Bossed Around! by Throne (28 Pages) (Patreon)

Bossed Around!

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.

***DEVIN DICKIE NOTE***

All characters are OVER 18 years of AGE! This is a bullying fantasy and not real.  The acts in the following written work are only consensual  sexual choices and fantasy humiliation scenarios.

Bullying is NOT OKAY and If you or someone you know is being bullied, please alert the authorities. 

BOSSED AROUND

by Throne

I went to work just like usual on a Monday morning about three months ago.  As soon as I got to the office I noticed that something had changed.  There was a nervous expectant atmosphere.  Before I could learn any more, Lou Anne, a middle-aged woman who was second in command, called for everyone's attention to make an announcement.  She stood in front of Mr. Murdock's office, the door of which was halfway open.  Then she called in that direction to say that everyone was ready.  Out of the office strode a tall Black man, a picture of confidence in a perfectly tailored suit of the highest quality.  Lou Anne told us that Murdock had been transferred to an office in the Midwest, where he was going to take over, to reverse some very bad business practices that had been discovered.  She introduced the man who had taken up a spot near her as Cornellon Handler.  When he stepped forward, she moved to the side of the room, out of his way.

Handler grinned and said, "I've been sent here to take control of all Mr. Murdock's duties for an indefinite period.  I plan to run an efficient office but also one where everyone who excels will be rewarded for their performance."  He went on to outline his plans, which weren't a radical departure from what we'd done up until then.  There was some talk of consolidating duties and departments, but that was one of those ideas that was often brought up but rarely acted on.  At the end of his speech he told us, "I want to be on a first name basic with all of you.  So please just call me Cornell."

Everything he said was reasonable and yet I felt some concern.  He was naturally imposing.  When he shook my hand it vanished into his much larger one.  He towered over me and had a solid build, in contrast to my slender body.  I introduced myself as Chuck Alsop and mentioned that I was in customer relations.  He nodded and said something about having looked at my personnel file.  His tone was neutral but I got the impression that there was something he wasn't telling me.  As he turned away I decided that I was just nervous. 

Sure enough, for the next several days everything went along smoothly, as if no transition was taking place.  He stepped into my cubicle one day after lunch,  to ask about my best account, which was performing steadily but not growing.  He knew almost more than I did about the client.  As he stood by me he gestured toward my computer, where the screensaver was visible.  It was a picture of my wife Diana.  The image was one I had selected myself.  In it she had her long blond hair down, was smiling radiantly, and wore a colorful sundress.  The garment had a belted waist and showed off her trim figure, but also her large bust.  I'd always liked that about my wife, and was sort of obsessed with her breasts, which looked like they should be on a heavier woman.  The top buttons were undone to show just a hint of her deep cleavage. 

"That's a lovely photo," he complimented.  "What kind of camera did you use?"

"Oh, just the one in my phone, Mr. Handler."

"Now, now," he gently corrected.  "Call me Cornell."

"Yes, Sir."

"And you don't have to be so formal, Chuck.  All right?"

"Yes, S...  I mean, Cornell."

"There you go."  He nodded toward the picture.  "That dress goes well with her complexion.  Brings out the green in her eyes.  And what a sparkling smile on..."  He paused as if waiting for me to fill in the blank.

"My wife.  Diana."

"That's nice."  And then he resumed talking about my top account, making some suggestions without it feeling like he was telling me what to do. 

Cornell was consistently friendly toward me.  Of course, he was that way with everybody.  If he corrected someone it was done tactfully, while still conveying concern.  Those suggestions of his went over well with my client and I was grateful for that.  My numbers improved.  The new boss said we should celebrate and invited me to have a drink with him after work on Friday.  I'm not much of a drinker but knew better than to decline.  So there we were, at the end of the day, heading to the elevated parking garage together.  He ushered me to his car, a big impressive model, and I got in.  Though I had assumed we would simply visit a place near the office, he wanted to drive somewhere else.

"I found this bar right across town.  It's real relaxed, which is good after a day at the office.  I'm sure you'll like it."

He drove further than I'd anticipated, to a less prosperous neighborhood, with small businesses lining the street, and apartments above them.   Cornell pulled up in front of a place called Hank's.  Two minutes later we were inside.  It was dimly lit.  As my eyes adjusted I saw that it was frequented by workingmen.  Big burly ones and lean, long-muscled types.  There were also a half dozen women, who all wore clothes that hugged their considerable curves.  And everyone except me was Black. 

One of the women spotted us and said, "Hey, Cornell."

He waved and called back, "What's up, Francine?"

The bartender, tall and rangy, stepped away from two men he'd been conversing with and said, "Yo, Cornell.  Your regular?"

"Right, Jake.  And the same for my friend."  My boss gave him a thumbs up.  "And give Francine whatever she wants."

Cornell led me to a curved booth set into the back wall, with a view of the whole room.  Francine and the other girls didn't appear to work there, at least not formally.  They were just chatting with customers and getting occasional drinks from admiring men.  None of the females were overindulging, as far as I could see.  Francine approached us with a round tray, on which were three mixed drinks in stemmed glasses.  She set two identical ones in front of Cornell and me,then took a tropical looking one for herself.  The attractive Black girl slid in, putting me between herself and my boss.  We all sampled our drinks.  They both looked appreciative.  I felt unsure.  Whatever was in my glass seemed pretty potent.  Cornell introduced me to the young woman. 

Her voice was sultry as she said, "Well, hello Chucky."

I didn't correct the diminutive she'd used.  All I said was, "Hi there, Francine."  My throat felt dry.

Cornell inquired about some people they must have both known.  Then he suggested that I tell her about my work.  Francine slipped closer, until she was almost touching me.  As I spoke, her hand went to my forearm, which was resting on the table, and stayed there.  She listened raptly while I tried to make my ordinary job sound more interesting.  Cornell nursed his drink.  Because I was stressing, I finished mine.  Francine offered to go and get me a new one.  I started to demure but she was already up and heading for the bar, her wide round bottom wiggling invitingly. 

"She likes you," Cornell observed.

"I guess.  But I don't want us all to be crowded into the booth.  I'll just move over here."

I got out and put myself on a chair that was facing my former position.  Cornell gave me an inscrutable smile.  Francine returned with my fresh drink.  She set it in front of me. 

"I know why you moved," she said with certainty.

"You do?"  I hoped she wasn't going to take it the wrong way.

"Sure.  So I can do this."

With feline quickness she plopped her desirable backside on my lap.  I went hot and cold at the same time.  Francine had her back to me.  She rocked from side to side, bumped up and down, and did a slow grind.  Almost at once I felt my penis stiffening. 

"Hey, Chucky," she said petulantly.  "Don't you like me?  When I work at the strip club, guys usually get all hard from this."

"It's just..." I stammered.  "You have to understand..."

"Don't you like girls?"

"Of course I do.  I'm married."

"Is she cute?"

"Very," I said defensively.

"Then what's she doing with you?  Didn't she like any of the other guys she went to bed with?"

In a huff I told her, "I'll have you know that my wife was a virgin when I married her.  Not like you.  And another..."

Suddenly I ran out of words.  Oh crud.  What had I just revealed?  Francine simply got up, turned, and straddled my thighs again, this time facing me.  She made an air kiss an inch from my lips.

"Now I see what's your deal.  At first I didn't feel anything down in dick territory but then there was just a tiny bump.  Is that all you've got, stud?  No wonder you had to find a virgin.  If she'd had anybody else before you, she'd have known that she was getting shortchanged by your little pee pee ."

Francine laughed as if that last remark had just been a joke.  She took my glass and fed me half of its contents.  Soon she was again working her ass around on my lap.  Her hands came up and began to unbutton my shirt.  I looked toward the bar to see several of the patrons grinning at my dilemma.  Then I noticed two of the girls snickering at me.  Finally, I turned toward Cornell, who was taking in the scene with calm amusement.  Before I could do anything else, Francine had my shirt opened most of the way, so she could toy with my nipples, which she very effectively did.  I gasped.  After a few minutes she wet her fingertips, which made her efforts even more stimulating.  I moaned, too overwhelmed to object. 

In a loud whisper she told me, "I was going to slip down under the table and suck your cock until you shot a load down my throat.  Wouldn't that have been terrific?  But now that I know what a peashooter you have between your legs, I'm not interested.  But I feel sorry for you, so I'm going to finish what I started."

Her head went down and all at once she was licking and sucking one nipple while diddling the other.  My spine locked up and my head fell back.  I closed my eyes.  There was no way for me to avoid what was about to happen.  Against my will I spurted my cum into my shorts.  It felt like I was putting out more than I ever had before.  I panted and tried to catch my breath.  Then, as abruptly as it had started, the embarrassing ejaculation was over, Francine was off my lap and back in the booth, her drink with her.  She took a swallow and gave me an impish look.

"Poor baby," she said with sympathy that I was sure was insincere.  "Stuck with a micro-dick.  You better hope that woman of yours never gets to have the real thing all up inside her.  That happens one time and she won't ever want your little sprout again.  Never."

I felt sick.  Shamed.  Unsure what to do next.  My head was buzzing from that strong drink.  I unwisely took the refill and drained it.  Cornell got out of the booth and stood up.  He looked down at me.  My eyes followed his and saw a wide wet stain on the front of my slacks.  The big man shook his head.

He said, "You really made a mess of yourself, boy.  No way are you getting in my car like that."

"But my car is back in the parking garage.   That's miles from here.  And I'm in a part of the city that's full of..."

"Yes?"  Cornell's dark eyes held me with their contemptuous gaze.  "Full of people who look like Francine and me?  Sorry if it bothers you but that's not my problem."  All at once he held out his hand and barked, "Now give me your wallet."

In some kind of shock, I did it.  He took all the bills and handed them to Francine, telling her she did a good job and that I wasn't just paying her but adding a generous tip.  She accepted the cash and said the tip was the best she'd ever gotten.  Then he slipped free all my credit cards and they vanished into the inner pocket of his suitcoat.  Cornell tossed the wallet back at me.  I fumbled it and watched it vanish into the shadows at my feet.  Squatting down, I groped around and found it.  When I stood back up, my head hit the underside of the table.  I was mortifyingly aware of how wet my crotch felt. 

My boss told me, "You can have those charge cards back tomorrow at work.  Right now I don't want you using them to take a cab.  After what you said, a good long walk through the hood might set you to thinking clearer."  I noticed belatedly that his speech had become much more casual under these circumstances.  "So I'm out of here and you... you're on your own."

"Yeah," Francine joined in.  "You and your miserable excuse for a cock can take a stroll through the ghetto.  Maybe make some new friends."  She sneered at me.  "Have a good time, Chucky No-Cock."

Cornell gave her a kiss on the cheek and then started for the door.  She went to the bar and took a stool between two tough looking men in coveralls and heavy work shoes.  In seconds they were all talking and laughing.  Somewhat disheveled, I got up uncertainly.  That stain was unmissable.  I had to take a walk of shame through the bar to get to the door.  There were plenty of guffaws and a few crass remarks.

"Spill your drink in your lap, chump?"

"Forget to unzip when you played with your dick?"

"Ain't you too old for pocket pool?"

Out on the street it was only slightly better.  Everyone's eyes seemed drawn to that disgraceful dark area.  I had no easy way to cover it up.  Black faces leered and Black voices jeered.  Then I remembered that I had some change in my pocket.  Taking it out and counting it, I found that there was barely enough to buy a newspaper.  I purchased one from a hole-in-the-wall store.  Walking along with the daily publication obviously hiding something, I still attracted attention, though it wasn't as much or as mocking.  At last I left that unforgiving neighborhood.  To my annoyance, the pedestrians in the business district gave me questioning looks and disapproving expressions too.  By the time I reached the parking garage I was perspiring and the smell of my semen was stronger, so that I couldn't help smelling it.  I got into the car and just sat there for several minutes, taking controlled breaths to calm myself.  Then I started for home.  Even though it wasn't necessary, I kept the newspaper over my lap.

Once I stopped curbside in front of our split-level home I was at least somewhat untensed.   Now I just had to get inside, not let Diana see the telltale stain, clean myself up, and dump the offending slacks into the hamper.  Some black coffee would help with the aftereffects of those drinks.  But as I entered, my wife called to me from the kitchen.  I wanted to avoid her but didn't want to act suspicious.  I went to the kitchen, the paper still doing its job, and sat down to lessen the chances of my disgrace being discovered. 

Diana looked delightful in slacks and a sleeveless top, with an apron over both. The loose outer garment didn't conceal the fullness of her bust.  She leaned back against the kitchen counter and eyed me. 

"So," she asked innocently.  "Have a nice day?"

"Yeah.  Sure.  Look, I was going to get a quick shower."

"Fine.  But spend a few minutes with your wife first."

"Okay.  It's just that..."

She spoke over me, saying, "No excitement?"

"No.  None at all."

"I was worried."

"Why?"

"You're kind of late, honey."

"Sorry.  I should have called.  The new boss had some extra work for me."

"So you were stuck in your cubicle, slaving away?"

"You could say that.  Guess I'm just a wage slave.  No time for fun and games."

"Oh.  Because that sounds awfully different from what Mr. Handler said when he called me.  Is there anything else you want to say?"

"You mean him and me going out for a drink?  Sure.  We did that.  I didn't want to... um... upset you."

"Why would that upset me?   Didn't you think I'd be much more upset if you lied?   Like you just did?"

"I was only trying to protect you."

"From hearing about you going out for a quick drink with Cornell?"

Whoa.  Now she was on a first name basis with him.  "I suppose."  My defense was sounding very weak.

"But there's nothing else you need to say before you get your shower?"

"N... no."

"Okay.  Fine."  She paused, peering closely at me.  It looked like I was going to get away with it.  For a second I even thought ahead to us maybe getting busy in bed later.  I could almost feel my hands and lips on her magnificent tits. 

"So let me just hit the shower and..."

Diana held up her hand, palm toward me.  "Just one more thing, baby.  Real quick.  If you don't mind."

"Whatever you want," I said placatingly.

"Thanks. Now just stand up for a half a minute.  WITHOUT that newspaper in front of you."

From how warm my face felt, I knew I was blushing.  Setting the newspaper on the table with unnecessary care, I rose and stood there, the unsightly wet spot on full display. 

"Just a little mishap," I told her in a small voice.

"I believe you.  There's no way you would lie to me again, after just getting caught telling one untruth.  Right?"

"Exactly.  So I'll just..."

"You'll just what?  Get freshened up after your playtime with an off-duty stripper?  After your expensive lap dance in front of a bunch of barflies?"

"I..."  My mouth moved but nothing came out.  Then I managed to ask, "Did Cornell tell you something like that?  I mean, he was exaggerating, whatever he said.  So if we can just put this behind us..."

"And simply move on?  I don't think so... Chucky.  That is your pet name when you're with strippers, isn't it?"

"You don't understand."  I couldn't keep a whine out of my voice.

She scooped her phone up off the counter, brought it close to me, and displayed what was on the screen.  It was a clear image of me, head thrown back, my face a mask of ecstasy, with Francine on my lap, her hands inside my open shirt.  I swallowed with difficulty.  The one betrayal my wife wouldn't tolerate was to be lied to, and I had just proven myself to be a serial liar.  I shifted my feet around and wished I could sink into the floor and vanish.

"This picture Cornell sent me isn't something I can just forget."  There was an uncharacteristic fire in her tone.  "Not for a long time."

"We can talk about it.  You know?"  I stood there trying to think of a way to calm her. 

"I plan to do exactly that.  But not until Cornell gets here."

"Cornell?  Here?"

"He very generously offered to stop by and finish telling me the true version of what happened.  Maybe he'll have to correct some more of your lies.  And to try to help.  Don't you think it would be best to have someone else here, to mediate what we have to say?"

"You're right," I mumbled.

"I certainly am.  Because if there's not at least one man in the house who I can trust, I'm going to really lose my temper."

My normally placid bride could be driven to extreme behavior, but only by lies.  I remembered one time when she caught her cousin Bob prevaricating and blew her top.  Afterwards he had been chastened into silence.  After that, any time the two of them were together, he would try to stay anonymously in the background.  That's how unsettling my wife could be if someone lied to her. 

In a small voice I asked, "Can I at least clean up?"

"That's 'may I'."

"I'm sorry.  May I please clean myself up?"

"No, you may not," she said with firm authority.  "What you can do is pull that chair out, move it away from the table, and sit back down.  Keep your knees far apart so I can see the evidence of your partying with that dancer."

I did as I was told, too afraid to oppose her even slightly.  Like a naughty boy caught in some misdeed, who had just been thoroughly scolded, I stayed there with my thighs opened wide, that badge of shame well shown off.  I lowered my eyes, licked my lips, and tried not to sniffle.  My boss was coming here.  How bad would that be for me?  He was obviously on Diana's side.  Cornell hadn't even allowed me to ride back to the garage with him.  that had been close to traumatic.   And now I was twice as distressed.

Diana fussed around the kitchen a bit more.  We heard a car pull up out front.  She took off her apron and I reflexively ogled her sizable boobs.  Just my luck, she noticed where my attention had gone. 

"You really are disgusting," she said, her pretty lips curled.  "Even now, after your royal screw-up, you're gawking at my hooters.  I guess lying to me doesn't mean anything to you.  There are going to be some heavy paybacks... Chucky.  And I have a few questions for Cornell about that other subject that you and he -- and your stripper friend -- discussed."

What other subject?  Before I could think further, there was a loud knock on the front door.  Diana pointed in that direction and waved me into motion.  I hurried out of the kitchen.  When I got to the door I just stood there for long seconds.  This drama was turning into a tragedy.  I reluctantly opened the door and there stood Cornell, all six-feet-plus and broad shoulders of him.  I cringed and stepped out of his way.  He gave me a pitiless look of disgust.  Then he went past me, straight to the kitchen.  I followed, shoulders sagging, chin down.  When I got there he was standing directly in front of my bride.

Cornell opened his arms.  "I'm so sorry I had to tell you what your husband was doing behind your back.  You must be devastated.  May I give you a hug?"

She turned her face up to him and spread her arms.  "Yes, please.  That's exactly what I need right now.  Thank you for understanding."

Diana stepped toward him and his long arms enclosed her. She let him hold her near as she put the side of her face against his broad chest.  They stayed like that for a full minute, while I could only stand there impotently and let it happen.  He patted her consolingly on the back, then let his hand drift lower to her waist.  She made no effort to move away.  Long after I thought it should have happened, they released each other and stepped apart.

"Thank you for that, Cornell," she told him emotionally.  "And thank you for alerting me my husband's lying.  I can only imagine how many times  he's done it in the past."

"I'm so sorry for you," he said with compassion.  "Maybe we should all go to the living room and sit down, so we can discuss this.   And that other topic you wanted to get into."

There it was again.  What could be worse than what had already been brought to light?  Or cause me more humiliation than my still damp pants?  Cornell put his arm around her shoulders and they went toward the living room, with me trailing forlornly behind.  The two of them sat on the sofa, closer together than I would have preferred.  I put myself on a wooden chair opposite them.  With all the trouble I was in, it seemed right that I should be less comfortable.  And my damp slacks couldn't hurt that piece of furniture.  Though I was mostly the cause of my troubles, Cornell wasn't completely blameless.  Yet I could see no way to make that case, especially not after how my blatant lying had turned Diana against me.  So I just sat there, waiting for one of them to speak.

It was Cornell, who said to me, "Here's the real issue, Chucky.  After I told Diana about your biggest lie, we both knew something had to be done."  He glanced sideways at her.  She lifted one small white hand.  He closed his large black ones around it and kept them there. 

In a quandary, I had to inquire, feeling ignorant as I did it, "What... other lie... is that?"

They both acted dumbfounded.  Diana, suddenly running hot again, but not retrieving her hand from between Cornell's, said, "The way you lied to me about your dick.  Telling me it was average.  I was so innocent.  When other girls talked about guys who were much bigger, I thought they were just making things up.  And now I find out how naïve I was, and how you kept me that way.  On purpose.  So I wouldn't know what I was missing."

I hadn't thought Cornell was going to reveal that as well.  "But Diana."  I sounded like a convicted man begging for clemency.  "I never meant to...  I mean, I didn't want you to be unhappy.  And I am average.  Sort of.  I think."

She snarled, "You actually believe that shrimp of yours is average?"

I'd known since the first time I took gym class and did a quick comparison in the locker room that I was well below the norm.  If I hadn't known, the taunts of the other students would have told me.  My lower lip stuck out and I sniffled.  Everything was falling apart around me.   When Diana took her hand from both of Cornell's, it was so she could stand up and confront me furiously.

"Let's settle this once and for all.  So you can never fib to me about it again.  Stand up, Chucky."  In a pleasant way she asked Cornell, "Could you get up too?  I want to do a comparison test."

"You mean... us two guys show ourselves?"

"Exactly."

"I don't want to put you through that," he told her kindly.  "Really.  You can just go on-line and see all of the... average... and above average... penises you want."

"I know.  But it's not about me.  It's about Lying Chucky.  He needs to be taught a lesson that he will NEVER forget.  I'm sorry to put you through it, Cornell, after how wonderful and honest you've been, but I would really appreciate it if you helped me this way."

"For you," he said magnanimously, "I will."

I was trembling by then.  Was this actually going to happen? 

Diana scowled at me.  "Let's go, Mr. Big Talk.  Drop your pants.  Your pants that you lost control and made a mess in.  Because you had that stripper on your lap.  And you didn't do a single thing to make her stop.  Let's see what you've got.  Right now."

Cornell was staring me down.  I certainly didn't want to get him as angry as she was.  That could be a disaster.  So I unfastened my belt, lowered my fly, and undid the waist.  Then, with a few pushes, I got my pants down.  They puddled around my ankles.  All I had on below the waist was my jockey shorts.  They were snug enough to show off how small my package was.  Under Diana's unforgiving gaze, with Cornell backing her up, I lowered them too.  There I stood, my undersized penis exposed.

"All right," she said, stepping close and squinting at my limited endowment.  "That's not much for Cornell to do better than.  I'm guessing he has at least an inch more than you.  What does yours measure up to, Chucky?  How long?"

One time, back in school, a couple of Black students had held me down and taken a tape measure to it.  When flaccid I was an unspectacular three inches, and not at all thick.  I told my wife and my boss.  They let me stand there that way, utterly ashamed of my inferior size. 

My bride told my boss, "And it doesn't get much bigger when he's stiff.  Look at that pathetic thing.  What a poor substitute for a cock."  Directing her disapproval at me, she added, "All these years I've had practically a gelding in bed, when it could have been a stallion.  You could barely stopper a beer bottle with that measly thing."

Cornell just let her run on, not minding at all that she was lambasting my immature penis.  When she turned to him with an expectant look, however, he got busy.  Cornell removed his shirt.  He got out of his shoes.  The slacks of his expensive suit followed.  He exuded confidence as he stood there in just his boxer shorts.  I took a better look and gaped at what I saw.  Diana must have missed it, but the head of his cock and more was hanging out of the leg of his underwear.  Just how long was he?  With my wife watching avidly, the Black man got out of his shorts.   He angled his body so she couldn't see what he had to offer until he faced her again.  When he did, she went wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

In a hushed voice she exclaimed, "That's impossible.  It makes Chucky's look like nothing.  Cornell, you're at least a foot long."

"Well, I am when I'm soft.  If some pretty lady gets me hard, then there's more of it to love.  Of course, I'm not suggesting you even touch it, Beautiful.  It'll be tough enough for you, every time you go to bed with pint size there, just thinking how much you're missing.  When a woman is with me, she purrs and moans and hisses.  She wraps her legs around me and digs her fingers into my shoulders."  He bent both arms and flexed his well developed muscles.  "But that's not for you, so I'll just get myself dressed again and leave you two to make up.  Maybe you'll wind up under the sheets.  With Little Chucky Short Stick inside you, pumping away.  All action and no results.  I mean, he'll get to shoot his load.  That is, if he still can, so soon after getting off from Francine's lap dance.  That he paid for.  And tipped so heavily afterwards."

Diana's eyes flickered back and forth between our unequal lengths and girths, his big dangling head and my small half-hooded one.  She bit her lips and then her indecision vanished.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "it wouldn't be fair to anyone to stop now.  I could just touch you real quick, Cornell, because it's important for Chucky to see that monster hard, so he can completely understand what's wrong with him and his miniature dick."

"I suppose that's true," he opined.  "And we don't want him to slip back into dishonesty and denial and lying to his one-and-only."

"That's what I'm saying.  We have to do it -- for Chucky."

"He's practically making us."

She got a wicked grin.  "I like that."  My bride told me, "Just remember, darling.  It's your fault that Cornell and I have to go to this extra effort."

Diana went to the Black man and reached hesitantly for his pendulous meat.  She took a deep breath and gingerly placed her fingers on it. 

He advised her, "It won't bit you, babe.  Give it a squeeze."

When she tried to wrap her slim fingers around him, they wouldn't reach all the way.  She exhaled slowly and, with new boldness, stroked that enviable length.  His already massive tool began to grow.  Diana tightened her hold and rubbed it faster.  Very soon it had added three inches and proportionate thickness.  Veins stood out like cords along its length.  The head was enormous.  She stood there goggling at it, her hand slowing down.  Her other hand cupped his testicles and massaged them with tenderness. 

My wife said breathily, "It seems wrong to get it all started up and then just leave the job unfinished.  Am I right?"

He nodded, "It would be kind of unfair.  A guy hates to be left with his balls all full.  Although, I'm guessing now that you're going to be leaving Chuckles there that way a whole lot from now on.  You think?"

"Not let the liar have his fun?  No more pussy for him?  Not even permission to play with my boobs, to drool all over them and suck my nipples like he's starving?  That's a terrific idea.  Thanks for mentioning it, lover."

It was mental torture to listen to them.  And to watch her press herself against his dark body, her breasts compressing as she held him tightly.  It was bizarrely erotic to witness them that way, with him naked and her still dressed.  Soon, however, he was tenderly undressing my bride, letting his strong dark hands drift over her contours, allowing his touch to linger on her perfect bosom with its high pink nipples.  He had her breathing hard. 

"All right," Cornell told me.  "I'm going to take your wife upstairs and bang her like she ain't never been banged before.  You can get the rest of the way undressed and follow us.  I'll let you kneel outside the bedroom door and listen.  If you want to, you can play with your wee willie.  But I don't want you squirting again.  Understood?"

"Y... yes, Sir."

They started for the bedroom.  I rushed to get completely naked and went too, seeing him put his arm around her waist and then drop it to squeeze her tempting bottom.  She caressed his muscular bicep as they ascended the carpeted stairs.  I stumbled along in the rear.  They entered the bedroom.  Cornell left the door slightly ajar.  Remembering his instructions, I dutifully knelt, putting my forehead against the wall.  From where I had formerly made love to my accommodating wife, came the sounds of happy foreplay.  It went on and on.  Against my will I got an erection.  My fingers curled around it and I rubbed in slow motion.  Then the lovers proceeded to the main act.  Diana squealed and yelped and begged for more.  He was happy to give her what she wanted. 

My bride declared, "I never knew what I was missing.  Chucky was a total dud in bed.  His tiny prick never did anything for me.  This is the first time I've had an orgasm."

"Two of them," he reminded her.  "And more to come."

"Yes.  He was too quick.  And had no style.  It was like being in bed with a faggot.  I mean, he was  hopeless."

"Well, you won't be entertaining that selfish Shorty ever again.  Not unless you want to give up my Big Black Cock."

"No way.  I could never settle for his mini-dick now."

They went on like that, heaping insults on me, in between their bouts of sex.  Their lovemaking was vocal, and sometimes words were replaced by grunts and howls.

"From now on," my wife decided in a passionate moment, "I'll do everything I can to get Chucky horny and then not let him do anything about it.  Let's see how he likes to be that way, how he kept me for so long.  That damned sissy bastard."

It went on for a noisy hour before they finished with loud twin climaxes.  I could only stay on my knees, uncontrollably erect, and endure their aural assault.  In the end it was like my male sexual self-assurance had been destroyed.  Could it get any worse?  I found out when Cornell called me into the room.  The air was redolent with the scents of recent sex.  He lay stretched out, his soft cock draped across one firm thigh.  She was next to him, formerly so modest, now with her legs lewdly spread, her vagina gaping, his spunk glistening on her sex lips. 

"So," Cornell said.  "I won't be able to be here all the time to keep Diana happy.  You know, I have that company to run.  Meetings and business trips.  But I'm guessing that, with such a dinky dick, Chucky Boy has learned to make up for it by going down on you, Diana."

"No," she told him with ire.  "He always said doing it was icky and would make him sick."

"Well, that changes right now.  Chucky, get your mouth on my woman's snatch and clean up the mess I left for you.  Get it while it's plenty warm."

In disbelief I said, "How can you expect me to do it now, while she's all sticky and... and gooey... if I couldn't even do it when she was clean."

"I expect you to because that's better for your health that having me slap you from here to the back door and throw you out, to spend the night naked in the yard.  Unless that's what you prefer.  It's your choice."

Wordlessly, I got into position to debase myself yet further.  With my face an inch from her oozing pussy, I stuck out my tongue and got a taste of his ejaculate and her plentiful secretions.  She watched me with a crazed grin on her pretty face.  I turned my eyes up to her and saw that expression above her flawless breasts.  They kept me at it until she was completely cum-free and I was on the verge of a breakdown. 

"Can I...?"  I took several rapid breaths.  "May I... please... go and wash out my mouth?"

"Of course not," Cornell informed me.  "You're what's called a cuckold now.  That'll be a regular job for you, to clean up after my big balls have been emptied, with your mouth right where my long fat cock just was, you perverted wimp.  Besides which, there's one more job for you to do."

"W... what's that?" I asked, my voice catching in my throat.

He turned his head toward Diana, speaking to me but looking at her, "You still have to clean off my Johnson."

"You mean like go get a washcloth?"

"I mean like get your pansy mouth busy.  Immediately.  Or else."

Diana sat up and got her back against the padded headboard.  She watched intently as I put myself where I needed to be, all the while trying to think of some way to avoid this final indignity.  But there was no alternative.  I licked Cornell's cock, removing the salty slime with which it was coated.  I had to do a detailed job, making sure to get the ridge behind the head, to suck off my own saliva from his shaft, and to lick his balls.  By the time I was done, with hot tears running down my cheeks, he was hard again.

Cornell decided, "Looks like I need a blowjob."

I told him, "But Diana doesn't do that.  She's not that kind of girl."

"She might not be, but you are.  Now get to sucking, Little Miss Sperm Breath." 

My wife said, "I'll learn to suck your beautiful Big Black Cock for you, Cornell.   But right now I have to see my homo hubby do it.  After this, his cocksucking mouth will never be allowed to kiss me.  At least, not above the waist.  He can't kiss me on the mouth but I'm sure I'll be telling him to kiss  my ass."

As I got more of Cornell's rigid pole into my mouth and fought overcome my gag reflex, Cornell told Diana, "You really can tell him to do that.  To get his dopey face between your booty cheeks and kiss where the sun don't shine."  He laughed, then inhaled deeply as he got close to finishing.   To me he said,  "Back off and just suck the head.  Suck that knob and swirl your tongue around it.  Yeah.  Just like that.  Good girl, Chucky.   Or Charlene."  To my wife he said, "You get hold of my rod and pump it.   Help me bust a nut into his sissy mouth and down his faggy throat."

That was what she did.  My sweet, once virginal bride, ruined for me and under the spell of Cornell's expert technique and stupendous organ, stroked him until he flooded my mouth with spurt after spurt of his thick, awful tasting cream, and I had to gulp it all down, like the cooperative sissy into which they were eagerly transforming me.  And I knew they would succeed utterly, until I was not a man, but their all-purpose sex toy, a plaything to be used, abused, and humiliated by them both, over and over without end. 

*********