Cuckolded & Dominated by Bully

My wife Monica and I were having a picnic in the park one sunny day. Monica was 20 years my junior at 22 years old. I was completely distracted by her beautiful legs, her cleavage, her gorgeous face...just the way she moved made my heart skip a beat. I made no attempt to hide my devotion to her, and had no shame admitting she was way too hot for an older guy like me.

While Monica was distracting me with her beauty that day, she herself was distracted by a wigger named Kyle. Kyle, shirtless, was playing pickup basketball on a court near our spot in the park. Monica's eyes watched his chiseled body drip sweat each time he dunked the ball.

While she wasn't familiar with this younger kid, I was -- he was my son Dougie's age (a couple years younger than my wife) and went to the same junior college that my son did. Kyle was the school bully and was very intimidating to the other students at the junior college. My son and Kyle were friendly enough with one another, so thankfully I never had any issues with the stocky white thug.

Kyle noticed the attention Monica was giving him and paused his basketball game. He grabbed a towel and wiped himself down as he walked towards us sipping a water bottle. He introduced himself to my wife, and the two started talking. Kyle made no conversation with me, nor did he look at me when he handed me his sweaty towel and empty water bottle. Feeling awkward, I got up, folded the towel and left it on a nearby bench, tossing Kyle' bottle in the garbage on the way. I thought it was peculiar that he just handed me those two items as if it was my duty to clean up after him.

"Where's Kyle, dawg?" One of Kyle' thuggish basketball friends asked another.

"Over there, mackin' on another bitch." The other wigger replied, pointing in my wife's direction.

Kyle kissed my wife on the cheek before walking back to the basketball court, passing right by me without any acknowledgment, as if I wasn't there. He flashed the screen of his cell phone at his friends and received fist-bumps in response. From what I could see, it looked like my wife's phone number was what he was showing them. I wasn't sure what to think.

Some weeks later, I joined up with a group of friends to do some walking around the park. We weren't doing much walking though, mostly just hanging out. At one point, I excused myself to some nearby bushes to take a piss. Overhearing moans, I looked over a nearby wall, curious about the source of the noise. To my surprise, it was Kyle, who was easily recognizable even with his back to me. He was fucking some girl standing up, though her face was obstructed by a leaves on a tree branch, and the shade concealed most of her features. She was about my wife's height though. He was holding up her thigh while thrusting into this girl, and her arm was wrapped around his neck.

This girl was so in the thralls of the deep fucking she was getting by the white thug that she didn't even notice me looking over the wall. However, Kyle soon did. He turned his head my way and we made eye contact for a second before I hopped down and scurried away to rejoin my friends. I was worried sick that Kyle would think of me as some perverted peeping Tom.

Kyle saw me on the street later that day and confronted me about spying on him. He had no idea I was Dougie's father -- to him; I was the weirdo who was spying on him like a peeping Tom. The wigger was hostile when he asked the question, making me nervous. I was honest and told Kyle exactly what happened, though I was trembling while explaining myself to the kid. When I finished talking, Kyle leaned into me in a very menacing pose.

"Better not catch you doin' that again, dumbass," the wigger said to me with a soft-yet-firm tone.

"Yes, sir," I replied with my eyes down. Sweating profusely, I stepped carefully around Kyle, and left.

I found out days later that Dougie was going to be visiting for the weekend, which I was excited about, as he lived with his mother for most of the year. He asked if he could bring a friend along for the weekend, who would stay in the guest house. When I asked who he was bringing, I was stopped dead in my tracks.

"Kyle, Dad," Dougie said to me. "It's the weirdest thing - after I showed him a picture of you and Monica, he seemed eager to crash with us for the weekend."

"Yeah, wow," I said, not knowing what to tell my son. I simply told him it would be fine to bring his friend over. I immediately began tidying up the house and preparing the guest house. I told Monica that we would have a guest over for the weekend in addition to my son. When I told her it was Kyle, aka "the guy from the basketball court," she seemed worried, though I couldn't figure out why.

When Dougie and Kyle came over Saturday afternoon, you couldn't have scrubbed the shit-eating grin of the wigger's face. He looked over at my wife and winked, then looked at me and smirked. I immediately grabbed Kyle's bags and invited the boys in as, doing my best to be a gracious host. My nervousness was very apparent to everyone in the room. What was it about this kid that made me so on edge?

Dougie and I spent a lot of time together catching up as a father and sons do. Meanwhile, Monica was keeping Kyle busy. The way they were acting towards each other suggested that they had spoken before, as they were very comfortable around one another. Monica took Kyle to the guest house and at one point didn't come out for an entire hour.

Something came up at Dougie's mother's house, and unfortunately, my son had to leave early. Not wanting to ruin his friend's fun, Dougie asked if Kyle could stay the remainder of the week with us (I would later learn that Kyle was going to be evicted from his apartment as he was behind on rent.). Before I could even say "no problem," Monica eagerly insisted that Kyle stay as long as he wanted to.

Knowing that we had so much extra room, my son joined Monica, suggesting that we allow Kyle to stay past the weekend at our house, at least until he got on his feet. Every part of me wanted to deny my son's request, but even the idea of declining a request from Kyle made me panic. I told my son that Kyle was welcome to stay with us.

As days passed, it became clear that Kyle was not what you would call a gracious guest. I would come home and hear hip-hop music blasting from the guest house, smell weed coming from the place, and a couple of times even heard him fucking! To be honest, it was the girls he was fucking I could hear more, although it's possible they were all one woman -- I never actually saw a girl enter or leave the guest house.

Even as annoyed as I was with his behavior, hearing a girl scream Kyle's name and scream about how big his cock was did impress me. Nervous and a little excited, I hoped he wouldn't think I was intentionally listening in, after all, we already had one peeping misunderstanding.

Sex in the guest house was becoming a regular thing as the days passed. Anytime I heard bedsprings bouncing or headboards slamming against the wall, I knew what the kid was up to. I tried explaining these things to my wife, who was never around when he was actually engaging in the dirty behavior. Monica just smiled when I told her about all the things I heard coming from the guest house. Actually, she looked like she was blushing when I told her about the things I could hear the girl(s) scream out. I didn't want to embarrass Kyle by asking him to tone things down, and when Dougie asked how his friend was doing in our home, I just told him Kyle was a pleasure to have around.

One day while I was throwing out some garbage, I saw Kyle sitting in the driver's seat of my wife's Mustang in our driveway. He had rap music playing with extra loud bass, inconveniencing everyone within a wide radius. From where I was standing, I couldn't see my wife in the passenger's seat. I was surprised she trusted him enough to let him drive her car if she wasn't with him.

The wigger had his head cocked back, with one arm resting out the open window. His right hand looked like it was gripping something round, and whatever it was, it was bobbing up and down over the crotch of his pants. I tried to take a closer look, but the kid opened his eyes and caught me staring. He raised his eyebrow at me, and just like that, I scurried away like a scared rabbi, ending up back inside the house. There was something familiar about whatever Kyle was gripping in his car. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought it was the back of someone's head. I looked around for Monica but couldn't find her, nor did she respond to any texts I sent.

Monica came home about 10 minutes later, making a bee-line straight for the bathroom. I could see Kyle making his way to the guest house from our window about a second later. I found it strange that Monica's hair was all messed up from the back. There was an imprint in her messy hair as if something had pushed one spot down in the middle of the back of her head. I made dinner for us both and asked her where she was while Kyle was waking up the neighbors with the stereo in her car. She replied that she was "taking care of Kyle," which was a much more confusing and vague response than I expected. Monica kissed me on the cheek, and I could tell that she had just brushed her teeth via the scent of toothpaste. As we made small talk, I found it odd that my wife had brushed her teeth before we were about to eat.

The next day I got a text from Kyle that seemed like instructions. He was heading out in an hour, and while he was gone, he wanted me to clean up the guest house and do his laundry. Believing he had to be joking, I marched over to the guest house and knocked on the door. Kyle answered with a pissed-off look on his face. I could see he had a girl in his bed, though her face was not visible from my location. I apologized to Kyle for "cockblocking him" and told him not to worry about his request. Sure enough, when Kyle got home later that night, the guest house was spotless, and his laundry was washed and folded.

This set a precedent. Kyle would give me instructions, and I followed them. I ran his errands, justifying it by saying "I'm out anyways so I might as well," no matter what he had me do. I did this under the radar of Monica, though with all the time she spent with him at home, it's possible he already told her about my servitude. I don't know why, but it was important to me to keep Kyle happy.

I didn't do it for gratitude, and he never said the words "thank-you" to me. I took the initiative and did things for him he didn't ask me to do. I vacuumed, dusted, washed his dishes, did his laundry, scrubbed his toilet. Meanwhile, Kyle did nothing to minimize the noise level from the guest house -- if hip hop wasn't blasting, a woman was screaming out how fat his cock was and how good it felt inside of her.

My life was busy taking care of Kyle's needs, and I had a lot of mixed feelings, but if there was one thing I was thankful for, it was that my wife was never around when Kyle was giving his women the raw loud fucking they were always begging him for. I sacrificed a lot, but at least my wife was safe from his worst behavior.