Assuming My New Position! by Throne (29 Pages)

Assuming My New Position!

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. 

ASSUMING MY NEW POSITION

by Throne

When I lost my job due to poor performance, my wife Margo was forced to go to work.  She had a lot of experience with secretarial skills and had filled some lower level management positions, including one for her uncle's building company.  He had sold his business the year before but she got herself into the construction company that had taken over, and they liked her resume well enough to start her fairly high up, coordinating their crews, making sure they had the supplies they needed, and even checking up at building sites.  Her uncle had been gender-blind when it came to her, so she had already had experience on visiting projects in progress.   I was impressed, even more so when she revealed that, if everything went well, she would soon be earning as much as I had, with the possibility of bonuses for any new contracts she brought in.  Still, the picture wasn't all rosy.

"You know, Chris," she said, standing over me as I lounged in my usual place on the couch, "I wouldn't have had to get this job if you hadn't gotten yourself fired.  Or if you had immediately gone out to find something new."

"But Honey," I said with a trace of a whine, "you don't understand.  I have to take some time and research possible openings."

"Which I guess you're doing by watching Sponge Butt No-Pants or whatever that cartoon is called."

"I'm just relaxing.  Don't you want me to be in the right frame of mind when I start getting interviews?"

"I'd like you to just get a few of those.  The right mindset will follow."

"Well," I told her, "now that you have your little job, there's not a big rush."

She stood there glaring at me.  Even when she's visibly angry, like she was at that moment, Margo is a sexy woman.  How could she not be, with her sweet face, long blond hair, trim figure, and a stupendous bust that's way too large to go with the rest of her body, but in a good way.  I figured she'd get over her bad mood and I could continue enjoying my unexpected vacation and collecting unemployment benefits.  Maybe by bedtime she'd even be feeling forgiving for how she'd talked down to me, and I might get some nookie.  Sex with her was always a thrill, especially because I was so in love with her fantastic chest.  It didn't even bother her that I'm short and have let my physique get soft, or she could have said so.  My penis isn't exactly huge.  In fact, it was sort of a joke back in high school, in the locker room.  But as I've told her over and over, size doesn't matter.  If she didn't have orgasms, that was just the way she was built. 

Her first week in the new position went well.  She had no complaints and, as the days passed, showed every sign of settling into it smoothly.  In fact, her dissatisfaction with me was replaced by nothing but good words for her work.  She was especially fond of the people in the office, and even the crews she had begun going out to visit.  I figured I was in for an extended free ride but then everything changed.  Margo came home to find me in my accustomed location, enjoying one of those reality shows where people go to court to settle their problems.  She waited until it was over and returned with a glass of white wine in her hand.  She had on a low-cut blouse and well-fitted slacks, the pants a good choice when she had been out checking up on one of the ongoing jobs that afternoon. 

Margo took a sip of her wine and peered down at me.  She announced, "I have some good news for you, dearest."

"Great.  What is it, Honey?"  I was hoping that she'd already scored a bonus.

"You're going to work for the company." 

Her words landed like a bombshell.  "Wait a minute.  What kind of position is it?  I have a very special skill set, you know."

"That's true, Chris.  I told my boss, Mr. Long, all about you.  He says he has the perfect spot to put you in."

I squirmed uneasily.  "Maybe I should talk to him first."

"Not necessary," she assured me.  "I explained how talented you are and he jumped at the chance to hire you."

"Well... okay." 

At least I would be back in an office with a breakroom that hopefully had a good selection of snacks, a few vending machines, and a fridge where I could keep sodas cold after I opened them.  Presumably I would be pushing numbers around like at my previous employment.  Fine.  I could do that with my eyes closed.  In fact, my last boss had joked that I had done exactly that.  What a kidder.  And then he let me go.

I got into my usual dress shirt and slacks, taking a jacket and tie in case they bothered to have a dress code.  Margo already had a parking spot in a high-rise garage adjoining the building where the office was, and the cost of me paying for my own space was an unnecessary expense, so I rode in with her.  I had my own snacks and two cans of soda, just in case the place was understocked. 

As we walked in I got my first shock.  Nearly everyone working there was Black.  There was a hot blond at the reception desk and a mousy little white guy peering from one of the back cubicles.  Every other face, male and female, was dark.  It made me very uneasy.  I've always felt intimidated by Black people.  Well, at least the women were young and attractive.  I consoled myself with that.  Several of the other employees greeted my wife cheerily by her first name. 

Then I got my second jolt.  From the corner office strode a tall Black man with a powerful build, who exuded confidence.  He had short hair and a full mustache, plus a patch of whiskers under his lower lip.  The name on his door was Rodney Long.  He went straight up to Margo. 

"Here's my best girl," he said with a toothy grin.  Then he eyed me with amused disdain.  "And this must be the man in your life."

"That's him, Rod," she said with a smirk, sidling closer to Mr. Long. 

"Well," he declared, "you and I have to go check that renovation job in Marlin, so we can drive him there.  I'm sure somebody in the crew will take him home."

"There must be some misunderstanding," I objected.  "Why would you be sending me to a work site?"

"To work," Long said, even less friendly now.  "And you'll only get paid for the hours you're there, since you'll be arriving late.  After this I think we can arrange for one of my men to pick you up in the morning.  Of course, you'll want to give him money for gas and tolls.  But you can work all that out."

I was so flustered that I couldn't speak for a moment.  When I pointed out that I wasn't dressed to perform labor, Long said they would have something for me to put on when I got there.  Then he summoned Margo into his office, where they spent about five minutes behind the closed door before reappearing.  In a daze I followed them across a skybridge into the parking garage, where we all got into his impressive company car.  They sat in the front while I was relegated to the back seat.  I sat there thinking about how I didn't want to go to the Marlin section of the city, which was a series of Black neighborhoods.  As we entered that area my discomfort grew.  I clutched my zipper bag of snacks and drinks against my chest, wishing I could think of something else to say. 

Soon we pulled up in front of an old townhouse that was being converted into apartments.  There was a truck from Long's company parked out front and a dumpster on the sidewalk.  We entered and went up a flight of stairs, my wife's bottom swaying invitingly in her snug slacks.  I got the impression that her boss was looking at it along with me.  When we reached the area where walls were being torn out, two workmen were busily at that task.  Long addressed them as Trace and Dog.  The former was tall and wiry, the latter short and built like a bulldog.  From the way they handled sledgehammers it was obvious they were strong.  There were piles of debris all over the place.  One window had a wide canvas sleeve attached to its outside, which I knew led down to the dumpster on the street. 

Long took out a cigar and lit it.  He puffed as he watched them work.  Then he called for a halt. 

"Looks good," he told them.  Gesturing toward me he said, "This here is Chrissy. He's going to be your new helper.  Whatever you need him to do, he's your boy."

"Whatever?" Trace wanted to know.

"Like anything?" Dog asked.

"For sure," Long told them.  "You tell him and he'll jump to get it done.  He's learning on the job, so you be sure to teach him."

"Oh, we'll teach Chrissy all sorts of skills," Trace said with assurance.

I didn't like the sound of any of that.  Even less welcome was when Long suggested a place to stop for lunch to Margo.  She agreed readily, calling him Rod.  Then she turned to the two Black workers.

"My Chrissy brought some snacks and sodas for you," she mentioned.  "Help yourselves."

"And the new boy needs something proper to wear," Mr. Long added, "like I told you yesterday."

"We grabbed him overalls," Trace said.  He went to the corner and picked up a dirty one-piece coverall. 

As he handed it to me, Dog came close and said, "Just get out of your fancy duds... friend."

Unhappy with the situation, I nevertheless began to disrobe.  Dog stayed where he was, keeping a close watch on me until I was down to only my jockey shorts.  His eyes went to my crotch, where there was only a small bump.  I got into the overalls.  My wife said she'd take care of my clothes and I reluctantly handed them to her.  When I said I would hold onto my wallet and keys she countered that she didn't want me losing them.  I silently accepted her decision.  With that she and Mr. Long left.  The scent of his cigar hung in the air.  I was abandoned, with only shorts on under my work garment. 

Trace unzipped my bag so he and Dog could help themselves to everything it contained.  I stood there numbly while they enjoyed the treats I had been looking forward to.  After they were done, they went to sit on some old chairs that had been left in the room.

"Take that box," Trace told me, pointing at a wooden crate with handholds cut into it.  "Gather up the trash and dump it down the chute.  Right?"

He spoke with enough authority that I automatically answered, "Yes, Sir."

Dog added, "There's gloves in your pockets, Chrissy."

From the deep pockets I took a pair of gloves and slipped them on.  I wished they wouldn't call me Chrissy.   And that I wasn't there at all.  Why couldn't I be back in the office?  Or better yet, at home on the comfy couch?  I got down on my knees to throw trash into the square box with my protected hands.  When it was full I got up, carried it to the window, and dumped the contents down to the dumpster at the bottom.  It was already half full of old lumber and other waste materials.  As I repeated my task over and over I sweated and strained.  My stamina was very limited.  And the two workers were energetically making more for me to collect and discard.  At some point my hands rebelled and the crate slipped from my fingers.  Unfortunately it was while I was emptying it.  The entire box tumbled down the shaft and into the dumpster.

I went to Trace and said, while still trying to catch my breath, "Do you have another one of those crates?  I dropped that one down the tube."

"No, boy," he said indignantly.  "We don't keep a pile of them around for clumsy jerks like you who lose the one you were given.  Now you got to go downstairs, get your ass into the dumpster, and fetch it back."

"But I can't...  I'm already worn out and..."

Their unsympathetic stares told me I wasn't going to get any help from them.  Feeing disconsolate, I trudged down the steps and out onto the street.  Immediately I found myself with locals staring at me, their expressions a mix of puzzlement and disapproval.  I smiled sheepishly and hurried over to the dumpster.  There was a series of short rungs welded to the side of the container.  I climbed up that too small ladder and hung over the top.  The crate was below the exit of the sheath, atop broken lengths of wood, I think what they call two-by-fours, along with pieces of molding, broken plaster, and who knew what else.  I hauled myself up and got one leg over the edge.  When I settled my weight it pressed down on my balls and I yelped.  I sat there with one leg on either side, precariously balanced, facing the necessity to get down into the dumpster itself.  Several passersby commented, using terms like 'fool', 'white boy' and 'fool white boy'.  I eased my other leg over, lost my balance, and fell gracelessly onto a heap of trash, landing on my back.  With the wind knocked out of me, I had to lay there trying to catch my breath.  Trace and Dog leaned out of two windows, on either side of the shaft.

They tossed irregularly shaped hunks of plaster at me.  Their aim was good.  I dodged as best as I could, working my way over the uneven pile.  At last I reached the crate, which put me directly under the tube.  That was when a collection of plaster bits came clattering down and landed on me, sending up a cloud of white powder.  I blinked and gasped as I rolled out from under the opening.  At last I had the crate and returned to my entry point.  There were no steps on the inside, only a ledge partway up.  With much difficulty I got myself onto it, the crate between my body and the wall, fingers clinging to the top of the dumpster.  I dragged myself up, somehow was able to get the crate balanced on the top, and pulled myself over.  After I made my unsteady way down the steps and stood on the street, my prize at my feet, an old man stopped to stare at me.

He said, "You pretty stupid.  There's a door down the end."

I looked and saw he was right.  I hadn't been able to see it from my position while I was outside, and missed it once I was in because it was the same color as the interior wall.  He laughed at me as I went back into the building.  At the top of the steps I thought I would faint.  But I got back into the work area and returned to my unpleasant job.  Trace and Dog had a good laugh at the fact that my face was now chalky white from the plaster powder.  After several more hours, with no food and only the dregs of two water bottles that those guys gave me after they were done with them, I was exhausted.  All I wanted was to get home. 

"Hey," I said weakly.  "They told me you would drop me at my house."

"Sure.   No problem, buddy."

"You on the team now.  We'll take care of  you."

"Thanks."

"But first you got to pay."

"What?  I can't.  My wife has my wallet."

"Too damn bad," Trace declared.  "How bout you pay by..."  He rubbed his long chin.  "... showing us what's under them coveralls."

"What?  I can't do that."

"Okay.  Have fun getting to where you're going.  Be careful who you run into on the street."

"And stay out of dark alleys." 

"I...   All right."  I lowered the zipper halfway down my chest and spread the halves of the coveralls.  "Okay."

"That's a good start.  Let's see some more."

As I exposed myself further, Dog exclaimed, "Check out the tighty-whiteys."

Trace added, "And let's check what's under them.  Come on, Chrissy."

I lowered the zipper the rest of the way and, blushing furiously, got my fingers under the elastic waistband to pull down my shorts.  When I bared my genitals the guys broke up laughing. 

"Oh man, that's too funny."

"Too small is what it is.  You really married to that fine woman who went to lunch with the boss?"

"If that all you got, she might just get interested in Rod."

As I stood there in that shameful state, those last words hit me hard.  Margo and Mr. Long?  In some sort of intimate relationship?  It couldn't happen.  But she had been coming home very happy.  The thought of her cheating made me go all cold inside.  Trace told me to cover up.  Dog said I could ride in the back of their truck.  That turned out to be between lots of equipment, on a hard dirty floor.  I gave them my address and Dog put it in his phone so he could use GPS to guide them.  After a bumpy ride we finally stopped and I was allowed out.  Mr. Long's car was parked at the curb.  I staggered to the front door but it was locked.  And I didn't have my keys.  The truck pulled away and Trace beeped the horn as they went down the street.  I rang the doorbell but there was no answer.  More tired than ever, I went to the back door and knocked lightly.  

That was when I heard voices from an open window.  Margo said something and Long answered.  She laughed and then there was a pause.  What was going on?  OMG.  After what Trace and Dog had implied, I went into a panic.  Mr. Long could be molesting my wife right at that minute.  I pounded on the back door, losing control of my emotions and beginning to cry.  He might have her halfway undressed, her hair and make-up mussed.  Perhaps she had changed her mind about whatever she was considering doing with him and he wouldn't let her stop.  I slumped down onto my knees, my fist still banging the door but ever more weakly.

I pleaded, "Margo, please let me in." 

The door opened abruptly and I fell forward onto my face.  My wife was standing over me.  I looked up.  Her hair and make-up were fine.  The blouse she wore was still buttoned up over her tremendous bust.  Her slacks were in perfect order and her shoes were on her feet.  I got up onto my knees but could go no further.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Chrissy?" she wanted to know.

"But I thought...  I mean from what I could hear...  And what the Dog said..."

"A dog said something to you?"

Mr. Long appeared behind her, looking benignly concerned.  "I think he means something my employee, who goes by the name Dog, must have said.  Is that what you're babbling about, boy?"

"I thought you had my wife in bed.  I thought Margo was letting you use her.  I could see your hands on her tits."

They glanced toward each other with concern, which I realized was for me, because of the way I was ranting.  As I went on, my voice slowly faded.  "I was sure you two were having sex.  And Margo was... going along with it... because..."

I realized how foolish I must sound.  My wife's pretty face was slowly made over by growing anger.

She sneered at me and accused, "You thought I hit the sheets with my boss, just like that?  That I had no consideration for our marriage vows?  That I'm some sort of tramp?"

Without thinking I said, "Yes, sort of."

"That's the most insulting thing you could have said.  All of it."

In a level voice Mr. Long explained, "We were just reviewing some work issues and sharing a few jokes.  Mostly we were waiting for you to get home so both of us could make sure you were okay.  But if you think I would take advantage of your lovely wife, well, I might have to reconsider your employment status."

Margo was livid.  She snarled at me, "You total idiot.  I can't believe how stupid you are.  Thinking of us that way.  I guess it's because you're so insecure, with your squishy body and puny dick.  You must feel terribly threatened by a big, strong successful man like Rod."

"I just meant..."   What did I mean?  I blurted out, "I was sure you had invited him to our home to so you could get screwed."

I shouldn't have said that.  Or what preceded it.  My emotions were at last settling down but the damage was done. 

She told me angrily, "Well, if you believe I'm that way, then it doesn't matter if I am or not.  You'll think the worst either way.  So I guess maybe I will go to bed with Rod."  She put her arms around his bicep and hugged it.  "Then you'll really have a reason to worry about how your miniature pecker can't satisfy me."

"I'm sorry.  Can't we just forget all his and..."

"We cannot forget any of it.  And you won't be able to forget it after to see me being taken care of properly by Rod."  She looked up at him.  "I mean, if he's interested in me."

"You know," he said, measuring his words, "normally I wouldn't go to bed with a married woman.  But after the way Chrissy dissed you -- and me -- and now that I'm hearing what a dud he is in bed, well, I guess it would be okay for us to do it, this one time.  You certainly deserve better than you've been getting, pretty lady."

My wife closed her eyes and parted her lips.  Long brought his mouth down to hers and they shared a long kiss. I knew their tongues were sliding all over each other, probing and being sucked.  When they parted she gasped.

Margo said, "I've never been kissed like that.  If you're that good at the basics, I can only imagine how fantastic you are when it comes to the main act." Her hand went down to stroke his crotch.  I saw the a distinctive cock-shaped bulge, so long and thick that I couldn't believe it.  His equipment put mine to shame.  When she felt it, Margo let out  long breath.  She asked rhetorically, "Is that a supersize sausage in your pants or are you just glad to see me?"

He told her, "To see you, feel you, and give you the ride of your life.  How about we head to the bedroom and do the deed?"

"That'd be dreamy," she assured him.  To me she said, "Get out of that dirty thing you're wearing.  In fact, strip naked.  Let Rod see that he'll never have any competition from a wimp like you."

I shuddered but was so defeated by then that I undressed without complaint.  I'd had my good shoes on while working and they were damaged, probably ruined.  I got down to just my jockey shorts and realized how smelly I was.  Mr. Long fastened his eyes on the spot between legs, waiting to see the smaller than average member he'd just heard about.  My lips quivered as I uncovered my mortifyingly small endowment.

"Whoa," the imposing Black man marveled.  "That's smaller than small.  Like a kid-size thumb where a grown-up cock ought to be."  He craned his neck and squinted.  "That thing should be in a sideshow, it's so freaking tiny."

Margo laughed.  "And I've had to put up with his poor excuse for a prick for way too long.  But not any more.  After this, his munchkin manhood won't be allowed anywhere near my pussy."

"HA!"  Long put an arm around my wife to pull her against him.  "At least he can still eat your pussy for you."

"Oh, my sex expert doesn't do that.  It's too unmanly for him."

"Well, he won't be feeling very manly after he sees us in action.  So from now on he has to use his mouth on you, wherever and however you say, for as long as you want it.  I'm sure that with some practice he'll get good at going downtown."  He held me with his eyes.  "Isn't that right, Creampuff?"

"I..."  The remains of my resolve melted away.  "Yes, Sir."

"See," my boss affirmed, "he's capable of learning.  There's hope for the boy yet.  And the best thing for him, so he won't keep thinking this will all pass, is for him to see us get down and dirty.  So let's do it, to show him we care about helping him handle his new position in life.  Let's screw our brains out -- for Creampuff over there."

I stood where I was, naked, my immature organ limp and ineffectual.  They slowly undressed each other.  Mr. Long paid special attention to my wife's overgrown boobs, and she did the same for his massive cock.  It rapidly expanded to its full size and all I could do was goggle at it.  She had her hands all over his shaft.  Then she angled it so it was pointing upward, and pressed it between their bodies, rubbing herself against it as if she was writhing in some primitive ritual.  He ground himself against her.  With my lack of self-control that would have been enough to make me cum.  But he kept himself in check easily.  Next the big man scooped her up in his powerful arms.  His muscles bulged.  He supported her easily as they kissed again.  Then he laid her on the bed and gently took her nearside leg to move it away from the other, so that her thighs were well parted to accommodate him.  He knelt in the 'V' of her lower limbs and got the end of his enviable tool against her moist pussy lips.  I whimpered.  Though I tried not to be loud, they heard and smiled at me.  With both of them still looking my way, Mr. Long unhurriedly penetrated Margo, all the way up to his heavy balls.  Then he set up a steady unrushed rhythm, making her moan and writhe beneath him.  He sucked her nipples and she said that was something I'd never do again. 

It went on for nearly an hour.  They tried different positions.  He altered his tempo and the depth of his thrusts to maximize her pleasure.  She had two quaking orgasms while my self-esteem dropped to new depths.  At last he gave her a third climax, during which he allowed himself to blast out his load, both of them vocalizing as they clung together in shared ecstasy.  That was followed by a long afterglow before he withdrew from her. 

He looked me up and down and said, "Okay, boy.  Time for your first lesson in pussy licking.  Get to eating."

The mere thought of using my mouth on her there sickened me.  Having his cream oozing from her body made it ten times worse.  But I was utterly cowed by his presence.  I got into position and began lapping, gathering up and -- to my disgust -- consuming his thick salty spunk.  He kept me at it while they kissed and his large Black hands kneaded her incredible, pale pink breasts.  I was down there so long that, after a few helpful hints from my bride, I was able to give her a minor follow-up orgasm.   She told him it  was a treat to be mouthed to completion right after being loaded with his 'filling', and that she would make me do it every time they went to bed together."

Mr. Long joked, "He might even learn to like the taste."

His jacket was on a chair by the bed.  He reached into the inner pocket for a cigar and lighter, lit up, and blew smoke toward me while my wife cuddled happily against him, one hand possessively on his flaccid but still sizable cock.

The next morning I was still in a daze from everything that had happened, and sore from sleeping on the floor while the lovers occupied our marital bed.  The thought of never having sex with my attractive wife, never putting my hands on her stunning bust, played repeatedly in my mind.  I had to get into the same unwashed overalls from the day before but wasn't allowed to wear anything under them.  Margo made me put on my good running shoes, which I had never run in.  I guess she did that because she wanted those ruined too.  Trace and Dog let me sit in the front of the truck, between them.  They kept joking back and forth, all of their jibes at my expense.  More than once they slapped me on my legs, even letting their hands linger there and paw my soft flesh.  It all made me extremely uneasy. 

When we got to the job and went upstairs, we moved to another space, a bedroom.  It hadn't been touched and still had its furnishings.  They escorted me to the bed, flashing secret smiles my way, as if there was some joke I was supposed to be privy to. 

Trace said, "Rod told us to treat you better today."

Dog told me, "He said about what happened last night, how he took your wife away from you.  Guess we was right about that."

His partner picked it up again with, "But the boss didn't want you to have to go without no sex at all, so he suggested maybe we could help out."

I held onto the edge of the mattress, not believing what I was hearing.  But then they sat themselves on either side, pinning me in.  Now when their hands went to my legs, it was to openly fondle them.  Trace lowered the zipper on my coveralls.  When I reached for his hand, Dog slapped my arm away.  Soon they had me out of my single piece of clothing, stark naked in front of them.  Both Black men stood there and touched me wherever they pleased.  Dog was fond of my bottom and Trace kept running his fingertips over my face.  The taller man then toyed with my nipples.  That triggered an immediate sexual response and my little dick erected.  They laughed at it and flicked it with their fingers, also rolling my balls around in their palms.  Trace tickled my ears.  Dog lightly stroked the tight pucker between my buttocks with his thumb.  Trace put one thick finger into my mouth and made me fellate it.

"Now you know where all this is going," he pointed out.  "It can be easy and you might even get some kicks from it.  I mean that pinky pecker of yours sure isn't going down, so you must like this at least some.  Guess you're one of those white boys who wants Black cock and just don't know it.  Once you get a good look at one, even if it's going in and out of your wife, you get the hunger.  I'm thinking you're just a sissy for what we got, wanting some big men like me and Dog to fill you up, front and back.  If you don't want it to be easy -- like maybe you get off on being treated rough -- we can go that way too.  Lots of face slapping, maybe spank your lily white ass and turn it fire engine red, pinch them boy-tits and twist them hard to make you cry like a girl.  It's up to you."  He patted the side of my face.  "So what's it going to be -- Creampuff?"

"I... I..."  This was a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from.  I cravenly surrendered to avoid being hurt.  "I'll do whatever you want, Trace.  And you, Dog."

"Then you better get into a sissy's favorite spot."  When I didn't react right away he clarified, "On your knees in front of a big Black cock." 

He was already opening the button-fly of his overalls.  Dog was doing the same.  Trace's cock was as long as Rod's but not quite so thick.  Dog's was the thickest of all, though shorter than either, yet still with much more reach than my pitiful possession.  I sank to my knees with Trace's cock dangling before me.  Few acts could be worse than having to suck another man's member but that was what I started to do, taking just the head into my mouth at first.  He mentioned that he liked to have a tongue swirled around the ridge at the back of the knob, and to have me bob my face up and down on him. 

After about five minutes he pushed me forward onto hands and knees.  Dog's organ replaced Trace's in my mouth.  He insisted on spirited sucking.  The taller man spit on his fingers and rubbed his saliva on my nether opening.  NO!  He was going to take me from behind.  Even though they had pretty much said that was going to happen, I had gone into some form of denial.  I had convinced myself that if I did an exceptional job with my mouth, they would spare me the painful alternative to oral sex.  But he was already knocking at my back door, so to speak.  Dog withdrew, I guess in case I involuntarily bit down while being entered.  Trace fed his long member into me inch by inch.

I cried out, "No.  Please.  It's too big.  I can't take it.  You're hurting me."

"Hear that?" he said to Dog.  "This one's into the whole deal of pretending he don't like it.  Almost makes it sound true."

Tears rolled down my cheeks.  "You're going to damage me."

"Can't happen," I was assured.  "Sissy ass-pussy stretches to take whatever you shove in there."  He inserted another two inches.  "And I can tell you're a natural born girly boy." 

Dog rubbed the head of his cock over my mouth.  Clean fluid leaking from the end of it got all over my lips.

He told me, "You look good in sissy lipstick."

Trace grunted as he crammed his root into me, making me wail and plead.  Then he set up an in-out motion.  Dog squeezed my face with one hand, thumb and first finger against the hinges of my jaw, forcing me to open wide.  Soon his girthy meat was pressing up against the roof of my mouth and down on my tongue simultaneously.  I did my best to give him the suctioning he desired.  At the same time Trace was pumping away at my ass.  I felt my small dick bouncing up and down.  To my horror I realized it was still hard.  Could it be true what they'd said, that I somehow wanted to be used this way?  As impossible as that sounded, I couldn't deny the reaction of my body. 

"Oh yeah," Trace enthused.  "I feel that tight ring grabbing hold of me."

"Damn sissy's trying to suck me inside-out.  Must've been starving for Black a long time."

"Good thing we here to help him."

"Get him in touch with his fag side."

"Learn him what he really wants."

"Fill him up from both ends."

"Holy crap."  Trace let out a string of expletives.  "His ass is milking me.  I'm-a gone bust a nut."

"Getting close up here, too," Dog seconded.

All at once the two of them were spurting inside me.  I gulped down Dog's prodigious output and knew that Trace's was being deposited into my bowels.  Having two Black men's semen flooding my system was the ultimate humiliation.  Worse than that, a jolt of erotic electricity shocked me and my own tiny dick spurted all over the floor.  I sensed that I would never recover from this triple indignity.  They waited until their balls were drained, pulled out, and wiped themselves off on me.  Trace cleaned himself against my buns and Dog liberally smeared my face with his residual spunk and my own saliva.  When they saw the puddle I'd made they were wildly amused and promised to tell Rod -- and Margo -- how I had responded to being taken by two Black studs. 

"That's done," Trace said, standing and buttoning up.

"Next time we trade places," Dog strongly suggested.

"Right, brother.  But for now we got to get to work.  Gone have to push Creampuff to make up for the time he wasted see-deuce-in us and getting us to make his dream come true."

"Damn right.  Gone have to work his ass off, or at least whatever you left of it."

"Hey, Creampuff.  Try not to think about how your hot wife is probably going to spend the day sucking Rod's stick and taking it in her pussy, loving every second of what they're doing."

"Truth.  Put it out of your mind.  No need to give yourself stress." 

"Maybe Rod's saving up his cigar butts for you.  He might make a meal out of them for you to eat while that Margo watches.  Bet she'd never think of you the same after that."

They both laughed raucously.  I had to hope that cigar scenario was just something they had made up.  Trace said he was already looking forward to playing more of the same games with me the next day.  Dog agreed, and enthused about what a show I would put on when the rest of the crew arrived at the end of the workweek.  There would be another four Black men, with me available to all of them.   I groaned and forced myself to stand.  My rectum was on fire.  The taste of scum was thick on my tongue.  They made me put my overalls on backwards and zipped me up from behind, finding added humor in that.  My mind projected ahead to the days, weeks and months of suffering and disgrace facing me.  If only I could stop myself from becoming aroused and even ejaculating from what was done to me, that would be some small victory.  If only.  If only.

*********