My BBW Wife & Her BBC Lover! By Throne (44 Pages) (Patreon)

My BBW Wife & Her BBC Lover!

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. 

MY BBW WIFE AND HER BBC LOVER

by Throne

The first year of my marriage went relatively well.  I was enamored of my wife Chyna, her sweet face and long dark hair, the oversized curves of her bust, hips and thighs, but mostly her fantastic, double-bubble ass, so large and round.  She was kind of bossy but I accepted that.   There were moments of bad temper but I let her have those.  What else could I do?  Me, little Herman, with my short stature, undernourished physique and, worst of all, my undersized penis.  That small endowment had been the bane of my life, from being teased about it in the locker room to having every girl I ever coaxed into a bed be hugely disappointed.  So I considered myself more than fortunate to have married the girl of my dreams, a sexual fantasy made real, and to have her accept me with only limited complaints.

Our wedded life might have gone on following the pattern we'd fallen into, with sex every Wednesday and Saturday night.  How I loved to get on top of Chyna's big body, to fondle her full breasts and suck their prominent nipples, before putting my little dick into her.  Foreplay got me so excited that I always finished within minutes.  Then she discovered that if she diddled my nipples I would ejaculate even sooner.  My wife started to joke about that, and even hinted that my tiny tool wasn't enough to satisfy her.  I knew she had gotten some sex toys.  Checked her panty drawer while she was at the mall.  Found a vibrator and these clips that would squeeze her nipples without hurting them.  More shocking than those, however, was her dildo.  It was a foot long and thick, with realistic veins wrapped around it's considerable width.  There was even a name on the box -- Mr. Johnson.  It didn't help that the rubber phallus was black. 

When I heard her in the bedroom, alone, pleasuring herself, I didn't tell her.  It got me excited.  Our twice-a-week intercourse was always less than I wanted, so while listening to her moan and whisper during her masturbation sprees, I resorted to a longstanding habit and began to play with myself.  As time went by I got bolder and even stood outside the bedroom in my underwear, jerking off in the hallway, my four inch dick in one hand and a couple of tissues in the other.  Before long I was addicted to those perverse scenes.  They became so compelling, and Chyna had gotten so predictable in her patterns, that I came up with a plan.  When she was in the bedroom with Mr. Johnson, I would be in the bathroom right next to her, with the door cracked open to hear her better.  It was more private.   I could be naked and use lube while I pulled my pecker. 

That started out very well.  It worked every time.  Almost.   One night I was standing there in the buff, my immature prick covered with slippery stuff, eyes closed in ecstasy.  The buzz of Chyna's vibrator mixed with her soft groaning and occasional enthused but quiet swearing.  I took my time, wanting to synch my finish with hers.  Under those circumstances I could control myself and delay spurting until I was ready.  So there I was, with my back to the bathroom door, licking my lips, hand moving slowly as I kept myself on the edge.  Her vibrator was still humming but I didn't hear any more vocalizing.  Maybe she was switching from the battery powered toy to that fake dong.  I listened carefully for some sighing or mewling, which would always raise my sexual temperature. 

All of a sudden there was a throat clearing noise behind me.  I spun around, dick in hand, and was confronted by Chyna, her wide form filling the bathroom doorway.  That cute face slowly transformed into a mask of fury. 

"Really?" she said.  "I leave you alone and this is what you do? Play with your baby-size dingus like a naughty boy?"

"B... but you have your... you know... sex tools."

"I have those because your pathetic dick isn't enough to satisfy me or any woman.  Besides which you finish way too soon.  And you have no technique.  Hell, you won't even eat my pussy."

"It's like I told you.  Just the though of doing that makes me queasy.  It's so... unclean."

She let out a few obscenities.  "That's you.  Full of excuses.  I let you have your fun in bed as often as you want.  And now you cheat on me with your hand?"  She noticed something else.  "And a bottle of body lotion?  You told me that was for dry skin."

"I just...  It's not really cheating if I'm...   You have to understand..."  I could start sentences but not finish them.  And her displeasure was rapidly mounting into rage. 

Chyna strode toward me.  I couldn't get past her in that narrow room.  She slapped my face, first with her palm and then backhanded.  I staggered into the wall behind me.  My hands came up but only to be clasped together in pleading supplication.

"Please.  Darling.  Don't hit me again.  Not in the face."  I was on the verge of breaking down and crying, which was obvious from the way my voice shook.  "I won't do it any more.  I'll behave.  And I'll agree to anything you want."

"Like using your mouth between my legs?"

I gagged out loud.  "Not that.  The idea makes me sick."

She pressed her body into mine, pinning me where I was.  Those big tits were right in my face.  As awful as her ire was, I still had a hard-on.  She felt it and got her hand between us.

"Oh," she said with a sneer.  "I'm so sorry.  I didn't let you finish your self abuse.  Don't let me keep you from your hobby.  Go ahead, Herman dear.  Get back to having fun.  And don't bother using those tissues.  You can squirt right into the toilet."

"But I don't want to do that.  We could go to bed and..."

"Didn't you hear me before?  Your sad little pickle is useless for getting me off.  So let's do what's best for us both.  I'll have my sex toys, which your miniscule dick forced me to get, and you can tug yourself whenever you want.  In fact, you'll have to, because as of right now my pussy is off limits to you.  So face the porcelain bowl and get going, Jerk-Off Boy."

Too overwhelmed to do anything else, I got in front of the commode and resumed stroking.  "Please.  This is so humiliating.  Can't I at least do it alone?"

"Oh, so you don't like me watching?  It embarrasses you?  Then here's how it will be from now on.  You aren't allowed to pull your pecker unless I'm with you.  To... supervise."  She chuckled.  "Keep that hand moving.  And make sure you aim.  I wouldn't want that miniature prick to shoot at the underside of the toilet lid or anywhere but into the water."

"If you'd just..."

"What?  Put on a little show for you?  To help you pop your cork?"  She snarled, "Am I making you too nervous to get there?"

"I think so," I bleated.

"Too freaking bad.  If you don't finish, you can just wait until the next time.  And when that comes, if I'm still pissed at you, we might do the same thing again.  Get you stiff, let you diddle yourself, and then make you too anxious to finish.  That would be damn funny.  To have you going around with a nasty set of blue balls.  Look at this, Herman."

I swung my head to the side to see her turn her back.  She bent forward enough to make her already wide bottom spread even further.  I panted audibly and kept pumping my fist but wasn't getting where I needed to go.  And it was still so humiliating to be told what to do and have to masturbate like that in front of her.  She turned back around and laughed at me.

"Jeez.  You are a sight.  In fact, giving you what you deserve -- what you've earned -- is getting me all hot.  Too bad you lost your bedroom privileges or this could have turned into a sex romp.  I might have even been worked up enough that your mini-dick could have made me cum.  But I doubt it.  That measly thing isn't big enough to screw a pill bottle."

"Chyna, you're being unfair."

"Am I?  You jerk off, cheat with your hand, and think that's okay?  All right.  I'll accept that.  But it has to work both ways.  So from now on, it'll be okay for me to do whatever I want, with whoever I please.  How about that?"

"B... but who would you...?"

I was already jealous of the way other men ogled my wife's fantastic curves.  The possibility of one of them touching her, kissing her, and even going further, made me go cold inside.

"Who?" she asked rhetorically.  "Well, I could dress up slutty, go to any bar in town, and get picked up without even trying.  Or find someone on-line.  But I honestly want to hurt you as much as possible, for being a bad lay, not going down on me, forcing me to use sex toys, and now cheating with your hand-humping.  So how about this?  I'll give our old friend Rush a call.  You remember him.  From school.  And how he always wanted to get into my panties.  But my parents were so strict that I never let it happen.  They didn't want me jumping into bed with any boy, so they got me hooked up with you, because everybody assumed you didn't have the balls to go beyond just making out.  Which happened to be true.  And Rush was so mad at you that he turned into your personal bully.  Remember how he made you drop your pants and show off your jockey shorts?  And stuffed you into your locker?  And that time he made you eat the leftovers off half a dozen guys' plates in the lunchroom?"

"That guy was a psycho.  He hurt players on other teams during football games."

"Yeah, he rushed them and crushed them.  That's why he got the nickname of Rush.  I wouldn't mind seeing him again.  Especially now that there's no one to keep me from doing what I want with Rush."

"But I'm your husband.  We're married.  You can't do that."

"Like hell I can't.  Look at you.  What a loser.  Standing there with your baby dick in your hand, yanking it, too upset even to make yourself cream."  She stepped behind me.  "How about if I give you some help, Herman?  Would that be okay -- Hermie?"

"D... don't call me that.  It's what Rush used to... to... c... call... m... me."

She got so close her boobs were against my shoulders.  "Aww.  Listen to that.  You're getting your old stutter and stammer back.  Just like when Rush used to make a fool of you in front of everybody."  She reached around to find my nipples with her fingertips.  "This should help you empty your little balls.  It always works in bed, when I'm so bored by your attempts at sex that I just want to get it over with."  Chyna began to lightly pinch me there, rolling the nubbins between her fingers and cooing in my ear.  "Come on, Hermie.  Squirt for me.  Put your useless spunk into the toilet, where it belongs.  Do it for wifey."

Even though she was demeaning me, I felt myself getting to the point of no turning back.  My testicles were drawn up tight and the familiar sensations of imminent ejaculation gripped me.  I whimpered loud enough for her to hear.  I sobbed.  It was so mortifying.  Chyna bit my ear and I spasmed, lost control, and sent several jets of white wetness from the end of my dick.  I was so distressed that I didn't pay attention and got it all over the bottom of the toilet seat, exactly as she had warned me not to.  By the time I had peaked and was descending, my goo had run down the plastic lid in long streaks.  I was trying to catch my breath, quaking from the waves of shame that ran through me.  At last I gained some restraint and was able to straighten up.  Chyna gave my bottom a hard pinch and stepped away.

"Now look what you did, loser.  I want that cleaned up.  You can use your cum-catcher tissues."  She snorted derisively.  "And while you're at it, you can scrub the whole bathroom, top to bottom.  Unless you want to tell me why you shouldn't have to, you no-dick failure."

Something inside me had broken.  I had no willpower at that moment.  My ego was in tatters.  I just mumbled assent and fell to my knees to begin wiping up the mess.  Even having Chyna right there didn't stop me.  It added to the disgrace I was suffering, but not enough to make me defend myself.

"There's my good little husband.  Enjoy the next few hours while you do your work.  I'll be checking for Rush's number.  I don't think I ever erased it from my cellphone.  Maybe I knew, deep down, that you would eventually be such a flop that I'd need it.  I mean, if you hadn't turned into a secret taffy puller, this would never have happened.  You could still have me all for your own, twice a week.   Maybe more, if you'd asked nicely.  Think of all you'll be missing from now on.  And how it's you who made this happen.  Think about that when you flush those sticky tissues down the toilet, Hermie.  And try NOT to think about Rush and me getting together.  Don't imagine his big black hands all over me.  And definitely don't let it get into your head what it would be like with his monster cock inside my pussy.  I mean, the other girls talked about how he's hung like a bull.  He's got so much more than that pathetic pig-in-a-blanket you have between your legs.  It's like you're an appetizer and he's a Texas steak.  You're not even a mouthful and he's enough to leave me feeling full for the rest of the night.  You know?  With my puss all stretched out and well pounded.  Might leave me walking funny after he plows me.  I mean, if that happens.  Heck, I might not even have his number anymore.  So don't spend any time worrying about your old bully taking your wife away from you.  Right?"

"I... I'll try not t... t... to."

"Great.  Now just grab that old sponge from under the sink and swab out the crapper.  Get under the rim and all.  And especially way down to the bottom.  Then it's the scrub brush and bucket for everything else.  Make sure to use that cleanser that stinks like chemicals.  If I come back while you're doing the toilet, I want to see you wet up to the elbow.  And after that you'd better have the brush in your hand, with your girly arm moving non-stop."  She laughed again.  "Now let me go and find out about Rush's number."

She walked away from me, still naked, as proud of her stunning figure as I was ashamed of my inferior manhood.  I kept working mechanically, trying to get my thoughts in order.  Could I think of something to say that would change her mind?  I tried but my thoughts were filled with images of Rush, tall and broad shouldered, dark and grinning maliciously.  By telling me NOT to think about him she had made it impossible for me to do anything else but obsess over my past tormentor.  I remembered him from the locker room, swaggering around nude, with his enviable tool swinging.  It was nearly a foot long while flaccid.  How much bigger might it be when he was aroused?  My hand trembled as I plunged it into the cold water and tried to be sure even the slightest dirty spots were thoroughly cleaned. 

Memories of other indignities Rush had inflicted on me came back vividly.  There had been the time he made me crouch under the lunchroom table, take off his running shoes, and give him a foot rub.  Or when he 'recruited' me to assist the football team, which mainly involved sitting naked in the locker room, wearing his used jock on my head, with the smelly crotch over my nose and mouth.  Plus I often had to loan him money that he never paid back.  And he sometimes used me to demonstrate self defense techniques, as if I was a practice dummy.  That last example once involved him showing some of the Black girls how to stop an assailant by kicking him in the balls.  It took me a week to get over the pain and trauma of that one. 

And now he might be coming to our home.  I couldn't stop my mind from racing as I continued to clean, naked and afraid.  While I was in the tub washing the wall tiles, there was a mental movie running in my head.  It starred my wife and my bully, acting like a couple of porn stars.  Him with his huge cock and her with those plush contours.  I saw them in a tangle of limbs, trying different positions, lying exhausted side-by-side.  It was a waking nightmare that I couldn't escape. 

Hours later when the bathroom was spotless and I was tired, she returned.  All she had on was her short belted robe, so brief that her plump but firm thighs were well displayed.  "Good news," she announced chirpily.  "I did have Rush's number.  He has his own construction business now and just got a big contract right near here, so he'll be around the area a lot, starting next week.  I won't see him until Friday night, but from the way he talked it'll be worth the wait."  She gave me a lupine smile as she asked, "Aren't you happy for me?"

I still wanted to get her to reverse the prohibition of sex she'd declared for me.  Maybe if I appeased her now it would gain me some forgiveness. 

In a muted voice I told her, "I'm glad you'll be able to feel like you've evened the score between us."  I wanted to add something about how unfair this settlement was but thought better of it.  "Maybe you can get this out of your system and then... kind of... rethink it all."

"No, what I want is to get something INTO my system.  Mainly, Rush's killer cock into my neglected pussy.  I want to feel really filled up for a change.  You dated between school and when we got hitched.  I'll bet you had some girls who you liked better in bed than others."  She gave me a penetrating look.  "Oh wait.  I forgot.  With your miserable little dick they probably all treated you like a joke."  In a dangerously serious tone she said, "In fact, you probably didn't get laid at all.  RIGHT?"

"Well... no.  I didn't."  As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized I had given her fresh ammunition to attack me with.

"So you just went home and spanked your little pink monkey.  DIDN'T YOU?"

"I had to do something.  Otherwise I'd be h... h... horny all the time."  I sniffed.  "And my b... b... balls would h... hurt."

"Which means you were a jerk-off before I made the mistake of marrying you.  And you didn't have the honesty to tell me.  This just gets worse and worse, Hermie."

"But why would I want to... to... tell you?"

"Because we got married stupid, and shouldn't have kept secrets from each other.  I told you about all the guys I dated.  Didn't I?  And how I turned into kind of a sex addict?  Which was one of the reasons I married you.  So I could settle down and not be spreading my legs for every big schlong that came along.  I expected you to help me but instead you were sneaking around with your hand in your pants, playing pocket pool.  Sheesh."

"I didn't do it that often.  I mean..."

"You mean only whenever your little doodle needed a tickle.  So you were a secret shrimp roll puller the whole time.  Even before you came up with that excuse about me and my sex toys.  Which I had to use -- don't you dare forget -- because you were such a dud in bed, you and your bite-size dick."

"Well, okay.  It did star... start early on.  But..."

"But nothing.  And if none of those girls were dumb enough to let you put your puny pecker in them that means..."  She paused significantly, letting me squirm.  "... that you were a virgin at the altar.  I suppose you thought it was okay to lie to me about that too."

"I didn't lie."

"Hey, stupid.  It's what they call a 'lie if omission'.  You left it out on purpose so I wouldn't know how badly I was getting shortchanged.  No wonder you never knew what you were doing in the bedroom.  Just drooling all over my big tits and blowing your load too soon.  It was because you had zero experience."

"I just... What I'm trying to s... say..."

"Yeah, let's hear your side of it.  Poor Hermie.  He got a really hot girl.  An oversexed wife.  And didn't know what the freak to do with her."

"You can't blame me."  That sounded weak even as I said it.

"No.  I'll blame I-don't-know-who.  Be honest with yourself, lover boy.  And I do mean 'boy'.  This is all your fault.  Every last bit of it.  And on Friday night, when Rush gets here, you're going to find out what it's going to cost you.  So try to talk your way out of that..."  She tapped the side of her head.  "... at least while you're talking to yourself.  Because I don't want to hear it.  And Hermie...?"

Too rattled to do more than give a limited response, I mumbled, "Yes, dear?"

"Do you think Rush would rather have me with my pussy shaved, or with just a little patch of hair down there, or should I leave the whole muff cover intact?"

I opened my mouth and stood there with my jaw hanging loose.  Chyna laughed soundlessly, her big chest moving up and down under the robe, cleavage holding my eyes.

At last I managed, "If we sat down and talked..."

But she cut me off with, "You've already said everything I needed to hear, about how you were a virgin and you're a longtime, one-handed cock-jockey, except that what you've got doesn't qualify as a cock.  So just keep your mouth shut around me.  Don't speak unless I ask you a question.  Or it's an emergency.  Like you need permission to stroke yourself and shoot another shot into the toilet -- or wherever else I tell you to aim it.   If I even let you finish."

With that she turned on her heel and left the bathroom.  I stood there in some kind of shock, watching how her double wide ass rolled under the waist-cinched robe, and thinking about how I would now be denied the right to touch her there.  My husbandly rights were gone.  Chyna was now a NO ACCESS AREA to me.  I was banned from her warm wet womanhood.  All I could do was sigh and hang my head.  Plus start overthinking about what would happen at the end of the week when Rush arrived. 

For the next five days at work I obsessed on what might occur when my old bully showed up at our door.  At times I was in a near panic.  Then I would switch into denial and tell myself he had probably mellowed and wouldn't want to ruin our marriage.  But then I reminded myself that Chyna had spoken to him on the phone and was thrilled by whatever he had said.  My last fallback position was the idea I had broached to her already, that this was just something she needed to get out of her system.  Considering her reaction when I suggested that, I was well and deeply screwed.

After days in a state of nervous agitation, Friday morning arrived.  My wife gave me a list of items to pick up on the way home from the office, including wine and beer, as well as some hard liquor.  She wasn't much of drinker in my experience, but had mentioned when she previously gave me those accounts of her partying years, that she liked to get buzzed when she was with a guy who she expected to end up in bed with.  Echoes of all those stories she had told me -- in the interest of us being honest with each other, she always stressed -- even though they involved her being a sexual plaything for a series of guys -- and despite the fact that they always upset me -- reverberated through my thoughts. 

I picked up the requested drinks at a clean and well lit liquor store that I patronized on the rare occasions when I bought alcohol.  Usually it was only wine.  Sometimes Chyna went there with me.  Now, when the clerk recognized me and noticed my atypical order, he gave me an amiable grin.

"Looks like you're having a party.  I'll bet that wife of yours is a terrific hostess."

He didn't say anything else and I guess his smile was just automatic and held no secondary meaning.  Yet I felt myself tense up and almost said something angry to him.  Then I got back under control and returned his cheery expression.

"Sort of a party," I agreed, feeling sick in the pit of my stomach.

"Well, have a good one," he finished as I slipped my charge card into the reader.

At home I followed my wife's instructions about where to put the bottles.  Beer and wine in the fridge and liquor lined up on the kitchen counter.  Did I mention that everything was top shelf and accordingly expensive?  Well, everything except a six-pack of ginger ale she added at the last minute.  That went into the fridge as well, except for one can that she had me open and leave on the counter.  What she wanted with a warm and flat soda I couldn't guess.  It was for some sort of odd drink recipe, I supposed. 

Then she told me there were some leftovers in the fridge, in a plastic container.  And that we were on a schedule, so I shouldn't waste time or dirty a bowl by heating them up.   It turned out that she had thrown the odds and ends from several meals into the lidded receptacle, even though they didn't go together.  Then she had taken a nearly empty jar of pickles and dumped the last of that in, including the sour juice.  When I tried to question her she just stood with her fists on her flaring hips and pinned me with her eyes.  I did attempt to say something but, every time the words appeared in my mind, I couldn't get them out of my mouth.  To my dismay, I understood that I was simply too afraid to oppose her, even on such an obviously wrong thing as the sickening mixture she expected me to eat, unheated and drenched in briny liquid.  I swallowed my pride, sat at the kitchen table with a soup spoon she handed me, and began to chew and swallow the unappetizing mess.  It reminded me of back in school, when Rush made me eat other guy's slopped together scraps.  Chyna elevated her chin and looked down her nose at me, as if I was a misbehaving juvenile who was being made to consume that as some sort of poetic justice for a food-related misdeed.  By the time I got it all down, after gagging more than once, I felt doubly ill, from both worry and rising indigestion. 

One reason I hadn't been allowed more time was that she said I needed to help her get ready.  That was a cruel insult.  Why should I assist her in making herself more attractive to a man who had demeaned me repeatedly in the past, and who would soon be in a position to deliver a much bigger insult by coming between my and my bride?  Yet I had no recourse.  First Chyna had me get completely undressed.  Then she told me to wait in the hall.  After I stood there naked for an hour, lost in horrible thoughts, she at last showed up.  All she had on was a pair of bikini-cut panties, which called added attention to how broad and rounded her hips were.   The filmy bit of lingerie allowed me to see that she had, indeed, trimmed her pubic bush into a modest triangle of dark hair. 

I followed her into the bathroom, unable to take my eyes off her rolling bottom as she moved.  Then she faced me and told me to take off her panties.  I knelt, which seemed like the right thing to do, and gingerly worked them down over her full thighs, got them past her ankles, and waited for her to step out of them, which she did in a queenly manner. 

Chyna told me, "Sniff them, Hermie.  Put the crotch over your nose and inhale my scent.  Go on.  Don't be shy.  It might be a while before you get near my pussy again, so you'd better take whatever you can get while it's available."

Clutching the panties over my lower face, I breathed in through my nose.  Her scent was stronger than I expected.  My aversion to having my mouth on her vagina extended to even this less direct contact.  But while what I was doing bothered me, it also sent a sensual message to my brain.  My little dick tingled and added blood flowed to it, though not enough to cause a full erection.  My nipples throbbed in sympathetic demand.  I bit my lips and tried not to let my reaction show. 

But she looked down and smirked, saying, "I see Mr. Happy likes that.  Maybe we'll have to rethink the idea of you doing more than sniffing what's down there.  Who knows?  If you get a taste of pussy you might like it.  Or if you don't..."  She shrugged.  "... who cares about you?  Now that you won't be having your shrimp-dick in there, I might have to require you to use your tongue.  But we'll see about that later.  Now wait right there while I take my shower."

Again, despite the 'schedule' she had referred to earlier, I had to stand and wait while she took a leisurely shower and shampooed her long black hair.  When Chyna finally stepped out of the tub, dripping all over the floor, I was told to take a large fluffy towel that was draped over the hamper and use it to pat her dry.  It felt so wonderful to touch her, even if it was through the material of the towel.  This time I did get a full erection, which she eyed mockingly.

"Look at what Hermie has between his weak little legs.  It's something like a cock, only smaller.  Much smaller." 

Without being told to, I said, "Yes, Dear."

After she was mostly dry and had a towel wrapped around her head, she said, "All right.  You can give your willy some rubbing.  Go ahead.  So long as you don't make it squirt.  There's my cooperative husband.  Doing whatever he's told, for as long as he's told, and stopping when I say, even if he doesn't want to."  She chuckled.  "Get your fingers on those nipples, Hermie.  Give yourself some teasing.  That's the way.  Do you know how ridiculous you look right now?  Do you understand that I'll think of you this way all the time, especially if I'm ever tempted to start respecting you again?  Keep stroking.  Now use just your thumb and one finger.  That's all you need for such a tiny toy as you're playing with.  Keep going.  Wet your fingers in your mouth.  Work on those nipples again.  Get yourself all ready to blast off.  A little more.  A couple bonus tugs.   And now -- STOP!"

My hand came away from my genitals instantly, as if I'd been trained for weeks.  I panted loudly and tried to will away my stiffness.  Chyna wore a crooked smile as I struggled to regain my composure.  At last I was almost recovered.  That was when she reached down from her superior height, cupped my balls in her warm soft hand, and gave them an affectionate squeeze.  I let out a long moan and my shoulders sagged.  My penis wanted to keep going but all she gave it was that one teasing bit of attention.  Then she had me get down on one knee to dry her feet, slowly and with humility.  My stomach started to complain again from that awful meal.  When she was satisfied she simply walked away, calling back to me to come with her.

"Don't bother to get up," she added.  "Crawling is good enough for you, Mr. Tells Lies To His Wife." 

She didn't even bother to glance back to see if I was complying.  I suppose she knew it wasn't necessary.  In the bedroom she began to get dressed, slipping into lacy panties that I had never seen before, making my eyes goggle.  Then there was an underwire bra that lifted her breasts even more than their natural buoyancy did, as if they were being offered up, though not to me.  I expected her to continue with outerwear but instead she pulled on a silky robe that flowed to mid-thigh, tied at the waist, and was apparently designed not to close fully across her chest, so it exhibited the fine job that bra was doing. 

"I'm going to fix my hair and make-up," she said offhandedly.  "Make myself pretty for Rush."  She did a slow 360 turnaround.  "Do  you think he'll like what he sees?"

Still unable to think of a better approach than just keeping her happy, I nodded and said, "Yes, darling.  I'm sure he will."

"Thank you.  I only hope he doesn't tear any of this stuff, getting it off me.  You know.  If that's what happens.  Or maybe we'll just have a drink, talk about old times, and share a few laughs.  What do you think?"

I knew what I was dreading but just replied, "I guess we'll find out."

Chyna raised one eyebrow.  "I guess we will."  She gave me a wink and shooed me toward the door.  "Go straighten up the living room, Hermie.  And then you can come back here to turn down the bed and fluff up the pillows.  Just in case."

"Did you want me to... um... get dressed?"

"Oh, right.  There's something laid out for you in the guest bedroom.  Let's see how you look in it."

What I found was a tiny thong that might have been unisex, there was so little material at the crotch.  It could have been designed for a woman's pubic mound or a man's three-piece-set... if his equipment was as small as mine.  Working it up my legs and getting the rear strip between my buttocks, I arranged my genitals in the unaccommodating pouch and was unhappy that it showed off how inadequate I was down there.  Visions of Rush and his magnum endowment danced behind my eyes.  I went back to the bedroom and waited silently outside the door.  Chyna appeared, her hair still loose but in rolling waves past her shoulders.  Her face was made up to somehow look tasteful and sluttish at the same time.  Her eyes were outlined and her lips made to look even fuller than usual, and painted candy apple red.  I swallowed drily, unable to deny the seductive effectiveness of her artistry. 

"Well," she said as if this wasn't a special occasion, and we just had an old friend stopping by for a brief visit.  "I think we're good to go.  Be a sweetheart and do the bed like I said I wanted it.  Even if it might not get used.  Who knows?  Maybe Rush won't even stay long.  Perhaps I'll feel sorry for my little-dick man and let you join me.  I'll get on my tummy with a few pillows under my hips and give you another chance to get it right.  At that angle and elevation it might work.  Wouldn't that be lovely?"  She even sounded like she meant it.  Against all odds I registered a scintilla of hope.  "Anything can happen.  Might and maybe, maybe and might."  Chyna put on an inscrutable smile that made my heart flutter with optimism, then she turned, slipped her delicate feet into high-heeled slippers, and left the room with her rump rolling, hair shifting slightly as she moved.

Once the bed was arranged as per her orders, I hurried after her.  She was in the kitchen, doing a final check of the beverages.  The open can of soda was still there.  I had to get a selection of glasses from the cabinet and arrange them near the bottles.  My pulse was racing.  I kept blinking.  Wished I had more to wear.  Allowed myself that unrealistic hope that, by some miracle, Rush would not appear.  All too soon, however, we heard a car pull up out front.  I hastened to the front window and inched back the curtain, to see a late model, expensive car at the curb.  As its door opened I backed away, perhaps wanting to delay the sight of my school antagonist just a minute longer.  Then came a knock on our door, firm rapping that signaled confidence.  Chyna snapped her fingers and pointed me toward the entrance.  I froze.   Did she actually expect me to admit him, looking the way I did?  Obviously that was exactly what she desired.  My stomach lurched, that undigestible meal still tormenting me.  I went to the door and put my hand on the knob.  For a long few seconds I held it, then gave it a turn and pulled open the door.  Trying not to be visible from the street, I looked up at the guy who had taunted and hurt me for four long years. 

Rush was as I remembered him, exuding self assurance, towering over me, grinning down with open contempt.  He said, "Is that you, Hermie?"  He looked past me.  "And is that Chyna?  It's Squirmy Hermie and my Chyna Doll.  Damn."  He pushed past me and went straight to my wife as I quietly closed the door.  "You look good enough to put in the movies, girl," he told her appreciatively.

She locked eyes with him and said, "You look pretty fantastic yourself.  Better than I remember.  A hell of a lot better than what I'm stuck with."

They both glanced toward me.  I wanted to go and hide under the guest bed. 

Rush shook his head and decided, checking me, "Hermie never got that growth spurt we were all waiting for.  Too bad."  His eyes drifted lower.  "And I can see for sure that something else didn't ever finish growing, either."  His attention went back to my wife.  "How do you put up with what he's packing?  It's like something from the candy store.  Like they make it so small so there's no choking hazard.  Ain't nobody ever going to choke on what Hermie's got."

She laughed, openly and without holding back.  "Tell me about it.  Sex with my husband is like putting a one of those short hot dog things, a Vienna sausage, on a steak roll.  You know?  It just doesn't fill the job."

"And a woman likes to get properly filled." He ran his eyes up and down her curvaceous figure.  "Especially a woman who's built for it.  Like you, Chyna."

Her plump cheeks pinked prettily.  She went to the sofa, sat down, and patted a spot alongside her.  He sat there, their thighs almost touching.  She asked him if he wanted a drink.  He said a beer would be fine.  My wife snapped at me to get two beers.  I scurried off to the kitchen, awkwardly aware of the silly sight I made.  When I returned they were in a hushed conversation.  I held out the bottles and they took them without looking directly at me, almost as if I wasn't there, or was just a piece of furniture.  He twisted the cap off hers and tossed it at me.  I missed and had to retrieve it off the floor.  I wasn't all the way back up before he flicked his own lid and hit me in the cheek with it.  My instinct was to tell him to cut it out but past experience told me that would only provoke him to do worse.  As if to offer an additional challenge, he put his hand on my wife's bare thigh.  She did nothing to discourage him.  I saw an impressive bulge in his tight pants, between his legs and extending partway along his muscular thigh.  Chyna obviously spotted it too, her expression hungry.

"So, girl, how's your love life?" he wanted to know.

Chyna sighed heavily.  "Not good," she began, following that with a litany of my shortcomings.  My only consolation was that she stopped short of including her masturbation revelation. 

He said, "I remember old Squirmy in the showers after gym class.  Like his junior dick wasn't short enough to begin with, it would shrink up even more.  Especially when I turned one of the showers onto cold-only and made him stand under it.  That was a lot of fun."  He looked to where I was standing, off to the side, wishing I was invisible.  "Wasn't that a hell of a lot of fun, Hermie?  Tell Chyna here how it was fun for you."

I almost choked on the lie as I told her, "It was fun.  Rush was just having a laugh."

"And giving the rest of the guys one, too," he went on.  "Or like when I made you buy me and some of my buds that crap they had in the lunchroom.  What was that crud?"

The memory was still clearer than I would have wished.  "It was spinach casserole."

"Right.  And then we decided we didn't want it.  But like they say, don't waste no food.  So we gave it all to our boy Hermie.  He got stressed out but we told him it would be good.  Lots of iron in that stuff.  To build up his muscles.  Any maybe get his dick past the two inch mark."  He saw my disturbed reaction and  clarified, "Two inches soft.  Four big inches hard.  I know because we made him give us a demonstration, one day under the bleachers.  Pump-action Hermie.  But getting back to that lunch, every time I talked to him and he looked at me -- because I told him you got to respect folks and look when they say something -- he thought the other brothers were spitting in his food.  I kept telling him that was just some special sauce on top of his good tasting spinach whatever-it-was.   By the end of the period he got it all down, though by then he was looking kind of green like a vegetable himself.  Ain't that right, Squirmy?"

"I didn't feel good that day," was all I said.

My wife asked, "Did you say you made my husband jerk off under the bleachers?"

"Oh yeah.  He put on quite a show.  And we made sure that girl he was sweet on, Caroline with the big ass, was there for his performance.  Funny thing, too.  She was supposed to go out with him but then she cancelled.  I felt bad for her so I offered to take his place.  Worked out real well."  He chortled.

"You know," she said, speaking to him but looking at me, "he must have never gotten over that.  Having his nasty habit exposed.  Because I caught him just the other day honing his bone."

"Whoa.  He's married to a fine woman like you, and he plays with that extra finger he got growing where a cock should be?  You deserve better, Chyna."

"That's right," she agreed.  Her hand went to his upper leg and settled on the unmistakable bulge waiting there.  "I deserve the real thing.  Attached to a real man."

She rubbed it through his pants and it enlarged, the head becoming defined as an attached but even thicker, part.  My wife bent down and boldly planted her lips on the outline of that knob at the end of his business.

He declared, "I wanted you back in school and I still want you now.  Them big tits and that prize winning booty.  I'm thinking these pants are in the way."

"For sure," she seconded.

"But I need my shoes off first."

"I can do that," she offered.

"No way.  That's a job for Miss Pinky with the midget winky."  He snapped at me, "Get over here, wimp.  Take my shoes off for me."

Unexpectedly, I found the courage to go to him but then do no more.  I had my arms at my sides, not a threatening posture.  But I wasn't doing what he demanded.  In a quick fluid motion Rush was standing, his arm cocked back.  He slammed his fist into my soft midsection and I folded up, ending on my knees where he'd wanted me in the first place. 

Rush told Chyna, "Your hubby just needed some help.  Wimps get like that sometimes."

"My hubby sure is a wimp.  Maybe we should just call him Wimp Hubby."

"All kind of good names for him.  But right now he better start getting those shoes off my feet, unless he wants one of those feet up his ass.  Is that what you want, Hermie?"

I was still trying to breath evenly after being hit.  Between ragged breathes I told him,  "No, Sir.  Please don't... do... w... what you s... said."

"Then get to getting, boy."

I untied one shoe and then the other, carefully slipping them off his feet.  As I knelt there, holding them against my chest, the way girls used to carry schoolbooks, he examined his footwear critically. 

"What's that on the bottom of those shoes, Snowflake?  Hmmm?"

Turning them over, I didn't see anything unexpected.  "It's just... dirt.  Grit.   Plus some stuff stuck in the grooves on the soles."

"Well, you supposed to be a good host.  Ain't that right?"

"I guess."

He took a long swallow from his beer and checked Chyna.  She put her bottle to her lips and tipped it up.  As she lowered it she ran her tongue suggestively around the end.

Rush told me, "So as my host, and being the head of the household and all, ain't it your job to take care of my needs?"

"Uh... Yes, Sir."

"Well then -- Uh --" he added in imitation of me.  "-- take care of that smut on the bottoms of my shoes.  Like right now, kid."

"I... don't have anything... to do it with...?"

"Sure you do."  He leaned toward me and in a menacing way stated, "You got a tongue in your mouth.  Don't you?"

"Yes."

"So let's see it."  After I extended my tongue he ordered, "Now just keep it out like that.  Don't pull it back in.  Understood?"

With my tongue still protruding, I tried to say, "Yes, Sir," but now I was speaking with a lisp.

Chyna giggled at me.  "That is too funny."  She wanted me to tell her, "What is it you like to do with your hand on your dick?"

Rush still appeared ready to punch me again, maybe in the face.  With my words distorted once more, I admitted, "I like to jerk-off."  When that didn't appear to be enough for my wife, I improvised, "I like to get myself stiff and pull on my dick.  My small dick."  She was waiting for more.  "Because that's all it's good for.  My dick is too small for sex."  I hated sounding that way. 

She rocked with laughter.  "This is the best."

Rush interjected, "But he still has to do them shoes."

Chyna leered and watched me avidly.  "That's true.  You heard the man, Hermie.  Get that tongue working and clean his shoes."

With disgust rising my gorge, I nevertheless did as both of them demanded, lapping the bottoms of his shoes, taking filth into my mouth and, with no other choice, swallowing it.  I had to work my tongue into the grooves and free more dirt, bigger pieces of it, that I also ingested.  I was unthinkable but I kept it up until the undersides of his shoes looked like new.  My guts felt even worse than before.  He had me kiss his soles a few times before I was allowed to set the footwear aside.

"Now," he offered, "I think there's somebody else who wants to clean something with her tongue, but it sure ain't shoes."

Rush got up again.  He kicked at me and I went over backwards, landing clumsily and lying there like a turtle on its back.  Then he stripped off the pants and shorts at the same time.  I was gawking up at his superior cock, it's natural 12 inches extended by at least once more from the stimulation already given by my bride.  He sat back down and she was on him like a cat with a saucer of cream, licking he way up and down the full length, which grew to its maximum of 14 inches.  I was stunned by his size and the attention she lavished on that rigid pole.  Chyna got the head into her mouth and sucked hard.  Still on my back, I got one elbow under me.  She was making wet sounds, taking it out and running her tongue along the thick seam on its underside.  I got to my knees and stayed there, fearful that more would anger the man being serviced by my bride. 

"So good," she purred.  "So huge."  She kissed it all over.  "Don't make me stop, Rush.  Please let me keep doing this."  She had voracious appetite for his beef sausage. 

"Keep on, girl.  And you need to lick them balls, too.  Show how much you appreciate them being there and all."

"Being there and making ginormous loads of cream."

"I'll be putting out like a dairy farm," he promised.  "But no rush for that.  Why don't you lose that bra so I can get a handful of what you been flashing at me?"

"Oh.  I was kind of shoving them in your direction.  Wasn't I?"  She tittered.  "Because I wanted to make sure we got to... this."  She held his cock with both hands and capped the knob with her lips again, as happy as if it was a big piece of hard candy.  Chyna made a burbling noise around  his jaw-stretching tool.  She freed it again, used the tip of her tongue on the sensitive spot under the head.  "I just want to make you happy, Rush," she insisted.

"This is a damn good start," he told her. 

"I can't resist the way you fill my mouth."

"And pretty soon I'm going to be filling you up somewhere else.  You know?"

"Yes."  She hissed the final sibilant. 

"But of course, you being married an all, I got to get permission."

"What?"

"Squirmy Hermie there got to give me the go-ahead.  He got to make it real clear that it's alright for me to invade your snatch and give it a good workout like he never could.  Ain't that right, Hermie?  You being her boss and all.  So tell me what's the deal.  You okay with me taking this fine bitch to the bedroom and banging her until it makes her scream?  Humping her so hard she ends up sore?  Giving her pussy a wham-bam that'll make her juice like a lemon getting squeezed?"

Chyna marveled, "You have to ask HIM?"

"That's the rule, baby.  Man says no, I got to go.  He say don't and you know I won't.  He even got to ask me to do it.  Make it like a request.  So what's the word, Hermie boy?"

I didn't honestly believe that anything I said could stop him.  Even so, it would be mortifying to have to assent.  To encourage him.  Even to request him to ravage my willing wife.  Both of them were waiting.  I understood that he wouldn't be satisfied until I enacted this added indignity on myself. 

"Rush," I began hesitantly.  "I need you to do me a favor.  Mr. Rush.  I want you to take my wife to bed.  And have sex with her." I had to say it rougher than that.  "I mean, give her a proper screwing.  Cram that big cock into her and use it like a piledriver.  Don't stop until she's dizzy from coming so many times.  Get my Big Beautiful Wife hooked on your Big Black Cock.  Please.  I'm asking you as... and old friend.  And good buddy.  To do this for me.  And most of all for her.  My dick is a tiny joke.  Yours is what she needs.  I'm begging you, Rush."  My voice was close to breaking from what I was being made to say.  "Just do it.  F... f... fuck my wife."

"Well."  He acted like he was considering my speech carefully.  "You know she ain't never going to want your little sprout after she's had the taproot.  This means no more nookie for you.  Just living with this too-hot-to-believe bitch, seeing her every night, and never getting your pipes cleaned."

"I already cut him off," she said passionately.  "And he can clean his own pipes by jerking off.  Even if it's only when I say he can."  She obviously understood Rush's motivation now, and how much he wanted to destroy what remained of my pride while she witnessed it.  "Go on, Hermie" Chyna contributed.  "Tell him to fuck me until I'm sweating and groaning and making noises like a she-cat in heat.  Tell him, Hermie.  Be a cuckold for me."

"Yeah," Rush seconded.  "Tell me."

"I'm imploring you, Rush..."

"No you ain't.  I'm self-implored.  Got my own construction company."

"Just please take my wife to bed.  The bed that we used to have sex on.  When I was still allowed.  Slam her pussy with everything you've got.  Make her a slave to your perfect Black cock.  Do it... for me."   My alimentary canal was roiling. 

He gave an exaggerated shrug.  "Okay, man.  If you insist.  I was just about to take off and leave you lovebirds to have some fun.  Still, what you want is what you get." 

She was still next to him, her hand again on his cock, possessively stroking it's exceptional length.  It was too thick for her to get her plump fingers all the way around.  They finished their beers and got up together.  Chyna undressed him the rest of the way.  In no hurry they started toward the bedroom. 

When I tried to get up, Rush said, "You can just stay down there, Hermie."

"Yeah," agreed my wife.  "Crawl along behind us.  Like you did with me before."

As they moved away I did exactly that, unable to take my eyes off Chyna's bare ass and how her cheeks rubbed against each other as she walked.  They ascended the stairs, with me struggling along after them.  Once they were beside the bed she pointed out how I had prepared it for them.  Rush had me make some minor adjustments to the pillows, which I'm sure he did just to add to my misery.  Then they stretched out alongside each other.  He got onto his side to massage her breasts and rub her belly.  She couldn't keep her hands off his incredible cock.  He fingered her pussy and soon had my wife rocking her hips.  That was when the big Black man put himself between her spread thighs with his member aimed at her parted pussy lips.  I stood there silently, hugging my naked body, my dick uncooperatively erect, staring as he slowly inserted himself into her moist passage.  She moaned and gripped his powerful shoulders.  Rush expertly kept sliding into her, not too fast or slow, until he was buried to his heavy balls and she was making susurrating sounds deep in her throat.  Chyna's shapely legs came up and wrapped themselves around him as he began to pump her.

"This is amazing," she said with a sigh.  "Sex with Hermie over there was never a fraction of this good."  She asked me, "Isn't that right, husband dearest?  Hmm?  Wasn't it a letdown for me every time you put your pathetic organ in my puss?"

"Y... yes, darling," I answered with a sob.

"Well that won't never happen with me," Rush promised.

"I know."  She gasped.  "You're reaching further than he could ever have dreamed of.  And the way you're stretching me is... like... life changing."

She was starting to relax into his steady rhythm.  That was when he abruptly increased his tempo.  Chyna exhaled hard and jerked her hips to meet his strokes.  He pushed himself up, supporting his torso with straightened arms.  She unbent her legs and brought them down to the mattress.  My wife arched her back as he drove into her again and again.  She yipped and got her hands on her fabulous boobs, kneading them as he pumped away at her.  Chyna's knees came up, altering the angle of her hips.  That must have triggered something inside her because all at once she was crying out as he sent her into a bed-shaking orgasm.  It went on longer than I could have imagined before she finally settled down underneath him.

Chyna's breathing slowed toward normal.  She said, "You didn't finish, babe.  Was it okay?"

"It's the best," he approved.  "But there's no hurry.  I'm a One Hour Man."

"Okay."  She smiled up at him.  "I'm used to the one minute boy, with a dick the size of a roll of dimes."

He laughed.  "Well, just get ready to have everything done the right way for a change, girl.  You going to have plenty more big finishes before I'm done with you.  I got all kinds of ways to make you happy."

True to his word, he varied his speed and the length of his strokes.  Then he got her into different positions.  Doggie style.  On her back with her legs on his broad shoulders.  Leaning back on both pillows, his big Black nightstick between her melon breasts.  Sitting atop his rampant shaft and riding it cowgirl style.  He slowed down to a near halt, forcing her to beg him to resume his rapacious assault.

"It's getting hot in here," she observed.  "I'm really working up a sweat.  And my pussy is dripping from how marvelous you are, Rush.  I was hoping this would all happen, so I got something to cool us down."  She told me, "Yo, Hermie.  Go in the drawer on the bedside stand over here."

I did and found one of those handheld, battery operated fans.  Picking it up and turning it on, I aimed it at the overheated lovers.  My bride made me take two steps back and direct the stream of air just above their glistening bodies. 

"Now keep it like that, Dumbo," she told me.  "Show me that there's something you're good for in the bedroom."

Rush was alongside her while she rested up and held onto his still hard cock.  He brought his lips to her neck and kissed it, then began to nibble.  Suddenly she yelped and pushed her feet down against the mattress, lifting her bottom.  He was biting her neck.  When he pulled away there was a dark love bite there.  Then he went after her boobs, leaving tiny bruises on them as well.  Finally he grabbed her and rolled her over to do the same to the other side of her neck.  It obviously hurt her but she was reacting sexually as well, writhing with pleasure. 

"There you go," he congratulated himself.  "Now you're all marked as my property, bitch.  Something for Humming Fan Boy there to see for the next couple of days, every time he looks at his hot wife.  What do you think about that?"

Instead of being upset, she gazed at him with loving eyes.  "I want you to own me.  And use me.  Give me everything my lost-cause of a husband can't.  He doesn't have the equipment for it, and now he doesn't even have permission.  Do you, Hermie?"

"N... no, Chyna.  I... I... d... don't."

"HA!"  Rush was amused.  "I remember how he used to talk funny like that back in school, when I messed with him.  We got to keep him real screwed up in the head, so he does it all the time."

He appeared energized by my speech difficulties.  Rush mounted my wife again and gave her a vigorous pumping that resulted in two more climaxes, during the second one of which he allowed himself to let loose.  As he enjoyed a loud orgasm I could only stand as I was, my woefully small dick refusing to go soft, and keep the fan blowing where they wanted it.  At last he slumped down on her, their perspiring bodies pressed together, his dark skin in extreme contrast with her pale pinkness.  Then he got off her and lay close by her side.

After a few minutes he said, "We still got one more matter to take care of.  Like I always tell my crews at work, the job ain't finished until the clean-up gets done.  And that's what Squirmy Hermie has to do.  Clean up your pussy, Chyna.  Get rid of that cream filling I left you."

She asked, "You mean like he should go get a warm washcloth?"

"I mean like he should get his face between your smooth thighs and learn how to eat pussy, like he should have done way back when.  I can't be here all the time, babe.  When I'm not, it'll be Snowdrop's job to keep your puss clean for my visits.  And to give you a sweet finish whenever you're in the mood.  But when I'm here, he's always going to be on standby to lick up what I leave."

"You mean...?"  She went from astonished to amused.  "He actually has to... lap up... and eat... your cum?  From my puss?  That's perfect.  And he owes going down on me about a thousand times from all the nights he wouldn't do it."  She assumed a whiney voice as if she was me.  "But Chyna, I can't do that.  It's so icky."  My bride bent her forefinger and signaled for me to come to her.  Then she pointed at her oozing slit.  "Let's go, chump.  Get your mouth where it belongs and have a nice salty snack."

I gagged as I turned off the fan, set it on the nightstand, and got onto the foot of the bed.  This was not helping my upset stomach.  With my face only inches from where Rush's cock had just been, I poked out my tongue.  The smell of their mingled fluids filled my nostrils.  There was spunk all over her sex lips.  I started low and licked my way up, gathering a generous portion and taking it into my mouth, then forcing myself to swallow it.  They heard me gulp down the sickening serving and laughed.  Then Rush began to stroke her hair as I continued my odious task.  They murmured to each other while I sank to lower levels than I ever could have imagined, slurping up and consuming his cream, scooping it out of her with my tongue.  I even had to go after some that had run down between her ass cheeks. 

When I thought I was almost done, Chyna took a deep breath and exclaimed, "Oh wow.  He's getting me heated up.  Sad worthless Hermie is actually getting me turned on.  If he keeps doing that..."

Rush completed the thought for her, "You're going to finish again.  It won't be like with me.  More softer and not as deep.  But I think you'll like it for the change-of-pace.  And that you'll want him to stay down there and give you a bonus climax after every time we do the deed.  Clean-up and an extra orgasm combined.  Sounds like a good deal to me."

"And a good reminder for Hermie of what his role is now.  Chief pussy boy and cum eater."  She chuckled.  Then she was mounting toward another finale.

As Rush had predicted, it wasn't violent like the ones he had given her.  More subtle but quite satisfying, from what I could tell.  And one more reminder to me of how much less capable I was then her Black stud.  They didn't allow me to rinse my mouth or brush my teeth. 

"Poor Hermie looks sick," my wife said with feigned concern.  "Have you got a tummy ache, Honey Bear?"

The two of them shared our marital bed, while I curled up on the couch, under a thin sheet.  The next morning I was permitted to drink the can of flat warm ginger ale that was still in the kitchen.  I could see my new life stretching out ahead of me in an unending succession of insults, debasements, and acts of sexual submission.  I wasn't wrong.

THREE MONTHS LATER. 

"Yo, boy," Rush called from the bedroom  "How long it been since we let you finish one of your jerk-offs?"

I was naked, kneeling in the hall, stationed there all night in case they wanted me to fetch anything.  "It's been two weeks," I told him.

"And you been doing like we said?  Getting yourself right to the brink?  Pinching them girly nipples of yours?  Feeling like you're all ready too bust a nut... and then stopping?"

"Y... yes, S... S... Sir."

Chyna's voice reached me.  "Maybe Hermie Hamster deserves a reward.  He's been trying to be good.  You haven't had to spank him too often in the last few days."

"A reward?  Yeah.  There was something I was thinking about."

"You have such good ideas, Rush.  And I know Hermie appreciates how you help him remember his place in this house."

"Well, that's what friends are for."

"So what's your brilliant idea, baby?"

"It'd be easier to show you than to explain."  He hollered, "Get your white ass in her, Squirmy."

I entered the room, ashamed as always of my nudity and the smallness of my male parts.  They were in bed with the mugs of coffee I'd brought them earlier.  Chyna had left Rush's semen inside her overnight.  I'd had to kneel at the foot of the bed earlier while she moved down and draped her legs over to put her feet on the floor.  Then I'd eaten out all spunk that had been in her for hours, making myself nauseous and giving my wife an early morning climax.  The taste was still on my tongue.

"Get on your back on the floor," Rush barked at me.  Not that he needed to raise his voice.  I was well conditioned my then.  There had been lots of face slapping and ass whacking  previously, any time I hesitated to obey.  "Now pull your legs up and over, and get them so your knees are on either side of your head."  As I did that, feeing my back muscles stretch uncomfortably, they got up and stood over me.  "Okay.  We're feeling all benevolent, boy.  Going to let you have some dick-pulling time."

I was looking straight at my shriveled little penis and unemptied balls, which were sore. Chyna must have figured out where this was going, because she giggled.

My bride told me, "But we don't want your white sauce to get on the carpet.  So open your mouth, Spunk Dump.  Time for a breakfast treat."

I choked at the thought of what was inevitably coming.  In that awkward posture I got my fingers on my tiny dick and coaxed it to life.  Because I hadn't been permitted to finish for so long, it was soon on a hair trigger.  Even so, they made me take my time, stop and start, and play with my receptive nipples.  Eventually I was dripping clear stickiness onto my face and it was obvious from my rapid breathing that we couldn't delay much longer.  They squatted down for a better view.  I kept jerking, utterly humiliated by this new disgrace.

"Open wider," Chyna urged.

"Aim careful so you don't get none in your eyes or up your nose," Rush insisted.

Just as I grunted, signaling I was about to explode, he kicked me in the ribs, not hard, but enough to make me lose focus and angle my trajectory enough that the first shot hit my forehead.  The rest, unfortunately for me, went straight between my lips and landed on my waiting tongue.  It was disgusting.  I began to cry as my own slime rolled down my throat.  They made me scoop up the misfired mess from my brow and feed it to myself from my fingertips, before sucking them clean.  Only then was I allowed to get out of that difficult position, with numerous muscles protesting.  I would be sore at least for the rest of the day. 

"You know," Chyna said, "I had a kind of wild idea too, for a game we could play with Mr. Squiggle Dick.  It's called he-eats-Rush's-Black-ass-while-I-suck-Rush's-cock.  How about that?"

He paused for a moment while I fretted.  Surely he wouldn't want such a homoerotic contact as that. 

But then, as if reading my thoughts, he decided, "Me standing there, having Pussy Boy suck my ass wouldn't make me gay.  It'd just make him gay.  So okay.  But I wanted to take you out today, Chyna baby, to spend some more of Hermie boy's money.  So how about if he does his chores while we cruise around and hit the stores.  The wimp can  have all morning and afternoon to think about that super idea of yours, and how he's going to feel while he's on his knees behind me and you're on yours in the front."

"That's perfect, Rush.  You always know just the right way to do things."

"It's my specialty.  Keep everything running smooth.  Keep you happy in bed, girl.  And keep Pussy Face over there -- little-dick Twat Face -- Squirmy Hermie -- where he belongs."  The powerful Black man shrugged modestly.  "And I think I'm pretty good at it."

"You are, lover.  You're the best there is.  I'm getting what I need.  And my jerk-off husband is getting what he deserves."

I couldn't disagree.  I'm not allowed to.