a black bikini and black heels in one of them. I was absolutely mortified to see her on this page, and I felt her slipping away from me and into the more masculine black stud's arms.