Black Gold! By Inked Fox! (39 Pages) (Patreon)

Black Gold!

Written by Inked Fox

Concept by Devin Dickie

© 2019-2021 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

Inked Fox / Black Gold / 2

Inked Fox / Black Gold / 3This 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.

Black Gold!

Written by Inked Fox

Concept by Devin Dickie

Red Flags
_____
Life is full of twists and turns. Little surprises pop out of

nowhere and change the landscape of how you live entirely. To some, that may be unsettling, but to me—it keeps me interested. I personally love surprises. I tend to roll with the punches. Always have, and I find that I like going with the flow just fine. Unlike my husband, who needs to have everything plotted out down to a T.

Sometimes I can't stand his painstaking meticulousness, but I have to admit the man gets the job done and still keeps me on my toes while he's at it. I think that's why I married him in the first place. Such a wild card that one. Though you wouldn't be able to tell from that innocent look on his face.

One of my gripes about him physically is how jealous I am of his slender figure. The man can eat anything and stay as spindly as a beanstalk. He was never the brawny type, but boy is he pretty. Certainly does make for a splendid arm piece at parties. He may have a jawline thats about as hard as water, but those sparkling blues of his and that cornflower hair make me swoon every time.

My husband Christian is a charmer. With that silver tongue of his and easy-going attitude, most folks seemed to flock to him. He's a capable man, and when given the right hat—he dons his role perfectly.

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As a lead engineer in his field, I've seen him carry himself with such confidence. Even when dealing with his co-workers. However, he's never been especially assertive with me. At times I wish he were—it might spice things up in the bedroom. Instead, he saves all that intensity for work.

He's a successful oil distribution engineer. Works on designing all types of oil derricks, and if there is a problem with flow or machinery—he's the guy they send to fix it. Most days, he comes home filthy. Especially if they had a clog or needed him to assess the line for possible weak points or leaks.

I don't mind it—hell, he looks almost manly when he comes home like that, but before he'll even kiss me, 'hello.' He strips everything off and makes a beeline for the shower. He absolutely hates being dirty, which I find really odd for a guy in his line of work. I know some folks will say it only makes sense for him to be so concerned with cleanliness, but it's nearly an obsession for him.

He constantly fusses about his nails or how his hair still smells like the refinery. What does annoy me the moist is when he complains about how drab the work uniforms are. I have to remind him they are for safety and not fashion. Even so, he gripes about the color of his jumper or how much he hates his tie. He sometimes takes even longer than me to get ready—stopping to ask me about the hue of his shirts, or his pants matching and so on. It's a bit girly to be so fussy and picky, if you ask me.

Being with him so long, I've noticed more of those effeminate mannerisms in him. Like the way he speaks is especially flamboyant at times or the way he animatedly gestures with his hands. Even the way he sits with his legs crossed. Perhaps, some

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of that rubbed off on him after living with his six sisters for so long back in Oklahoma.
His parents had had seven children in total, and he was their only son. It was only natural that he was coddled to an extent. I can only imagine his co-workers would describe him as 'soft' despite his managerial style. Maybe I'm just being too demanding, but I wish my high-school sweetheart was more of a 'roughneck.'

I've always wanted him to grow his beard and body hair out, but he's always used the excuse of oil getting in his facial hair or how the dirt clings to his body more if he doesn't shave and manscape regularly. Still, Christian's always been a reliable husband despite some of his feminine quirks.

I've always been well pampered and had a roof over my head, thanks to him. Though when the economy started going south—thanks to all the layoffs and government gridlock—he was lucky enough to find a stable job out in the fields of California. Now we have a lovely flat in Los Angeles, but recently—we've had to consider moving. Work for Chris has been especially slow, and he's scared they are going to lay him off soon. He's our primary provider at the moment. While I bring in extra cash flow through my home studio, painting murals or commissioned portraits. However, if Christian gets laid off—I don't know what we'll do. I have enough in my savings to keep us afloat for a while, but the pay from my commissions comes in more sporadically than his more steady pay. If the company he works for goes under, Christian will have to find another job. I'm worried for him.

He works well with the crew he has now, but he's never been much of a social butterfly. Having to find a new refinery to work at

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will be difficult for him. Not credential-wise, just socially. With a resume like his, employers in need would snap him up, but I'm not sure his new crew will take to him. Chris isn't known to get on well with other guys who are more hard-boiled than he is.

In the oil industry, especially, the men who work the drills and refinery floor are all as hardened as they come. It was why I considered Chris as lucky. When he first got this job and started working there, he mentioned how at home he felt. He seemed to fit right in, but I doubt he'd get that lucky again. This time around, he had found such a sense of cohesion with his current co-workers.

I can only pray that things continue smoothly and his current employers were able to pull themselves out of the nose spin they are in. If not—I hope Christian is be able to find another job in the right place. Somewhere he can invest his passions in again...

Trouble in Paradise _____

I remembered that morning starting like any other. I sat on the couch, sipping bitter coffee as I watched the turbulent morning news. Clips of turmoil in Washington over rising tensions in the political world streamed across the screen.

Then other breaking news swept in, casting more disheartening images into my sight. I sighed, and took a deep breath inhaling the aromatic steam from my cup. Then resolved myself to shut the TV off entirely. It may have been called 'the news,' but no part of it actually was 'new.'

It was the same story told again and again, and spun in fifty different ways just to fluff it all up on the media. I was growing weary of what was going on in the outside world. I wanted to turn inward and concentrate on my own life.

The rock and bumps that had appeared in the last year had admittedly shaken me. My art career had dried up since being hit with a damning amount of creative block lately. The only thing I could attribute my creative stagnation to was the fact that—right now—that's what I felt like. I was stagnating—stuck completely. Caught in place as the world froze in standstill around me. Maybe it was depression creeping in, but I had never been one to dwell in anguish like that. I had always been the life of the party.

Not to brag, but my husband and I turned heads all the time. A pair of gorgeous blondes with blue eyes like the ocean and the sky. I've always been a tad bit envious of Chris's lighter-colored

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eyes. They are more fetching than my darker cobalt ones. Even so—I hadn't been out of the house in weeks, and well Chris— Strangely enough, he had taken the day off today. I was

surprised the refinery was still working even under these conditions, but they were. However, Chris had scheduled off today out of the blue. It wasn't like him to just take a day off like that. He was reliable to a fault. However, my husband had been known to be like that—always predictable, until he was not. The sudden diverge in his usual routine had me suspicious.

Treating today no different from the others, I rose earlier than he, and cooked his breakfast, and got myself a cup of coffee. Then I watched the news while waiting for my bed-headed hubby to arise in a sleepy stupor.

This morning he did not. Again odd—but nothing too out of sorts. So I rose with my cup in hand, intent on refreshing my mug, but also using the excuse to trudge back down the hall to our bedroom. To my surprise, he was already awake—showered, and getting dressed. Though his attire was something much more formal than his oil-stained work jumper.

"Honey? What's up?" I crept in and asked as I peered at him through the reflection of the mirror he was preening himself in.

"Oh—hey baby! Did you get breakfast ready? Smells good—," Chris turned to me and beamed. That boyish smile of his always disarmed me.

"Well—aren't you chipper? It's on the table, waiting for you. What's up with the get-up? Full tie and button-down? You got a hot date?" I questioned jokingly.

Chris chuckled—mirth wrinkling the corners of his twinkling

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frosty eyes. "With destiny!" He winked back at me.
As charming as ever, I could only lean on the door frame and

smirk at him as I quirked my head. "Is that the name of your favorite stripper?"

"Haha! My wife has such a sharp tongue... Nah—my favorite stripper's name is Blaire. She's got these really nice milky tits, yum!"

"Oh, shut up!" I chuckled and blushed brightly as he mentioned my name and then complimented my breasts. This man really knew how to press my buttons.

"How's this tie? Or do you think I should wear the chartreuse one?" and just like that, my arousal was gone. Chris had switched back into preening himself—showing me an ostentatious tie with magnolias on it.

I still didn't have a clue what chartreuse was either, so I just nodded at him. "That one looks good—,"

"You sure cause—," Here we go—he was going to start fussing over the colors not matching perfectly. Or how the shade of burgundy didn't compliment his 'wintery complexion.' If I engaged, I knew we'd be here for hours.

"Whatever you think is better, honey," I said flatly. "What is this for anyway?"

"Oh! Right, sorry! Well—uh... I've got good news and bad news...which do you want first?" He said as he peered back into the mirror. Nervously turning his back towards me. I could already sense I wasn't going to like any of what his 'news' was.

"Haaaa—so you're dressing for your funeral? Is that it? How kind..."

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"Funny, Blaire—very funny. I'll give you the bad news first." Chris said as if getting ready to tear off a band-aid. "I got laid off—I didn't take today off like I told you."

"No way! Chris! I'm so sorry, honey—It's okay. I can move some money over from my—," I began to go into damage control mode, but Chris stopped me.

"Whoa, whoa—calm down, it's okay! Time for some good news!" Chris finished knotting his tie. "I've got a second interview today for a new job. I foresaw this coming and sent my resume out just as a precaution. Luckily, I got called in for an interview just as my last company let me go. Fingers crossed—if all goes well—I wanted to surprise you!" Chris beamed at me, then stepped over to kiss my head.

I was pretty short, to begin with, but Chris wasn't much taller than me. "Oh—oh... that's great, honey." I was a bit reluctant.

Though I did enjoy a good surprise, I didn't mark this one as 'good.' I had no knowledge of this new place. Where was it at? Who was he going to be working with? I suppose most people would see me as overbearing, but I was just worried about my husband's well-being. He was a lot more fragile than other men. I couldn't contain my nagging curiosity. "What's the name of the company? Is it here in California?"

Christian's face grew a bit pensive again. I could see how he hadn't told me about this place because he knew I wasn't going to receive it well. "You see—that's the thing, babe. It's an offshore site with Nexlon Oil."

"Offshore?!" I spouted out without meaning to.
I knew that workers on offshore rigs spent weeks away from

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the mainland. It meant I'd be alone for long stretches at a time, and Chris would be away from me for nearly a month at a time.

"But—honey! Won't you have to—," I was about to air my concerns, but Chris could already surmise what they were.

"Don't worry, sweetie, it's only a month at a time, and they've assured me I'd get family visits every two weeks. You can come stay with me; it'll be like a nice little vacation for you." He tried to soothe me, but I could feel the heat rising up the back of my throat as I grew angry with him for even considering this as an option.

"On an offshore oil platform? Are you kidding me! Chris—those places are dangerous! What happens if a tropical storm hits? What about if a fire breaks out? What am I suppose to do without you here?" I started to argue, lobbing question after question at him.

"Calm down, will you! I haven't even gotten the job ,yet. Besides, what makes you think I'd be in any danger!? Do you really think so little of me!?—I can handle myself, you know! I am so tired of you underestimating me!! I mean, it's not like you do much when I'm here anyway!" Chris shouted back. Those final biting words struck me hard.

Not only did he think I was demanding and belittling him—but he also thought I was doing nothing with my life. I blinked and stepped back—tears tickling at the bridge of my nose as I glared at him. Chris's mouth snapped shut, and he stammered as if catching what he had just said. I could see him trying to pull off some form of mental gymnastics. Formulating a way for himself to backtrack out of this cleanly.

I didn't give him the chance. Instead, I clenched my jaw and

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straightened myself up. "You do what you want—Christian Leonard Dawson... but mark my words—you are biting off more than you can chew..." I turned on my heels with my bruised pride and left the room, with Chris standing there, reeling.

Risk and Reward _____

After our argument, things between us were tense. Even though I hate to admit it, I had secretly hoped his second interview wouldn't go well. I wanted him to stay with me, even if that meant he had to look outside of his expertise. Yet, despite my skewed hoping—Chris, capable as always, landed the job.

They were going to pay him really well, but things were as he said. He'd be away at least a month at a time. Still, I'd get to see him once every two weeks, and he'd be able to give me a phone call on occasion.

The phone service out there on the ocean wasn't reliable, though, but he assured me they'd have a Wi-Fi connection so we could skype when the weather was good. My heart sank as Chris explained this all to me. I knew he was set on going, and there was no changing his mind.

"Look, sweetheart—maybe me getting out of the house and giving

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you your space will help with your creative block." I could feel his somewhat slender hand on my back as he tried to softly soothe my nerves. Though I could tell, he noticed the stress in my expression.

"I don't want to be without you—..." I finally had to honestly admit.

It wasn't just the danger presented by the living environment or the weather conditions, but my own heart. I was already aching watching him as he packed his things to go on his first shift.
"I know, baby—but the money is really good and will keep us afloat for a long time until both, you and I, get back on our feet. I'm doing this for us—," He had such an earnest yet sympathetic look on his face. How could I not afford such a sweet man the benefit of the doubt?

"Alright—alright...but if things get bad—just come back. No questions asked, okay?" I ran over to him, holding him closely. Chris ran his fingers through my fair hair, and I inhaled the scent of his cologne—filling my lungs and the whole of my body with warm affection. I knew I could be demanding, but he was already under such pressure.

In the end, I ended up letting him leave. I drove him to the harbor myself and said my farewells there on the docks as he boarded his ship bound for the offshore Nexlon platform that sat farther into the Gulf of Mexico. When I returned, the house had never felt emptier knowing I wouldn't see him for a few weeks. I missed him immediately. Alone in my own home, I felt compelled to sit by the phone, or my laptop—waiting for his call.

Though, after a while, I knew better than to do that. I had to busy

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myself if I was going to break out of the slump I was in, and with Chris away, I had no excuse to procrastinate now. I had no husband to clean after, or cook for—it was only me now. Which did take some of the pressure off me and freed up much of my time to experiment with new avenues of art.

***
That first week came and went, and before I knew it—Chris was

calling me. My phone reception was just as bad as I expected it to be. Even so, I was overjoyed to hear his voice over the static connection. He sounded more than happy to be talking to me as well, and we chatted casually for a bit.

We talked back and forth about how much we missed each other, yet we both managed to get the work put in thanks to the distance between us. He asked me how my projects were going, and I gave him the standard spiel about it all going smoothly.

To be honest, I was more interested in hearing how things were going for him at work. Did he fit in well? Chris's answer left me up in the air, though. The review was very mixed, yet I couldn't help but feel like he was leaving essential parts out.
"It's fine, sugarplum. The guys out here are just a bit cooky, is all." Chris reassured me.
I could tell he was trying to sound very nonchalant in his generous description of his crewmates.
"Cooky? How?" I had to ask.
"Well, the guy I ended up replacing was a real card. His name was Charles—nice guy, but a bit odd if you ask me. Kinda sassy—had a strong lisp to his speech, too. Still, he was a little... weird." There it

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was again, a vague description of how this person appeared somewhat 'off' to him.
"But, weird how?" I wasn't willing to let the point slip that easily. "Uh—well, I don't know. The way he talked and walked, it was different from the rest of the guys here, y'know. Plus—I think I saw him wearing lip gloss when I was talking to him."

"Lip gloss—and he talked and walked funny?" I repeated, trying to piece the image together in my head. "I still don't get it."
"Me either, to be honest, but Charlie told me that they have a certain way of doing things around here. He told me a lot about the other guys and how to get along with them. How they're all here on work-release or something. They're all a bit hard-nosed, but Charlie ensured me that if I '—play the game, they'd make sure I get paid.'"

A red flag went off in my head. Work-release? Wasn't that a program for convicts to find work during incarceration? Was my Christian on a rig with a bunch of ex-cons? The thought made my heart clench. He was going to get bullied for sure, and 'Charlie's advice' was more like a warning.
"Chris, are you sure this is for you?" I tried not to sound like I was overreacting, but the worry was evident in my voice.
"Look—I may be the only white guy on the rig, but I can hold my own against those guys. Don't worry, sweetie." Chris replied. "What was that? The only white guy? What do you mean?" Now that was another thing that worried me. The last thing I wanted was for his crew to single him out, due to a racial bias. "Relax—most of the guys here are black. Even the guy I replaced was black—they've all been really friendly, though. One of them

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even left me a honeybun on my bunk a few days ago. I know they sound rough, but they're a good bunch." Chris seemed stubborn in his pursuit to prove me wrong.
I could already tell that anything I had to say was going to be deflected totally. We kept talking for a while after that. He had a few minor complaints about the working conditions and how he had 'plans to get this place turned around.' He sounded honestly engaged and ready to start this new endeavor on a good foot. I supposed it was just his honeymoon phase, and eventually, the real problems would rear their heads in the weeks to come. Finally, the signal died out, and the phone call dropped. I wasn't able to get a hold of him after that but knew I had to be satisfied with just that until he could get his laptop and Wi-Fi going. When he finally did, I started to receive emails from him regularly. He'd send short daily reports telling me how things were going.

He'd fill me in on the gossip on the platform and how he was starting to fit in despite some rough patches at first. He never told me what those rough patches were, perse, but even when I did ask—he'd sidestep my question.
Once he was fully settled, Chris began keeping a picture log of his days and would send me all the images he'd take in an afternoon. There were so many, and many of the first ones he sent were picturesque sunsets on the ocean horizon. He kept telling me I should try painting them, and so I did just that. I used the photos he sent as fuel for my art.
Besides the gorgeous sunsets and sunrises, Chris also sent me plenty of photos of his new crew. He wasn't lying when he had said he was the only 'white guy' there. He was, and not only that,

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but the five other men he worked with were built like brick houses.

Statuesque bronzed gods, each one of them—and they absolutely dwarfed Christian. He looked so pale and tiny in comparison to the beefy brutes he was standing with in each picture. As I examined the images, my eyes darted from barreled chests to trunk-like arms covered in tattoos. My heart tensed. Was Chris really going to be okay on his own out there?

"—you're overthinking it, Blaire. He's fine." I tried to reassure myself, but I had an odd nagging feeling about all this.
For the next week, I did my best not to sound like a fretting mother, but the way Chris began to speak over the phone also made me grow more suspicious. Our conversations were usually cut short, and it wasn't due to the bad signal. He stopped sending as many photos in his emails, and he would be very vague and evasive. His 'daily' reports became just brief, 'Hi! I'm well, hope you are too—love you!'

When I tried to reply to his emails—they either went unreplied, or his answers would be more than curt. He almost sounded angry that I was even inquiring too deeply. His excuse was that he was 'handling a lot right now.' However, when I asked what that was, he never answered back.

Had something happened like I had feared? Was he being bullied? My mind went to darker places—imagining my husband being ganged up on and beaten. Maybe his crew had begun to abuse him in some way? Had he gotten into a fight?

Perhaps, Chris was right when he thought me overbearing—but I needed to know. I was endlessly worried about my sweet

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husband's fragile nature. He was probably short-fused because he had to argue so much with these new crewmen. I could only assume they were taking advantage and walking all over him.
Out of curiosity, I began to scan over the images he had sent. I wanted to see if I could catch anything in the background. Perhaps little details I had missed. I was looking for anything—anything at all that could prove that my suspicions were correct.

Maybe there was something that could point out their harassment of him. Maybe something in one of their expressions would be telling of their aggression towards him. I couldn't get much out of Chris, but perhaps—just maybe, I could glean something from these pictures. To my horror—I did notice something amiss.

One picture caught my eye. It was Chris sitting on his bed—snapping a photo of himself next to a porthole window. It was innocent enough, just him sitting there and smiling. His blonde hair was already getting so long and shaggy, but he was still easy on the eyes.
However, what drew my attention away from the angelic look on my husband's boyish face, was something lacy tucked under his pillow. I hadn't noticed it at first. The color of the silken garment nearly matched the powder blue of his sheets, but I knew a lacy panty strap when I saw one. My hurt jumped into my throat. Was he? Could he have been—?
"Is he cheating on me?" I whispered to myself—hoping none of the ghosts haunting my empty home would hear about this possible scandal. "No-no-no-no..." I rose out of my chair, shaking my head as if I were going crazy.

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These suspicions were eating me alive, and I was letting these restless thoughts carry me away. However, there was that gut feeling that kept me coming back to that one photo—staring at it for long moments. The more I looked at it, the more apparent it became to me, that what I was seeing was another women's pair of underwear stuffed under my husband's pillow.

What struck me as odd was that I had never seen any of his female coworkers in his pictures. Had he done that on purpose? Were there any women on the rig? Those questions began to gnaw at my curiosity, but I couldn't ask that outright.

What if he grew suspicious of my suspicion? What if he tried to cover it up? I was growing furious and wanted to catch him in his lie, but I'd have to be patient. The first visit was coming up in a few days, and I knew I'd be able to get a better look at his 'new life' then.

'Cheaters Never Prosper' _____

The days passed, and visitation weekend crept up on me as I pensively waited. I was pretty sure Christian was going to be avoidant about the whole thing, and I wanted evidence before I accused him of anything. So I came up with an idea and got myself

a hidden wireless camera.

It was hidden inside of an adorable teddy bear holding a heart. It would be my gift to him, and knowing his disinterest in plushies, he'd probably leave it untouched on whatever shelf I could place it on in his room.

Still, I was nervous he'd find out I had it with me—so my priority was immediately setting it down. I knew, with the excitement of my arrival, he'd have no time to linger and look at it, and instead would be more anxious to show me around. At least I hoped he would be.

Things went smoothly at first. I arrived on the docks of the rig, and Chris was there to greet me with open arms. I do admit that even with the suspicions in my head, I was happy to see him. He somehow looked even skinnier, and his hair had grown out quite a bit, though it appeared he was keeping his face nicely shaven.

"Sweetheart! I missed you so much!" Chris beamed at me, and I returned the sentiment. I gave him some flowers and held the small bear under my arm.

"For you—my sweet." I winked at him,

Chris chuckled and handed me back the flowers. "Thanks, babe—you hold onto them. If my crewmates ask, just say, I bought them for you." He winked back slyly.

I found that a bit odd but didn't read too much into it as he led me over to the cabins. Just as we got there, one of his co-workers greeted us at the door.

"Well—well, little Chrissy and his girl. I'll be— She's a pretty

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one, better watch out!" He was tall and solidly built with deep umber skin. Despite the many tattoos on his forearms, he had a charming face and a bright smile as he looked over at me.

"Oh—Hey, Dante! Didn't see you in here. This is my wife, Blaire. Blaire—this is our lead welder Dante." Chris introduced us with a warm smile.

"Nice to meet you, Dante!" I greeted the large man and shook his hand. His tremendous grasp engulfed my slender one.

"Lovely to meet you, Missus Dawson—Uh, Chrissy—"Dante turned to Chris as if he were going to ask him something.

My husband looked a little tense. Glancing over at me, then back to Dante. He cleared his throat, interrupting Dante before he could finish. "That's not my name—,"

"Oh? Right—Tina..." Dante winked and then chuckled as if joking.

I chuckled along nervously as if I didn't understand the inside joke, but Chris's face stayed tense. "I'm just kidding with you, man. Anyway—the guys said they're working on line 3 on block A. Should have it all done by next week..."

Sighing, Chris relaxed and rubbed his head. "Thanks, Dee—you fellas play around a lot, but you do good work."

"Haha—of course. As long as you keep doing 'good work' for us." Dante winked at Chris slyly, and I couldn't help but feel like I was missing something.

Chris didn't dwell on it, however, and led me to the back of the dorm. In each room seemed to be six beds. Which meant Chris had been sharing his room with his crewmates.

"Uh—so how many people are on your crew?" I asked out of

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the blue, wondering if anyone else was here besides them. "Well—this is a relatively small rig—during the busy months,

it's upwards of a hundred folks—but it's a slow season due to weather conditions. So they got about five or ten other teams spread throughout the facility. We barely see the other teams, however." Chris explained as he set my luggage down near his bed.

"Oh—I didn't know that. How many are on just your team...?" I really wanted him to narrow things down.

"Five other guys. We all stay in here, but don't worry—there's plenty of room for you on my bed, and it's only one night."

"Are there any other women here?" I finally had to blurt it out.

Chris seemed to freeze as he unpacked my things. He glanced back at me from over his shoulder and I couldn't see the expression on his face clearly. "N-no...why?"

"Just curious—," I deflected and cast my eyes around the room.

I didn't believe him and had already started looking for an excellent place to put the bear down. There was a bookshelf in the very corner of the room. I slotted the bear onto the very top rack facing the center of the bunk house.

Chris barely took notice but smiled fondly up at the cozy decoration once I was finished setting it upright. I got the wi-fi password from him shortly after that. Explaining to him that I had brought my own laptop and needed the internet. So far, he didn't seem to be on to me at all.

As predicted, Chris showed me around. Taking me to the

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higher deck of the platform where I could get a good view of the place. After that, we walked around from sector to sector, and he did his best to explain how everything worked. Though, by the expression on my face, I'm sure he could tell I wasn't grasping much of it. After a good bit of exercise, it was time for Chris to get to work in the bowels of the rig. Meaning I'd have to make myself comfortable in the cabin until he was off work again.

I didn't mind—it presented me with the opportunity to snoop while he was away, and I didn't waste any time as I watched him slip out the door. As soon as it was closed behind him. I went over to the bear, adjusted its seated position, and made sure the wifi was functioning. Then went over to my laptop to check the framing of the video. The entire room was in clear view. If anything did go on while I was not there, I was sure to catch it.

With a hidden camera in place, I began rifling through his bunk. I checked under the bed—lifted the mattress, turned over his pillow and sheets. However, I didn't find anything. Taking a brief moment, I paused to fix everything I had tossed around in my search.

So—there was nothing, and yet I still had that nagging feeling. I wondered why I couldn't shake it, but I felt something off about this room. Glancing around, I could see the nameplates of each crew member hanging over their section. A neat trunk, bunk, and dresser were set aside for each person.

My eyes scanned the nameplates, double-checking for any that sounded feminine. 'DeMarcus J.—Tyrone T. —Micheal S. —Royal M. —Dante W....'

The final nameplate belonged to my husband, but it was

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smudged up as if someone had written on it with a permanent marker, but the words had been wiped off. Curiosity tugging me over, I stood and walked closer—squinting at it. I could still make out some of the marks. The 'a' and 'n' in Christian's name had been crossed out and below it, with an arrow pointing at the crossed letters— 'n' and 'a' had been written. "Christina?" I said out loud.

It looked like someone had rearranged the letters in my husband's name in an attempt to poke fun at him. Looking closer, I noticed other smudge marks. Just above the punctuated 'D' of Chris's last name were the faded words 'Tina loves this—' and another arrow pointing at the initial of his last name.

Why would someone write that? Maybe it was as I had thought in the first place. Chris was getting bullied—but then, why had I seen lingerie under his pillow in that picture? I was so confused and truly hoped I was wrong about Chris's cheating. Though the thought of him being hazed also didn't sit well with me. I knew something was wrong and had to keep looking. The only other place to look was in his trunk and dresser.

I went through all the drawers on the dresser but found nothing. However, upon inspecting his trunk—I found something balled up into a sack and tied tightly with a thread at the bottom of it. I tugged the parcel free and took it over to the bed to get a closer look at it. It was soft, as if it was a bundle of fabric. I began undoing the strings tying it together, but just as I started unfolding the outer layer—the door to the bunkhouse swung open.

It was Chris and some of his crew. It appeared as if they were getting a short break before their next shift. Chris wandered in

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filthy, from head to toe. No doubt, he had just run inspections.
He looked pretty annoyed and tired from the day's work. Not

saying much, he and a few others departed to the shower room to clean off before their next shift started. I waited till they all had filed out of the room again before pulling the parcel back out. I had swiftly stuffed it under the mattress—stashing is temporarily as the men walked in.

Hastened by my heightened anxiety, I quickly undid the wrap and was shocked at what lay inside. It was women's undergarments. A silky powder blue bra and panty set, complete with garters and white stockings.

Surprised, I paused, trying to understand what I was looking at. Was he really cheating on me? Why did he have a whole lingerie set here? I grew angry unable to come to a clear conclusion. Forgetting myself for the moment, I stormed towards the shower room. I didn't care at that point if I made a scene. I wanted answers!
I followed the directory signs to the shower rooms, which were a floor down, and headed in at full steam. Though upon hearing the echoing voices of the men in their shower room, I took a pause. Losing some of that drive as I drew closer.

They were all laughing and chuckling, though they were speaking in hushed tones. I drew closer to the men's locker room door and pressed myself along the wall just by the frame of the entrance. I could hear them clearer now—their voices bouncing off the moist walls of the room in an echo. From the sounds of it, there were two men in there—then a third voice chimed in. I recognized it as my husband's.

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"Just—stop calling me that in front of my wife, Dante...P-please," Chris said in a helpless tone.

I remembered the man from earlier and could hear him reply in a sinister tone. "Don't get fresh with me, princess—Did I say you could stop?"

Then I heard a soft gasp and what sounded like someone grunting.

"That's right—keep going. Do you want that quota met? You want your wife to see you like this? You keep—fucking—going..." Dante grunted, his breath growing ragged.

What was going on? My heart was creeping into my throat. I was trying not to assume anything but the more I listened, the more my imagination filled in the blanks. I could hear something softly slapping together like wet flesh meeting wet flesh.

"Ah—shhhaa, Dante, it hurts..." Chris hissed and grunted, though there was a moan of passion on the edge of his voice. The sound of his words made a chill run up my spine. What was he doing?!

A loud slap lit the air, and Dante spoke up again. "Whatchu call me!?"

"I-I'm s-sorry, Daddy D-Dee...!" A moan rang out. I almost didn't recognize it as my husband's voice.

My heart froze. Did I hear this all correctly? My mind swam with so many questions, and though I wanted to remain and have this mystery solved. I panicked and fled back to the bunk room. Quickly I wrapped the garments back up and stuck the parcel deep down into the trunk where I had found it. For the rest of the night, those words—those voices played in my head.

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Was that really my husband? What were they doing? I was baffled and yet scared to find out. When he returned that night, I pretended to be asleep and kept myself distracted the following morning. I didn't want to seem off to him because I wasn't done processing what I had just seen and heard. I needed a moment, and I was anxious to get back home. I needed to pick apart all the events from this day.

'I told you so—' _____

By the time I got back home, I was admittedly shaken. My thoughts were racing. I didn't want to accuse him of anything without the evidence, but then again, I wasn't even sure what he was up to. However, I kept thinking back to the shower room. I could only imagine my husband bent over with Dante having his way with him and another man just standing there and watching. What was my poor husband going through? Had any of this been of his own volition? I spent sleepless nights and days thinking it over. Was my husband gay, and I hadn't seen it before now? Why did he even marry me, then?

The harsher thoughts began to creep in and nip at me. I grew angrier every time I got a new email from him, and at times, I ignored his calls pretending that I was in the shower. I even began

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to consider divorce should I discover that my fears were confirmed.
All the while, I waited. I had set my laptop up in my studio. While I painted, I kept it nearby with the feed from the hidden teddy cam always playing. Still not knowing exactly what to expect, I watched it from the corner of my eye—waiting for something to happen. Anything to happen.
Until, finally—one early morning it did. I was watching the cam while sitting at my desk. The men were turning in for the day. With the time difference it was nearly midnight there. They had all just come off shift and had hit the showers before getting back to the bunk house. I could tell since some of them were still wearing only their towels, draped around their lean muscular waists. My husband was the last to arrive and was wearing a white cotton bathrobe.
It was then that I noticed that he had pulled the locks of his blonde hair into ponytails. He honestly looked adorable, but the hairstyle feminized his face so much I almost didn't recognize him. Was he wearing lip stain, too? His lips were a little deeper red than usual. I watched closely as all attention in the room shifted onto him.
"Tina looking cute tonight, huh—boys?" One of the men spoke up, nudging another standing next to him.
They all chuckled darkly and watched Chris cross the room. I could sense the unknown intent in their gazes as they watched him. Then Dante stepped up behind Chris and put his hands on his shoulders—halting his advance through the crowded room. "Chrissy is going to reward us for all our hard work, aren't you,

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Chrissy?" Dante squeezed Chris's shoulder, and I could see the blush settle on my husband's cheeks as he looked down at his feet reluctantly.
"Dante—I don't..." Chris began to speak but was halted by the taller dark male.

"Ah-ah...you wanna keep this place running smoothly?" Dante asked.
"W-well...yes," Chris replied sheepishly.
"It's good pay here. I know that for sure. You want that pay, right?" Dante asked again.

"Well—ye-yes... but—," Chris tried to speak up, but Dante was significantly cut and dry.
"—then you gotta play." Dante finished saying, tugging Chris in closely and wrapping his arm around the smaller male's shoulders tightly. "You have your role, Christina... Now, why don't you show us what you have on under that robe..."

I was speechless. What was happening? Were they extorting him? Chris didn't have to do this. He could just up and leave if he wanted to. No amount of money was worth this. Though I didn't know how bad it was until Chris dropped his robe.

The white tarry cloth bathrobe pooled at his feet, and to my aghast, Chris was standing there dressed in women's lingerie. I was stunned and simply sat speechless, looking at him. Somehow he seemed completely believable with his narrow chin, smooth face, and big eyes.
The way the silky garment sat on his slender frame hid all of his masculine features and highlighted the more supple curves of his body. Even the paleness of his skin in comparison to the soft blue

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of his garters and underwear was somehow fetching. I was lost and entranced all at once.
A twisted sense of intrigue crawled atop my shock as I watched on. My husband stood there holding himself, looking like a timid sheep about to be devoured by a room full of wolves. Dante sat down and laid back on his bunk—grasping and pulling Chris over to his lap commandingly.

"What are you waiting for, Tina—get started." Dante's eyes flickered down to the knot at the front of his sweatpants.
Chris blushed brightly as the others watched him start to undo the man's pants. I gasped as Chris tugged away Dante's sweat pants and out unfurled a massive organ. Dante's cock was at least three times the size of Chris's four-inch dick. It was already semi-hard and veiny as Chris looked down at it. His pale features flush red as he reluctantly stared down at it.
"What's the matter, Chrissy? Do you want to leave? You're welcome to... None of us here are going to stop you." Dante wielded his words cunningly—giving Chris the opening to leave and face the consequences, should he.

I thought Christian would be a man and take his stand. That he'd get up and go, right then and there. I hoped he'd retain some of his pride. Instead, Chris reached over and began stroking Dante's hose-like cock. Stoking it to a full impressive erection.

"That's right—you don't want to leave. You like it just where you are... don't you, baby girl?" Dante hissed and hummed as Chris stroked him.
Growing impatient, Dante cupped Chris's head and pushed it down. Compelling the blonde slender male to open his mouth. To

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my surprise, Chris obliged, opening his mouth wide—painfully so. I could see my husband cringe and his face wrinkle as his mouth was forced further open by Dante's thickness.
I felt like I shouldn't watch anymore, but at the same time—it was too late. That twisted sense of intrigue had settled in, and I continued observing my husband bob his head up and down on the man's thick russet cock.

"Mmm—that's right, bitch. Suck it—..." Dante groaned as he continued guiding Chris's head. "If only your wife could see you now... what do you think she'd say—?"
Chris grunted and tried to move his head away—only managing to pull his mouth away enough to talk quickly. "Please, don't tell her—,"

"Oh, don't worry, sugar—you keep us all happy, and we won't breathe a word about this to your missus. Ain't that right, boys?" Dante patted and groped Chris' ass as the rest of the room chuckled and rose to their feet surrounding them. "Get that ass up..."

Chris mewled and flushed redder as he bent further and propped his backside into the air.
"Good, girl—," Dante hummed, sliding his dick back into Chris's mouth.

His fists found both of my husband's pigtails, and gripping them like handlebars, he began undulating into Chris's mouth.

A circle of tall burly men formed around the bed, and I watched with more profound yet stunned intrigue as the first man in line touched the cheek of Chris's rear. The man's fingers found the crotch of Chris's powdery blue panties, and tugged them aside.

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I could see my husband's puckering asshole—as pale pink as the rest of him. From this angle, you could barely tell Chris was a man—save for the swell of his scrotum tightly wrapped up in the shimmery fabric of the silky panties he was wearing.

Everyone seemed to take their places expectantly. Two men posted themselves at either side of the bed. Looming over the scene with voyeuristic interest. I could see them playing with themselves as they watched. Their hands tugged and pinched at the fattening lengths in their shorts.

Those in the room wearing towels had shed them and began actively touching and caressing my husband's slender pale body. Astonished, I took note of how his lovely pale skin flushed under their grasping fingers. As the ones standing behind prepared his anus—licking their fingers and fingering his offered hole. Dante kept a firm grip on Chris's head, now more roughly stroking into Chris's pried opened gullet.
I could hear Chris moan despite his mouthful, and I swear—I noticed the bulge at the front of Chris's underwear twitch and swell. Was he—enjoying this? It became more apparent he was, as a dark shadow appeared on the powdery blue of his underwear just where the head of his cock would have been curled. I could only assume it was his precum soaking into the fabric and darkening it with his rising lust.
At that moment, I was too swept up in my emotions to watch any closer as the first man bowed his knees slightly. Leveling the hooded head of his uncircumcised cock with Chris's anus. I had to close my eyes just as I saw him rear back and thrust forward. However, I could hear the hard slap of his pelvis against my

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husband's ass and the illicit grunt that tore from Chris's throat as he was fully penetrated.
My stomach flopped, and I grew disgusted with my so-called husband. How could he subject himself to this? I peeked back over to see him being rutted into at either end by burly black men and yet showing no resistance at all. Was he always this way? This wasn't how a man was supposed to act!

It was like the person I married had evaporated right in front of my eyes. I tried to understand where this was coming from. How a man like my husband could end up dressed like a woman—being passed around by a group of men like this. How did something like this happen?
At the same time, I couldn't fight the odd heat that rose up my neck and crept into my cheeks as I watched on. That twisted sense of intrigue rose up again—tugging my curiosity forward as I leaned back in and watched on intently. This was a new side of Christian I had never even fathomed could exist. The way he naturally took to pleasing Dante and letting the others have their way with his ass threw me for a loop. Had he done this before? How long had they been at this? Did it all start as soon as he got there?
Questions kept popping into my head. My anger at the moment seemed to fog over with these more curious, insatiable thoughts. It was then I began to take note of different aspects of the scene unfolding in front of me. As an artist I often tried to consider things abstractly, and for some reason, the composition of their bodies drew me in. Somehow—the contrast of their robust dark umber flesh juxtaposed my husband's creamy lean body was

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beautiful. There was something erotic in the way he mewled helplessly as his rectum was ruined.
I could see how close the first man who had entered him was. A sheen of sweat glazed his toned muscled as he continued to thrust in Chris. Just as the man reached his last stroke, he bucked powerfully into my husband making him curl into himself from the sudden sharp pain. A deep guttural groan escaped the man as he leaned back—shoving the length of himself totally within Chris. Total relief and bliss washed over both of their expressions as the turgid length within Christian's anus softened and fell flaccid from his abused channel. Chris groaned and squirmed lightly as a trickle of semen began to escape the once tight seal of his asshole. Now the entrance was distended and pink—almost raw from that first rutting.
Though it would appear as if that were only the beginning as another man stepped up behind Chris—replacing the spent one who had tossed himself onto a nearby bed to watch. I began to wonder how much more my husband could take of this but was surprised at his stamina and eagerness.
He continued sucking off Dante—slathering the bronzed brute's cock with his tongue. All the while, the next in line to breed him began teasing the entrance of his slacked anus with the crown of his thick length. Chris leaned into it this time—welcoming it as the man sheathed the entirety of his meaty rod into Chris's rectum. I could hear Chris hiss and moan; however, doing his best—he kept his hips jutted out, allowing the abuse of his anus. "Mmmhm—aren't you pretty..." Dante hummed, still pumping his hips into my husband's mouth. I observed closely, watching Chris

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stare up at the man doe-eyed and helpless. Drool running over his lips and down his chin. The bright pink tint of his lipstick smearing the dark length of Dante's dick. "So—fucking—pretty...Mh!!" Dante growled suddenly.

The muscles of Dante's body tensed. Bristling across his frame as he gripped Chris's pigtails harder; ramming his cock down my husband's throat forcefully. Chris sputtered and gagged but could barely resist Dante's vice-like grip.

He pushed himself all the way in up to the hilt and came hard. Pumping hot loads of semen into Chris's throat. A perplexing feel rose up in me once more as I watched the debauched scene unfold. I felt—oddly...somehow.... aroused by it. I was almost jealous that my husband got to have this all to himself.

"Swallow it, slut..." Dante commanded, wrapping his fingers around Chris's narrow neck and shaking him menacingly.
Chris gulped it back without complaint and held his mouth open to show that he had done as told. Dante smiled wickedly and patted his cheek. He seemed to chuckle at Chris's disheveled state. Mascara ran down my husband's cheeks, and his pigtails were lopsided and half loose.

"You want more? Of course, you do..." Dante chuckled darkly and rose from the bed, clearing space for the next man to lay down and tug his hard cock from his shorts.
There was a look of pleasured torment on Chris's face as the next hardened length was hauled out for him to nurse at. It was like he was internally arguing with himself. The turmoil was evident in his expression, and yet somehow—a look of bliss peeked through as he leaned down and slid the next cock into his messy mouth.

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I wiggled in my chair watching my Chris writhe and moan as he was taken from both ends. I never thought of my husband as a slut before—but after seeing this. Seeing how much he could debase himself like this. I didn't know what to think anymore. It wasn't like I could do anything about it anyway—so I just sat there and watched. Feeling my own sex heat and grow wet from watching Chris's crew run a train on him.

After one had finished with his ass—the next would step up and add another load into his already leaking, abused hole. The same with his mouth until Chris was a complete mess. His bra had been tugged down—his nipples erect and pinched until rosy. His hair undone, and panties wholly soaked with sweat and cum.

I could see my husband's modest cock peeking out from over the elastic of his underwear. Its naked crown, bulbous and dripping with desire. It looked like he had cum once or twice already, and now the strands of his semen hung like thick webs over the sheets he was bent atop of. I had no words and felt nearly as exhausted as Chris. He appeared to struggle, barely being able to hold himself up after all the painful rutting.

After all, was said and done, and each man had his fill of 'Christina,' they slumped into their bunks. Leaving Chris to clean himself up again. I watched him trudge from the room with a bathrobe pulled around his narrow shoulders.
After his form disappeared from the camera's frame, I sat in stunned silence in the aftermath of what I had just witnessed. Then, pulling myself from my stupor, I shut the laptop and crawled into bed. Mu mind was still buzzing, however, and I wouldn't get a wink of sleep that night as I kept recalling the

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images in my head. Chris scantily clad in lingerie. A line of big black men taking turns sodomizing and humiliating him. The look on his face—how unreadable it was. Was that shame in his eyes? Or thrill?
What about me? What did I feel about this? I couldn't tell yet. I was left numb by the shock of it all. I knew that I had felt disgusted but also intrigued, almost erotically so. Most of all, I wanted answers. I had so many questions, and because I loved that fragile idiot—I wanted to know why. Though, that would have to wait until my next visit.
I kept up appearances on the phone and in emails, all the while chewing my tongue, unable to completely put the event out of my head. Even so, I wanted to look him in the eyes when I confronted him about. I took a recording of the video and put it on my phone. I was going to show it to him so he couldn't avoid answering me.

***
When the day finally arrived, I boarded the oil platform with my

head held high. I wasn't going to let on that I knew anything right away. I wanted to get him alone, and like before, I let him walk me around the complex. However, once we were back in the room, I felt myself hesitating.

Was I really ready to shake up this relationship like this? Chris had undoubtedly played a considerable part in that, so why should I feel guilty about rubbing his nose in it now? Perhaps a part of me still felt that he was a victim in all this. While another part of me was confused and wanted to understand.
"Baby—you okay?" Chris called my attention.

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I had zoned out and was just staring at his bed when we entered the bunkhouse. Seeing the room and knowing where it had taken place—I couldn't help but replay the images of him being splayed out and penetrated. I still wanted to know if he was gay, and if our marriage had been some form of a sham.

"Actually—... there's something I wanted to talk to you about." I couldn't help the cold hardness to my tone, but I felt it was now or never.
I took a seat on the bed and patted the space next to me—beckoning him over. Chris joined me, looking nervous. Did he sense that I knew already? Maybe it was his guilty conscience making him tense.

"What is it, h-honey?" Chris asked. His voice was shaking.
I wanted to get this over with and reveal what I had—like ripping a bandage off. If I tried to sugar coat it. We'd be here for hours, and I had already waited long enough to hear what he had to say.

Tugging my laptop from my bag, I booted it up and played the video file for him. I said nothing as I watched his pensive face melt into pure panic.
"S-sweetheart! I can explain!" He shouted, scrambling to shut the laptop—possibly to silence the sound of his own grunting and moaning.

"Oh, can you? I think you can do better than that—in fact... I'm going to give you a chance to make this up to me..." I said to him in a menacing tone that was laced with suggestion.
He had no idea what I had in mind. In truth, I wasn't quite sure how to satisfy this lustful vengeance within me either—but I could think up a couple of things...