Black Man One Ch. 24

The next morning would not provide any consolation to the total defeat and humiliation I experienced just the night before.

It was 9:20 a.m. when I was awakened by the subtle sounds of "clattering" dishes coming from the kitchen area. I sat up from my sleeping position on the sofa and held my head, which was suddenly throbbing in pain. I looked towards the faint noises and noticed Julie in the kitchen from afar.

From the short distance across our condo unit I could only see Julie from behind. She was reaching up into the cupboards and putting away some dishes, which she was removing from the dishwasher. She was wearing nothing but a pair of peach-toned nylon panties and a matching bra.

From behind, I could see that her bright blonde, now african-braided hair was styled and coifed in the manner it was intended. Her long hair was no longer the mangled mess it was when she got back from Tra'mon's apartment the night before.

Just 7 hours before, the young black man had debased me again. Finally, I was able to stand up and begin to shake the cob-webs from my head and these memories began to resurface inside me. I continued to look towards the kitchen area where Julie remained with her back towards me, stretching her fit torso to complete her task. I was deadly curious as to why she was suddenly doing all this.

I glanced to me left and towards the open bathroom door where I noticed the light was on. Small traces of steam were still coming from the shower, and it was apparent that my blonde wife had just finished washing up. Now, she was suspiciously milling around in the kitchen. Unintentionally, I was still in my morning quiet stage as I took a few steps closer towards the kitchen area.

From a distance of more than 20 feet I could see the blatant and bold large blackened spade symbol tattoo centered on her lower back. The black outlined and "blank" ribbon-like markings on either side of the spade symbol remained a mystery to me at this time. They were almost like an open slate to place half in letters inside, and they made the tattoo look incomplete. Still, I was not comprehending their intended purpose at this particular time.

Julie's blonde, braided hair flowed back and forth as she continued putting away dishes. The obnoxious black panther head tattoos on both of her shoulders and upper arms stood out from her pale, perfect skin. Her altered, now larger breasts barely "peeked" out when she bent over to retrieve another plate from the dishwasher. The soft scent of her perfumed soap and skin filled the air of the entire condo apartment. It was a scent that I had been missing for so long.

My view of Julie's beauty from behind only served as a reminder that she had "been with" the young black stud. He had literally "marked" her once flawless body like some sort of demented artist, yet it seemed that she had been unconcerned and fully accepting of them. Truly, I couldn't understand why. To me, they were like another insulting slap in the face to me and to all men of the white race.

"Julie?" I whispered, just loud enough as to not startle her like I had in the past.

She barely turned her head towards my weakened voice.

"Oh, you're up." she returned, non chalantly.

"You know, if you're going to put dishes in the dishwasher you should actually turn the machine on so they would wash." she said, matter of factly.

"They were beginning to smell." she added in a casual, yet avoiding tone.

Her back was still completely turned away from me.

"Um, Uh, Okay." I replied as I took a few steps closer.

"Wh-What are you doing?" I asked, humbly.

"Nothing really. I don't have much time. Trey wants me to run some errands with him." she whispered.

"Oh." I meekly answered, in defeat.

I stepped into the kitchen and towards the frige, then opened it. There was a large fruit bowl inside covered with celophane in front. Julie had apparently prepared it just this morning. I realized that I must have been so passed out that I didn't even hear my wife leaving the apartment to run to the store. I didn't hear her showering either, so it must have been one of her quickest showers ever, I reasoned. In my mind, I felt as if I had been knocked unconscious for days.

"C-Can I get you a bowl of fruit, Julie?" I asked.

"M-Maybe we can have breakfast?" I asked, groveling.

"I really don't have much time, Richard! I don't think that's a good idea." she whispered.

"P-Please, Julie? Maybe we can um just sit and have breakfast and, ya' know, talk a little." I begged.

"I really don't have anything to say, Richard." Julie returned, quietly.

"Please? J-Just 5 minutes?" I asked, desperate for even her slightest attention.

"Richard, please. I don't think ..." she began as I interupted her.

"P-Please?" I continued begging.

"Jeezuz! Alright already. 5 minutes. That's all. I have things to do!" Julie returned, increasing the tone of her voice and becoming slightly irritated.

With her back still turned to me, Julie put away the last of the dishes and walked over to our little kitchen table. I removed the large bowl of fruit from the refrigerator and prepared two smaller bowls on the counter. One for her and one for myself.

When I finally turned around to face Julie with the two smaller bowls and spoons in my hands, the sight of her before me was absolutely mortifying!

There, sitting at the kitchenette table in her bra and panties was my beautiful blonde wife. She looked straight at me. Unbelievably, Julie's face was still covered and coated with the young black stud's powerful, thick seed. It was completely dried up by now and left stains. The faint darker white color at the edges of these "blotches" of the black man's cum made it stand out even more as it framed the lighter interior. It was that obvious.

"Oh my gawd! Julie?! Y-Your f-face?" I screamed.

I nearly dropped the little bowls of fruit from my trembling hands. I was absolutely mortified by the image sitting right before me.

Here was my beautiful wife, freshly showered, cleaned and ready to get dressed but her face was completely "plastered" with several large blotches of dried up semen from Tra'mon Smith, who had "marked" her hours before.

"What the hell?" I screamed inside.

"Richard, stop! We're not going to talk about that." Julie replied, her eyes looking downward to the kitchen table, almost ashamed herself.

"B-But, Julie? D-Didn't you just shower? I mean ..." I gasped.

"Just stop. Give me the bowl, Richard. I told you that I'm not talking about it." Julie warned.

I was astounded.

"Julie had quickly showered, fixed her hair, shaved her legs and cleaned every other part of her body before putting on a fresh pair of panties and a bra. But, she had not touched her face?!" I thought.

"Did she actually run out to the store to get fruit earlier that morning like this, too?!" I gasped, inside.

"H-How? Wh-Why?" I trembled to myself, in silence.

Defeatedly, I placed the small bowl of fruit and spoon before Julie. I sat down on the other side of the table and gazed back at her. She was looking down and began spooning her breakfast in a slow and casual manner.

Her altered breasts were jutting straight outward now, and they billowed over the top of her bra exposing her cleavage like some sort of bimbo would be doing. The two smaller black spade symbols tattooed on each breast with the letter "T" traced out in her own skin tone were so blatant. There wasn't a person alive that would not notice them. But, the condition of her beautiful face coated with dried up sperm humiliated me the most. It covered the vast majority of her entire forehead, cheeks, jaw line and chin.

Just seeing her in this condition was demeaning for me. It had to be for her, too. Yet, I couldn't understand why she was being so casual and non chalant about it. I just had to know why. I had to know why this wasn't bothering her as much as it bothered me.

"J-Julie? Y-You are going to w-wash up again?" I asked, again trying to converse.

Julie's eyes rolled into the back of her head, in disgust over my mild persistence.

"Damn it, Richard. Please? Can't we just sit and have a quiet breakfast?" she asked, quietly and more annoyed.

"B-But, Julie. Your face? W-Why w-would you? I m-mean ..." I began to ask sullenly.

That is when Julie abruptly dropped her spoon into the bowl. It made a loud "clinking" sound as she grabbed her cell phone from the kitchen table and began dialing a number.

"You want to know why? Well, you're gonna have to ask Trey. Not me!" she said, further annoyed as she put the phone to her ear.

"Trey? One second, Trey." she said, speaking into the phone.

Julie simply reached over and held out the cell phone for me to take. My face turned a timid red shade as I stared at the little cell phone in her hands. My hands trembled. My throat ran dry.

"Here. Ask him!" Julie snapped.

But, I could not take the phone from Julie's hand. Petrified, I just shook my head in a "no, please" motion as I stared into my blonde wife's suddenly disturbed eyes. It was obvious to her that I was absolutely terrified to speak to the younger, black stud. In just a few short seconds, I went from being persistent to being totally quiet and humbled.

Mercifully, Julie finally withdrew her extended arm and put the phone back to her ear. My face had to be a fire-engine red by now, and my heart was beating unpleasantly fast.

"Yes, Trey. I'm sorry, Trey." she began, as she spoke to him.

"No, Trey. Yes, I'm sorry, Trey. I'll tell you later, Trey." I heard her speaking to him in the softest tone.

"Yes, Trey. Yes, I'm almost ready, Trey. Yes, Trey. Whatever you say, Trey." she continued as I sat across the table in utter shame.

Julie's voice grew even softer as she continued speaking to the apparently curious black stud. I am sure he was more curious about the reason for her sudden call to him, and he must have been asking questions.

"Yes, Sir. Yes, I did Sir. Yes, Trey. Yes, I will, Trey. Okay, Trey." Julie continued before finally shutting the cell phone closed.

My eyes literally fell to the table, humiliated beyond reason. I was afraid to look back up to Julie's eyes after her little "threat." I figured that I must have persisted a little too much this time. I was merely trying to make sense of something that was so foreign to me at the time. Something that was so disgusting and humiliating for me to witness. Yet, more humiliating was the fact that my blonde wife was now actually defending the actions of the young, black man. She was accepting how he was treating her as well.

Being "shut down" so abruptly made me feel even more like a "wimp" than I was. I had absolutely no response to her actions as I sat there humbled and broken down. My mind wandered for a moment as I thought about what Tra'mon might be thinking after a call like this. To be honest, I was worrying about whether or not this little cell phone scene would anger him?

"Listen, Richard." Julie began.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk for awhile. Maybe we should just try to be around each other first and not talk about anything, not say anything. Just see how things go." Julie proposed.

I finally looked up.

"W-What do you mean, Julie?" I asked, shaking and confused.

"Y-You don't want to talk t-to me? Wh-What do you mean?" I repeated nervously.

"I mean what you heard, Richard. I'll stay here and see how things go for now. That's all. But, we don't need to say so much to each other." Julie said, more firmly.

"N-Not talk?" I quivered.

"It's either that or I'm going to stay with Karen. You can explain that to Trey yourself." she said, sternly.

Another subtle threat?

My eyes lit up in fear, once again. Julie knew without question that I didn't want that. My beautiful, blonde wife knew all too well that this younger black stud had "outclassed" me in most every way, and that he instilled a fear in me like no other. She knew that her taller, weaker and older white "wimp" of a husband cowered in intimidation just thinking about this black stud and every time she mentioned his name.

She had seen him beat me up, make me wash the dirt and spit from his muscular black feet, and be pushed around like a helpless oversized raggedy ann doll. She had witnessed the powerful, more masculine black man "stuffing" my face into his bikini-clad asscheeks, and being made to kiss his ass as he degradingly made me apologize to his asscheeks before. She had already seen me degraded and intimidated and bullied by Tra'mon so many times. My wife knew that her white husband was, indeed, a "big pussy" compared to the tougher black thug stud of a man. Yes, she knew.

"Well, I have to go." Julie suddenly said.

I then watched her get up and scurry off to the bedroom. My head slumped in shame as I remained quiet, looking down at the fruit in my little bowl. Within minutes, Julie emerged and began putting things into her purse.

I watched as Julie readied herself to "run errands" with the black man. She had quickly slipped into a light tanned ultra-short and tight micro mini-skirt that barely covered her pussy region. Her shoes were 4" tall white strappy sandals. The pure white blouse was spaghetti sleeveless and cut off at the navel with a ridiculously low cleavage. Her now altered and tattooed huge breasts billowed out uncontrollably for anyone to see. And, the undersized white blouse that exposed her entire midriff, blatantly revealing the bold and ominous 2 inch black spade tattoo on her lower back. From the view behind, it was staggering just how obvious and noticeable that tattoo was against her pale flesh.

Much worse was the fact that Julie was "running out" in public with Tra'mon with her pretty face astonishingly "plastered" with the obvious remnants of his dried up seed. My once shy blonde wife was now looking like a billboard for an over the top and in your face statement of Black Authority.

"I'll see you later. Bye." she said, simply and coldly, as she quickly bolted out the door.

This time, I had no strength to get up from my chair right away. I reamined in the kitchen rather than watching her walk out to the parking lot. I couldn't bare to witness yet another display of his uncontested control over her.

Meekly, I sat there contemplating my future with Julie for close to an hour. A great part of me knew that it was over, and that I should simply "stay away" from this whole situation, like I imagine the other husbands that fled were doing.

I really thought about "running away" like a big coward and sissy before he confronted me and told me to leave. A smaller and weaker part of me was hopeful that Julie would eventually return to me. Another small part of me wanted to keep the "perception" that our marriage was fine, and my family would never know. However, the greater part of me was afraid of the dominant, young black man. I feared his anger and, although my wife seemed to be so into him, I also feared for her in some strange and unusual way.

At the time, I felt totally confused and trapped.

Eventually, I managed to get back up to my feet. I began clearing the table and cleaning up around the condo, trying to stay busy and keep my mind off the humiliation I felt. My thoughts were all over the place as I finished cleaning the bathroom, bedroom and making the bed.

An hour had passed when I stepped back into the livingroom.

That is when I noticed the ultimately demoralizing mesh bag belonging to the black stud. It was laying on the floor and filled with Tra'mon's worn bikini underwear and bikini speedoes suits. I had tossed them to the corner in disgust the other night after he had all but told me that I would have to continue handwashing them. Now, they were staring me right in the face like one of his harsh slaps.

I paused in anguish. My entire body felt limp and tense just thinking about the anger the black stud might exhibit if I had not completed this demoralizing task. I reasoned that I had little choice but to comply, if I knew what was good for me. It had already been more than horrifying that he had me doing this insulting chore for more than 11 weeks now, and I had thought it would be over. I was wrong. My tremendous fear of him caused me to "give in" and accept this degradation, once again.

In defeat, I picked up the mesh bag and brought it into the bathroom where I layed them on the counter. Repulsed, I stared at them for a moment and tried to find the any last shred of masculinity inside me. But, I could not. Beaten, I simply began to handwash the young black stud's 20 plus pairs of nylon-spandex bikini underwear.

My stomach tightened in disgust as I began the degrading "chore" I had been becoming accustomed to, once again. Like a wimp, I remained standing in the bathroom washing another man's masculine and studly power bikini's while he was out shopping with my wife.

I realized mt humiliation would continue.

By the time I finished my humiliating chore and cleaning our entire condo unit, I looked at my watch to realize that it was barely past 12 noon. Julie had been gone for about 3 hours and I was curious as to when she might return. I walked to the back window overlooking the pool area to see a deserted area. This was not unusual but the entire condo community had an erie, empty and desolate feeling about it now.

The parking lot area had only a few cars in it and I wondered if everyone had gone to work, or someplace else. At the time, I barely knew what day of the week it was. I had already requested sporadic time off from work, lying about a family illness that required my attention. It was called F.M.L.A., and the H.R. Director told me I had a combined 12 weeks of this sporadic time off, which I accepted. It was either this or lose my job. I had been coming in late and missing more days than what was typical.

With nothing else to do at this time I sat on the sofa and turned on the television. I looked down at my cell phone and questioned whether I should try to text Julie, to see when she would be returning. I couldn't remember if she had made me aware of how long she'd be gone, or not? But, I was nervous to do so. I knew texting her while she was out with the young, black stud wasn't always the greatest idea.

For the next two hours I looked at my phone every 10 minutes contemplating this. In some way, I suppose that I was hoping for her to text me too.
By 2:30 in the afternoon, I finally broke down and texted my beautiful wife.

"Julie, will you be home soon?" I texted.

"Will you be home for dinner?" I texted ten minutes later.

"Are you there?" I texted 20 minutes after that.

"I can make dinner." I texted around 3 o'clock.

"Julie?" I texted a few minutes after that.

"Can I make you dinner, Julie?" I texted again, a half hour passing.

There was no response.

"I can make you a nice dinner if you want." I texted just past four.

Finally, Julie returned one of my text messages.

"Alright already, Richard. That's fine." her message read.

"Oh, okay. Great. What time will you be home?" I messaged my wife, in return.

"A couple hours still. Stop texting me already Richard." Julie's message read.

"Oh, okay Julie. I won't. I'll make dinner for 6:30 then, okay?" I texted.

It took five minutes for her to return this last text.

"Fine." her message simply read.

"No more texts!" she added.

It was humbling to visually see my blonde wife's rather "abrupt" and "annoyed" text messages to me. It was obvious, but now I had work to do. I had a meal to prepare as I realized that she was actually agreeing to have dinner with me?!

My sullen and defeated mood changed ever so slightly at this thought. There was a "spark" of hope that we would be able to sit down and have dinner together and, perhaps talk some more. I wanted to text her back and ask Julie what she wanted for dinner, but I didn't want to press my luck. Eagerly, I decided that I would run to the store and just get her favorite things. Desperately, I did just that.