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Your Black Bully! By THRONE
🕑 Added 2025-11-03 16:58:15 +0000 UTCYour Black Bully!
By THRONE
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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.
Your Black Bully!
By THRONE
YOUR BLACK BULLY by Throne
You can't believe this is happening. There you were, married to the girl of your dreams who had been your teenage sweetheart. She's a hot blond with tits out to there. Why is she with you? Okay, it's because of your money. You have so much family wealth that you don't even have to work. Your attraction certainly isn't for any bedroom performance. Not only is your penis laughably small, but it always shoots off too soon. She has found out that your nipples are hyper-sensitive, and she always teases them during foreplay, which makes your 'premature' problem get even worse. She wanted you to use your mouth on her pussy but just the mention of that made you sick to your stomach.
What's going on now is unthinkable. Your old bully from school has shown up. She found him online, got in touch, and they began going out for coffee. It was supposed to be just for old times' sake, but you suspect there was much more involved. His name is Deon and you have more than enough bad memories of him pushing you around and insulting you. The last thing you want is to ever see him again but she invited your old tormentor to come and visit, so you and he could 'reconnect'.
The night when he's supposed to show up arrives. You're hoping he won't come. Your wife is confident that he will. She has dressed for the occasion. It bothers you that her outfit consists of a crop top with no bra under it and a skirt that looks like it's from her old cheerleader outfit. She put her hair into two long tails,
one on either side of her head. The stiletto heels she chooses don't go with the rests of what she has on, unless she's trying to resemble a total slut. Maybe that is her intention, because she certainly doesn't stint on the make-up.
Deon shows up with a six-pack of wine coolers. Your wife hugs
him before he has a chance to set them down. Then she guides him to the kitchen, so the drinks can be put into the fridge to stay cold. You hear them out there, talking and laughing, which makes you feel excluded. Then they show up, each with an open bottle in hand. Your wife's cheeks are flushed. Why is that? She also has a drink for you. It's a plastic container of something milk-based and strawberry flavored. There's a cartoon character on the bottle. She says it's to help your delicate stomach. There's no denying the fact that, with Deon there, your tummy is upset. The tall muscular guy has on a tank top and athletic shorts, both of which show off his powerful limbs. His running shoes are one of those fancy brands that you consider to be overpriced, stupid and showy. The two of them plop down on the sofa, leaving you to take the easy chair opposite it.
Deon asks her, "Remember the time in the school lunchroom, when I made your husband eat a big bowlful of peas?"
"Yeah. Your Aunt Lawanda was on the serving staff and she got it for him. He hated the taste and texture of peas."
They laughed over that memory, while I sat and squirmed. From my vantage point, I couldn't avoid seeing that huge bulge in the crotch of Deon's shorts. Then he looked directly at me.
"Yo, Short Stuff," he said. "How'd a loser like you ever end up with a babe like her?"
"Well," I told him weakly, "we fell in love."
He got up and started toward me. "So then, you'd be willing to fight to keep her?"
"What are you saying?" I wanted to know.
My spouse broke in with, "He means you should stand up for me. If you don't want to be a total jerk, defend me."
I rose uncertainly. Deon said, "Best out of three falls, though I don't think you'll get past one, pipsqueak."
Why is your bride going along with this nonsense? You don't have time to think about that, because the Black guy lunges at you. When you try to retreat, your feet get tangled up and you fall back onto the chair. Your wife laughs wildly. Deon offers a helping hand. You foolishly accept it. He yanks hard, pulling you to your feet. All of sudden, he has you in a headlock. When he turns your bodies around, you're facing your wife. She looks amused by what
she's seeing. She also appears turned on by it. Holy Hannah, her nipples are hard under that thin top.
While you struggle impotently to break free, Deon pinches your nose and gives it a twist. That makes you yelp. Your eyes begin to burn. You know that feeling. Any second now, you're going to start crying. As much as you fight to prevent it, after he gives one of your ears a hard tweak, you lose control. Tears are streaming down your cheeks. Your wife points at you and giggles.
Deon askes her, "Remember what I did to him that one time after Phys-Ed class, in front of all the girls?"
"Jeez, yes. You pulled down his gym shorts. That was when he got the nickname Short Stuff, because his pecker is so tiny."
"How about if I do that now, so he won't forget who won this tussle?" When she agreed, he suggested, "Undo his belt for him and get his pants open."
This is so wrong. She comes over and gets down on one knee. You feel her hands messing with your belt and then the catch on your slacks and finally the zipper. With them opened like that, it's easy for him to use his free hand to pull them down. Your only consolation is that the shorts don't go with them. He releases you. There you stand, with your slacks around your ankles, your essentials cover by only a pair of pale blue jockeys. You look to your wife for help but she just shakes her head.
Instead of taking your side, she says, "Damn. You didn't even try to fight back. When I was with Deon the other day, for coffee — and whatever — he said you might be one of those guys who's kinky and wants to see their woman taken away from them. Now, I'm thinking he was right."
"What?" You are outraged. "No."
When you try to move closer to her, the lowered pants trip you. Now you're down on your knees before your gorgeous wife. Deon kicks you in the butt, right between your cheeks, and you flop onto your belly. He plants his foot on the small of your back, pinning you.
"Okay," he says to your wife. "What's my prize for winning the fight? How about you show me them big titties of yours?"
She chuckles. "Oh, I couldn't. Not with my dear hubby right there."
"Yeah," he says. "Right there on the floor, with me keeping him down."
"Well..." She draws out the word. You silently hope that she won't give in. Instead, she says, "I suppose I quick peek wouldn't hurt. After all, my guy did get beat in a big way. Like, as if he wanted it to happen."
Why do they keep putting forth that idea? You've never been that way. But she teasingly takes the bottom of her abbreviated top, smiles mischievously, and up it goes. Her big double-Ds pop out and give a bounce. OMG. They're so beautiful. Except she's showing them off for your bully. He steps off you but it's only so he can go to her.
"Damn," he exclaims. "I got to give them a squeeze."
Instead of saying no, she licks her lips and flutters her eyelashes, which are thick with mascara, as part of her new cheap image. He gets directly in front of her. You're at a slight angle, so you can see what's happening. From your worm's-eye POV, you watch his dark hands go to her bounteous boobs. He gives the promised squeezes. Then he rubs her nipples with his thumbs. She moans and closes her eyes. Deon rolls those pink points between thumbs and forefingers. He stretches them away from her glorious globes.
She sighs. "My wimpy husband never handled them like that. He just sucks and drools. So pathetic."
"Truth," he agrees. "Let's make his freaky fantasies come true. Give him the Failure Experience that he's secretly wanted all along."
"And that other stuff that you told me goes along with it."
Deon turns to you. He grabs the back of your hair, which you wear rather full. Holding on, he drags you to your feet. The pain in your scalp is terrible. He yells into your ear, telling you to lower your shorts. In fear of worse to come, you do as you're told. Then he tilts you back and lets go, so you fall solidly onto your butt. From that position it's easy for you to obey his next order, which is for you to remove your shoes, pants and shorts. Your bride watches avidly. Her eyes are lit up with lust. Instead of upsetting her, this is getting her so excited. Once you're naked from the waist down, there is something else he wants you to do.
He asks your Missus, "Is there anything to eat around here. Some snacks?"
"Sure," she tells him. "I have some cheese and crackers. Chips and dipping stuff."
He snarls at you and demands, "Go make us up a snack tray. It better be good, or I might have to shove some tortilla chips up your ass."
You reach for your discarded clothes but wifey tells you to leave them alone. You go to the kitchen with your genitals and rear exposed. Shame hangs over you like a dark cloud. The items she mentioned are all there. You discourage her from eating junk but she insists on having it in the house. As you slice cheese and arrange bowls of chips on a large tray, you try to sort out everything that's happening. At the last minute you decide to
include a bottle of super-hot sauce. A guy like Deon might prefer a spicy flavor. When you get back to them, they're making out like a couple of college kids. It is weirdly erotic. Your penis twitches. Is it possible that they are right about you having desires that were unknown even to you? They start in on the nibbles.
Deon says, "Run and fetch us some more drinks."
You scurry away, knowing that you're giving them a view of your bare rump. When you return, they resume alternating between eating and open-mouthed kissing. It disgusts you. Deon spots your reaction. He decides you need to be taught a lesson about being critical.
"Go on," he says. "Have some of that hot sauce. Put it on your hand and lick it up."
What? No. That stuff has a warning label on it. Nevertheless, you uncap it and put some in the palm of your hand. With both of them paying close attention. You stick out your tongue and lap it up. OW! That sauce sets your tongue on fire. It's your wife's turn and she wants you to pour some directly into your mouth. You want to refuse but the Black bully's threatening expression tells you not to dare it. You spill some into your mouth, choke and gag, but get it down. After several more helpings, it begins to give you stomach trouble. When you try to pick up your strawberry milk, now that you truly need it, your wife says to leave it alone.
"You always want to tell me what I can and can't eat," she reminds you. "How do you like having it the other way around?"
That's such an unfair accusation. I do tell her about her diet, but she always ignores me. Deon makes me take off my shirt. He commands me to rub hot sauce over the outside of my mouth. That leaves my lips burning. I cry fresh tears.
You cry like a little girl, which is how your wife describes it to the man who has replaced you in her affections. You stand there and snivel while they enjoy snacks and drinks. They lock lips. He paws her desirable knockers. Her nipples stay hard, letting you know she's ready to go further with him. When will this nightmare end? It won't be anytime soon, you come to understand, when he gets up to confront you again.
He declares, "That thing between your legs is a joke." Deon wants your wife to tell him, "How do you put up with it, girl?"
She doesn't hesitate before saying, "He's never made me cum with it, not even once. And he's too squeamish to use him mouth on my twat."
Those are two things you didn't need to hear, especially with what follows. Deon announces that, from now on, you will be available to eat your wife's pussy whenever she wants it. She decides that will be the main part of your sex life from then on, because you sure won't be sticking that tiny tiddle inside her, ever again.
"Damn right," Deon emphasizes. "Just for shits and giggles, let's see how big it gets when he plays with it."
"Can do," seconds your wife. She smirks at you and says, "Go on, dopey. Tug on your tiny tickler. Play with your nipples to get it hard."
There you are, naked and defeated, with the interior and exterior of your mouth feeling like they've had cigarettes stubbed out on them, while your wife gets intimate with your old bully. Too scared to do anything else, you grip your limp dick between thumb and pointer finger, get the same digits of your other hand onto a nipple, and start manipulating yourself. Despite your physical and emotional discomfort, you quickly get stiff. Or is because of those twin states?
The lady you married begins a tirade directed at your inadequate stick. "That thing is positively undernourished. It's like someone's been starving it since puberty. Nobody could ever satisfy any woman with a waste of skin and tissue like that. You could find bigger ones on newborn puppies."
Her words should have ruined my mood, yet I found myself wanting to keep going. It would be a relief to be allowed to finish. But that wasn't in their plans.
After five humiliating minutes, Deon told me, "Enough, sissy boy. Two people are going to get off tonight, and you're not one of them."
You reluctantly stop arousing yourself. At least you won't have to suffer the shame of masturbating to completion with an audience. Of course, that may come some other time. For the present, the three of you move into the bedroom. Your wife strips. She flaunts her body at Deon. He takes her in his long arms and pulls her against him. She rubs her crotch lewdly against his. Then he takes off everything except his boxers. She sits her pretty ass on the side of the bed and does it for him. Out springs his cock, a sight to be marveled at. It is not only long but thick, with a bulbous head. You goggle at it. Any lingering chance you thought you had of competing vanishes into thin air. She uses both hands to massage his rampant tool. Then she lays back, legs spread and arms extended. He climbs onboard, with the end of his weapon poised to enter her. You can almost feel the moist warmth of her nether lips. From now on you won't be touching them with your sad little prick, but only with your lips and tongue.
"Get ready for a hard ride, bitch," Deon says, as crude as he always was.
"Do it," she urges. "Pump me so hard it hurts."
He proceeds to do exactly that, with you right there. It's like it will never end. His potency and endurance are unbelievable. Your
wife has multiple orgasms like you never gave her. The Black sexpert boasts that he's going to give her one more climax that will be especially powerful. Her face is flushed and sheened with perspiration. He barks at you to move close enough that the fronts of your thighs touch the edge of the mattress. Next, he has her reach out and grab your scrotum. Are you going to be permitted to ejaculate? You desperately hope that will happen.
Unhappily for you, he instructs her, "When the big bang hits, let him feel it. Make a fist with the hand that's holding his nuggets. Be sure it's something he'll never forget."
Oh, no. She maintains her hold and gives a practice clench of her fingers. It's enough to make me wince. What will it be like if she closes her fist as tightly as she can, in a moment of orgasmic intensity? You tremble as Deon pushes all the way into her. Her grip tightens again. This is sheer testicle torment. You grimace each time it happens. Your wife keeps glancing up at your face, plainly thrilled by what she's seeing. As awful as your situation is and as much pain as you're in, you get fully erect once more.
Deon plows your wife. She climbs toward yet another eruption. When it happens. She goes into a full-body climax. The hand holding your family jewels tightens spasmodically. You squeal and nearly faint. There's a real chance that she could permanently damage you. The possibility that you might become a eunuch, now or during some later risky stunt, is drilled into your mind. You will never be able to keep that ugly consequence completely
out of your thoughts. Deon lets himself go all the way, spurting his load into your bride's sacred female parts. You sway, almost collapsing.
It is done. Your bully has destroyed the marriage you formerly treasured. Your wife has cuckolded you. She will cheat with her Black lover again and again. Can you descend any lower?
She purrs contently and then languidly tells you, "Jerk off, idiot. Squirt your load into your hand."
With no hope of asserting yourself, you do what she says. It doesn't take long before you have one of your too-soon finales. There is a small pool of warm cream in your hand.
"Go on," she coaxes. "Slurp it up. That's what your kind of pervert likes to be forced to do, though there isn't much force involved, since you've wanted crap like that to happen all along."
Nauseated, you obey. Your tongue takes a half dozen strokes, after each one of which you swallow. The taste is so unpleasant. Your future will include lots of this, or else being denied the right to gain relief. It will be a double-bind.
She says, "Good husband. Maybe next time I'll let you clean up my snatch after Deon fills it. Wouldn't that be just perfect for a twisted weirdo like you?"
I can't answer that question because I don't know what's true. Even so, I have a bad feeling that, even if I don't naturally crave to be used and abused, I will eventually be taught to be exactly like that, with the contrivance of both my cheating wife and the unrelenting bully who I had thought I would never have to meet again.
You ask for permission to go and relieve your bladder. They refuse to give it. Your body and its functions are no longer yours. Try not to think about what else is going to happen soon and for a long time to come.
*********
