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CUCKOLDED BULLIED WEAKLING by Throne (17 Pages)
🕑 Added 2020-08-07 22:27:52 +0000 UTCCUCKOLDED BULLIED WEAKLING by Throne
No, no, no. My wife Octavia had gotten in touch with the guy who used to bully me, back when I dated her in school. Now that we were married, the last thing I wanted was him in our lives. But she was always attracted to Ram, the big athletic Black student who was captain of the football team. She even confided to me once that she only dated me to make him jealous. If he hadn't already had the whole cheerleading squad hungering for him, he might have found time to take Octavia away from me. But she never became a cheerleader. With her huge bust and flaring hips, along with a round protruding bottom and thick thighs, she was the wrong physical type for the squad. So we ended up staying together and drifted into getting wed. I had put behind me the unpleasant memories of being given swirlies in the boys room, getting stuffed into my locker, and having him toss me out of the locker room naked while the corridor beyond was full of girls, who all got to see my below average penis and balls.
Now our five year reunion was approaching and she had gotten his contact info from the committee's webpage. Octavia had even invited him to stop by for a visit and, just my luck, the business he had started was going to bring him into our area soon. So she arranged for him to drop in one evening for drinks. I certainly didn't want her seeing him and I together, as I would suffer from the comparison. He's tall and broad-shouldered and muscular. I'm short and slim and soft. I held out some hope that he might have at least lost his muscle tone. It happens. Right? But then she mentioned that the business he was in was owning gyms, so that possibility went right out the window. Worse, he was going to be looking in our town for a possible location to open a new branch of his chain, which already had three prospering addresses.
The evening I dreaded arrived. Octavia laid out what she wanted me to wear. The shirt and slacks were okay, but not the final item. It was a sweater vest I'd had back in school, a gift from a maiden aunt, with a cat's face on the front. I'd agreed to wear it just once, to please my mother, which had resulted in endless teasing from half the school. Ram had spotted it and heaped special abuse on me, demanding that I mewl and lick the back of my hand, in imitation of a feline, while his adoring cheerleaders watched. After that I had acquired the nickname Kitten, which had more lives than a cat is supposed to. It didn't help that he made me wear my hated sweater every Friday. He was called Ram for his skill on the football field when it came to bursting through defensive lines and knocking down tackles, while I got mine from a critical fashion faux pas.
When I tried to eliminate the sweater from my wardrobe that afternoon at home, before Ram's arrival, Octavia just about had a fit. She accused me of trying to spoil the nostalgic mood she was striving for and made my attitude sound like a major crime. I quickly gave in, which was the usual for me. It was even easier for her to get her way that time because we hadn't had sex in a week and I was very eager to have her in a good temper that might facilitate my getting lucky. I knew our physical relationship wasn't the best for her. With my little dick, tendency to finish way too soon, and a focus on my own needs over hers, I wasn't the best partner she could have hoped for. And it bothered her how I always wanted to suckle endlessly on her fabulous tits. I mean, talk about double-handfuls and extra large nipples. Whew.
I heard someone pulling up out front and peeked through the fanlight on the front door. At my height I had to get up on my toes to do that. There was a sleek red car stopping at the curb. The driver's door opened and out came Ram, even bigger and more impressive than I remembered him. He had on a turtleneck and fitted slacks, along with a dark sport jacket. It looked like he had been dressed by a professional to look like he hadn't been dressed by a professional. But I remembered his perfect style choices back in school and knew his appearance had been achieved without assistance. I sighed and ran my fingers down the front of my unwanted sweater, wishing I could make it vanish.
As Ram came striding up our front walk with a gift bag in his hand, I heard Octavia behind me. When I turned around I got an unwelcome surprise. She too was wearing something from our school days. It was a sleeveless top and snug skirt, both calculated to show off her generous curves. And she didn't have a bra on under that top. There was no time to get her to change, or even to bring up the topic. A loud knock sounded on the door and she hurried to answer it. As she passed me I couldn't miss the way her heavy breasts did a slight bounce with each step. She opened the door and there stood Ram in all his masculine glory.
Sounding like a fan meeting her favorite superstar, she gushed, "Hi, Ram. I'm so glad you could come."
He grinned with enthusiasm and said, "My pleasure, Tavy. And you are looking better than ever."
She gestured him inside. I said uneasily, "Hey, Ram."
He was still smiling but his expression suggested amusement at seeing me. "Kitten. How's it hanging? Anybody give you a wedgie lately?" With his free hand he made a grab in my direction. It was just a feint but I stumbled backwards and nearly lost my balance. He turned to my wife and said, "That Kitten. He always had a great sense of humor. I hope you're giving him a saucer of milk every night."
She giggled girlishly and put her hand on his bicep area. Did she give it a squeeze or was I mistaken? He held the colorful bag out to her and she accepted it. When she glanced inside her face lit up.
"Champagne? How thoughtful." She looked up at him intently. Then she extended her arm toward me without looking in my direction, and said, "Put this in the fridge, would you -- Kitten?"
I took it and stalked out of the room. For a moment I considered shaking it up but then decided that would be petty. By the time I'd put it in the fridge and returned, the two of them were sitting close together on the sofa and having a quiet chat. She would never have worn that top without a bra back in senior year. I sat across from them, fuming silently. Ram was full of funny stories from his gyms and self-congratulatory comments about how well his enterprise was doing.
Without thinking it through I said, "You know, this whole emphasis on exercise is overblown. Why don't people spend more time exercising their minds?"
He smoothly came back with, "My first gym is in a college town and we have professors who work out with us. Healthy body, healthy mind. I've even taught some of them self-defense."
My wife piped up at me with, "That would be good for you, honey. Being a small guy and all."
Was she trying to irritate me? Maybe she was. I reacted by saying, "I doubt Ram could teach me anything."
"Let me try," he said in a friendly way, getting to his feet.
"Go on," Octavia encouraged.
I realized I'd made a misstep and was stuck having to agree with them or else make myself look foolish or churlish or whatever. So I got up and took a spot facing Ram, my eyes level with his wide chest.
Octavia said to him, "Let me help you out of that jacket, so it doesn't get mussed."
She put herself behind him and provided the unneeded extra set of hands, which he accepted gracefully. Once he was out of the jacket her eyes went wide as she ogled his sculpted body and how his pullover molded itself to his shape. She came around front and boldly put a hand on his washboard abs, running her fingers up and down suggestively. Ram simply accepted it and smiled. My emotional temperature was climbing.
As he assumed a fighting stance I mindlessly rushed at him. He caught my wrist and effortlessly spun me around, leaving me with an arm twisted up behind my back.
Ram brought his lips close to my ear and whispered, softly enough that Octavia wouldn't hear it, "Bad Kitty." He also didn't release the hold.
She said to him, "You did that so quickly."
He modestly told her, "It's just training. Let me show you how this hold works. Come on over."
Ram increased the pressure he was applying just enough to make me groan, then reduced it again. My wife didn't appear overly concerned about me. He let her see how he was holding me, then rapidly released my arm and, before I could react, had the same hold on the other side. The first arm hurt.
"Hey, I'm kind of..." I began but my wife shushed me.
She asked my old bully, "Does that take much effort from you?"
He told her, "No. In fact, if you feel the muscles in my arm you can tell that there's not a lot of tension in them."
Octavia began to examine his arm by touch, slowly and with great care. She licked her lips hungrily.
She wanted to know, "Are your muscles relaxed like that all over?"
"Sure. Check them."
Her hands glided across his ribs, explored his back, touched his pectorals, and returned to his six-pack. He maintained his grip on me the entire time. At the end he duplicated the added pressure he'd used before so that, when he let go, that arm was sore too. I turned face-to-face with him and raised one hand, meaning only to gesture before speaking. He acted like I was attacking and quickly put me in a headlock. Octavia brought her hands up to the sides of her pretty face, mouth open in a startled 'O'. Then she clapped and smiled, like a little girl who has been impressed by a magic trick. The movement made her boobs jiggle enticingly. I was sure Ram noticed. I had to wonder if she was aiming for him to do that.
"All right," I conceded. "Your fancy moves work. But like you say, it's only from training."
"I didn't say ONLY. Training is part of it. You have to have strength, too. Like right now, with my combination of training, know-how, and strength, I could do anything I want to you, Kitten."
"Fine. Now let me go."
As if he hadn't heard me, he went on, "I could walk you into the bathroom, stick your head in the toilet bowl, and give you a swirlie, just like in the good old days."
"Well, they weren't so good for me. Now if you'll just stop choking me..."
"Oh, I'm not choking you," the dark dynamo assured me. "If I was doing that it would feel more like THIS."
All at once I couldn't breath. There was uncomfortable pressure on my neck. He turned me so Octavia could see my face.
She told him admiringly, "You're so good at that. I'll bet women feel very safe with you."
"They feel safe from anyone bothering them," he said. "But maybe not so safe from me."
Octavia slapped him playfully on the shoulder. She asked, "Could you really lead Kitten around like that? And do what you said to him?"
"Easily. Let me show you."
At that point I definitely wanted him to stop, and would even have been willing to abase myself a bit to make him do it, but he was regulating me with that choke hold. I couldn't speak. He asked where the bathroom was and she told him. Ram began moving, forcing me to go along with him. To my horror he started telling my wife about tossing me out of the locker room, sounding like it was a harmless prank.
"I heard about that from the other girls," she revealed, which I hadn't known. "That was when I first heard about how Davey is built down there. You know, being on the small side."
"Right. We had fun ribbing him about it in the showers after gym class."
We went into the bathroom. He eased himself down and I had no choice but to go with him. My head was directly over the toilet. He asked my wife to raise the lid. She did it happily, as if he was giving some fascinating demonstration of a scientific principle. ("Now watch what happens when I pour in the baking soda, kids.") Except that what he was doing was coming very close to dunking my head into that cold water and flushing the bowl, making it swirl around my face and leaving me sputtering and gasping for breath. Slowly he inched my forehead below the rim, further and further. Ram didn't stop until the tip of my nose was almost touching the surface, so close that I could feel the coolness.
"And that's how I would do it," he concluded. "And Kitten was always in on the gag."
What? No I wasn't. I hated those humiliating incidents. Just then Ram released me but, as he stood, accidently-on-purpose lost his balance, grabbed the lid for support, and brought it down hard to push my features into the water, which got in my eyes and went up my nose. I came out spitting and shaking my head. The front of my hair was soaked.
Acting casual, he said, "Oops. Sorry, Kitten."
I straightened up and took a wild swing at him. He faded back, so that it missed making a full impact, but let it graze his jaw. My wife yelped as if it was her who'd been struck.
She snapped, "Davey, what did you do?" And then it was, "Ram, are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"You owe my husband one," she told her guest. "And it's okay with me if you pay him back."
Ram's big hand closed on the back of my neck, tightly enough to hurt me. In spite of myself, I squealed like a little girl. My wife made a disgusted noise. She had turned against me. My tormenter forced me back down and pushed my face into the water as far as it would go, held it there for several seconds, and then the water rushed around me. I was getting a swirlie, my first since school, but still administered by the same brute. He pulled my head up and I blinked water out of my eyes.
"Do it again," Octavia insisted.
"Okay, Tavy," he agreed, sounding as if he was surrendering to her will even though he himself didn't want to do it.
His grip switched from my neck to the back of my hair, tightly enough that it was like he was trying to pull the strands out by their roots. He submerged my face again, so deeply that he was rubbing my cheeks against porcelain. I got dipped three more times, the last one, after the tank had been given time to refill, accompanied by another flush. He left me on my knees, gagging.
Octavia asked with sadistic curiosity, "What else did you used to do to Kitten?"
"There were a lot of wedgies."
"Show me one of those," she urged.
"If you insist, gorgeous," answered the handsome Black man.
He got his fingers under the waist of my slacks in back, grabbed the top of my jockey shorts, and pulled up with all of his considerable strength. It was enough to lift me off my knees, at the same time dragging the rear of my underwear up between my buttocks, also making the crotch compress my balls. In panic as much as pain, I hollered and began to thrash around.
Octavia yelled, "Don't let him hurt you, Ram," as if I could do that with my two sore arms, while half choked and half drowned.
He took hold of the back of my neck again, while still tugging my shorts just as hard, so that I was forced to try to stand and bend forward simultaneously. He walked me back through the house that way, to the kitchen, letting me go in front of the table, where I collapsed, and kicking me under it with a few abrupt sharp blows.
"Now stay there," the powerful man ordered, his voice level but threatening. "Understood?"
My hands were planted on the floor, my head hung down. I was scared witless. I whimpered and said, "Yes, Ram. I won't give you any trouble."
He said, "We could have avoided all that, if you hadn't started acting wild. You were always provoking me in school and you're still doing it. Your sexy wife deserves better."
He sat on one of the chairs. She took the one next to him. Her hand went to his muscular thigh and stayed there. As I watched, goggle-eyed, her fingers moved higher, to the obvious bulge of his cock. She massaged it lightly.
"You're right, Ram," she agreed. "I do deserve better. Which I've known since school. And you are definitely better."
While I watched in shock, she undid his belt and opened the catch on his slacks. Then she lowered his fly. Her hand went into the front of his boxer shorts and she worked free his cock, which was as massive as I remembered it from the locker room.
He told her, "One time when Kitten got rambunctious, I had to make him hold that while I took a piss."
She chortled, which was not a pleasant sound to my ears. "I'd like to see you do that again."
"Maybe later, after you and I kill that bottle of champagne."
"I might get a little tipsy from drinking and do something naughty."
"You're off to a good start even without drinking," he said as she pumped his tool to full life.
I'd never seen it erect, of course, and the sight filled me with pangs of inadequacy. She edged her chair closer. Octavia's face came down and into my line of sight. She looked straight at me and sneered. Then she capped the thick head of his cock with her pretty mouth and began sucking in earnest. I stayed where I was, outclassed by him and rejected by her. She descended on his pole, angling her head slightly, so that she was able to take the entire thick length. Octavia had never so much as kissed my penis. To my amazement she gave him an expert blowjob, one that would have made a whore blush. Every time she took her mouth off him for a few seconds, to take a breath, she would add some insult directed at me.
"Kitten's dick is so tiny that if I did this to him I'd be afraid of getting it caught between my teeth."
"My useless husband finishes so quickly that he's done practically before he gets started."
"With that loser under the table, I can't even tell when he's in me."
At some point she began to concentrate on bringing him off. Her fingers wrapped around the base of his shaft, at least as far as they would reach, and she tightened and relaxed them rhythmically, at the same time paying special attention to the knob in her mouth. He began to groan and then blasted his load. She took it all but didn't swallow. Instead, she grabbed the front of my wet sweater, made me come closer, used her other hand to clench my lower face and drove her fingers into the hinges of my jaw. When I opened my mouth wide she got her lips as close to it as she could. By then Ram was leaning way over to peer under the table. He got to see my bride spit a big gob of his spunk into my mouth.
When she barked at me, "SWALLOW!", I did it, much to my lasting shame.
After that, Ram opened the bottle and they drained it. She did get tipsy but I knew by then that what happened next would have occurred even if she had remained sober. Octavia decided that he didn't need to spend the night in some drab motel. He could remain in our home. In fact, she said with devilish glee, I could sleep in the guest room and he could share her bed. That's what they did and I had to listen to their spirited lovemaking through the wall. I couldn't stop picturing his large dark hands on her big creamy breasts. She hadn't permitted me to rinse my mouth or brush my teeth, so I spent the night with the repugnant taste of Ram's cum on my tongue.
In the morning he declared that, since I was no longer allowed to have intercourse with my wife, I would have to start pleasuring her with my mouth. He supervised my first session of pussy eating, which unfortunately was flavored by his semen from the night before. There were two loads of it, she cheerfully informed me. I had been cuckolded and sentenced to celibacy, as well as sexual servitude.
It's been six months since then. Ram found a location for a new gym near us and opened it, to rousing success. Octavia is a member. I work there part time, cleaning up, the only weakling in the place. When no one is around, Ram and Octavia like to make me bury my face in sweaty used towels. If I find any discarded jockey straps or panties in the trash, I have to take them home and sleep with them on my pillow.
And her Black Adonis has moved in with us. I'm in the guest room permanently. Sometimes when he has to be out of town to deal with one of his other gyms, I'm allowed into my wife's bed, but only to serve her with my mouth. If I do a good enough job, she sometimes permits me to jerk off into a pair of her worn panties. But then I have to lick them clean.
It's not an easy life, being a bullied cuckolded victim, but it's my life.
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