House Mouse by Throne (98 Pages) (Patreon)

HOUSE MOUSE!

By Throne

© 2019-2020 QoS Comix All Rights Reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to ​Devinwhitegurl@gmail.com 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

THE HOUSE MOUSE by Throne

(from an outline by Devin Dickie)

It had been hard for me, growing up in East New York.  My family had a large beautiful home but, because of where it was located, I had to attend a high school that mainly served poorer students.  I was one of the few boys with any money, almost the only white one, and shorter than any other guy there.  I often got called 'Little Sebastian' or 'Shorty Sebastian'.  Those names bothered me but there was a much worse one yet to come. 

It was my senior year.  I had just turned 18 and was considering which college to attend.  But every day at school was fraught with danger.  For instance, I was sometimes accosted by the Black guys.  I remember one time when I was in the schoolyard at lunchtime.  As usual, I stayed near the door we would use to go back inside.  But then two Black students who I knew were on the football team, Trick and Jammer, approached me.  They were both tall and muscular.  The pair crowded me against the wall and began herding me along, away from the entrance. 

"Hey, white bread," said Trick.  "Seein' as you got more money than us, we was thinkin' about takin' a loan."

"Yeah, blondie," Jammer backed him up.  "Just for like a day or so, until our daddies get another bonus check."

"Oh, wait a minute," Trick said as if suddenly remembering something.  "Our daddies aren't around.  And if they was, there wouldn't be no big money comin' in."

"Right," agreed Jammer.  "Not like at that mansion where you live.  Your daddy's always there.  And he got money showin' up by the bag full."

"Gee, fellows," I told them as they continued to force me away from safety.  "My family doesn't really have that much money.  I mean comparatively.  It's just that living in this area, where the median income is so much lower, it creates that impression.  Understand?"

"You hear that, Jammer?  Boy want to know if we unnerstan."

"Cause he think we stupid, Trick.  Not smart like him."

I held up my hands.  "That's not what I meant, fellows.  Honest.  Now if you'd like some tips on how to handle whatever money you do have..."

That was when Trick punched me hard in the stomach.  As I double over, Jammer came in from the side and drove his knee into my ribs.  I crumpled up against the wall and slid down it until I was sitting and couldn't move.  One of them pushed me over onto my side.  Greedy hands dug into my pockets and removed the wallet, which had been designed and hand stitched in England. 

"Whoa.  Look at this fancy ass wallet.  And all this green he said his family ain't got.  If they ain't got it, I guess he won't miss it."

"Sounds about right.  And he damn well better have some more in there every day, just in case we need to take out another loan."

They laughed.  The wallet was thrown in my face.  The two of them walked away, making more insulting comments about me.  I got painfully up and saw Tammy walking toward me.  She was one of the only white girls in that school.  Unlike me, however, she had learned to fit in.  Maybe it was because her family had a low income like the majority in that area.  Or perhaps it was because she was so cute, and always friendly toward the Black guys.  I got up and straightened my clothes as she got closer.  A crisp white blouse and short plaid skirt showed off her attractive figure.  She was slim but with a plump bust.  Tammy stopped directly in front of where I was standing and looked me up and down.  She shook her pretty head to toss back her long, straight blond hair.

"What happened to you?" she wanted to know.

"Oh," I extemporized, "I was just talking to Trick and Jammer and they were, you know, kidding around.  Pretending to get physical with me."

"Mmm hmm.  And that's why you have your wallet in your hand."

"Oh, that.  Yeah.  I just... um... loaned them a few bucks."

"Right.  You know, they tried to get physical with me.  But I've got protection.  My new friend is Maurice."

"Who?"

She rolled her eyes at my ignorance.  "You probably know him as Trunk D."

"Ah."  I nodded.  "Him.  The Jamaican guy who looks like he got left back a few times."

"He DID get left back once or twice.  And spent some time in juvie.  But he's my friend and looks out for me.  So I hope I don't have to tell him you've been gawking at my tits... like you're doing right now."

"What?  No.  It's just...  I think you're really..."  Instead of saying 'sexy', which was what I was thinking, I played it safe and substituted, "... nice."

"Nice for what?  Sounds like you're hitting on me."

"No," I assured her, trying not to sound nervous but failing.  "I'm not doing that."

"So now you're calling me a liar?  Is that what I have to tell Trunk?"

"Please.  Don't do that, Tammy.  I'm sorry.  I was just...  I meant to say..."

She laughed.  "Hey, I'm just playing with your head."

"Oh."  I sighed with relief.  "I knew that.  Sure."

"I hear you.  All right.  Maybe I'll see you again."

With that she strolled away, shapely legs shown off by her high hemline.  I stood there appreciating her swaying hair and the way her hips rolled.  She was so gorgeous.  And she had said she might see me again.  That elevated my hopes, unrealistically I suppose, but I couldn't help the way I reacted.  So after that I found myself always looking for her around school.  Except that she no longer seemed to notice me.  Worse, she was often hanging onto Trunk's muscular arm.  He was tall and very dark skinned, with braided dreadlocks that fell to his powerful shoulders.  The school had a dress code but it was barely enforced.  He often wore tank tops that showed off his impressive biceps. 

One time when he was walking past, with Tammy holding his big hand, she stopped and nodded toward me.  The blond girl had on a belly shirt and brief shorts.  I wasn't close enough to hear them but she said something to him that make Trunk glower at me.  He took a step in my direction but she restrained him.  When he didn't look happy about that, she pressed herself up against him and said something that made him smile.  She even put her hand on the top of his thigh, awfully close to the considerable bulge in the front of his jeans.  Then Tammy gave me a look that was half seductive and half taunting, before she walked off with her tall 'friend'.  As they departed I was filled with mixed feelings.  She was incredibly sexy and I was constantly trying to think of some way to connect with her.  Maybe I could offer to help her with her homework.  Or tell her about some of the hard-to-find action figures I had in my collection.  She might even want to come over to the house and see them.  And getting a look at where I lived could only make her think better of me. 

As I was considering those possibilities, I saw Trick and Jammer coming my way.  This time I wasn't even close to any escape route.  I just stood there, in the middle of the schoolyard, with my knees trembling as they put themselves on either side of me.

"Hey," said Trick.  "How's our favorite mobile ATM?''

"Yeah," joined in Jammer.  "How our good buddy doing?"

"Gee, fellows," I said uncertainly.  "That's, um, cool how you kid around with me.  And it's nice to hear you call me 'buddy'.  But, er, I have to get to class and..."  I took a step backward, intending to get beyond their reach and then walk away casually.

"No, no," Trick chided me.  "That's not how it works, Pinky."

"Not at all," Jammer agreed.  "Not with us, Snowy."

I hated those nicknames.  They were so insulting.  But I forced myself to ignore them as I offered an uncertain smile.

"Honestly," I mentioned, "my Philosophy test is coming up and..."

"Hey, boy.  Philosophy this."  Trick put himself behind me and pushed is body against mine.

Jammer got directly in front and moved in, so that I was caught between them.  It was extremely unsettling to be pressed between two athletic male bodies like that.  I could feel Trick's large member in close contact with my lower back.  Jammer's equally above-average organ was intimately touching my tummy.  I stood there squirming, too afraid to attempt to pull free and run away.  There were other students nearby who had an unobstructed view of what was happening. 

"Saw you getting your eyes on that hot girl Tammy."

"Don't you know she belongs to Trunk?"

Trick wrapped his powerful arm around my neck.  Jammer caught my nose between his thumb and forefinger to give it a hard tweak. 

"Little white boy like you got to think before he looks.  We got a 'loose eye law' around here."

"How about you pay a fine for breakin' that law?"

"I..."  What could I say?  "You already take my money.  What else can I give you?"

As soon as I saw Jammer's evil grin I knew I had said the wrong thing.

"What you offerin'... sissy?"

"Faggot like you only got one thing on his mind.  Black cock."

"No...  Not... No way, guys.  I'm not gay."

"What?  With them pretty clothes and that floppy hair all down in your eyes?"

"And that perfume?  Plus that shit you put on your skin?"

"It's not like that," I insisted.  "This is just the preppy look.  And my stylist suggested this hairstyle."

"Yeah.  Your gay stylist."

"No.  You don't understand.  It's just that you people dress down and..."  Uh oh.  I had done it again.

"Yeah, we dress down.  Just poor brothers who ain't got no class.  We need some of that smell-good stuff of yours.  And that skin cream."

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to offend.  And my emollients just have a mild scent in them.  What I use on my skin is only a simple conditioner that I have to refresh every so often.  It's not like... like..."  Obviously, I was just feeding their impression that I was somehow less than masculine.

"So here's the thing," Trick told me.  "Whatever you got in your wallet is just right to pay that fine."

"But tomorrow we be lookin' for a dead Franklin."

"A what?"

"A Benjamin, fool.  You understand?"

I realized that they were using slang to describe a hundred dollar bill, with the portrait of Benjamin Franklin on it.  He was deceased, which accounted for the term 'dead'.  I nodded and assured them that I would have it.

"Good.  But you offered us somethin' else.  You talkin' about sucking our Johnsons?"

"Or havin' us plow your queer ass?"

"No.  Please.  Um... buddies?  I'll have the hundred dollar bill but I'm absolutely not homosexual."

"Not yet maybe," Trick suggested, grinding his crotch against me from behind.

"But we could fix that," Jammer assured me, doing the same in front.  "Like some white boy in prison.  Turn you into a punk.  Make you all ready to take Black cock in both ends."

As if by some unspoken cue they both stepped away.  I swayed and nearly fell over.  My head was spinning.  First I gave them all the currency in my wallet.  Then I told them again that I would have their money the next day.  It would mean using some that I had saved up for visiting campuses of colleges I was considering.  But that was acceptable.  I just had to get to the end of the school year and my nightmare would be all over.  Once I was in college I could put this bad dream behind me.  Their suggestion that I was less than fully heterosexual made me shudder.  I made a mental note to take a sedative before bed to make sure I could sleep through the night. 

The next day I was ready, with the required amount of money in my pocket but outside the wallet.  I wanted to be able to produce it quickly and not give them any excuse to manhandle me or make other demands.  And I especially wanted to placate them so there would be no other aspersions cast on my sexual identity.  But before the two members of the football team could confront me, I saw Tammy sauntering my way.  This time she was alone.  My spirits lifted as I decided to chat with her.  Maybe I could find an opening that would lead to the two of us spending some time together.

"Oh, hi Tammy," I said, putting on a friendly smile.

She hugged her books to her chest, just under her full bosom, which was shown off by a tight sweater.  Her skirt was tight and ended at mid-thigh. 

"Oh, hello Sexy Sebastian.  How's the little runt doing today?"

My smile wavered but didn't fail.  I acted like she was just being playful.  "I'm fine.  Just enjoying this sunny weather.  And..."

That's when I spotted Trick and Jammer making a beeline for me.  The last thing I want was to deal with them with Tammy there.  But I could see no dignified way to avoid it.  They bracketed me in again, with Tammy retreating slightly to put herself out of the way. 

"Darn, guys.  I didn't expect to run into you so soon.  Guess you're here for that money I agreed to loan you."  The expression I put on was supposed to convey that I didn't want Tammy to know the truth, and that they should play along.  Instead, both of them were abruptly sneering at me.  I reached for my pocket and, clearing my throat, said, "I have it right here."

"Just hold on, Snow White.  Ain't no loan goin' on.  Remember?  You payin' us off cause we caught you gawkin' at this sweet girl Tammy, right here."

"Truth.  You was squeezin' her titties with your eyes, freak."  He turned his attention to her.  "Sorry for sayin' it that way, girl.  It just that this creep, he always look like he undressin' you in his head.  Know what I mean?"

"Oh my," she said with false concern.  "Really?  I hope my good friend Trunk doesn't hear about that.  I don't know WHAT he might do to sad-ass Sebastian here."

"Well, we could talk to Trunk.  Tell him not to worry, cause we seen Short Stuff here in the locker room.  And his stuff is really short.  Got tiny baby balls, too."

"He ain't no threat to Trunk in that department.  Or any other way."

It was like someone was stepping on my ego with hobnail boots, grinding my pride under their heel.  Having Tammy hear them disparage my penis dimensions was humiliating.  Worse, when Trick snapped his fingers and held out his broad hand, I automatically retrieved the hundred dollar bill and held it out to him.  I felt about four inches tall as he snatched it away from me, examined it as if I might have tried to pass a counterfeit, and did a fist bump with Jammer.  Tammy watched the scene with a sly smile twisting one corner of her sweet mouth.  Even under those awful circumstances I couldn't help admiring her beauty.  Trick slapped me on the back extremely hard, making me stagger forward.  Jammer caught me and stood me upright, as if he was helping me, but dug his fingers into my shoulders so hard that I couldn't prevent myself from whimpering audibly.  As I blinked back the tears that were forming in my eyes, the two Black students walked away, cackling at my helplessness and how they had insulted me in front of Tammy.

I stood there, forcing myself not to massage my sore shoulders, biting my lips to keep from sobbing.  How I wished they hadn't made those comments about the size of my genitals.  To my surprise, Tammy shrugged as if what had transpired was negligible and hadn't made her think less of me.  She even reached out and took my hand.  It was like I was melting inside.  We strolled around the perimeter of the schoolyard, along the inside of the tall hurricane fence, like we were a couple.  Could that be happening?  Had she split up with Trunk?  When we got back to our starting point, she let go of my hand and gave me an inscrutable smile.

"That was nice," she said.  "I sure hope Maurice doesn't hear about it.  He can be SO jealous and possessive.  I mean, every time I mention you to him, like if I say you're kind of cute, or that you always have your hair just perfect, he reacts funny.  You know, like he wants to grab you and tear you a new one."  She shrugged.  "Oh well, if there's a problem, I'm sure you boys can work it out between yourselves."

And with that she walked away, leaving me standing there with my stomach suddenly tied in a knot.  I felt sick inside.  It was like there was a target on my back.  For the rest of that day and all of the next I was on my guard.  Tense.  Looking over my shoulder.  Not only didn't I run into Trunk, but Jammer and Trick left me alone.  Finally I allowed myself to relax.  Maybe Tammy had just been trying to play Trunk and I off against each other.  Telling him a few provocative things about me, and then letting me know how he had reacted.  Sure, that was it.  I began to be able to walk through the halls without fear.  My confidence was recovering.  And then one day I saw Tammy coming toward me, looking radiant, like a sweet angel.  Perhaps MY angelic sweetheart.

That was when Trunk stepped in front of me.  He said, "Hey, golden boy, come on into the lavatory with me.  I wanna get yo opinion on somethin'," Maurice said, giving his crotch a squeeze.  "Want you to tell me if I should give up on Tammy cause, you know, she's with you now."

Looking past him I saw Tammy.  She had stopped and was smiling at me, but her expression was far from benevolent.  I stood there, frozen into inaction.  When I didn't move he took me by the upper arm, his strong fingers sinking painfully into my undeveloped bicep, and dragged me through the door and toward one of the stalls.

He told me, "You don't go when I tell you to, it gon' cost you.  Like right now."  He pushed me into the first booth, closed the door behind us, and shoved me down so I was sitting on the toilet.  "We got to settle this matter about you and Tammy."

I told him, "No.  You don't understand.  She and I are just... er... acquaintances.   Friends."

"You passin' up a hot piece of tail like her?  A girl who can suck cock and smile at the same time?"

"What?  Tammy?  I don't think she would...  I mean, if you and she..."

"You gettin' all shook up, blondie.  Gone give yourself a nervous breakup."

"You mean breakdown," I corrected without thinking.

"Now you correctin' me?  White boy like you need to be taught how to respect your betters.  And you say you just friends with Tammy.  So how come she tell me you been comin' on to her?"

"I haven't.  Honest.  I'm not interested in her sexually."

"What?  You don't want to get your hands on them sweet tits?  What are you?  Queer?"

"I'm not trying to date her," I lied.  "Honest."

"Yeah?  Still, you been pesterin' her, bein' a pain in her pretty ass.  I ought to punch out your lights, but since you a fairy anyway, with that pretty hair and them sissy clothes, I'll cut you some slack."  He began unfastening his pants. 

"No.  You can't...  What are you?"

"Shush up.  Ain't nobody has to know 'cept you and me.  I know you gone enjoy this.  That be a natural cocksucker mouth you got there.  Made for gettin' stuffed with Black cock.  Ain't I right?"

I finally found my voice.  "N... no, Maurice.  I'm not like that."

"Hell you ain't.  I know the type.  And show some respect.  Call me Sir."

"Alright.  Sir.  But I honestly don't want to do that.  I'm not, you know... gay."

"Fuck that shit.  You gay if I say you are.  My Daddy told me how wimp white boys like you, give them one look at a real cock, and they start to drool for it.  Break down real easy.  Can't say no once they get a whiff of what a true man smell like." 

He had his fly down and was pulling out his cock.  It was massive.  Eight inches and hadn't even started to get hard yet.  No wonder people had compared it to an elephant's proboscis and given him the name Trunk.  His hand went to the back of my head and grabbed my longish hair.  He pulled my face forward, at the same time thrusting his hips at me.  All of a sudden I had his flaccid cock mashed against my features.  It had a strong scent, comprised I guessed of sweat, natural musk, and perhaps some body product he used that was from his native Jamaica.  I gasped and tried to turn my head to the side but he caught my ear between his thumb and forefinger, twisted it violently, and kept me where I was.  As he rubbed his large, odor-rich member against my nose and mouth, I felt him getting hard.  No, no, no.  This couldn't be happening. 

"Please," I pleaded, my voice suddenly thin and reedy.  "Don't make me... use my mouth... like that.  Sir."

He took a step back to allow room for his expanding tool.  It just kept growing.  I blinked back tears of shame and fear.  What could I say to make him stop? 

In desperation, and remembering some crude locker room talk I'd heard from several of the other Black students, I offered, "How about if I just lick your balls?  Would that be enough?"

He considered my offer.  Shook back his long dreadlocks.  Gave me a sneering grin.  "Maybe yeah.  Let's try that.  Let me get my pants down.  You can lick my balls and then maybe I'll turn around so you can eat my ass.  How about that?  And if it's enough, then we're done here.  Just be careful not to get me even MORE worked up.  Cause then I'll be fuckin' your face like it's some bitch white cunt.  Know what I mean?"

I was confused and terrified.  Somehow I had made my situation even worse.  Now I was going to have to perform all sorts of perverse foreplay and most likely get his cock deep in my throat anyway.    Moments later his pants fell.  Then I had to lower his boxer shorts for him.  His cock was enormous, at least eight inches while still flaccid.  There were tight curls of black hair around the thick root.  I'll admit that I had peeked in magazines at adult shops and seen plenty of naked men, but never one so well hung as Trunk.  And he was uncircumcised, with a lot of rumpled skin over the head before he grew stiff.  He was practically in my face and as I drew air in through my nose I got another dose of his scent.  It was such a musky male smell, along with that something spicy I had guessed was some Jamaican product he used, some oil perhaps.  It was all so unreal.  Every time I looked at how the knob of his cock was pressing out from his retracted foreskin, unfamiliar sensations raced through me.  It was almost like some perverse thrill, but I told myself that wasn't possible.  Why would I be responding like that to a whopping big Black cock?  I gingerly took his member between the fingertips of both hands and elevated it, giving myself a clear view of his large scrotum.  That curious odor was making me dizzy.  My lips quivered with revulsion as I stuck out my tongue and made contact with his heavy sac.  I gave it a few licks and he started to tweak my ear in slow motion.  With that motivation I lapped him more actively.   His organ gave a definite twitch. 

He told me, "That better.  Now get that bag in yo mouth and suck it.  And watch them teeth.  You use them teeth and you gone lose them."

Sickened beyond belief, trapped  in that tight space, I had no choice but to try to appease him by cooperating.  He kept me mouthing his scrotum until I settled down somewhat.  He must have sensed that I was giving up the fight, because he started talking in a smooth persuasive way. 

Trunk asked, "You ever suck Jamaican meat, white boy?"

"What?  No.  Of course not."  His member had lengthened to at least twelve inches. 

"I hear what you're saying but your pretty mouth is almost watering just from seeing what I got.  How about other Black dicks?  You handled a lot of them?"

"No.  Please stop talking like that.  I'm -- (lick, lick) -- doing this under duress."

"Under what?  Under my balls is more like it.  Yeah, get all up behind them and like that sweet spot back there."

I gagged slightly as I ducked down and angled my head back, so I could lap the area behind his scrotum, the perineum, which made him sigh with pleasure.  His cock had reached an astounding fourteen inches.  As his body heated up the scent he was giving off grew stronger.  Something was making my penis throb.  It had to be from stress.  He allowed me to stop that shameful task, but then started me kissing the wide underside of his tool, especially the ridged seam that ran all along it. 

"Come on now.  Some of them Black boys must have used your sweet little mouth by now.  Look at how good you puckering up them lips.  Them soft hands on my rod and that girly mouth kissing it, tells me you been here before."

"No.  I've never seen a Black penis before.  I mean not in person.  That is..."

"So what you saying?  You just drool over them in dirty magazines?  Huh?  Checking out them queer photo shoots?  Black meat in living color?  How often you do that, boy?"

"Not often."  I realized what I'd just said.  "I mean, not a lot.  I don't look at gay magazines.  Just stuff with Black men and..."  Why couldn't I shut up?"

"And white broads."  He let out a nasty chuckle.  "You one of those.  Likes to see them lily white girls take some Black horse-dong."

"No.  Yes.  It's only..."

"Only that you be looking at the cocks more than at the pussy.  Get honest, little man.  You've sucked dick before.  Just look at you.  Like I said, that cute hair and those faggot clothes.  You got fairy written all over you, in big pink letters."  He took his fully stiffened cock and slapped me across the face with it -- left, right, left, right -- over and over.  Then he stopped unexpectedly with the tip against my lips.  Without thinking, and because I'd been kissing the bottom of his member just before that, I gave it a smooch.  He laughed and said, "Sure, you ain't no queer.  You're a straight boy who likes to kiss cocks.  And taste that juice that leaks out.  Go on, get that sissy tongue out and lick my pee hole.  I know you love what's dripping out of there."

I whimpered but did as I was told, the tip of my tongue registering not only the saltiness of his pre-cum, but also a hint of what else had flowed from there.  My balls were drawn up tight, like they did when I browsed sex magazines.  Or when I checked out interracial porn on my computer. 

My voice was shaky as I pleaded, "Please let me stop.  I could just finish you with my hand.  Make you shoot into the toilet so there wouldn't even be any mess.  Okay?"

"The mess is going to be in YOU.  You so queer.  How about this.  Did the men in your family get the fairy vibe you sending out?  Huh?  Did your Daddy come on into your bedroom at night, after Mommy was asleep, and plug your cocksucker mouth with his dick?  Feed you a midnight snack?   And your Uncles, like coming for a visit, and having a few drinks, and then getting you alone so you could swallow their bone.   Get they rocks off real quick.  And your white boys cousins.  I just know they used your face for a cock socket.  Get their buddies in on it too.  Maybe charge them a dollar for a BJ.  Turn your tummy into a cum dump.  Fairies like you always have dudes using them.  It's a natural fact."

"Ugh.  Gross."  I recoiled from his king-size cock and it ended up resting against the side of my face.  "I haven't sucked anybody's dick before," I insisted.  "I'm not queer."

"Sure you ain't.  And I'm not Black.  And I don't have a dick that's going to get sucked right now -- or else."

I leaned back so I could align my lips with his fat knob once more.  To stall him I gave it another kiss and then a few licks under the head, where I knew it was sensitive.  I knew that because I'd touched myself occasionally.  Not a lot.  And only some of the times were while I was looking at inappropriate material.  He sighed.  I stroked him lightly, hoping that he might finish before actually invading my mouth. 

He told me, "My father say most white boys grow up sucking dick.  Especially little punks like you.   Albert say -- that's my old man's name -- that when my Mom won't put out, like she's got a headache, he can go most anywhere -- the subway, a park, some men's room, the old reliable adult book store -- and just make eye contact with white men in their 20s or even 30s.  My dad just give his big Jamaican dick a squeeze, right through his pants, and those white wimps will follow him anywhere, like dogs on a scent.  He just leads them to someplace private.  A alley.  Vacant lot with plenty of shadows.  Some dark stairwell.  Then he makes them drop down on their knees, calls them all kind of dirty names, maybe gives them a few slaps..."  He brought his hand back and made me flinch and cower, but didn't strike.  It was enough that he had proved my cowardice.  "... and then he gives them a hard face-fucking.  Puts his blacksnake down their throats.  Empties his Black balls into their white bellies.  And those losers just loves it."

Trunk shoved his cockhead against my lips, so I gave it more kisses, except that now I was doing it with my lips wide, taking half the head into my warm mouth.  I kept my hands moving too.  If only I could bring him off soon, maybe make him shoot somewhere than other that on my clothes or even -- ewww -- into my mouth.

My tormentor said, "Them hands of yours is so soft.  Just like having a white girl pussy on my dick.  You know, like in them magazines you love to see.  And what else you like?"

"Nothing.  I mean, I see some of that same stuff on the computer but..."  Oh, darn.  I'd done it again.  And it was making images of what I'd seen on-line fill my head.  White girls taking huge Black cocks into their mouths.  Like I might be on the verge of doing.  "I hardly look at that Black-on-white porn at all.  Or not too much."

"You keep telling yourself all the lies you want.  What I believe is what my dad told me.  You get a white man alone, away from his family and without his friends around to see, and he can't say no to a big Black dick.  He told me to try it out myself.  Get me some weak-assed white boy alone, one who got the fruity look in his eyes, and do him the favor of making him suck my Black dick.  He said the more white boys we teach to suck our dicks now, the better things going to be for our People later on.   Understand?"

I made a final effort to dissuade him.  "I see what you're saying.  But if you could just listen to reason..."

He grabbed a handful of my longish hair on one side of my head and my ear on the other.  He snapped at me to stop messing around and get busy.  I opened up wide and he crammed his cock into my mouth until it touched my throat.  I gagged a little but tried to get that under control. 

He snarled, "Suck that big Black cock good, like the white faggot bitch you are.  Get to it, boy.  That's right.  Wrap them soft lips around my meat and show me how much you like the way I feel, and how I taste."

For a second time I gagged.  When he pulled all the way out I dragged air into my lungs, spluttered and tried to steady myself.  I knew then that there was no alternative.  Rather than risk angering the tough Jamaican, I put more effort into what I was doing.  I spent several minutes bobbing my head, getting past my gag reflex, and taking another inch or two.  But he got impatient, muttering something about me not trying hard enough.  Suddenly he got hold of both my ears and began slamming into me, halfway down my throat, further than I would have thought I was capable of accommodating him.  He added more to what I was swallowing with each stroke or two as he raped my face.  Soon he was buried all the way up to his heavy balls, so that when he paused they were resting on my chin.  He sneered down at me as I stared up at him.  Slowly he withdrew his cock until only the head was in, which I took as my cue to resume mouthing it.

I made sounds like, "Nom, nom, nom."

He chortled and started talking again while he used a combination of pulling and pushing my head, along with working his hips, so that his enormous shaft kept plunging all the way down my throat.  I couldn't believe how strongly I felt in his possession, like a piece of property, or maybe a cheap girl who craved rough treatment. 

Trunk told me, "Oh yeah, you're getting to like that now.  Your white face getting all pink from how you're excited.  I know that look.  Seen it on a bunch of different perverts when they're getting fed cock and waiting for that spunk they love so good.  I know you want that too.  The deal ain't sealed until you get a load of cream.  You're getting to know your place, the place of all white boys -- between the legs of the Black Man, with your jaws jacked wide, them lips making a 'O' around some hot flesh, and your throat getting used like a pussy.  A deep, tight, hot, wet pussy."

He slowed down and was obviously savoring the sensations as he ran his cock in and out at one-quarter speed.  I could only sit there, blinking back tears, marveling at his staying power, dwelling on how incredibly big his organ was.  That made me recall some of the scenes I'd seen on-line of ones almost as overgrown.  How they slid in and out of the accommodating mouths of blond girls who were only too eager to receive them.  And now I was in that same position.  Just like those white girls.  I had a brief unsetting mental image of myself wearing lipstick, cosmetics highlighting my eyes, a garter belt around my waist to hold up stockings that clung to my unmanly legs.  No, no, no.  I didn't want anything like that.  Yet I felt like an invisible hand was toying with my penis, making it respond, getting it hard.  Erect?  That couldn't be.  I wanted to reach down and check, to reassure myself that it wasn't true, but was too afraid of what I might find.  Instead, I got my hands on Trunk's muscular thighs and massaged his bunched muscles. 

The controlling Black Adonis declared, "From where I'm standing, it looks like you are just like a girl.  You are a sissy faggot made for sucking Black cock, just like a white girl  is.  You know, being queer is the most embarrassing, low, disgusting thing a dude could be.   But I know that most white boys are good for nothing else but to be used like girls by Black Men."

As much as I wanted to deny what he was saying, I couldn't utter a single syllable with him still plowing in and out of my throat.  He relaxed his hold on my ears, which were sore and burning by then.  His large hands did stay on the sides of my head, however.  He backed all the way out and let himself slip free with a wet pop.  As his cock stood up at an angle I was left staring at his balls.  As if at some silent signal, I moved in and began to lick them.  To suck gently on his dark wrinkled scrotum.  Even to kiss the bag of skin and murmur wordlessly to it.  I was worshipping the source of his male generative powers, even though I hadn't been told to.

"Oh yeah," he decided out loud.  "You are getting into all this more than some white girls I've had working my meat.  And I'm going to tell you what you're feeling.   You all confused but you know part of you wants this.  Having a strong Black man use you to keep his big cock happy is your secret dream.  You're all weak inside, like a girl who acts helpless so the guy she's with will do whatever he wants to her.  All that porn you look at, it's because this is what you're really thinking about.  Big Black men with monster cocks using you.  And that other thing you let slip, about a Black stud taking a white girl right in front of you.  Maybe even taking YOUR girl... if you ever get one."  He laughed at me.  "That's what you deep down inside want.  And don't ever forget.  It's the reason your runty dick is hard right now."

He reached down with one long arm, his cock still in my mouth, forcing me to lean forward to accommodate him.  Trunk's large hand enclosed my crotch and applied pressure to my genitals.  If he wanted to, he could gave squeezed my balls until I squealed.  Instead, he let go and straightened back up.

"Now finish what you're here to do.  Cause I know the other thing you want is a big feeding of salty man-cream, fresh from the source."

In a dazed mix of fear and uncertainty, I lavished more attention on his invading cock.  I kept telling myself that I just wanted to get this done and over with.  But I also kept repeating in my mind that if I rushed him he would be angry and hurt me.  So I slowed down to make his enjoyment last and last.  I used my hands and tongue and lips to keep him content.  It was only to prevent Trunk from hurting me.  There was no other reason to take so long to end my ordeal.

He told me, "That's right, sucker.  And I do mean sucker.  Just take it slow and don't let go.  Keep that mouth busy.  And them hands.  You doing good down there.  I had one white boy like you, said he was straight, but after I plugged his face a few times with my Black tool, damn if he didn't start coming around, giving me the eye, looking all primed for another feeding.  Know what I did?  Huh?  I'll tell you.  I stopped slamming his face with my meat.  Even acted like I didn't see him.  Know what the loser did?  Finally came up to me..."  He stopped for a moment, enjoying how I was lapping his balls and giving his pipe a two-handed massage at the same time.  "Whew.  Like I was saying, he came up to me and asked why I wasn't molesting him any more.  That's the word he used.  Molesting.  And that's how you're going to get, before long.  What happened with that white fairy was, after I wouldn't give him what he had got hooked on, he had to go look for it other places.  Last time I spotted him, he was in a dive bar, way over in a dark corner, on his knees, with a hard Black prick in his mouth, working it like he was starving.  Best of all, there was three other dudes lined up to give him the same.  I just went over, looked at him while he was between mouthfuls, and spit in his face.  He didn't know what to make of that, the way it messed with his mind.  I could see he wanted to say something to me, but before he could get to it, there was another slab of dark meat halfway down his throat.  And that's how I left him, kneeling there with cream on his chin and all down his shirtfront, looking like a girl with a broken heart.  But he kept on sucking, like somebody had turned him on and he was running on automatic.  So what I'm asking you, now that I've proved you want it, is how are YOU going to end up?"

I was horrified by what he had said.  Even so, I had no choice but to keep worshipping his sizable cock.  I was trembling from the ideas he had put in my mind.  I was stroking and sucking.  He was approaching the point of no return.  I paused one last time to allow him to maintain the ecstasy of being on the brink for a few extra seconds.  Then I plunged my mouth onto his leaking dark member and got half of it into me.  I sucked hard and bobbed my head several times before he tensed, grunted, and launched his hot salty spunk down my throat.  I backed off while he was still shooting, so that the final spurts landed in my mouth, coating my tongue and forming a puddle under it.  The air was thick with the scent of his semen.  My eyes were watering.  My heart was pounding so violently that I could feel it.  But what held my attention was the fact that I had a hard-on so engorged that it hurt.  I let my hands stray toward it but then pulled them back.  I couldn't allow myself to sink that low.  If I did, Trunk would think that all those horrid suggestions he made were true.

At last he withdrew, leaving me drooling spunk, my jaws slack, nose running, eyes wet with the beginnings of tears.  Trunk wiped his softening organ clean on my blond hair, forehead, cheeks, and under my nose, making sure to get every bit of his output on me.  Marking me with his scent.  I sat there on the toilet, gagging slightly, swaying forward and back, in some sort of shock.  He zipped himself up, opened the swinging door, started to back out and, at the same time, pulled me off the seat and dumped me onto the dirty floor in a heap.  All I could do as I heard him leave, laughing to himself in triumph, was lie there and try to deny the reality of what had just occurred.

After that I got myself on my feet and staggered home, cleaned up, and sat staring at the wall.  In the days and weeks that followed, Trunk replayed that scene whenever it pleased him.  Sometimes it was in a restroom again, but it might just as easily be in an alley or a vacant lot or even in the locker room, while there were other students around.  The Black guys would laugh at me while I was used, and the few white ones would try to get out of there as fast as they could, rather than risk sharing my fate. 

My other tormentors, Trick and Jammer, didn't neglect me, unfortunately.  The very next day they showed up.  Without a word, Trick held out his hand for money.  I fished my wallet out of my pocket, opened it, and handed him a twenty.  As I was putting the wallet back in my pocket, Jammer put out his hand, too, rubbing his fingertips with his thumb.  I sighed and gave him the same amount.  Their greed had forced me to dip into my savings.  With my plans for college, that was especially distressing.  Still, I couldn't do anything about it.  At the end of the day I decided to try a different place to buy a few things I needed, a store known for low prices.  It wasn't in the best neighborhood but I figured if I was there spending money, nobody would give me any trouble.  I headed there after I left school and was soon on a street with several empty storefronts and lots of litter in the gutter.  Two blocks later I noticed the time and decided to take a shortcut.  Following a narrow side street and cutting across an empty lot, I was almost to my destination when I was stopped by someone calling to me.

"Yo, Sebastian old buddy.  What's Trunk D's best friend doing in our hood?"  It was Trick, coming out of a shadowy alley.

Jammer was right behind him.  He said, "It's Mr. Moneybags himself.  Guess he's here to join our gang.  Ain't that right, See-Bash-Ton?"

"What?  No.  I'm just heading over to the..."

"Hey!  Are you calling me a liar?"

"Of course not, Jammer.  But I could never be in your gang because..."

He held up his hand, which was enough to silence me.  "Wouldn't be fair for us not to give you a chance, milky.  I'm betting you could take the hazing we give you and not even break a sweat."

"Sure he could," agreed Trick.  "No problem.  Big tough dude like that."

They got on either side of me.  Trick gestured toward the unwelcoming alley.  Jammer put his hand between my shoulder blades to give me a push.  I stumbled forward and was soon entering the dark narrow passage.  When we came out on the other side it was a space walled in all around by brick buildings.  The only exit was the alley.  Over to one side there was a cluster of other Black students, lounging around and smoking cigarettes.  Several large beer bottles were visible.  I shuddered as I walked toward that scene on nerveless legs. 

"Listen up," Trick told those Black guys.  "Vanilla Candy here wants to join up with us.  Says he can take the hazing like all the rest of us went through."

I had never heard about any hazing as a prerequisite to entering their ranks, but knew better than to question them.  The other guys crowded around me, adding to my feeling of helplessness.

One of them, who I recognized as Barry -- better known by the street name of Fist -- put himself defiantly right in front of me.  He looked down from his superior height and showed a curled lip.  My cheek twitched. 

Fist told me, "First you got to strip."

In disbelief I said, "You mean naked?"

"No, fool.  I mean strip but leave your clothes on.  Of course I f*@king mean naked.  Dumb shit-for-brains."

The others laughed.  With trembling fingers I unbuttoned my shirt and undid my pants.  I slipped off my loafers and pushed them out of the way with the side of my foot.  Then I removed my shirt, looking for some clean spot to place it.  Instead, another of the guys grabbed it away from me and stood there, daring me with his eyes to try to take it back.  I got my pants down and held them out to him.  He snatched them and took my wallet, which he transferred to his pocket before tossing the garment over his shoulder.  Then he made a show of tying knots in both sleeves of my shirt while I stood there in my jockey shorts, feeling utterly vulnerable.  There were a few hurtful remarks about my almost total lack of body hair.  And what I had was pale and fine. 

"Keep going," Fist snarled.

All I had on was my socks and shorts.  Hoping that they might at least leave me some covering to protect my feet, I got my fingers under the waistband and lowered my tight-whites.  Fresh laughter erupted.  Eyes went wide.  Fingers pointed at my crotch.

"Day-am.  What the hell is that between your legs, boy?  It's small as a breakfast link sausage."

"Looks like you put a tampon up your pussy and it slid halfway back out."

"Does that spare finger get any bigger when you play with it?"

"Yeah," Fist said.  "Let's see you make it get big like a real cock."

"But I can't do that," I protested weakly.

Fist brandished his fist and told me, "You make that baby pecker stand up, or I'll knock you down."

In fear of receiving a beating, I lowered one hand and gripped my flaccid member.  This was incredibly shameful.  With the hostile group glowering at me, I began to stroke myself, but was too scared to get an erection. 

"Little shrimp is disrespecting us.  Refusing to do what we ask."

"Maybe we ought to slap some smarts into him."

"We will, if we don't see some wood soon."

"Hey, faggot.  Why don't you play with your titties like a girl.  Bet that'll get you up."

Terrified, I did what I was told and began to finger my nipples.  It started to work but I needed more.  Totally humiliated, I remembered a trick I sometimes used.  I wet my fingertips in my mouth and teased both nipples at once.  That got my dick up but my relief was brief.  Even erect, my penis was far too small to impress them.

"Just about the same as before.  You couldn't pay a hoe to let you put that in her."

"And if she did take your money, she sure as hell wouldn't feel anything."

"You got a girlfriend, short stuff?"

"I like Tammy but right now she's dating Trunk."  Oh darn.  What had I just said?  "I should explain that..."

"You should explain that you got a Jones for Trunk's bitch?  Don't bother, dipshit.  You think she wants that white worm of yours when she can have his Black boa constrictor?  You be lucky if he let's you watch while he puts it in her sweet white pussy and plows her.  Know what I'm saying.  Maybe if he makes you look at how a real man does it, you might stop thinking you got a chance."

"Look there.  The freak is tugging his pinky harder.  He likes hearing about Trunk doing that girl while he eyeballs them.  She-it.  This sad sack is one sick f*@k."

I couldn't help myself.  For some reason, the vision they had put in my head, of Trunk fornicating with that precious Tammy, got me overexcited.  Before I knew what I was doing, I felt my scrotum draw up tight.  I let go of my penis as if it was red hot.  But it was too late.  I began to ejaculate.  Except that, because I was no longer touching myself, all that happened was that semen dribbled out and dripped onto my bare thighs. 

"That is the worst," Trick exclaimed.  "He can't even get himself off right."

"And he messed it up right in front of us, like he ain't afraid we'll do anything.  The little pervert thinks he can play his games and insult us, like we won't do nothing about it."

"Yeah.  Screwed up sissy.  All short and smooth like a girl.  We ought to pay him back like he was a girl.  What this pansy needs is a good -- long -- hard -- ass-smacking."

That set off another round of laughter.  I was grabbed by strong hands and pulled toward a battered wooden chair.  A tall lanky Black boy who I'd seen around school sat on it as two others dragged me closer.  Someone took my discarded shorts and used them to wipe the cum off my upper legs.  This couldn't be happening.  I was about to be given a public spanking in front of all those onlookers.  But I understood that it was very real as I was dragged across his lap and held there.  He raised his long arm and brought his wide hand down hard, producing a loud fleshy slap that was followed instantly by my howl of pain.  I squirmed and kicked while he delivered blow after blow, making my buttocks blaze and my eyes fill with tears.  The others pointed and howled with laughter.  The one slapping my bottom didn't stop until I was bawling and pleading, my nose running, vision blurred from weeping.  When he halted he gave me a push, rolling me off him and onto the trash strewn ground.  I lay there looking up at him, trying to staunch my tears.  Above him I saw curious female faces peering from the back windows of apartments.  Then those onlookers laughed at me, too. 

With a sneer of contempt at my weakness, the spanker hissed, "You owe me for all that work I just did, cracker.  How about you settle the debt with your mouth."

I got onto my knees in front of him, head spinning.  While I was trying to put together a coherent sentence, he was unzipping his fly and whipping out a massive cock.  As he sat back down I got control of my breathing.  After what I'd already been through with Trunk, my mouth popped open automatically.  I put my hands on his sturdy thighs and dipped my head down, catching the dangling knob between my lips and sucking it all the way into my mouth.  I didn't want to do it but Trunk D had conditioned me well.  As accustomed as I was to surrendering to Black cock, I continued by reflex, using my hands and lips and tongue to bring the anonymous Black guy to full erection.  Reflexively, I lavished attention on his tool, using every trick I had learned while servicing Trunk.  The others marveled at how proficient I was.

"Crap.  Look at that cocksucker go."

"Must be a real faggot to do it so good."

"No questions there.  A real deep throat de-light."

At least, I told myself, if I pleasured him, the guy who had spanked me so soundly wouldn't do anymore physical harm.  My bottom was still on fire and the thought of more of the same on top of the current damage was too much.  I sucked him until he was ready to pop, backed off so that only the fat head was in my mouth, and then put him over the edge with my practiced tongue and lips.  He blasted the inside of my mouth with shot after shot of spunk, until I was gulping it down and leaking it out around my lips at the same time.  At last, with cream running down my chin, and him spent, I was able to regain the use of my mouth for breathing, filling my lungs gratefully.  That wasn't to last long though, as the first guy rose and Trick took his place.  I could see that Jammer would be next after that.  Others were lining up.  My jaw was already feeling the effects of accommodating such a monster cock, but there would be plenty more to come. 

Needless to say, after two hours had passed, I was NOT accepted into their gang.  Though I was told that from then on I would give head to any one of them, at any time, any place, on demand.  The rest of my school year was going to be even worse than it had been up until then.  Much worse.

*********

That had been over ten years ago.  With an effort I shook off those horrid memories.  Forced them deep into the back of my mind.  So much had happened in the interim, all of it good.  I had gotten away from that accursed neighborhood to attend college in another state.  My father, with his investments, could help me pay my tuition, so that I didn't have to work part time while attending classes, or worry about paying off more than minimal student loans later.  I got good grades and joined both the Junior Businessmen and Tomorrow's Achievers.  At the same time, there were almost no Black students on campus.  The few of them there were focused on academics, very unlike the type I had encountered at home. 

In my senior year I met a lovely girl named Olivia.  She had long blond hair and a sweet, plump-lipped face.  Her figure was striking, with well filled-out curves.  That big bust, dramatic hips, full thighs, and especially her round jutting bottom, put me in a spell.  She even had a part time job off campus at a restaurant called Show Offs.  It was one of those places where the girls were tight and abbreviated uniforms that showed off their bodies.  Their advertising said that they were showing off their large portions but almost everyone understood the secondary meaning.  With a figure like hers, my girlfriend was perfectly suited for that work.  She bragged about how much she made in tips, especially when she said something nice to the male customers, or asked them to check the decorative bow on the back of her uniform, at waist level, which gave them a good look at her magnificent backside.  Though I didn't like other guys ogling her, I accepted the situation and reminded myself that soon she would be done with that job.  I figured all that sort of thing came along with her being so zaftig.  I didn't have anything to complain about personally with her looking the way she did.  Quite the opposite. 

The one thing I wished I could change, however, was her height.  I'm 5'2" and she is three inches taller than me.  If she slipped into three inch heels I felt dwarfish next to her.  But that was a small consideration while I was so much under her spell.  I had started a modest on-line business while I was in my second year of college and it had done better then even my wildest hopes.  She was very aware of my elevated worth and I thought of that as an added way to keep her interested in me.  I mean, I was confident that she loved me at least half as much as I adored her, and was sure I could draw her even closer if we were together all the time.  That was why, near the end of our senior year, I proposed to her.  To my delight she accepted.   Shortly after graduation we were wed in a simple ceremony.  My parents came from New York to attend.  Mom was her usual self, all wrapped up in her hobbies and shopping.  In fact, her main hobby WAS shopping.  Dad looked well but mentioned that he had experienced some disturbing medical symptoms and his doctor was keeping an eye on them. 

Olivia and I settled in Southern New Jersey, in a roomy suburban home that I purchased.  I wanted to live somewhere as unlike my childhood environs as possible, so it was an expensive neighborhood.  Because of my business's continued growth, I wasn't worried about handling the steep mortgage payments.  She got a job doing office work.  I pointed out that we didn't need the money but she said it was good for her to get out of the house and to have her own income.  We had a pleasant life together for the next several months.  My bride made a lot of the household decisions.  She was sometimes brusque when asking -- or rather telling -- me to do something.  Even so, with how much I cherished her, it didn't seem worth mentioning.  Why disturb our domestic bliss?  For the most part everything between us was wonderful. 

I made friends and we began to attend parties, even having a few ourselves.  Other guys were naturally attracted to my wife's generous contours.  I couldn't blame them.  In fact, it made me proud to see them admire her when they didn't think I was looking.  On the other hand, it made me uneasy to see them standing close to her because most were taller than she.  And by extension, they were all taller than myself.  Sometime during that period, a little innocent flirting started, with guys making suggestive jokes and such.  Again, I could understand why they would want to do that.  And everyone had a few drinks at those gatherings, which tended to lubricate social interactions.  I even tried to see their mild advances as another thing I should be flattered by, since they reaffirmed how desirable my bride was.  But then I observed that Olivia, instead of demurring, was flirting back.  It was nothing blatant but still I couldn't help noticing.  At the end of one of those get-togethers, on the way home, I decided to confront her about it.  I'd had several glasses of white wine and wasn't as in control of myself as usual.

Wanting to be diplomatic, I started with, "Gee, some of the guys tonight were really hanging around you."

"Well, yeah," she shot back.  "I guess so.  This dress does show off what I've got."

"Yes, but..."  I cleared my throat.  "They were sort of monopolizing your time."

"So?  What else did I have to do with my time?  I mean, instead of having a friendly chat with a few tall men."

I didn't appreciate her mentioning their height, but tried to ignore it.  Instead of going in that direction I said, "And you seemed awfully, well, friendly with them."

"Why the hell wouldn't I be?"  Her voice was taut, and I could tell I had irritated her.  "A woman likes to get compliments from good looking guys."

"It's just that I thought some of it was... inappropriate."

"Or maybe you just didn't like seeing me with guys who I have to look up to."

That stung me.  I drove faster, wanting to get home so we could be apart from each other to cool down. 

I told her, "We can finish this discussion later, dear."

She said, "Oh?  I'm not allowed to say what I want until you say the time is right?  Is that it?"

I glanced sidelong at her, unable to miss the impressive thrust of her oversized bust.  Once we were home I wanted to have some fun in the bedroom, and the mood we had fallen into was going to ruin my chances. 

So I told her, "I just want to concentrate on my driving, that's all."

"You should," she advised.  "That cop has been behind us for a few miles already."

"What?"  In my surprise I swerved.  As soon as the car was straightened out again I saw flashing police lights in my rearview mirror.  "Olivia, why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Because I was busy listening to you try to boss me around," she said sourly. 

I pulled over at once and got my wallet out to produce my ID, also retrieving the insurance card and registration from the glove compartment.  Nothing happened for a tense minute and then the officer got out of his vehicle and came up to the driver side of our car.  He was tall and well built, with a mustache that curved over the ends of his mouth.  And he was Black, which bothered me for reasons I didn't fully understand.  I gave him my ID and other documents.  After he handed everything back, he leaned down to peer through the window.  First he gave me an evaluating look and then his eyes moved on to my wife.

The policeman asked, "Have you been drinking, Sir?"

"I just had a little wine, officer," I answered respectfully, anxious for this to be over.

To my shocked surprise, Olivia volunteered, "Oh please, Sebastian.  You were practically guzzling that wine."

I shot her an angry look but she simply smirked back at me.  The officer asked me to step out of the car.  He made me walk a straight line and perform some simple movements with my hands to test my coordination.  Then he instructed me to stay where I was, in front of his car, in the glare of the headlights.  He hiked up his uniform pants and strolled back to our vehicle, going to Olivia's side.  He squatted down alongside the door with his hands on the frame of the open window.  I could see him smiling at her but couldn't hear what he was saying.  She answered but, again, the words didn't reach me.  I was uncomfortable waiting there, with my wife speaking to yet another man.  Another tall man.  For several more minutes their exchange went on.  Then I heard him laugh, a deep booming sound.  She chuckled.  He wagged an admonishing finger at her but that was followed by more laughter from both of them, so I had to guess that he was less concerned now about me. 

At last he strode back to where I was awkwardly anticipating what all this might lead to.  He planted himself in front of me and glared down into my face.  If it was a staring contest, I lost, because it was me who blinked first.  And averted my eyes.  And wrung my hands.  Having caused enough discomfort, he finally spoke.

"All right then.  I've decided to let you off with a warning.  But that is in part because your wife has agreed to drive the rest of the way."

I wanted to tell him that she'd had more to drink than I had, but there was no advantage in doing that.  So I meekly told him, "Yes, Sir.  Thank you, Sir."

"You need to be more careful in the future," he warned.  "I'm sure you wouldn't want to get into an accident while that wonderful woman was in the car.  Would you?"

"No, Sir."

"And possibly have to do community service.  Maybe wind up in an orange coverall, picking up trash along the road, working alongside some pretty tough types."

"No, I wouldn't, Sir."

"Then get going," he said with what I thought was a touch too much force.

I nodded and hurried toward our car, stumbling slightly over my own feet.  I thought I heard him chortle behind me.  First I went to the driver side, but Olivia had already slid across he seat and was behind the wheel.  Feeling foolish, I had to go to the opposite door and let myself in.  The officer was still eyeing me, as if confirming that I was drunk.  I got in and sat there with my eyes downcast.

"Aw," my wife said with mock sympathy.  "What's the matter?  Did the big man frighten you -- Shorty?"

"No," I said sullenly.  "I just didn't want to get a ticket.  Which I might have, thanks to you speaking up the way you did."

"Yeah, but you didn't get a ticket, which you probably would have if I'd let you go on lying to him.  Cops don't appreciate drunks doing that.  Right?"

"Well, I suppose so.  But I still might have gotten in trouble."  With no convincing arguments to use, I sat there and let my shoulders sag.  "Can we just go home now?"

"What, no thank you?  Aren't you glad you didn't get a ticket?  That probably would have led to a fine and points on your license.  And they have a community service program around here, darling.  Imagine me going out for a drive and seeing you alongside the rode, in your orange outfit, picking up trash along with the other lawbreakers.  Would you really want that?  To be stuck there with a bunch of rough dangerous types?  I don't think you'd fit in very well.  Though you might make some new friends.  So how about a thank you for me saving your ass."

"What did you do?" 

That was when I realized that she had previously slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders and lowered the top enough that her breasts were more exposed than they had already been.  When the officer had glanced into the car he must have gotten an eyeful of her bounteous attributes and deep cleavage.  I swallowed drily.  She was obviously able to read my thoughts but told me anyway.

"You mean what did I do besides giving him a free peek at my knockers?  I just sweet talked him.  And fluttered my eyelashes.  Gave him that 'innocent girl' look that turns guys on.  Looked deep into his eyes."

"All right," I said, feeling defeated and not wanting to hear anymore.  "I get it."

"But I wasn't done.  I finished up with one of my best smiles.  The kind that tells a guy he might get lucky.  I used to use those when I worked at Show Offs.  But only on guys who deserved them.  Guys like him."

That shut me off for the rest of the drive.  I was still shaken up from hearing both the officer and my bride suggest that I might have ended up on a litter pick-up crew.  We got inside and my expectations for getting lucky were nil.  Even so, as I got into my pajamas I felt my penis stirring.  Just being around Olivia had that effect on me, regardless of whatever else might be going on.  I sat on the edge of the bed feeling sorry for myself.  I hadn't resorted to masturbating since our wedding, and almost never while we were dating.  It was so demeaning to have to take care of myself that way.  But I was considering it at that moment.  Once she was asleep I could slip out of bed and go to the computer.  There was no lack of options once I was on-line, though I usually gravitated to sites that specialized in BBWs like my bride.  And some other selected sites. 

As I waited for her to come back from something she was doing in another part of the house, I considered possibly using some hand lotion to help myself along.  That had been a trick of mine from my earlier days, when I had been perpetually without girlfriends.  At one point I thought I heard Olivia's voice.  Had she called one of her gal pals to vent to her about the discontent she felt from our ride home?  If she got it out of her system that could work in my favor.  If it didn't benefit me this evening, it might by tomorrow.  Maybe I shouldn't get myself off now and instead save my pent up sexual energy for later.  Realistically, I shouldn't expect the atmosphere in our home to improve too soon. 

That was why I was pleasantly surprised when Olivia came into the room wearing a short filmy nightie.  I goggled at her and the way her heavy boobs moved slightly as she came toward me.  My wife stood right in front of where I was sitting, so close that I could inhale her lightly perfumed scent and even a hint of her natural feminine scent.  I turned my gaze up to her, happy for this change of mood.  She gave me a sly smile that conveyed so much.  I hesitantly brought up my hands and placed them lightly on her swelling hips.  She placed her own hands over them and held them where they were, a sure sign that she liked me touching her.  I was so relieved to not be rejected.  She asked me to stand up.  Then she eased my pajama bottom down over my hips and let it fall, before she took two steps back.

"Ready for the best sex you've ever had, tiger?" she wanted to know.

"Yes.  Yes, please," I assented, unable to keep a hint of begging out of my words. 

"Me, too," she went on.  Her hand came out and cupped my three-piece set.  She rolled my genitals around between her warm fingers.  "You like that?"

"Yes," I gasped, barely able to breath while I was being so capably stimulated. 

"Good."  She sank slowly into a crouch, her face aligned with my crotch.  Olivia effortlessly got me hard by manipulating my privates.  I was becoming desperate for release.  "She looked straight at my manhood and her hand stopped moving.  Her head tilted to one side and then the other as she considered my erection.  "You know," she told me with an expression of disappointment on her pretty face, "I'm suddenly not in the mood.  Sorry about that..."  She gave my privates a final squeeze.  "... short stuff."

As she got up and gave me a smug smile, I babbled, "But I thought we were making up.  I thought you got over what happened.  I mean, the way you smiled at me, it made me believe you were... you know... all ready to go."

"You liked that?  It's the same smile I used when I was waitressing.  And that I gave to that cop tonight.  Works every time.  Even on a guy like you with a tiny dick, who thinks what he has is enough."  She turned and started for the door. "I'll be sleeping the other bedroom."

I could only stand there with my hard-on still protruding demandingly, staying stiff with a mind of its own.  Obviously I wasn't going to get anything from Olivia.  But now I wanted to handle my need by myself even less than before.  Why did she have to make those hurtful remarks about my size?  That and the encounter with the police officer and her inebriated comments from earlier, along with my mental images of her interacting with men at the party, combined to make me feel wretched.  Even so, I couldn't deny the needs of my body.  I sniffled as I held my pajama bottom up with one hand and went to the master bath just off our bedroom.  Closing the door behind me and quietly locking it, I found the pump bottle of hand cream.  Putting two squirts of the lotion onto my palm, I let my pajamas fall again, got a grip on my penis, and began slowly to stroke it.  Was I honestly that small?  I didn't think so.  True, I didn't measure up well to other guys I'd seen in dirty magazines and on-line.  And I'd certainly fallen far short of those Black guys from high school.  Those thoughts took me naturally to memoires of Maurice -- Trunk D. -- and his astounding endowment.  I found myself stroking faster as I recalled those awful times he had used and abused me.  I didn't want to think about that while I was simply trying to ease the pressure in my testicles but I couldn't regulate my thoughts. 

That was when I replayed in my mind some of the awful things he had said that time in the boys' room at school.  How he had told me I secretly wanted what he was doing.  And that I would never succeed with women.  But now I had Olivia.  Except that she was infuriated with me and had echoed what Trunk said back then about my undersized penis.  At that moment his other words rushed back at me.  What he had insisted about how I privately was aroused by the idea of Tammy being with him, and that it could grow into a personal obsession, the desire to have my white love object stolen away and ravished by an endlessly superior Black man. 

With those unbidden thoughts dominating my mind, I moaned, grunted, and sprayed my load all over the bathroom.  On the edge of the sink, the vanity cabinet underneath, and the floor, along with my pale slender thighs and the pajamas crumpled around my ankles.   Standing there, just having had the most intense sexual experience of my life, I began sobbing.  What was happening to me?  But I was able to get everything cleaned up, bury the soiled sleepwear at the bottom of the hamper, put on a fresh pair, and get under the covers.  Soon I had my thoughts under control again, telling myself over and over that this had just been a bad night, most of it blamable on the alcohol, and that nothing similar would happen again.  Olivia had only disrespected me because she'd been drinking.  Maybe it was partly my fault for saying anything about her with those other men.  I resolved to be more prudent in the future.  Everything would be okay, I promised myself as I drifted into slumber.

Matters involving our marriage were okay, for the most part.  My wife acted like she didn't remember that evening at all, which was fine with me.  She did continue to be somewhat bossy at times.   And on occasion, when she'd had a few drinks, she would make digs at me about my short stature.  Less often she would throw in a jab about my penis dimensions.  I put those occurrences out of my mind because they were more than counterbalanced by her normal cheerfulness and a return to our usual sex life.   I'll admit that, for a while, I was overly sensitized to her reactions to my lovemaking.  It bothered me that she wasn't as responsive as I remembered her being.  And I couldn't help but question the ability of my perhaps less than average penis to please her.  But over time I rationalized that what was happening was just what's normal for a marriage as time passes. 

Outside our marriage, unfortunately, everything wasn't as good.  First my father's health got worse.  Then problems arose with my business.  A segment of the market took a hard crash.  As it happened, it affected me disproportionately to many others in similar positions.  The investors for my company, one after another, began to bail.  As their numbers rapidly dwindled, I saw a possible collapse of my once thriving business looming.  For a while I was able to move money around and use stopgap measures, but soon the writing was on the wall.  In a much shorter time than I would have expected it to take, my company was gone, the few assets remaining rapidly being depleted, and that mortgage, so manageable while everything was booming, became an unmanageable burden. 

At the same time, my father passed away.  He had arranged things so that Mom got the bulk of his estate and would be very comfortable for the rest of her life.  She immediately moved to a pleasant seniors' community.  That was a relief.  But right then, when I could have used an infusion of capital, what I got instead was our old home back in New York.  Olivia immediately began to push the idea of us moving back there.

"Listen, Sebastian," she said reasonably.  "We obviously can't afford this place anymore.  What we need to do is move into your family home, at least temporarily.  That would take us from our current, impossible mortgage, to zero monthly payments.  And maybe, I don't know, we could rent out space in that rambling old house.  I mean, it's more like a mansion.  That would keep us afloat until we got everything worked out and made some kind of new start."

She was right, but moving back there was the last thing I wanted to do.  Not only had that neighborhood been unkind to me, but it had deteriorated even further in the years since I had been away.  A decade is a long time for a place like that when it's losing the fight to maintain itself.  I resisted my wife's entreaties.  She grew more insistent.  It was damaging our relationship, I could see.  Our financial situation wasn't getting any better.  And then Olivia transferred there with the company that she worked for.  I knew she was doing it to put more pressure on me.   It worked.  I finally gave in and agreed to make the move back to East New York.  Selling our New Jersey home went well but we made only a small profit, much of which was consumed by our move. 

It was strange to be back in my old environs.  I was very uncomfortable seeing some of the spots where I had been bullied and coerced to hand over my money.  Worse, I recognized some of the places where I had been physically mistreated, getting pushed around, hit and sexually taken advantage of.  For the first several nights I had problems sleeping.  Because I wasn't working, I had lots of free time but didn't want to venture outside of the huge old building that was our home.  Olivia would occasionally mention her co-workers.  There were females who she liked to socialize with.  Sometimes she would gab with them on the phone at night, which included plenty of whispered remarks and giggling.  Then there were the male employees, who she said were extra friendly to her.  I wanted to tell her to quit but now she was the only one with an income.  My wife was stingy when it came to giving me money.  She pointed out numerous ways I could economize, like by eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and wearing some of my older clothes that I had intended to get rid of. 

As we were unpacking she found her old uniform from when she waited tables at Show Off.  Olivia even put it on and demonstrated how well it still fit.  I could see again why it had earned her so many generous tips.  Unfortunately for me she had been complaining of being tired after work and our sex life had fallen off.  That left me constantly horny.  Sometimes I thought she was making an extra effort to be seductive at home.  She would wear a tank top and yoga pants, both of which fit her well-upholstered figure like a second skin.  Even when we did have sex she acted disconnected, as if her mind was elsewhere.  Or as if I wasn't satisfying her.  My old concerns about being inadequate in bed resurfaced.  I was constantly thinking about masturbating but didn't let myself do it because it made me feel like less of a man.  I was married to a beautiful woman, so why should I be tugging my dick?

One evening while Oliva was finishing her shower her phone rang.  I picked it up and found myself speaking to a woman who introduced herself as Serene.  I could tell she was Black.  And she knew my name.  My momentary confusion was alleviated when she went on to say that she worked with Olivia and had heard all about me.  When she asked if my wife was available I asked her to wait a few seconds.  I went to the bathroom door and gently knocked, telling Olivia who was on the phone.  The door opened a crack and she reached out, snapping her fingers for the phone.  I handed it to her and stepped back as the door closed.  From the hall I could hear my bride speaking but could make out only some of what she said.  Then she surprised me by flinging open the door and catching me eavesdropping.  Neither of us said anything about my appearance of listening in.  I probably couldn't have spoken at all anyway because my wife was standing there in nothing but a towel.  And the towel was wrapped around her blond hair.  She was still glistening with moisture and looked magnificent.

"Sebastian," she said gleefully.  "I just got the most exciting news.  Let's go into the bedroom and I'll tell you." 

Unsure of what was happening, but thankful that it was good news, I followed her, unable to take my eyes off her rolling bottom.  In the bedroom she sat on the chair of her vanity table.  Actually the pieces of furniture had been in the house for years.  Originally they belonged to my grandmother, who had lived with us for a time.  The items were old fashioned but they looked fine when occupied by Olivia.  I sat on the side of the bed and waited to find out what she had learned from Serene. 

"It turns out," she began, "that my friend knows someone from your school days.  One of your classmates.  He sounds like a fascinating guy.  His name is... what was it?  Oh yes.  Maurice.  Do you remember him?"

I froze up inside.  Just hearing his name made the muscles in my back tense up.  I said, speaking slowly, "Gee, I'm not sure.  Did she say anything else about him?"

"She mentioned that he's involved in a couple different businesses.  Helps people out when they have problems.  Gets them connected with whoever can assist them."

That was odd.  I couldn't picture Trunk in that role at first.  But then I figured he might be sort of a facilitator who assists others when they need a solution that's somewhat shady.  That would fit him perfectly.  I just shrugged and shook my head.

My wife thought for a second and then remembered, "Oh, and she said that he told her both of you had liked a girl named Tanya."

"It was Tammy," I corrected.  Instantly I realized that I'd given myself away.  I tried to cover by adding, "That jarred my memory.  Yeah, Tammy.  A blond girl."  A picture popped into my mind of her hanging all over Trunk, looking up at him with adoring and hungry eyes.  "But I didn't know her that well."  Because he took her before I could get up the nerve to say much to her. 

"So you do remember him."

"Yes," I said, trying to think of some way to end this line of conversation.  "I remember Trunk."

"Wait.  Who?"

"Oh.  Trunk was just a funny nickname he picked up somehow."

"Like because he had a long nose."

"No, he didn't have a long... nose.  He was a Black guy.  Just a big dumb pile of muscles."

"Really?  Big, Black and muscular?  I'll bet you really looked up to him."

"Why would I...?  Oh, you mean because he was tall.  Okay.  Whatever.  But that was long ago," I finished, trying to suppress the memories that haunted me.

"Okay.  I thought you would be thrilled to get back in touch with one of your old classmates.  I guess I'll just tell Serene you're not interested."

"Sure," I said, trying not to let my relief show in my voice.  "That's fine."

After that I put it out of my mind.  I wasn't having any luck making new business contacts.  We had some luck because it turned out that Olivia transferring had come at a fortuitous time.  The company she worked for needed someone to handle several new accounts and interviewed her for the position.  Because she had previously worked in a smaller office and learned to switch from department to department as needed, her versatility proved very valuable.  She was given the new position, a generous raise, and expense money to expand her wardrobe for meeting clients.  I was impressed and, frankly, annoyed.  It didn't please me that she was the top earner in our home.  Or, more accurately, still the only earner.  She sensed the shift in domestic control as well.  Olivia delivered thinly veiled jabs about who was supporting us.  On occasion she would come home after a busy day and expect me to wait on her.  I did it reluctantly.  If she had a drink or two it would loosen her tongue and those barbed remarks become less disguised.

"Sebastian, darling, would you mind picking up a few things for me tomorrow?  I'll give you the money."

"Dearest, I don't think you should buy yourself any new clothes right now.  It's not like you need them for work."

"Sweetie, please don't use the charge cards without consulting me first.  Not unless it's for something I've authorized."

So there I was, cleaning around the house, hitting dead ends when I searched on-line for work, and being increasingly bossed around by my wife.  It affected me in a variety of ways.  I neglected my personal appearance, ate too much comfort food, and got sulky.  Worse than all that, Olivia was even less available for sex and I grew increasingly frustrated.  She would model the new clothes she was purchasing with her clothing allowance and, even when they were smart skirt suits, I found it erotic.  When she gave me even the slightest hint that we might be getting intimate in bed I became desperately eager.  It was as if she had me on a leash, leading me around by my neediness.  When we finally did end up in bed together for more than sleep, I somehow felt like I was there on her sufferance.   And that my performance was letting her down.

Then came the night that she told me she had more news.  Olivia instructed me, politely but with newfound authority, to put a frozen dinner in the microwave and steam some vegetable on the stovetop.   She withheld whatever she had to tell me and I was soon on pins and needles.  We sat at the dining room table and ate, her relating bits of gossip from the office and me listening with silent attentiveness, waiting to hear what she had to announce.  It wasn't until after she had sent me to the kitchen to dish her up a small bowl of ice cream for dessert, and she had slowly eaten it, that she was ready to divulge the news.  I sat there with my hands in my lap, waiting anxiously, telling myself it was probably nothing.

She said, still holding the spoon, "Remember how I told you Serene knew your old friend Maurice?  Well, when we needed someone for community outreach work, she said he might be perfect.  So I asked her for his number and, when I called him, he was very personable and had exactly the contacts we were looking for.  He came in for an interview and had some terrific ideas about how we could proceed.  He seems to know every business owner in the area."

I wanted to say that he probably knew them because he was fixing problems with the city officials, but I kept those thoughts to myself.  Instead, I said, "That's interesting.  But," I observed, "he might not have any formal training."

"He doesn't, but we want someone local who can relate to people as a neighbor."

"Great," I responded glumly.

"And when I mentioned that you were from here, he remembered you better than you remembered him.  I guess you made quite an impression."

"Maybe." 

"So it should be fun when he stops by on Friday night.  You two can get reacquainted."

"He's coming HERE?  To our home?"

"Yes.  Is there a problem?"  That tone of authority was in her speech again.  I had been getting used to responding to it the way she wanted.  "Is there?"

It was like I was a balloon with half the air leaked out of it.  My shoulders sagged and I lowered my eyes.  "No, dear.  It's just..."  I was going to say that I wished she had consulted me first.  But even that felt futile.  "It's fine."

"Terrific.  Maurice will be here at eight.  I'll want you to pick up something special to drink, and maybe some light snacks.  I'm sure you want to show him a good time."

"I..."  Thoughts of what Trunk D had put me through all those years ago made it impossible for me to find my nerve.  I lowered my gaze and said in a hushed voice, "Yes, dear."

The next few days were stressful for me.  I kept thinking about Trunk with Tammy.  And some of those things he had said to me.  Especially his thoughts about me actually taking some twisted pleasure in him being with her.  Plus how I had physically reacted to it.  In an effort to proved to myself that none of that was true, I decided to search for material with the same themes on the internet.  I thought there might be a few examples and, if I searched carefully, I might find them.  Instead, I discovered a landslide of what is called interracial porn, or IR for short.  There was an endless profusion of photos and drawings of white women with tall capable Black men.  To make matters worse, instead of being able to view it dispassionately, I was immediately aroused, quite against my wishes.  Why was that deplorable stuff getting me hard?  Why did I keep touching myself, thinking of her at work and worrying that Trunk might visit her at the office.  But he didn't, or so she said.  The two of them were in contact only via phone and computer.  And, I consoled myself, when he came to our home I would be there to keep an eye on him. 

Finally, the night when he was scheduled to appear at our door arrived.  Olivia was eager to see  him in person.  I was dreading it, just wanting to get it over with, hoping that, because he had some sort of professional dealings with the company she worked for, there would be no mention of the past beyond a few memories of the school and our classmates.   Two hours before he was due, I was standing there in my underwear as Olivia came into the bedroom.  I couldn't help but admire her stunning, overly full figure and the way her big bust overfilled her sexy lace bra, or how the matching thong panties she wore seemed in danger of being torn apart by her flaring hips and jutting round bottom. 

She said, "What's the matter, Sebastian?  Aren't you happy that you're going to be seeing your old pal again?  Trunk D always sounds so nice on the phone.  You just need to relax... Little White Mouse."

Olivia reached down and gave my penis a hard flick with her finger through my snug jockey shorts.  Wait.  How did she know Maurice's old nickname for me from school?  If he had told her that, what else might he have revealed?  Would he have even told her about that time in the men's room?  And how guys like Trick and Jammer had mistreated and used me?  My worries were mounting as she turned around and wagged her desirable ass in my direction.

"What do you think I should wear, Mousey?  I'm trying to come up with something your good buddy might like.  Maybe just something casual, like my baby doll blouse and some yoga pants."

"But that top, it leaves your midriff bare.  And it's so tight across your... um... bosom.  Plus, those pants fit you like a coat of paint.  I mean, wouldn't a pants suit be more appropriate?"

"Appropriate for WHAT, lover boy?  Hmmm?  He's not here on business.  This is just for us all to get to closer.  I guess I'll have to make my own choices about wardrobe.  And a few other matters."  She laughed softly.  "Now let me tell you what I want you to wear, honey."

"But... I mean... I can dress myself."

"Sure you can.  So long as you wear what I pick out, shorty."

I stood there, being stared down by my wife.  It might have gone differently if I'd had clothes on.  Or if she hadn't shown that she knew at least something about that dark period from my past.  So my willpower wilted and I stayed where I was, hands at my sides. 

All I said was, "Whatever you think is appropriate."

"That's my little man," she said.  It sounded like Olivia was mocking me but I couldn't be sure.  I wished she wouldn't make quips about my stature, especially not at a time like this.  "Now let me see what would make you appear relaxed, without a worry in the world."

As if she had selected the items beforehand, my bride went from closet to dresser to shoe rack.  She set everything on the bed and, as I looked down at it, my heart sank.  There was a bright green shirt and yellow sweater vest, tight red slacks, socks with wide horizontal rainbow stripes, and slip-on shoes with small green-and yellow checks.  In that combination I would appear immature and possibly gay.  When I gave her a questioning look she put her hands on those wide hips and stood with her feet apart, making me think of an Amazon warrior.  My mouth was dry.  I brought my hands halfway up and then let them fall. 

All I got out was, "Maybe if I just..."  The words trailed off under her critical glare.  So I simply nodded and turned to the bed.

"Almost forgot," she added, suddenly cheerful.  "Can't have you in those tight-whites you've been wearing all day while you lounged around the house.  Even though they do show your bulge off so well."  She snickered at the obvious untruth of that.  From my underwear drawer she took a pair I didn't recognize.  They were powder blue, barely there, with a small pouch in the front and hardly enough material to cover the crack of my bottom in the back.  Olivia held them out to me, as if daring me not to accept them.  I stepped forward and took them unhappily.  "That's my boy," she praised, sounding condescending at the same time. 

Olivia crossed her arms under her hefty bust and tapped her toe, eyebrows raised, plainly expecting me to change into those unwanted items in front of her.  Where had those shorts come from?  I'd never seen them before.  And the rest of the outfit was all items that she'd bought me recently, all of which I'd avoided wearing.  Having them all on together would be dreadful.  Even so, I peeled down the plain shorts and picked up the much more colorful pair.   

Looking at my naked figure, she allowed her eyes to drift down to my crotch before saying, "Oh, that reminds me.  Did you get those party franks I asked for?  The little bitty ones?"  She held her thumb and forefinger about two inches apart.  "The bite size ones."

I swallowed uncomfortably and assured her that they were in the freezer.  She didn't take her eyes off me as I stepped into those shorts that were close to being feminine panties.  When I got them up there was barely anything on my hips.  They were too low cut.  I reached back and was assured that more than half of each buttock was exposed.  And in front that small amount of material hugged and lifted my genitals, showing off their smallness and, if possible, making them appear even less impressive. 

Next came the shirt, followed by the pants, which I had to fight to get into because they were so snug.  The rear seam had a 'lift and separate' effect on my backside.  I pulled the sweater vest over my head and stepped into those shoes with their bright eye-catching pattern.  Olivia gave me a lopsided smile, that made me think she was being amused at my expense.  She moved directly in front of me, looking so desirable in that abbreviated lingerie.  I wanted to reach out and touch her, maybe even take her in my arms, perhaps kiss her, but lacked the confidence to do any of that.  She fussed with the pointy collars of my shirt, tugged down the sweater in front, and used her cupped hand to pat my crotch from below.  I yipped and stepped unsteadily backwards, bumping into the dresser.  She tittered and sent me an air kiss.

"Now you scoot along, Mousey.  Straighten up around the house.  I need to find just the right thing to wear for our guest.  He's only heard my voice, talking business, and probably thinks I'm some stuck up type with a stick up her ass.  Wouldn't want him thinking of me like that, now would we?  So I'll try to come up with something that sends the right message.  Like 'I'm available'... as a friend as well as a business person." 

She gestured for me to leave the room.  I went, my head full of unbidden thoughts.  Why was she being so merry about meeting Trunk?  And so superior around me?  Would she stop using that disturbing nickname?  I began doing what she had requested -- or ordered -- fluffing up the pillows on the sofa, fussing with a shelfful of knickknacks, and moving to the kitchen to make sure those party franks really were where I'd said, even though I already knew they were.  The entire time I was aware of how tight my pants fit and how that sweater hugged me.  The underpants were like a soft hand coddling my privates.  Finally, I checked the main bathroom and spent a while doing small jobs that didn't actually need doing. 

When I went back to the living room I was taken aback at the sight of my wife.  Olivia had gotten into a piece of clothing I had never seen before.  It was a clinging jumpsuit, sleeveless and backless, with a halter top and a front cut-out that left her oversize bust in danger of popping free.  She spun around slowly to give me a better look.  The eye-popping one-piece was a festive red and, I saw uneasily, had sheer sections on her thighs and midriff.  It accentuated her every glorious curve to maximum benefit.  I remained immobile, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, as she gave me a suggestive smile and licked her lips.  Olivia had on plenty of make-up to bring out her eyes and make her mouth irresistibly kissable.  She wore gold hoop earrings, a narrow matching chain with a glossy black, animal-horn charm on it, and several large gold bracelets.  On her feet were sleek black shoes with four-inch stilettoes.  That footwear made her tower over me.  With that additional loss of relative height, along with my less than manly clothes, I felt like a boy in an adult world.  It was disconcerting but, before I could even think of suggesting a change for either of us, she spoke.

"How do you like me in this?" she wanted to know.

"It's sort of... brazen."

"Yes.  Thank you."  She must have missed my meaning.  "And it's easy to get into.  Or out of." 

"I... suppose so," I concluded weakly.

She consulted her watch, a small one on a narrow band.  At least that wasn't something I'd never seen before.  Olivia reminded me, "Marcus will be here at eight.  One hour to go.  Why don't you check the bathroom off our bedroom?"

"Why?  He'll be using the main one, that I already cleaned.  What would he be doing in here?"

"You could clean it for ME."

"Yes, dear."  I was saying that a lot lately.

I did a quick spit and polish in there and then hurried to the kitchen.  For whatever reason I was nervous about the drinks and snacks Olivia had wanted, which I'd picked up with money she doled out to me.  The thought kept surfacing that I might have forgotten something.  Or not chilled something.  Or not gotten enough of something.  By the time I'd run through all that, it was very close to eight.  I triple checked my appearance, still displeased with the look my wife had given me.  It didn't project the image I wanted Marcus to see.  Well, it was too late to change that or anything else.  I went to the living room, sat on a wooden chair, and tried to relax or at least look like that was what I was doing.  Eight o'clock came.  With each minute past that, I kept telling myself Marcus might not show.  But at five after the doorbell rang and I jumped to my feet.  Olivia was ahead of me, though, and answered the door.  Standing in the background, I watched her swing it wide and greet my old nemesis. 

"Hello.  You must be Marcus."

"In the flesh," he joked.

She looked him up and down.  "So I see.  Please come in.  Welcome to our house.  May we get you a drink?"

"Sure thing.  I'll have a 7 and 7, if that's okay."

"Anything for our visitor," she assured him.  Then, turning to me, she brusquely ordered, "Get the man his drink, Sebastian."

At least she hadn't called me Mouse.  I got a quick look at Marcus as he came further into the room.  He was as tall and imposing as I remembered.  His dreadlocks were shorter.  The years hadn't changed him much.  If anything he looked better, more rugged, his features sharpened slightly by the elapsed time.  Mentally comparing him to myself, I came up short.  I'd gained a few pounds which had softened my face.  I sighed and got the ingredients for his drink, along with what I believed was the correct type of glass.  Most of what I knew about mixology came from TV shows and movies.  When I returned they were sitting on the couch alongside each other, too close together for my comfort.  He had on a dark grey muscle shirt and black jeans, with stylish running shoes.  I could never look good in that outfit.  As I meekly handed him his drink he looked up at me and grinned.

"Aw, if it ain't my little white mouse.  It's been so long."

I tried to smile back at him.  "Yeah.  It's been a while."

Olivia spoke curtly to me, saying, "Do I get a drink, too?  Are you ready to take my order?  How about a screwdriver?"  When I hesitated, more from nerves than from ignorance, she told me with strained patience, "That's vodka and orange juice.  Both of which I told you to make sure we had on hand.  Right?"

"Yes, d...  Um.  Olivia.  I have those things.  In the kitchen."

"Then shouldn't you be out there, putting them into a glass for me.  And nothing for you, dear.  As wound up as you've gotten yourself, the last thing you need is a drink.  You might get out of hand.  Remember that little incident with the police officer."

As I spun around and hurried out of the room they both laughed.  It wasn't cruel laughter.  There was no way I could object.  They were just sharing a moment of fun.  But it still cut deep.  I rushed to get her drink, not sure if I should put ice in it.  Or if I should have done that for Marcus.  I could dimly hear them conversing and my wife chuckling at something.  Leaving them alone together bothered me.  I put some ice cubes into a bowl and took them with me. 

After I handed Olivia her drink I asked, "Would anyone like some ice?"

She pointed out, "That you would have to use your fingers to get for us." 

"I'm sorry."

"Well, I'll just take my own." 

She extended her arm and I bent forward at the waist, holding out the bowl.  Then I held it out to Marcus, he waved it away dismissively.  I set the bowl on the coffee table in front of them and looked around, not sure where I should sit.  After a few seconds I went back to the wooden chair, though the recliner would have been more comfortable.  I sat there with no drink, my hands together on my lap, feeling like a schoolboy who had been caught misbehaving. 

My wife told me, "Marcus was just telling me what you were like in school.  I've got to say -- darling -- that you haven't been totally honest with me."

"It's just..." I began.  "Well, you know.  People kind of edit the past.  To give the best possible picture."

"To their own wife?  You know how I feel about dishonesty, Sebastian."

"I know, dear.  I'm sorry.  I didn't expect you'd ever meet Marcus and..."  That didn't sound right.  "It's just that I didn't want to upset you with..."  Not the best choice of words.  "I only meant that..."

Marcus interrupted my stumbling self-defense.  "I remember how funny you used to be in the locker room, Mouse.  The way you always tried to jump back into your clothes without bothering to get a shower.  And how some of the bigger guys had to make sure you got yourself clean.  Then you tried to face the wall every time.  Why was that again?  Refresh my memory, mon."

"I... er... felt awkward.  Being naked.  Like that."

"Now I remember," he said brightly.  "It was because all the guys made fun of your dick."  He turned to Olivia with a mildly apologetic expression on his dark face.  "I'm sorry, girl.  Didn't mean to talk that way in front of such a good looking lady."

"It's okay," she assured him with no trace of censure.  "I'm all grown up."

"Truth."

"And I'm already aware of my husband's physical... qualities."

I squirmed uncomfortably on my hard seat.  She didn't have to encourage him like that.

He went on, "So this one time, I'm with this girl Tammy."  From me he wanted to know, "You remember her, don't you, bro?"

I could only choke out, "Yes, Trunk.  I mean, Maurice."

"Wait," my wife interjected.  "About that nickname he just called you...?"

"Oh, I picked that up back in school.  Like how I called him Mouse."

"And you were Trunk because...?"

"Oh."  He acted reluctant.

She told him, "No, it's okay.  Like before.  With 'dick'.  We need to be candid, unlike some people," she said, shooting me an angry look.  "Whatever it is, I can take it."  She gave him a sly smile to say she wouldn't mind if it was dirty. 

"Well," he began, pretending he didn't actually want to divulge the truth.  "I got called Trunk because, you see, remember how we were talking before about the locker room?  And how your boy there got called out cause his dick was, let's say, below average size?  And that's why I called him Mouse?  So, in my case it was..."  He lit up with a sudden inspiration.  "... it was the opposite."  He held his hand out palm up and said, "He was too small..."  Then turned his hand over and looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to finish the thought.

"And you were too big?"  Olivia heard herself say it and then drew back as she understood.  "Oh my," she added with honest surprise.  Her eyes went to his crotch and her hand even moved in that direction before she brought it back to rest on her thigh, on the bright material of the immodest jumpsuit.  "So you got called Trunk because your dick... or cock... was a monster."

He shrugged modestly.  "I ain't saying it's not."

She glanced at me and then back at him.  "Well, since my husband has been lying to me all these years, which I despise, I think he owes me something.  Maybe we should have a quick comparison test." 

They exchanged understanding looks.  I sat across from them, becoming more and more distressed.  This couldn't be happening.  Not right there in my own home.  Well, our home.  Which my wife was paying the entire upkeep on.  She took another sip from her glass.  I wished I had the numbing benefit of alcohol. 

Trunk set his features into a stern expression.  He snarled at me, "You heard the lady.  Time for us to go head to head.  Dick head to cock head.  Pink mouse against big Black snake.  Stand up, boy.  And I'm even going to give you some help.  Let me tell some more about you back in school.  Might get you in the mood to compete, if you know what I mean."  He resumed telling the shameful tale to my bride.  "So I'm with this girl Tammy.  Looked kind of like you, Livia.  Just my type."  He paused to let that sink in.  "And your husband had the Jones for her.  Always mooning around the girl but too mousey to do anything about it.  So I made my move and she liked everything about me.  Including what we were talking about, the thing that earned me my name."

Olivia boldly said, "Your big cock."

"My big BLACK cock."  He put plenty of emphasis on that adjective.  "And even though she was with me, Mouse there kept drooling over her.  Except now he was even more worked up.  Thing was, he turned out to be one of them freaks that gets off on seeing a pretty white girl that could have been his get taken away by a big Black stud.  I'm telling you that sometimes me and her spotted his baby dick getting stiff in his pants."

My wife drilled me with her eyes and demanded, "Is that true?"

Instead of denying it, I broke instantly and blurted out, "Yes, but I couldn't help it.  I don't know why that happened.  But I'm not a freak."

Trunk barked at me, "Get that dick out, white stuff.  Let's see it.  NOW!"

Too afraid, too conditioned by my decade old encounters with him, I unzipped and fished my penis out through the fly of those non-macho shorts.  I stood there like a man who had been hit on the head, too stunned to react further. 

Olivia sighed regretfully.  "That's my husband."

The Black man leaned toward my wife and put his hand over hers, where she still had it high on her thigh.  He said, sounding like this was all perfectly reasonable.  "Now if you be Tammy and I be me, we can see if he's a freak for that scene or not."

"Well," she considered, "it is important to get to the truth.  Especially after all his lying to me." 

"For sure.  Can't be no secrets between a husband and wife.  Now if you just stand up, baby, we can do what's got to be done."

She got to her feet and he did the same.  I couldn't detect any hesitation on her part.  Trunk ran his big hand lightly over her flowing blond hair.  He brushed her cheek with his knuckles.  Let his fingers trail down her back.  Brought them up to gently knead her bare shoulder.  She gave an involuntary shudder and turned her head to look up at him, mesmerized.  He whispered to her to look at me.  I followed her eyes and saw she was checking me below the waist.  Of course there wouldn't be anything to see.  I wasn't going to succumb to this cheap tactic.

"Oh my god," she gasped.  "He really is some kind of pervert."

"What?"  Why was she saying that?  I looked down and got the answer.  My short penis was standing out at its full but unspectacular length and girth.  It had been just that easy for Trunk to trigger the same reaction from years ago, as easy as it was for me to get that result when I viewed IR porn.  My lips quivered and I felt my face grow warm as I blushed deeply.  "I don't know why that's happening."

"I do," Olivia said.  "It's because you're as twisted as Trunk said.  Probably every time I've had sex with you -- very unsatisfying sex, I should add -- you've been picturing me with some real man, a superior Black man, like him.  You sick, little-dick, creep."

"Now what we still got to do," Trunk went on, the only one in the room who remained calm, "is the rest of the test.  Can't make no comparison without nothing to compare with.  See what I mean?"

"Yes," my wife said with determination.  She turned toward him and pressed her body against his.  "And since I helped him get stiff, it's only fair that I do the same for you."  Her hand fondled him between the legs.  "And I'll make sure I get you ALL the way hard."  As she felt what he had where it counted, she gasped. 

While I stood there, looking on in stunned disbelief, she unhurriedly lowered his fly, opened his jeans, and got them down enough that the front of his boxer shorts was uncovered.  Olivia slid her fingers into his fly and brought them out holding his stupendous member.  It was still flaccid but already over eight inches long.  For long seconds she stared, unable to take her eyes from it.  Then her hand began to slowly stroke, with his organ expanding at each pumping motion.  Soon it had risen to it's awesome full  fourteen inches and proportionate thickness, with the oversized head I remembered all too well.  Her white fingers stood out vividly against its dark rich chocolate color.  She wet the palm of her other hand with the flat of her tongue and used the wet surface to massage the knob.  Olivia took a deep breath. 

"So you see how we stand up against each other, Livia," Trunk observed.

"I do.  But I'm not sure you're as hard as you can get, Trunk.  Let me just try a little more, baby.  I might have done it wrong because I'm not used to having my hands on anything that ginormous."

"Be my guest.  Ain't like snowflake over there, with his mini-mouse poking out, gone to do anything about it."  As he got more into the mood his speech displayed added urban traits.  "See if you can get some more size out of me, girl."

My wife sank to her knees in front of him.  That jumpsuit was so tight that her ass, aimed in my direction, stretched it to its limits.  The sight was too much for me to resist.  I began to run my fingers up and down my limited length, moaning softly as I did it.  Trunk looked across the room at me and smirked viciously.  Olivia was admiring his tool and handling it worshipfully.  She adjusted her height, sitting up on her haunches, and got her mouth over the fat head.  My bride sucked and, I guessed from the way he grunted, swirled her tongue around him.  Her hands slid up and down the weapon between his legs.  She let the end slip from between her lips, but only so she could kiss and lick it.  She even freed his scrotum from his shorts, so she could orally minister to his balls. 

It was overwhelming.  I rubbed myself faster. It was impossible for me to stop.  Olivia turned her head for a second and I was mortified that she saw what I was doing.  Still, even that didn't make me cease.  I got one hand under my sweater and rubbed my nipples through my shirt, making myself whimper with need.  Olivia could tell how her performance was elevating my excitement and she began kissing the tip of his cock, murmuring words of love to it, swearing her sexual loyalty to that fleshy object of desire.  I sobbed with a mixture of shame, regret, and uncontrollable arousal.  I had to stop before I made myself finish. 

Trunk asked me, "What's the matter, little white mouse?  Hey?  You don't want to squirt that thing in front of your wife?  Huh?  You want to hide in the bathroom?  Maybe shoot your shot into the crapper?  Well, let's go then."  He stepped away from Olivia, leaving her with her lips wide apart and tongue out, still hungering for him.  He helped her to stand and she rubbed her hand over his broad muscular chest. 

She told me, "You heard him, Mouse.  To the bathroom.  The one attached to our bedroom."

I went like a man in a trance.  Soon I was standing in front of the toilet with the lid up, still masturbating. 

Olivia said, "Looks like my loser husband needs just one more push to send him over the edge.  How about this?" 

She adjusted the top of her jumpsuit and those full round breasts that I loved so much burst forth.  She lifted them as an offering to Trunk.  He was happy to accept, and pawed them spiritedly while she purred and ground her crotch against his firm thigh.  I couldn't stand it.  With a groan I accelerated to pumping myself at double speed.  There was no turning back.  I made a desperate wordless sound as spunk jetted from the end of my little dick, flew a short distance, and plopped into the cold water in the bowl.  Some hit the rim.  It was totally demeaning.  As my passion peaked and passed, the awful shame of what I had just been made to do struck me.  I wanted to at least stuff my shrinking member back into my pants but they had other ideas.

"Don't bother putting that ridiculous thing away, wimp," Olivia said heartlessly.  "Instead, get down and lick up that white blob you left on the edge of the toilet.  Ewww."  They watched me fall to my knees, lean forward, extend my tongue, and lap up my semen from the porcelain.  My wife told me, "Now get out of that pretty outfit I picked for you.  All of it.  Go."

When I didn't act immediately, Trunk gave me a threatening scowl.  That made me remove the sweater and begin unbuttoning my shirt.  Next I slid off the checkered shoes and removed my pants.  I stood there in those flashy underpants with both of them eyeing me. 

Trunk noted, "Them shorts look more like panties.  And my little white mouse acts a lot like a weak girl.  Maybe he should have something really sissy to wear."

My wife thought for a moment before saying, "I've got just the thing."  She told me, "Lose the shorts, loser."

I said, "But this is so unfair."

"Is it, jerk-off boy?  You have to pop your cork from seeing me making out with Trunk.  How messed up is that?"

"But... you used you mouth..."

"I sucked that magnificent cock of his.  After having to settle for your tiny appendage for so long, it was a pleasure.  And I only did it because your dirty secret came out.  So who's fault is it that I got to use my mouth for something fun for a change?  Hmmm?  Whose fault?"

"Mine?"

"Correct on the first guess.  Now get out of those shorts while I grab something more appropriate for a head case like you."

"And then me and Mouse can tell you about some more of his adventures back in the day."

"Isn't that nice," Olivia said with a devilish smile.  "You two reminiscing about your school days."

As she left the room I turned to Trunk.  He had an aggressive stance, fists tight and ready to be used.  I got my fingers under the elastic waistband of my shorts and skimmed them down my slender legs, aware that my near absence of body hair didn't help my efforts to hold onto my masculinity.  Olivia returned shortly with one of her old uniforms from when she worked for Show Offs.  She held it up in front of me while evaluating how it would fit. 

"What you got for the pansy?" Trunk wanted to know.

She told him and added, "This is a smaller one I had them give me because I thought I was going to diet off a lot of weight."  She ran her free hand down her side, over the inward curve of her waist and the outward thrust of her hip.  "You can see how well that plan went."

He told her, "Damn, girl.  You don't want to get rid of even one inch of all that goodness.  I'll let you know if you get to big anywhere, Livia."

My bride visibly took that as a compliment.  I hated that he was using his own version of her name, being intimately familiar in that way.  But she had me backed into a corner with the way she had made it my fault that the two of them had gotten so physical.  I guessed I'd just have to take the rest of my chastisement, so she could vent the remainder of her anger.  Once Trunk left at the end of the evening I could start rebuilding things between her and I.  In a few days maybe everything would be back to normal.  But for the moment I had one more humiliation to endure. 

"Go ahead," she told me.  "Put it on.  You'll probably get a kick out of this, too."

I accepted it and unzipped the back.  My question to her was, "Don't you want me to put anything on underneath?"

Trunk answered for her, telling me, "Don't want to cover that cute pink ass too much, Mouse.  Just do what you been told."

Stepping into the uniform and getting my arms into the short sleeves, I reached around behind and clumsily zipped it up.  The two onlookers laughed spontaneously.  I couldn't blame them.  The outfit was low-cut in the front and the pleated skirt ended near the tops of my thighs.  Unfortunately for me, it even fit fairly well.  Olivia left the room again and came back with some of her panties from the hamper.  She held them under my nose and made me inhale.  Then she stuffed them into the cups of the built-in bra to give me faux breasts.  Trunk told her I needed my face prettied up and she hurried off to get make-up.

I begged him, "Please don't do anything else to me, Marcus.  Don't wreck my marriage."

"Maybe you already wrecked it, being such a fairy and having that nowhere dick.  Plus showing her what a sick puppy you are.  Your wife acted damn happy to get her hands on my Black cock.  And her mouth.  You got to do what's best for her, faggot."  He thought for a second and added, "That's funny.  Back when, you used to suck me off.  Now she got halfway to swallowing my cream.  And it looked she was ready to go the rest of the way.  Damn funny.  Both loving my Johnson.  You think she'd get a laugh from hearing about that?"

"About you and me?  What you made me do to you?"

"That's not how I remember it.  In my version it was more like you was itching for it.  Like a lot of white boys."

"Please, no.  Don't say anything.  I'll... if you don't make her, I'll do it for you again."  It was torment for me to have to say it but I saw no alternative.  "Okay?"

"You'll do what for me?" he said a bit louder.

Eager to have him agree, I unconsciously raised my own voice as I made it perfectly clear.  "If you don't let Olivia finish giving you oral sex, I'll do it instead.  Later.  In private.  All right?"

"You'll take my cock down your throat like you used to?  The way you loved to so much?"

Not wanting to quibble about details and still be talking when my wife could overhear anything, I blurted out, "Yes, Trunk.  I'll suck your cock like I always used to in my senior year."  And I spoke the lie that he seemed to want to hear.  "Just how I loved to do it back then.  I'll make it so good for you.  But let it be me who gives you head instead of Olivia."

My wife's voice suddenly broke in, "I can't believe what I'm hearing.  My husband definitely is a faggot."

She must have been in the doorway, listening to everything, while my line of sight was blocked by Trunk's large form.  I said, "It's not like that, honey.  You don't understand.  He made me do all that.  Trunk and the other Black guys did it to me.  And they kept it up because I was so good at it."  That last part didn't come out right.

"I'm sure you were an expert cocksucker, Sebastian," my wife said bitterly.  "I married a fag who never gave me a clue about his sordid past.  His cock gobbling time in school."

Trunk unhelpfully contributed, "And how he liked Black cock the best.  Had a regular addiction to it.  Like some candy ass sissies do."

Olivia stormed into the room, raging at me.  "You little piece of gay homo trash.  How dare you hide your filthy habits from me all this time?  Who knows what you've been doing behind my back?"

"Right," Trunk offered.  "Since he got back to his old hunting grounds around here, he's probably been sneaking off while you're at work, and getting his share of cum."

"This is horrible," she ranted.  "I go out and earn a living for both of us, while you lay around the house and then slip out the back door to go find... find..."

"Big Black cocks like mine," Trunk continued for her.  "Because he can't kick the habit."

I tried to defend myself but her flood of words prevented it.  "You are nothing but a degenerate sicko, Mouse.  A lying pervert.  A worthless excuse for a husband.  And for a man.  Look at you standing there in that girly uniform, probably thrilled to be living out another of your twisted fantasies."

"For sure," Trunk encouraged.  "You look close you can see it in his eyes.  He is one happy faggot right now."

She peered at my face and agreed, "You're right, Trunk.  He is totally into this."

He was twisting everything around and making her see it all his way.  The deeper he dragged me into this the harder it was going to be for me to dig my way out, to reverse my wife's thinking.  Could it get any worse for me?

"In fact," Trunk said, "I noticed him starting to drool when he was seeing you get busy on my meat.  Your Nancy-boy husband was jealous that you were getting all my fine Black tube-steak.  I'll bet that if he got a taste of it right now, he'd be as happy as a pig in shit."

"You're probably right," she said rancorously.

"So when you're making up is face, give him plenty of lipstick.  Make him look on the outside like he is on the inside, starved for Black cock."

Olivia looked at the cosmetics in her hand.  She was so infuriated that she had forgotten they were there.  Now she barked at me to go sit on the side of the bed.  Then she got to work with a vengeance, angrily applying make-up to my face as I fought to keep myself from breaking down and crying.  Every  time I tried to speak, the words stuck in my throat.  Trunk had been so convincing that I could see no way out of the maze of lies in which he had trapped me.  After my wife had applied more than enough cosmetics, she finger-combed my hair, mussing it up.  Then she told me to go look at myself in the mirror.

I went to the closet to check my image in the full length mirror mounted on the inside of the door.  What I beheld made me gasp.  Staring back at me, startled, was a slim figure in a brief, one-piece outfit that bulged where breasts would be, face covered with exaggerated make-up to give a whorish appearance, hair disordered as if it had just been put out of place during some lewd act.  I turned around and faced her unsympathetic sneer.  Trunk stepped alongside Olivia and put a consoling arm around her shoulders.  His hand easily reached one still bare breast and cupped it.  Instead of shying away, she snuggled against him for comfort.  Then she opened his pants again and freed his enviable shaft.  It hung down, just waiting to be pampered by her... or me. 

The way he was casually pawing her boob set off that reaction I'd had before, the same one from when I'd seen him years ago with Tammy, akin to what seized me when I viewed IR porn.  My little dick rose again, even thought I had ejaculated so recently.  Trunk gave me a knowing look and told me to lift the front of my skirt.  I did and my wife saw my undersized erection.  Because of what he had said, she assumed I was reacting to the sight of his exposed cock.  And that he was touching her that way.  Hot tears ran down my cheeks.  I sniffled.  She must have thought that was because, once again, my supposed secret life had been exposed. 

Trunk asked her, "You want to see how it used to be?  How my swishy white mouse loved to get his lips around his favorite cock?  I mean, you don't have to.  But I think it'd be better if you did.  The truth is what matters."

She pressed herself more firmly against him and put her hand over his, to make him keep holding her breast.  He toyed with her nipple and she mewled with pleasure. 

"Yes, Trunk," she said, her voice thick with emotion.  She slid down his body until her face was level with his waiting member.  "But let me get you hard for my faggot husband.  After all, like you already demonstrated, he gets a sick kick from seeing that."

He chortled and told her to enjoy herself.  With soft hands and eager mouth she brought him to full hardness and greedily swallowed as much as she could of his impressive length, which was only the head a two more inches.  Then she moved aside, still on her knees, and beckoned me forward.  I took the position she had vacated and my old reflexes kicked in.  My lips opened wide.  I held his cock and adjusted its angle.  Then my mouth engulfed the head and gradually I took in everything until is heavy balls were against my smooth chin.

"Holy crap," my bride marveled.  "He's a pro at deep throat.  I could never do that with a huge cock like yours, Trunk."

"Sure you could, baby," he assured her.  "If you're willing to practice a lot."

Olivia rubbed his solid thigh.  "Oh, I am, lover.  I am so willing to do that.  And anything else you want.  How about if you don't shoot into Mary Fairy here and save it all for me?"

He counter-offered, "How about if I send a big helping into her?  That way it'll take me a lot longer to finish the second time, when I'm with you.  In your sweet pussy.  Like they say, it's good to find a One Hour Man."

"You can do it for sixty minutes?  Instead of in-and-done, sixty SECONDS boy here?  I guess it's like that other saying, too.  Once you go Black, you'll never go back."

He asked, "You mean you're going to cut Mousy off?  No more pussy for him?  No more getting his small hands on your big tits?  No more being able to pat your big old booty when he feels like it?  He going to be able to look but not touch?"  He concluded with one more suggestion.  "And he be there to eat your snatch whenever you feel the feelin."

She exhaled slowly, plainly impressed with his rewrite of her sex life.  "Sounds like a deal to me."

"That's my sweet bitch," he said, and she didn't object to being called that.  "Plus, after we done, I show you one more trick he good for."

"I can't wait.  But I also can't wait to hit the sheets with you."

"Hold steady for a little while, girl.  Got to let baby dick finish his evening feeding.  And I'm thinking that, after all the wrong he did to you, it make you feel good to see him getting what he deserves.  He's one of them that knows he's still a man somewhere inside and will always be ashamed of being a flaming faggot.  Hell, maybe he even gets a extra tickle from knowing he's so screwed up."

"Sounds about right with the little liar."  She leaned in so her lips were close to my ear as I continued to give Trunk one of those blowjobs at which I'd become so proficient.  All my techniques came back to me.  They're something you don't forget.  Olivia hissed, "You look so natural doing that, you cock magnet.  I expect you'll be on your knees plenty after this.  And after Trunk slams me longer than you ever could, with his cock that you can only wish you had.  The only way you'll ever have one like that is the way you're getting it right now, down your throat."  She paused before saying, "And maybe somewhere else.  But that's for later."

Olivia rose and got him out of his T-shirt.  Then she made me stop for a minute so she could remove his shoes and pants, dutifully serving him like some harem girl.  Once he was naked, it was back to gulping him down for me, massaging his balls while he commented on how soft my hands were, bringing him ever closer to an orgasm. 

"Look at him go," my wife commented.  "With his little dick I guess it's just natural for him to serve bigger men.  And lucky for him, he totally loves doing it.  Though he seems to love it and hate it at the same time."

"You know it," Trunk said.  "A real sick twist.  As bent as he is, get used in front of his wife might be what he dreams about.  And in a couple minutes he's going to taste the payoff."

Though I looked up at him with pleading in my eyes, he just took hold of my head so he could switch from me sucking him, to him humping me.  He drove his rigid cock down my throat and withdrew it, over and over, in complete control of his lust.  In the end he withdrew until only the bulbous head was between my lips. 

Trunk told Olivia, "Hey girl, give my rod a few strokes.  I want it to be you makes me shoot a pint into Mouse's mouth."

She licked her lips in anticipation as she took hold of his organ, locked eyes with me, and pumped him toward a climax.  My bride didn't rush him.  She was savoring my distress.  But soon the unavoidable happened.  Trunk made a sound deep in his throat and gritted his teeth.  With Olivia still pumping him, he sent spurt after spurt of cream into my mouth.  There was so much that, even though plenty ran down the back of my throat, forcing me to swallow, some leaked out around my lipstick reddened lips, running down my chin and dripping onto the front of my waitress uniform.  It was incredibly shameful, and yet my dick was hard again.  Olivia made sure to coax every last drop out of his cock and onto my tongue. 

After he was thoroughly finished, Trunk told me, "Crawl out to the kitchen and grab me a beer, if you don't mind, old buddy."

I left the room on my hands and knees, my bare backside inadequately covered by the tiny skirt.  My wife called after me to not dare to rinse my mouth.  When I returned with his can of beer, they were seated on the side of the bed, their hands all over each other.  I handed the beer up to him, he popped the top, and then I had to watch Trunk take a long refreshing pull of the icy beverage while I cowered in front of him, my tongue still covered in his spunk.  He took his time drinking it, my wife still touching him here and there, feeling his muscles.  By the time he was done his beer, she was getting him erect again.  He was a sexual dynamo.  Trunk crushed the beer can and made me take it between my teeth and keep it there.  My wife giggled at the silly sight that made.  She laid back on the mattress and spread her legs lewdly, holding out her arms. 

"Lover, come here.  Please.  I need you.  I have to have to incredible cock of yours.  Don't make me wait."

"Be with you in a second, sweets.  Just got to clean up a little."  He got behind me and rubbed his still sticky cock against my hair, leaving behind traces of his cum and my saliva.   Of course I didn't do anything to stop him.  He told Olivia, "Get them legs further apart now, girl.  I'm going to stretch you like you never been stretched before."

"I know you are," she agreed enthusiastically.  "Like my stupid husband and his useless dick never could."

With that he was on her, entering slowly, making her moan and ask for more.  He started to piston in and out, taking his time, until she switched to a higher pitched, playfully coaxing voice.  Then he upped his speed slightly.

He asked, "Fast enough for you, bitch?"

She sweetly cajoled, "Lover, Livia wants you to slam her hard.  She doesn't want it slow and careful.  She's had enough of that from Mister Failure, the jerk in the dress, on his knees, with your beer can in his well-used mouth."

He laughed softly.  "Heh heh.  You got it, baby.  Fast, faster, and then super fast."

Still demonstrating full control, he gradually accelerated his thrusts until she was squealing with pleasure and bringing her legs up high, clutching his broad shoulders, and yelling for more.  I could only stay in my submissive posture, tears forming in my eyes, my heart broken... and my penis harder than ever.  It went on for another ten minutes.  And another.  And another.  At the end of what must have been an hour, after he had driven Olivia to several shuddering orgasms, he at last allowed himself to finish, giving her one more climax at the same time.  As she thrilled to her orgasm, her eyelids were flushed, body sheened with sweat, gasping and groaning alternatingly, until she passed her peak and settled down.  He stayed inside her for an added minute before gently sliding out and lying alongside her, his heavy flaccid organ draped over his thigh. 

Olivia swore appreciatively.  "That was beyond incredible, Trunk.  I never knew it could be so fantastic."

"No trouble, Livia.  Any time you want it."

That was when I broke down, crying loudly without being brave enough to remove the crushed can from my mouth.  They laughed at me, cuddled together, and drifted into satiated sleep.  When they woke up later I was still where they had left me, fearful of moving. 

"All right, Mouse," Trunk announced.  "Put that can under the bed.  I got something else for you to do with your mouth.  Like I told Livia, there's one more trick for her house pet to do.  Get up on the foot of the bed, snowflake.  There's a sticky salty bunch of spunk in your wife's snatch, and it's your job to clean it up."

Not fully understanding, I offered, "I could go get a washcloth."

"Washcloth's too rough.  Got to use something real soft.  Like your tongue."

"But you ejaculated inside her."

"So freaking what?  Didn't you already take a load of my cream?  Ain't you eaten plenty of it in the old days?  So what's one more serving going to matter?  Right?"

"Yes, Sir.  I'll --"  I gagged a little.  "-- do it."

I moved where he wanted me.  My bride propped her head up on a pillow so she could watch.  What I was about to do didn't repulse her.  It had the opposite effect.  She was amused and excited to see me demeaned that way, also anticipating more stimulation from my tongue and lips.  I got my mouth on her oozing pussy and began to clean up Trunk's copious cum.  As I licked and swallowed, Olivia started to purr happily.  By the time I was almost done, she was on the verge of exploding.  To put her over the top, Trunk rolled toward her, started to suck one nipple and finger the other.  That was all she needed.  My wife erupted with yet another dash over the finish line.  I kept my lips glued against her mound and slowed my tongue action only slightly, taking her through the wild rush and slow deceleration.  She was finally spent, going limp and slipping into half-sleep.  But she wasn't too far gone to partially open her pretty eyes and watch as Trunk made me clean him off with my mouth, too.  It was disgusting.  I choked.  My eyes burned.  The shame I felt was bottomless.  She loved it.

In the days and weeks that followed, much happened.  Olivia bought a selection of female lingerie for me to wear around the house.  My male underwear was ceremoniously put into the trash.  I had to have make-up on at all times.  They had someone come to the house and give me laser treatments, after which every bit of my body hair was gone.  Olivia grinned as she told me that was permanent.  Trunk had business going on all over the city.  His two top assistants were -- just my luck -- Trick and Jammer.  They immediately picked up where we'd left off years ago, with them bullying me and demanding sexual favors.  I had to serve them so often that soon my knees were sore. 

One of Trunk's schemes to make money for Olivia was to rent out several rooms in our spacious home, as she had considered doing earlier.  He hand selected the tenants, all of who were Black men, and every one of who was eager to sample my oral skills.  My daily outfit was usually garter belt, stockings and heels, except that soon many of the pairs of stockings had holes in the knees.  I spent my days cleaning up rooms, washing dishes, and performing other menial jobs, like a common housemaid.  Sometimes I had to wear an apron, but every one of them was short, ruffled, and pink, with a big flouncy bow in the back. 

Trunk and Olivia continued their ferocious and frequent lovemaking, always with me in attendance, ready to serve them in any way they pleased.  More than once, on some flimsy pretext or other, Trunk would pull me over his lap and administer a sound spanking.  He even got an old sorority paddle so my bride could do the same without harming her small hand. 

They took the large library, sold off the books, and converted the space into a party room.  Many nights it would be dimly lit, with  a mix of hip-hop and reggae music blaring.  There were also the sounds of ska, dub and EMD.  I had to be there to serve drinks and repeatedly be taken into dark corners for 'special services' to Black men and sometimes their white dates.  Seeing those IR couples unfortunately set off my typical reaction to such sights, and my arousal was mistaken for enjoying what was being done to me and wanting more.  Trunk and Olivia encouraged everyone to believe that I really was kinky and wanted everything I was getting.  They even held informal competitions to invent new indignities.  More than once I was taken into the lavatory for extreme shaming.  They made me hold overgrown Black cocks while their owners pissed.  And made me put my hands on the toilet seats, palms up, so women could sit on them while they relieved their bladders.  There were some Black females appearing in the party room, who took special delight in tormenting me and making pubic displays of my submission and feminization for everyone's entertainment.

One of my few reprises was when I was allowed to spend time in my new bedroom.  It was a storage space that was converted by having the walls painted pink, several pieces of excessively girly furniture moved in, and loads of feminine clothes filling the closet and dresser.  But at least I could catch my breath in there once in a while.  Sadly for me, after only a week and a half of having that sanctuary, Trunk figured out what was going on and ruined it for me.  I came back from cleaning the rooms of several of our Black male renters, my knees and jaws sore from the added duties I had to perform.  On the way back to the safety of my room I got stopped in the hall by Trick and Jammer.  They let me know that open season had been declared on my ass by my 'owners'.  I was bent over the back of a chair so both of them could take a turn at drilling my defenseless posterior.  They were so well hung that I screamed for mercy, though none was forthcoming.  When they were done it left me terribly sore, convinced that I wouldn't be able to sit comfortably for days. 

So when I got inside my room it was with great relief that I stood there contemplating an hour or more of escape from being used and abused.  But that mood was broken by the unfamiliar ringing of a bell.  I followed the sound and found the noisy object mounted  to the wall.  There was a string running from it, through a hole in the wall, and into the next room.  Above it a small sign said MOUSEHOLE.  Posted nearby was a list of instructions. 

1. When the bell rings, Mouse will always run to see who is signaling.

2. Mouse will do whatever they tell him to do. 

3.  Mouse will be courteous and grateful, always thanking whoever uses him. 

4.  Mouse has no limits on what he will do. 

5. If Mouse is naughty, there will be severe punishments. 

I stood there trying to understand what it was all about when I noticed a small grill below the sign.  If someone were on the other side, I would be able to hear but not see them. 

Uncertainly, I said, "I'm here.  It's me.  Mouse."

From the other side a gruff voice told me, "You damn well better be.  And ready to get to work."

"To work?"

"Yeah.  That's what you're there for."

"I don't understand."  To comply with those rules I added, "Sir."  Then I dared to ask, "Who are you, please?"

"I'm Albert.  Maurice's dad.  And he told me to try you out, make sure you know how to treat anybody who rings your bell."

"But... I can't do anything for you while you're not in the room."

"Idiot.  Look at the wall.  Down about waist level.  See anything there, genius?"

What I saw was a hole the size and shape of the top of a teacup.  I was starting to understand when the answer was made very clear.  A Black man's penis came through the opening.  It wasn't erect but it was still very large.   Of course it was.  That was Trunk's father.  It must run in the family. 

"I understand," I said, my hands twitching as I involuntarily wanted to reach for the proffered man-meat. 

"Then get busy," he told me.

Without further prompting I sank to my knees.  My fingers went to the flaccid organ and began coaxing it toward full life.  It rose quickly and I caught myself licking my lips, for reasons I didn't understand.  Knowing what was expected, I inched closer on my knees and gave it a lick under the dark head.  There was no way to avoid inhaling the mixed scents of sweat, male musk, and something spicy.  I recognized them as the same ones I had smelled when Trunk first made me give him a blowjob, all those years ago.  Then I got my lips over the end and sucked hard.  My tongue swirled around the corona.  Not wanting to anger him by proceeding too slowly, I angled my head and sank down on him, taking his thick tool deep into my throat, until my chin bumped the wall below that cut-out.  After giving him a few trips past my tonsils, I withdrew until only the head was contained, then began to suckle on it. 

"Damn," Albert enthused.  "My boy wasn't exaggerating.  You got that faggot talent, Mouse.  And he says you all kinds of perverted, too.  Tells me he took your hot wife away from you.  I met her and she would have been worth fighting for.  But you let her go.  Even got turned on by her sucking him off and him banging her.  That true?"

I pulled my mouth off his cock and switched to stroking it in slow motion with both hands.  "Yes, Sir.  It's all true."  That was all I needed to say, but I kept going.  "It got me hard watching them and I played with myself until I squirted."

My mouth went to his stick again.  I used my tongue like a cheap whore, sliding it up and down his considerable length, flicking it against the head, and rotating it around the corona. 

He asked me, "So, what you wearing, sissy?"

"I have on a garter belt and stockings.  And women's shoes with three inch heels.  The shoes are red.  My wife gave me a new top.  It's see-through black lace, with no sleeves, and it leaves my tummy bare."  Even though I had answered his question I was compelled to go on.  "I've got make-up, too.  Lots on my eyes.  Blue eyelids.  And eyelash extensions.  Plus my lipstick is bright pink and there's a coat of gloss over it.  Well, there was a coating until I gulped down your cock all the way."  I giggled girlishly.  Why did I do that?  Just to be safe I added, "Thank you for asking, Sir."

As I resumed sucking his overgrown cock he told me, "You're going to have plenty more to thank me for, little vanilla treat.  I started renting a room in this big house of yours.  Well, of your wife's.  I like how Trunk got some of his lawyer friends to write up papers for you to sign, so now she owns everything.  Better not to let a wimp like you hold on to anything.  And I'm getting a deep discount on rent.  Your hot wife got eyes for me.  She even asked Trunk if we all could get together for a threesome.  How that make you feel, white boy?"

Against my will, I suddenly had a straining hard-on.  He couldn't see me, so I got one hand between my legs and began to play with myself.  I couldn't help it. 

I told him, fearful of earning punishment as stated in the fifth rule, "That would be fine, Sir.  I'm sure my wife could make both of you very happy.  At the same time.  And if you let me watch --"  I had to let go of my dick to keep from coming.  "-- I'd be very appreciative."

"Well, I'll put in a good word for you.  Now get your sissy mouth back on my rod.  And when I'm getting ready to spurt, back off so just he head is past your lips.  So you can get the entire load on your tongue.  Won't that be sweet?"

I paused only long enough to tell him, "Yes, Sir.  Very sweet.  And salty." 

He snorted derisively at my unmanly behavior but didn't tell me to stop.  Albert was enjoying this too much.  I ignored my dick while I gave him some special attention, lapping up the underside of his shaft and thinking about licking his balls.  If only they were accessible.  Why was I thinking that?  I did some more deep-throating and started to edge him toward an orgasm.  It was so shameful to have the bell and opening in my undersized bedroom.  Now I would constantly be on the alert for the tinkling of the bell and another waiting cock.  There would no longer be anyplace where I could be alone and try to get back in touch with my masculinity. 

Albert was breathing harder.  I slowed down again.  Didn't want to earn myself a spanking or having my balls slapped or something even worse.  He got control of his respiration and went on, "I got one real special treat for you in my room.  Got me one of them mirrors like in a shoe store.  It got a frame and a stand so it don't fall over.  It's on the floor.  Trunk told me that he declared open season on your cute pink sissy ass.  So I'm going to get you on your hands and knees, looking at your own face in that mirror, and make you keep looking while I tap you from behind.  You going to see yourself with your eyes popped out and your mouth hanging open.  See how you look when I'm stretching you wide and riding you hard.  Hell, you might just see yourself looking like you're enjoying it.  Ain't that true, white stuff?"

"Yes, Sir," I said between sucks at his cockhead.  "I will look forward to that.  It's exactly the kind of thing a sissy like me lives for."  That probably satisfied him but I couldn't stop talking.  The words came out in a torrent.  "I want to see you ravish my wife.  I want to suck you whenever you get the urge.  I am nothing but a helpless sissy waiting to be used and punished.  My dick is so small no woman would ever want it.  I... I..."  Oh no, what was I saying?  What was wrong with me?

"Just like my boy said.  One of them white boys that's hungry for Black cock and just needs a real man to show him the way.  I told him long ago about candy asses like you.  Now finish me off, just the way I told you."

I gave him some heavy suction and then withdrew until only the knob was in my mouth.  Then I sucked hard, at the same time stroking him with both thumbs under his cock, on the thick seam that runs along the underside.  His breath hissed through clenched teeth.  I had him now.  Mouse was going to demonstrate who was in control.  I was about to prove that I could give him everything he wanted.  I would...   It was happening again.  I had to make an effort to retain my true personality.  But before I could get my mind back on that track, he blew his load into my mouth.  I had gotten better at swallowing and was able to take it all without any leaking out and dripping onto my pretty lace top.  I was so proud of that.  I was?

Using my fingers I milked the remaining drops of spunk out of him.  I kept contracting and relaxing my lips to give him a good slow descent from his pinnacle of pleasure.  At last I stopped, but without letting him loose.  I told myself I was simply trying to keep him happy so I could evade discipline. 

Albert said, "Now you got the right idea, snowdrop.  Don't never set a cock free when you can keep tasting it.  And I got something else for you to taste.  Cause like it says in them rules we stuck on the wall, you better do whatever we say.  Right?"

I nodded, the end of his now soft tool still in my oral grip.  My tongue teased the sensitive spot under the head.  I even made purring sounds to tell him I was happy and ready for more if he wanted it.  But Trunk's father had other ideas.

He said, "Just you keep me right where I am.  See, I had a couple beers before I came in here and now I got to get rid of them.  And I don't feel like walking to the toilet.  Why should I, when I got a little white sissy like you I can use instead?"

NO.  He wasn't going to do that.  It had to be an empty threat.  Just because he enjoyed scaring me.  But my hopes faded as he made no move to contradict what he'd just said. 

Albert told me, "Get ready, faggot.  You don't want to lose any and have your pretty room smelling like piss."

I closed my eyes, as if that would help.  He sighed and suddenly there was hot acrid piss rushing across my tongue and down my convulsing throat.  It flowed into my stomach.  He kept on going until I thought my midsection must be swelling to contain it all.  At last he stopped and I waited, breathing through my nose, desperate to get rid of that foul taste.  Wishing I could vomit up the filthy deposit he had made.  Finally he pulled away and his cock slid out of my mouth and back through that opening that I knew I would be kneeling in front of frequently from then on.  And I still had to face what he had said he would do to me in his room.  And probably witness him and his offspring taking my bride at the same time. 

"Yeah," Albert mused.  "You one of them prize white faggots.  Addicted to Black cock.  Wanting to be treated mean.  Knowing you going to lose your woman and not caring.  Liking it instead.  And I can tell you this, angel food.  The longer you keep getting what you crave, the more you going to want it, until you ain't never going to be able to go back to being any kind of man, even the small-dick, weak-ass one you were before.  See you real soon, punk ass."

On my knees, sick to my stomach, dreading the possibility that what he had said was true, I couldn't make myself get up.  I leaned my forehead against the wall.  Then I positioned my face so I could poke my tongue through the glory hole.  I pressed my cheeks against the edges of the opening and stuck out my tongue, wagging it in the air like I was signaling anyone on the other side of my availability.  What was I thinking?  It was going to be so horrible having to listen for the sound of the bell and be ready to answer it at once.  To have anonymous men come and make me eat their cocks whenever they had the urge.  I was sure all the new tenants of what used to be the home I owned, would take advantage of my presence, and maybe even invite their buddies over to use me.  I wondered if there was another sign on the opposite side, and what it might say.  And if Trunk would tell Olivia about all this.  Or if she already knew.  Maybe she was with him right now, laughing about my latest disgrace and plotting more to come. 

I was ruined as a man.  My life would revolve around feminization and servitude, being used like a tawdry slut.  As I thought about all that, and how much I hated it, my hand drifted lower.  It touched my small dick, which was so hard it almost hurt.  I couldn't deny how my body was reacting.  What did that say about me?  Was I everything I had been told I was?  It couldn't be true.  I still had a chance to somehow regain my masculinity, to break free from this downward spiral, perhaps even to reclaim my beautiful wife.  Didn't I?  My hand began to move with a will of its own.  I pictured Olivia on hands and knees, Trunk and Albert with her, one in her mouth and the other in her pussy, while she moaned with pleasure and the thought of my desperate fate only added to her excitement.  I tugged my dick harder.  Faster.  While hope slipped away.