Black Man One Ch. 13

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Young Black Stud rubs it in the nose of taller white wimp.
5.9k words
3.98
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Part 13 of the 27 part series

Updated 11/01/2022
Created 10/11/2011
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My insecurity continued to grow with each passing day during the next three weeks, as did the insecurities of the other 12 white husbands in our little condo community. Each day during the work week while the husbands worked, the young black stud had all of our wives hanging around him at his soon to be gym.

The white wives continued assisting and preparing for his new workout center business to open, and they readied themselves for this event. None of us timid white husbands had the courage to ask how this business venture we invested in was developing.

Every weekday and weekend, our wives were at the workout center for close to 12 hours. The center had not been opened to the public yet and they were spending so much time there. The preparation for this center appeared far more involved than any of us had ever anticipated.

Each day, I also continued to be coersed and intimidated into assisting Tra'mon with his personal workouts. He was adament about this and I was scared to contest him in any way. I assisted him by holding the heavy bag steady as he pounded and flailed away on it. In complete demoralization, each one of these workouts ended with me quietly and passively cleaning up the black man's sweat and spit from the blue matted floors of the condo gym.

He was rude, stern and mean while during these quick 30 minute workout sessions, which he had suddenly switched back to 6 o'clock a.m., and this caused me to adjust my own work schedule. The young black man's masculine presence and aggressive personality terrified me to no end.

The black stud hardly spoke to me during the next 3 weeks of these personal workouts, except for names and direct orders, and the references to how his new business was coming along. But, during these 3 weeks he also seemed to be "rubbing it in my nose," so-to-speak, in the most subtle "and" the most blatant ways. Often, these little signs of his black dominance over me were impossible to ignore.

His new business was a woman's workout center, and the preparation to get things ready consumed Julie. It consumed the other 12 white wives as well, but not nearly as much as it did my own wife. This fact was a source of embarrassment for me as she seemed to cater to his every whim.

They were gone all day long from around 10 o'clock in the morning when they woke up until late into the evenings. And, their absence was not only a few days here and there but all seven days of the week. This went on daily, seven days a week, for the next three weeks.

Half of these days our wives were back home by 10 o'clock at night, while other days our wives would not return until well into the "wee" hours of the morning, usually between 3:00 a.m. and 4:30 a.m., and a few times even later.

Julie's rather simple explanations and excuses for these much later hours were always so casual and nonchalant. Often, they were curious and secretive to my admittedly paranoid state of mind. Overall, her late days and nights seemed like no big deal to her. But, it was starting to concern me more than ever.

"Oh, we're all going out for a quick drink after we're finished here, honey." Julie would explain during her quick phone calls or texts.

"You don't have to wait up." she would text.

"My boss told me I need to stay and finished some things." she would say during her brief calls.

"We really worked so hard today. I think we all need a drink tonight." she would explain, innocently.

"I'm going to grab some dinner with Trey. Don't wait up." my blonde wife would text far too often.

"We're all gonna stop for a quick drink after work." Julie would text. "Shouldn't be too long."

Every day there were similar messages and calls, or both. I would receive some form of excuse for her staying out each day.

These three weeks were the most defeating because I knew that she was usually going out to that seemingly insulting club called "The Black Jacques Club" for those after work drink she described. I knew this all too well.

The sight of all those dark inked spade symbols stamped on the tops of her hands every other day felt like a slap across the face to me. She was always "going out for drinks," in her own words, and always going with Tra'mon and the others from the upstart workout center. The group went out after working at the center all day and night.

This was happening 4 or 5 days a week. But, most irritating to me was the number of those one-inch sized black spade stamps placed on her hands, wrists and arms. The number of them suddenly began to increase after the first week, and seemed to gradually increase even more as the days continued to pass.

Initially, there were only two of them with one being on each of the tops of her hands. To me, that was insulting and concerning enough. Afterall, Julie wasn't some 22 year old club girl. She was a mature, married women of 34 who was married to me.

"Why is this no big deal to her?" I asked myself.

One day there was 3 of them. Another day, there were 4 of these black spade club stamps on the tops of her hands and wrists. Then, one other day there were 5 of them running all the way up the length of her left arm.

"Geezuz. What the hell?" I thought to myself.

For some unknown reason, I decided that I had to ask my pretty blonde wife about these ink stamps again. She knew they bothered me, and I knew that it bothered her when I mentioned them. Her annoyed reaction to my inquiries about the blatant ink stamps was becoming more curious to me. For a long time I held things inside like a timid wimp. For awhile I could not find the courage to ask her about them again, but I really needed to.

It was one of those 10 o'clock nights when Julie arrived home looking exhausted, as usual. She was tired from her long day at the new women's workout center, which had still not been opened to general public. There was only about a week left before the grand opening.

She walked in with what would become the workout center's new uniform carrying a half dozen shopping bags. I was still awake and watching the late night news, and feeling incredibly insecure already. I was insecure about not seeing my beautiful blonde wife for more than a couple of hours a day for the past three weeks.

Now, she was suddenly standing there with a fatigued look on her face in this new so-called gym uniform. She looked as beautiful as ever, yet the shock of seeing her in this moderately revealing so-called uniform caused me to swallow the lump in my throat.

Julie stood there in a solid black thong-styled spandex leotard over a pair of solid, opaque white spandex tights. She was also wearing very feminine-looking pink and white sneakers over a pair of white below the ankle socks, which were folded neatly down to her shoes. The low-cut, scooped v-neck of this black leotard revealed a little more of her supple cleavage than I would have liked. Especially for a simple workout center environment. On Julie's left arm was a black band about 4 inches in width. The black band had the new workout center's name across the middle, "Roar."

In the middle of the "O" of the center's name "Roar" was an illustrated picture of a black panther head with the animal's body behind it. It was an attempt to depict some form of 3-D illustration the black panther was leaping out from the letter.

"Look, honey. This is our new uniform." she began.

"It's for all the assistants of Trey's club." she said, excitedly and naively.

"Trey designed it." she added.

"Trey thinks it's pretty and unique for a workout club. Isn't it the cutest?" she asked.

"Trey really likes it too." she continued.

I was speechless as I stood there looking at my wife in this black over white color scheme for the workout center. She set down one of the bags and turned, walking towards our bedroom with the remaining large bags. I could see her solid white spandex-covered asscheeks sticking out from that black thonged leotard. Meekly, I stood up and followed her into the bedroom while she emptied the bags onto the bed.

I gazed at the black band around her left arm with a panther head inside one of the letters again. It confused me. At the time, I did not understand it's intended purpose. My eyes just stared in defeat as I stood in the doorway of our bedroom watching my exhausted and excited wife in that sexy leotard outfit.

She pulled out a total of 7 black thonged leotards, which were reminiscent of those leotards of the late 80's and 90's. Then, she pulled out what had to be at least 40 pairs of those opaque solid white spandex tights that went under the leotard bodysuit.

"Wh-why so many pairs of tights?" I asked her, nervous and confused.

"Oh, well you know. White tights can get so dirty so fast and yaou can never have enough of them." she explained, as she quickly walked back out and into the kitchen.

"But, Trey insisted on white under our leos." she added.

"I think they're cute." Julie gleamed.

I followed behind my blonde wife and continued to ask questions. My mind was thinking of the worst case scenerio, and I felt so empty inside that I was not able to see her very much for over 3 weeks. In fact, I hardly seen her at all.

"Wh-what's that band around your arm for?" I asked Julie.

"Oh, that's for the assistants. It just shows I work there. It's another good idea Trey came up with." she announced.

"Trey really knows what he is doing." she said.

"I'm learning so much from Trey." she added.

"Trey has so many good ideas to market his place too." Julie gleemed.

"Oh." I replied, meekly.

Julie was walking around our condo apartment quickly, and I was following her around from behind like some pathetic lovesick school boy trying to keep her attention. Her mind was obviously somewhere else. She sauntered into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of apple juice from the fridge.

She finally stopped and was drinking the juice when the obvious image of 5 noticeable and barely faded black inked spade symbols came into a clearer focus. They were from her time out last night.

Again, she spent time going out for drinks after her long day at the black stud's workout center. This time, three faded spade ink stamps were on the top of her left hand, wrist and forearm while the other two were on the top of her right hand and wrist.

I knew that I just needed to ask or at least say something about them as she walked away from me and back into the livingroom. Once again, I followed her like a lost puppy. I was upset as I stopped and questioned her near the foyer of the front door.

"Honey, why is that club still putting all those stamps on you?" I asked insecurely.

"I thought you were going to talk to them and tell them not to?" I complained.

"Oh, stop Richard." Julie snapped, becoming irritated.

"I never said that!" she added.

Her sudden annoyance was apparent when I brought up this subject once again.

"I thought they only stamped you when you went inside?" I questioned.

"Yes, they do. That's their rule. I already told you that!" she said, firmly.

There was a slight pause as her casual and uncaring mannerisms began to bother me. She simply began digging through the one bag she left behind as I persisted.

"W-Well, why are th-there 5 of them then?" I asked.

"Why do th-they have to be so b-big? I mean, really." I muttered defeatedly.

"Does that mean you went back into that stupid club 5 times last night?" I asked, softly drilling her.

"Damn, Richard. I told you. Yes, whenever you go back in they stamp you. It's no big deal." she explained.

"And, yes. Sometimes my boss wants to step outside and smoke or get some air." she said.

I tried remembering all my wife's previous explanantions of why she was stepping outside of this club all the time, and why she "had to" step outside the club in the first place.

"B-But, I-I thought you said that you only uh-stepped out for air 'cause it was so smokey inside?" I asked, rather determinedly.

"I guess I thought they allowed people to smoke inside the club, I don't know?" I asked, worriedly.

"Oh, Geezuz. Will you stop that. I meant another type of smoke, you doe-doe bird." she ripped.

"Trey smokes weed. You know that." she continued.

"Yes, smoking is allowed inside. It's a club." she stated.

"Sometimes, Trey just wants to get a little air." she added.

"You want me to tell Trey that I can't step outside with him when he tells me to?" she asked, sarcastically.

Her words seemed like some sort of warning and they cut through me like a knife would cut through melted butter. I think my wife knew how intimidated I was around the young black stud and now she was asking me if she should say something to him?!

"Uh, N-N-No I g-guess not." I returned in a weak, emasculated whisper.

"B-But, those stamps are r-really ... I mean, they don't seem so necessary in my opinion honey." I added, still red-faced and embarrassed.

"Just leave it alone, Richard. I'm tired." Julie said loudly.

At that time, there was a firm knock on the door. It was 10:15 p.m.

I had no idea who it could possibly be at this time of the night. I thought it might be one of the condo neighbors complaining about our little argument and disagreement, which was beginning to get louder than I had anticipated.

"Maybe we were too loud?" I thought to myself.

Julie looked at me with fierce eyes and contempt. She looked at me with this "I told you so" look on her face that told me I was making such a big deal over nothing. Now, someone was knocking at the door.

My wife walked over to answer the door as I stood there in the foyer. I was feeling very nervous and uncomfortable. Embarrassingly, when my wife opened the front door the black stud was standing there with an all-knowing look upon his stern face.

"Oh, hi Trey." Julie said excitedly.

"I'm so surprised to see you, Trey. Didn't you have a date or something, Trey?" she asked.

"Did I forget to do something, Trey?" she continued asking, subserviently.

The young dark muscular stud just stood in the doorway as I peered towards him. He simply looked back to eyeball me. My weak shoulders slumped and my eyes went to the floor when I noticed him wearing only a pair of black spandex workout shorts and a black muscle tee shirt with the white letters of the club "Roar" across his bulging chest.

The tight, black spandex shorts he wore had a much flimsier spandex material in the crotch area. It contained an overstated and blatatly obvious bulge that was shifted off center to his left upper thigh and more noticeable than one could ever imagine. His repulsive bulge was massive and as blatant, as always.

"No, girl. It's all good. I don't want to interupt ya'all or nuthin'" he began.

"Oh, no Trey. God no! It's no trouble at all, Trey." Julie replied.

"Would you like to come in, Trey?" Julie asked her younger thug-looking black boss.

"Yeah. Just fo' a minute." he returned as he stepped inside.

"Can I get anything for you, Trey?" Julie asked subserviently.

"Something to drink, Trey? Julie continued.

"Would you like some orange juice, Trey?" my wife persisted.

"Or apple juice, Trey?" she asked, again.

The black stud glared at me and I stood there shaking in my pants like a big coward. By his stare, I could tell that it was extremely obvious that he had overheard the disagreement my blonde wife and I were having. He must have been standing on the other side of the door for quite awhile listening since we did not hear anyone approaching our condo.

Usually, there is a distinct sound when someone walks down the corridor leading to our unit This time we heard nothing.

This thought caused me to feel more embarrassed than I already was. This was the second time the black man had "overheard" me complaining about the black spade ink stamps of "The Black Jacques Club" in just a few weeks.

"Naw. I don't want anything to drink, girl. Just wanted to stop by and ask Richard for sum' thing." he said.

"Oh, okay Trey. Are you sure, Trey? Do you want to come in and sit down, Trey?" my wife asked.

"No. I don't have time. I have company. I jus' needs to get that boxing gear back for the workout center." Tra'mon stated.

"Oh, those pretty pink gloves and headgear you mean, Trey?" Julie asked.

"Yea, those. I figure since we're not sparring anymore I can use them for the girls at the center." he said, iindirectly insulting me.

My beautiful blonde wife turned to me as to question the whereabouts of the pink and white boxing gear Trey had given me weeks before. These were the very same ones that she had seen me wearing while the black man beat me up during his sparring workouts.

They were still downstairs in the equipment box of the condo's small workout center, and I stood there passively remembering they were there. My red face blushed in shame.

"I-I can g-go get them now, if you like." I answered passively.

"Yeah, you do that. Just bring'em by my place." he commanded.

"Now." he added, authoritatively. "I'll be sleeping in when you're getting up fo' work." He finished.

"O-Okay." I responded softly, as I looked into his stern eyes.

I scurried off to the workout center downstairs like a little frightened rabbit to fetch the things Tra'mon wanted. I didn't dare look back as I listened to hear the young black stud saying "good-bye" to my young white wife.

"I'll see ya' tomorrow morning, girl. I gots to go." he said.

"Yes, Sir. Yes, okay Trey. Goodnight, Trey." I heard Julie responding to him from a short distance, obviously fawning all over him.

Immediately, I rushed down the stairs to fetch the pink gloves. My thoughts were to grab them from the equipment box and then hand them to him as he came down behind me.

It was then that I realized how ridiculous this all had to appear to my blonde wife. It suddenly became clear that I could have just told him where the gloves were and he could have gotten them himself. Afterall, his condo unit number one was literally right down the hall from the small workout center.

My intimidation and fear of this black stud was so great that I actually felt compelled to rush off to fetch the gear for him. Like a meek coward, I just followed the black man's order. I stood there holding the gear in my weak hands embarrassed by what I was doing as I watched Tra'mon through the glass doors walk right past me and into his own apartment.

Humiliated, I stood there for a few minutes then carried the sissy pink gloves and head gear down the corridor to the black man's condo. When I got to within a few feet I stopped.

The young black stud was already "fucking" his apparent date. The sounds of him roughly pounding away at the white woman in his apartment shocked me to no end.

"Gosh! He just passed by me two minutes ago." I gasped in silence.

"He's already fucking this woman?" I asked myself.

My face turned red as I listened for a moment. Then, I quietly placed the pinkish boxing gear on the floor before his door and tip toed away like a big pussy. It was defeating to hear these fucking sounds again.

When I returned to our condo unit Julie was already showered and getting ready for bed. It seemed like the perfect time for me to try to have sex with my wife, yet my smallish penis was flaccid and uncooperative. It felt like it was shrinking even more after I had been just emasculated, once again, by the black stud. With little hope of an erection, I decided to try anyway.

"J-Julie? We uh haven't had sex in awhile ya' know. D-Do you want to?" I pleaded in a pathetic tone.

"Did you get Trey his things?" she asked, interrupting my feeble attempt.

"Uh, Y-Yes." I whispered, defeatedly.

"Good. Well, I'm tired. Let's go to sleep." Julie said.

"Trey wants me up earlier tomorrow. One of his kids is coming by with the baby momma for breakfast." she informed.

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