How Abby and Lyle Became Black Cock Whores

Lyle has been a friend of mine for a long time. The below story is based on actual events, and was drafted by Lyle and then written with a lot of my help – Gracie

My name is Lyle. My looks are something I have always been proud of, as I am a very good-looking guy, although on the short side. Women seem to like my effeminate features, which they seem to relate to. They seem to like to mother me, which I don't mind. I have a small bone structure, slim legs, and long slim fingers. Even though I am effeminate, I am not gay, but I suspect some people think I am simply because of how I look and act.

I am married to Abby, she is very sexy but very inexperienced when it comes to sex and “street sex” smarts. She is extremely intelligent, much more so than me. She is shy and socially awkward. I love her with all my might, she is my sole mate. I had been out of work for some time, over six months. All of our meager savings were long exhausted, we were behind on the power and in danger of being evicted, and we were going downhill fast. Even our friends were fast abandoning us, as we could not afford to go out to nice dinners or clubbing with them, and we were no longer fun to be with. In desperation, I researched becoming either a real estate or insurance agent. After further exploration, an insurance agent seemed to be the best fit for my educational background and submissive personality, so I took several pre-licensing courses online, at a community college and a private institution. I took more than I needed until I felt comfortable passing the state exam. I was shocked when I passed, as I had serious doubts I would.

I wrote up a resume and went out looking for employment. My state requires that a new agent be sponsored by, or in other words, employed by, an insurance firm or an experienced agent. I hit up every insurance agency I could find in my area. Large, small, even single agent shops, it didn't matter, I needed to get a job. I knew it would take time, once I started with an agency, to generate enough commission to make a living, supplement my wife's income.

As time passed without results, I got more and more desperate, and my wife, Abby, was getting hysterical with worry. The market seemed dead, no one seemed interested in a newbie agent. I was getting depressed again, having wasted all that time and money to get a license and still couldn't get a job.

Several days went by after I dropped off the last of my resumes, but no call, no job. Then I got a call, A woman called from an agency, “Darrell would like to interview you about a job, and is willing to train you." I was ecstatic. She gave me the information. I was determined that I would, one way or another, get that job. That night, when my wife, Abby, came home, I told her all about it. She hugged and kissed me and told me she was proud of me. I reminded her I didn't have the job yet, "I have faith in you. I am counting on you, you must get that job!”

I was already under extreme pressure, and that added even more. I was afraid of a nervous breakdown, which, of course, we could not afford. I thought, How could Abby tell our friends and family that her husband was in the nut house It would be difficult for her.

The next morning, I was at the insurance agency nearly 20 minutes early, so nervous I was almost shaking. I knew arriving so early would show a touch of desperation, but I was hoping it would also show eagerness to start and learn. When I announced myself to the large black woman at reception, she looked at her watch, “Have a seat, and I'll tell Darrell you are here when he is ready.”

I sat in the reception area and waited. There were several office doors that opened onto the reception area. Some were open, and some were closed. One that was closed suddenly opened, and a black man came out, smiling. I thought he might be Darrell, so I started to rise, but he walked right past me and out the front door. A woman came out of that same office and stood in the doorway, looked at me, and smiled. She looked over at the large woman at the reception desk, who just shook her head “no.” I guess maybe she thought I was a new customer.

I have to say, I was rather shocked. The woman in that office was young, blonde, and extremely attractive. She wore a little micro-mini skirt that barely covered the essentials and a blouse that showed so much cleavage that her nipples were barely covered. But when she smiled at me, I smiled back, I couldn't help it. I thought to myself, “Wow.” I think she must have read my silent lips, as she giggled, then went back into her office, leaving the door open. I've never seen someone in a professional office wear something so revealing before. I thought they must have a very loose dress code here. I also thought that it was very unprofessional, and I didn't see how the owner of the agency let her get away with it.

While I sat and waited, there were a couple of other customers that came in and went into one or another of the offices. That was encouraging, as it seemed like it was a fairly busy office, which would help me. The customers that I saw were all black, however, so I didn't know just how well they might accept a white agent helping them with their insurance needs. I grew very concerned about getting this job.

After a few more minutes, the phone on the receptionist's desk buzzed. She picked it up and listened, then she turned to me and said, “Darrell will see you now.” She motioned to the door directly behind her. She got up and opened it for me. My knees were weak as I walked. When I went it, she shut the door behind me. A handsome black man rose from behind his desk and stuck his hand out.

“I am Darrell,” he said. “I'm the owner of this agency.”

“I'm Lyle,” I said, my voice cracking with fear.

His laugh was a deep baritone. His voice was almost electric like charged the air with static electricity.

I shook his hand. He held on to my hand longer than necessary, squeezing, almost crushing the delicate bones in my hand, while staring into my eyes for a long period. It made me feel very uncomfortable, I looked away. My eyes darted to the floor, trying to avoid his stare.

Through a wince, I said, “So pleased to meet you.”

When I looked back up, he finally let go of my hand after staring into my eyes. I felt like he was staring right through me. He motioned me to a chair in front of his desk. He had a very commanding attitude that was hard to resist.

While I sat, he reviewed my resume out loud, asking a few questions along the way. Then he started asking some detailed questions. Most of the questions were very personal and probably illegal, but he likely knew I was desperate and would put up with it. He was right, I would, as I felt I had no choice.

“How old are you,” he asked.

“23,” I answered.

“How old is your wife?”

“Um, 22.”

“Any kids?”

“No.”

“Is your wife sexually active with other men?”

I was shocked and started to rise out of my chair. “What?!”

He told me in a stern voice to sit back down. When I hesitated, he yelled out, “Now!”

I sat, a bit cowed. I crossed one leg over the other, like a girl, like I was trying to protect my private parts.

“Answer the fucking question!”

I shook my head no.

“Answer the fucking question out loud!”

“No, she is not sexually active with other men. But why are you asking questions like this? They are highly inappropriate, and have nothing to do with my qualifications for a job!” I put up a brave front.

He frowned at me, and said, “It has everything to do with your getting a job here. The only reason I am interviewing you is because of your appearance and because of your wife. After you submitted your application, I found you on social media sites and got interested in her as well as you. She is very attractive. In fact, she is hot. You obviously married way above what you deserve, do you understand that?”

I nodded and I did.

“Answer out loud. I am not telling you again.”

“Yes, I know I married way outside my league. I know I don't deserve a wife as good as she is.” I looked down, feeling bullied.

“You have any pictures of her that are not online?”

Nervously, I dug out my cell phone and pulled up a couple of pictures, and placed the phone on his desk.

He ignored it, and said, “Hand the motherfucking phone to me, do not just put it on my desk.”

I picked up the phone, my hand shaking as I handed it to him.

He glanced at the pictures and shook his head negatively. “These look like she is all buttoned up, afraid to show herself. Is she frigid? Don't you have any better ones?”

“What do you mean, 'better,'” I asked.

“Damn, are you a fucking idiot? What do you think I mean by 'better'? Pic's of her without clothes, fool. Naked. Nude. Got it now?”

I stammered, totally shocked. “No, nothing like that.”

“Are you gay or something?”

“What?!” I exclaimed. “No, I am not gay, and what does that have to do with anything?”

He came back at me with, “Then are you bi-sexual? You look like you are at least bi-sexual if not a fucking queer.”

“No, I am not bi-sexual,” I said, looking down.

“How many cocks have you had in your mouth or your ass?”

I answered, “That is a highly inappropriate question, and I am not going to answer it.”

“Oh, really?” He said. “It must have been quite a few then. Tell me what happened. NOW!”

I looked down, very uncomfortable, and totally cowed. A job was on the line. “When I was in school, a kid ****** me to do it.”

“****** you to do what?” he said.

“****** me to, you know, give him oral sex,” I squirmed, unable to meet his eyes. I was so ashamed.

“Did he cum in your pretty girly mouth?”

I looked down again, fully embarrassed. “Yes.”

“What did you do with his cum?”

“I gagged and wanted to spit it out, but he made me swallow it,” I said, my face getting really flushed.

“Was he white, Hispanic, black? What was he?”

“He was black. He was big and he was a bully.”

“How many more times did he make you suck him off like that?” Darrell looked pleased that he had wormed this confession out of me.

I shifted in my chair, not wanting to say anything more, but under Darrell's intense stare, I finally said, “Several more times, nearly every year in school.”

“So like what, two or three times a week all through school?”

I nodded and said, “Yes.” Tears started forming in my eyes.

“You suck off anyone else?”

I hesitated, and stammered before answering, I did not want to answer. “He made me do it to a few of his friends, too.” Tears were now flowing freely down my cheeks. I wiped them away.

“They black too?”

I nodded my head, “Yes.”

“Do you resent black people because of what happened to you?”

I quickly answered, “Oh no. Not at all. Never.”

“Did this only happen at school, like in the restrooms or something, or other places too?”

I hesitated, leaning over, looking down at my shoes, trying to avoid answering.

Darrell slammed his hand down on the desk, startling me into answering.

“Other places too. Like on weekends they made me meet them so I could do it to them.”

“How many times do they make you suck them off on weekends?”

I started to sob, finding it hard to talk. “Nearly every weekend. They called me a girl, their bitch and they said they owned me.”

“What would you wear on weekends when you met them to blow them?”

I tried wiping my tears away, but they were flowing too fast. “They made me wear panties.”

“Where did you get the panties?”

“My mom's panties were too big for me, so I wore my little sister's panties. They fit me.”

“Did your sister ever catch you wearing her panties?”

“No, but my mom did.” As soon as I blurted that out, I bit my lip, regretting I volunteered that my mom caught me.

Darrell laughed, his laugh vibrating right into my body, it seemed. “What did your mommy say when she caught you wearing panties?”

I openly sobbed, my shoulders shaking. “She laughed and said she always thought I was a fag, and told me I should wear panties all the time like a good little fag.”

Darrell laughed again. “Did you tell her you were also a cock sucker too?”

I shook my head, “No, I never told her that.”

“Why didn't you report it to the police or the school?”

I hung my head in shame, “They took pictures of me sucking their cocks and in panties and said they would show everybody if I ever told anyone.”

“Who else have you told about this,” Darrell asked.

“Just my wife. We tell each other everything,” I answered.

“What was her reaction?”

“She was sympathetic with me. She understood.”

“Has your wife ever been ****** to suck anybody off in school, as you did?”

“No, mine is the only penis she's ever had.”

Darrell leaned back and laughed. It was a deep belly laugh.

Then he leaned forward and said, “No, you do not have a penis. You don't have a cock, either. What you have is a dick, a dickie, a weewee, a little Lyle. You are a wanker. Don't you ever call what you have a penis or a cock. Understood?”

I looked down and nodded, “Yes, Sir.”

He stared at me for a long time. I got nervous and started twitching. He finally said, “Okay, I am going to give you a chance. You will be on probation for several months. At any time you fail to do what I tell you to do, or do not show me respect, you will be gone. Do you understand that?”

I nodded yes, and said, “Yes, I understand.”

“The lady out front is my mamma. Everybody just calls her Mamma. You will also show her respect, and do absolutely everything that she tells you to do, understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good. You will be given additional training here, and we will help you start out. Also, to start out, I'll give you a draw against your commissions. But you will have to earn it. Mamma will have you sign a document that spells out the draw and commission agreement, and the conditions under which you will work here. I normally don't do this, but I will even allow you to pull out an amount against your draw tomorrow since I know you are in trouble. You will start in the morning. Everything understood?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I understand.”

Darrell rolled his eye up, “Yes, you understand what?”

“Um, oh! Yes, I understand everything.”

“Are you dense? Yes, you understand WHAT?”

I think I finally understood what he was after. “Yes, I understand, Sir?”

“That's better. Now get your skinny little white ass out of here and see Mamma.”

“Yes, Sir!”