Blacmail - a Cucold Fantasy

This is a somewhat involved fantasy, one invented and reinvented by me and my wife, toward the extreme of cuckolding - my wife and I have shared, as well as privately role-played many parts of it. Some of it we've used in fantasy realizations with encounter partners. Be forewarned, this is long, complicated, and in three parts. Once again, if cuckolding is not your thing, best to hit the "back" button and move on.

Prologue

The scenario starts as a normal day at the office. In the early afternoon, a courier shows up, with a signature-only delivery for me - the receptionist calls me from my office to sign for it, which I handle business as usual.

The delivery is an oversized envelope, heavy in feel, with no markings other than "Confidential," and a security seal. I take it back to my office, and take a seat at my desk to open the envelope.

Breaking the security tape with scissors, I lift the flap of the outer envelope. Inside are several slightly smaller envelopes. I take one out, open the clasp, and find a series of 8"x10" photographs. My breath becomes shallow and rapid, when I see the subject of the photographs.

After a stunned pause, I realize the photographs are of my wife, engaged in various sex acts with numerous black males. I set the photographs face down on my desk, call my administrative assistant and tell her to hold my calls, then I go and lock my office door.

When I return to my desk, I pick up the photographs, and browse through them, one by one. The images are clear, high quality, professionally acquired, but they are not posed, and my wife seems unaware that she is being photographed - it is clear that she is enjoying the pleasure of several men, ministering to their big, hard cocks. The background scene is some sort of club or party room, and although not in sharp focus, there are many other people, men, and women in the room, in varied states of undress, and engaged in sex acts.

I make another pass over the photos, spending a moment looking at each of them, my cock growing hard in my boxers as I look at my lusty, blissed out wife sucking, being touched, and fucking these strange men in an apparently semi-public place.

One photo captures my attention more than the rest; an image of my wife, mounted atop one black male, with a second mounting her from behind, and a third, his huge, erect cock in my wife's mouth - she is being double-fucked and air-tight. In profile, her facial expression is one of utter pleasure.

After examining each photograph again, I slide them back into the envelope one at a time. Relishing "Little Miss Air-tight" last, I close the flap, and fasten the clasp, setting that packet of photographs aside.

I take the next envelope from the package, and undo the clasp - this is a different set of photos, a different venue, which is some sort of dungeon - the lighting is poor, but again, my wife is clearly the central subject, dressed in black leather, a corset, fishnet stockings, boots, and gloves.

She is tormenting a young-looking man, who is affixed to a large x-shaped frame by his waist, wrists, and ankles. The series of photographs progresses from her teasing his hard, erect cock, which juts out, curving up from his pubis - she is blowing on his penis, her lips pursed.

The next few photos show my wife stroking his cock with her gloved hand, sucking it, spanking it with a crop, then finally backed up against him, his penis buried either in her pussy or ass - she is looking at something, or someone, off-angle, not quite directly into the camera.

This series of images nearly makes me ejaculate, blowing my load hands-free into my boxers, but I manage to stay just on the edge. I have to take a series of long breaths to remain in control, replacing each photo in the envelope. When it is resealed, I take the third envelope from the package, and unfasten the clasp.

Inside, there is a single photograph, paper-clipped to a single page letter. I remove the clip to separate the pages - the photograph is astonishing, breathtaking - again, the subject is my wife, naked except for a pair of platform pumps, squatting down on top of a strange male, with an enormous cock. He is on his back, erect, his bulbous cock-head touching her labia, just at the moment of penetration.

My wife is open, gaping, clearly aroused and wet, her nipples erect, her breasts hanging, pendulous, and she is looking almost directly into the camera. I stare at the photograph for minutes, my head pounding, my cock so hard it feels like it is going to tear through my pants.

I set the photograph aside, face down, and pick up the letter. It reads:

"Your wife's indiscretions have finally caught up with her, and unless you follow instructions exactly, this information will become highly public 24-hours from the time our courier delivered this material to your office.

View the enclosed DVD, which contains the instructions you must follow to prevent disclosure of this information. Failure to follow instructions will result in the release and distribution of copies of these photographs, and videos to your wife's business associates, your business associates, your neighbors, your children, and your extended family members. You will receive a telephone call within the next 90-minutes.

You should take this matter seriously - we are not making idle threats. View the DVD, and take discrete notes as you feel necessary to comply with our instructions.

Good Day."

I feel my hands shake, and my heart pound. I remove the last smaller envelope from the package, unseal it, and find inside a DVD in a sleeve. I take the DVD and place it into the slot in my computer. The video player starts up, and the DVD begins to play.

The video opens with a montage of images and short video clips, some of them the scenes which I've already seen in the photographs, some new, all of them involving my wife in sexual encounters with one or more strange men.

In one clipped scene, she is on her knees, the bukake servant to seven men, her face and tits covered in cum.

In another, she is leaning against what appears to be a stripper pole, on a stage, pissing on the face of a blindfolded male who lies prone underneath her.

The video clip of her engaged with the group of black males is even hotter than the photographs - she is clearly the center of a gang-bang, in some sort of sex or dance club, in a highly public setting. I have to turn the sound off, to silence the sounds of my wife's moaning, which is distinct over the background music.

The video clips and still photos fade out to black, then a series of text blocks begins to appear on the screen. They instruct me that I am to appear at a specific location, on a Friday evening one week from now, with my wife.

We are to bring nothing with us, and the instructions say that our car will be taken to a secure location. We are to prepare to be gone from Friday evening though Tuesday evening, and provided with a cover story, an impromptu cruise, and cover number for emergency contact.

I jot down the time and address, along with a phone number to contact the mysterious blackmailer if there are problems, and the phone and contact information for the "cruise" cover story.

Just as I finish the note, and the DVD pauses, my assistant buzzes in, telling me that it is my wife on the line, with an emergency call. Shaken, I have my assistant put the call through.

KK, my wife is on the line, her voice unsteady, and sounds as though she is both panicked and has been crying. She proceeds to tell me about a strange courier delivery to her, at her home office, and in broken sobs, about pictures, the video, and the threats. I am unable to get a word in edge wise, but I finally tell her that I am leaving the office, and on my way home.

I hang up, bundle all the materials back into the package, compose myself, and head out the office, stopping tell my admin that I have to leave due to a family need, but that everything will be alright.

In the twenty minutes it takes to get home, my mind races, and my cock refuses to calm down, instead waves of erection come and go as I visualize my wife in those erotic settings, and what must be going through her mind.

When I arrive home, I don't park in the garage, instead I just park in the drive, almost forgetting to turn off the ignition in my rush to get inside.

Inside, I find KK, shaken, clearly upset. I set the package down on the dining room table, and return to lock the front door.

Back in the dining room, I feel that I am on autopilot. Instead of saying anything, I take my wife into my arms, and begin to kiss her passionately, and deeply, finally turning her around, and pressing her face down onto the table.

She is at first reluctant, resistant, trying to fend off my advance. I lift her skirt, and spread her legs, unzipping my slacks, undoing my belt and button, and let them fall to my knees. I push my cock into her, and just start fucking her, trying only to satisfy my intense lust, and within minutes, I blow my load in her, leaving her dripping and unsatisfied.

When I release her, she turns to me, steely eyed, angry, and says, "Well then. I guess you're done? I guess our little problem is inconsequential to your need to get your rocks off? What the Hell? You think I'm a "whore" too? Is that it? You think you can just bend me over and fuck me like some kind of little whore? I'm not a fucking whore!" I stare at the floor, and whimper, "I'm sorry - I'm just overwhelmed. I see you got a package as well?"

I pull my slacks up, and we gather ourselves, sitting caddy-corner to one another at the table.

I say, "May I see your package? Here's what I got at the office..." and I push the package over to my wife.

She reciprocates, and with few exceptions, our packages contain identical material - only the letter is different. The tone of KK's letter is much more degrading, humiliating, and threatening than the one I received.

The letter calls her a "slut," a "whore," a "dirty fuck-pig," an "adulteress," and makes specific references to what her mother, or her father might think about certain of the photographs, along with her colleagues and our kids, "imagine what your innocent daughter might think, seeing her dear mother taking a black man's cock up her mommy's ass?"

That night, we are both unnerved, unable to eat. We drink a couple of bottles of wine, in discussion, back and forth, trying to decide how to respond. Finally in the early morning hours, exhausted, we mutually conclude that we have no real choices, other than being exposed publicly, or compliance with the blackmailer's instructions.

The next couple of days involve making excuses, canceling appointments, and steeling ourselves for the Friday deadline. Neither of us are able to focus on work or other tasks, and we both end up taking Thursday off, using the excuse that we needed to get the house ready, pack, etc. before our cruise.

KK and I spend the whole of Thursday engaged in drinking, and "stress relief sex," fucking each other's brains out, until we are both exhausted, and I've lost count of the number of times I've cum, finally so spent that my last orgasm is dry, not even a droplet of pre-cum or dot of jizz. KK's pussy is pink-red, fucked, licked and fingered nearly raw from our coupling.

Day I - Resort "Guests"

We sleep late, recovering from sexual exhaustion, into mid-day Friday. The afternoon crawls by, and we depart the house, as instructed, with only what we're wearing and my house and car keys.

We drive to the appointed location, a parking garage, and proceed to the third level. There is a limousine in the travel lane at the far end of the garage.

I park, and a nondescript man gets out of the passenger side front of the limo.

He walks towards me, and asks for the keys, saying only, "I will take care of your car, and return it to you when this is over. Make sure that you leave everything, wallets, cell phones, everything in the car - take nothing with you except what you are wearing."

After handing the keys over, I walk around and help KK out of the car.

She tries insisting that she has changed her mind - the gentleman with our keys says, "I urge you to reconsider, and cooperate - the alternative for not doing so will be very unpleasant. My associates will follow through with their promise of exposing your indiscretions, far and wide."

I take my wife's hand, and tell her it will all be OK, then lead her, still reluctant to the limo. I open the rear door for her, and she slides in, then I follow suit.

The windows are heavily tinted, so dark that it is impossible to see outside. There is a similarly tinted barrier window in the interior, between the driver's front seat and the passenger compartment.

A voice comes over a speaker, informing us that we will arrive at our first destination within 45-minutes, and that a bottle of chilled champagne is in the beverage center.

Sitting close to my wife, I reassure her, or at least try, then take the bottle of champagne from the cooler. There are two glasses in a little rack, and the bottle has thoughtfully been uncorked, ready to pour.

I pour two glasses, one for each of us. KK nervously downs hers in two gulps. She grabs my glass before I even have a sip, and downs it as well.

KK hands me the glass, saying, "I want to get fucking drunk!"

I refill her glass, and she empties it in a few gulps.

Soon the champagne is gone, and KK is woozy, more so than normal, which makes me wonder if the champagne has been doped. We feel the limo come to a stop, and the door is opened, by a man who appears to be in uniform.

He speaks, saying, "Help your wife out, and board the aircraft. We have a schedule to keep."

I take KK's hand, and extricate her from the limo - it seems she's a little drunk, and a little sleepy.

The uniformed man, who I now infer is part of an air crew says, "She'll be fine - they always need a little something to help them relax."

It is an odd statement. I help her walk the short distance across the concrete apron, and steady her as we climb a boarding stair on a small private jet.

Inside, we each take a seat on the plush leather, and the uniformed crewman soon is aboard, retracting the boarding stairs and securing the door.

He informs us that we will have three hours to our destination after wheels-up, and then instructs us to buckle in for departure.

The next sounds are the engines spooling up, and a few minutes later the aircraft is on the taxiway. Minutes later we are airborne, and the distinctive "thunk" of the landing gear stowing can be felt and heard.

KK has been gripping my hand the whole time, and I give her a reassuring kiss. Within fifteen minutes, she is asleep. Like the limo, the aircraft windows are heavily tinted, obscuring the view. It is eery, not being able to obtain a visual reference, or heading, to our unknown destination.

With no watch, or phone to keep the time, the flight seems interminable. I am incongruently horny, aroused, and fighting off the temptation to gratify myself with my wife's limp, relaxed body somehow - she is wearing a simple dress, stockings, heels, bra, and panties, as her instruction DVD specified.

I touch her nylon covered thigh, resisting the urge to let my fingers travel to her crotch. Eventually desire and lust wins out, and I allow my fingers to press against her labia, through the thin nylon of her panties.

As I finger her, she stirs, purring like a kitten, but does not awaken. I occupy myself that way for the remainder of the flight, until the landing indicator illuminates, and I hear and feel the gear deploy.

On landing, I wake KK gently, and after a little nudging, she reluctantly comes back to awareness.

She looks worried, and asks, "What's happening?"

I tell her that we just landed "wherever," and that she should be ready for whatever was happening at arrival.

We taxi for a short while, then the aircraft stops. A few minutes later, the cabin door opens, and we are greeted by an Asian woman, ethnicity unknown, and asked to disembark.

There is a golf cart a few yards away, which our attendant points to, saying, "Please take a seat in the cart."

We do as instructed. It is quite dark out, and other than the dimly illuminated path from the cart's headlights, it is impossible to tell where we are.

The cart stops at an entry/exit gate, and our attendant speaks with the person manning the booth. She is handed what appears to be a medium-size shopping bag, and the gate person scans something she is holding with a bar code reader.

The attendant turns, handing my wife the shopping bag, and said, "This is for you, your resort ID and other items. You'll need them later."

We ride in the cart a short while, and enter a building through an open garage door in its side. The interior is carpeted, and we are in a hallway, about two carts or so wide.

The interior is lit, and it appears to be like the corridor of a hotel, with pairs of room doors along both sides of the corridor.

We stop at a pair of doors marked "A-1-105A" and "A-1-105B," and the attendant hands us each a small sleeve, containing a magnetic card key.

She says, "These are your quarters during your stay this cycle. Madam is in Suite A, and Sir is in Room B, adjacent. Please make yourself comfortable, and you'll receive your hosts instructions after you've had some rest. You'll find everything you need inside, and if not, please dial guest services on the room phone. Madam, please enter your suite first, and when you're inside, Sir will be able to enter his assigned room."

KK was again reluctant, hesitating.

The attendant said, "Madam, please. It is important that you comply, and follow instructions."

I looked at my wife, and tilted my head, mouthing, "Better go in..."

My wife used the key card, and placing it near the reader, the door clicked and opened. She enters the doorway, hesitating again, holding the shopping bag and looking at me.

I again mouth, "Go inside...", and the attendant says, "Madam, if you please..."

KK finally enters, and the door closes, clicking behind her. I hear her try to open the door from the inside, shaking it a couple of times.

The attendant said, "All will be well Sir, please go inside, and have a restful night."

I enter my room, and the door shuts behind me.

The room is more or less like a standard hotel room - a king bed, a couple of night stands, a phone on one, a chair in one corner, and a small bathroom on one side, partly separated by a 3/4-wall from the sleeping area. There is a TV on the chest of drawers opposite the bed.

I need to piss, so I take an opportunity to relieve myself.

There is is a folio on the bathroom counter. Inside is a typed letter:

"You'll find appropriate attire in the drawers of the chest. Breakfast will be served in your room at 7:30am. You are Guest A-1-105B. Please use this identifier, in lieu of your name when speaking with staff or Guest Services. You will find an ID bracelet in the top right drawer of the chest. Please wear the bracelet while you are a guest.

Your host will make contact with you at 8:30am with additional information and instructions. Enjoy your stay."

I close the folio, and return to the main part of the room. I open the top right drawer of the chest, and there is a small square box, black velvet wrapped, like a jewelry box. I open it it, and find the ID bracelet referenced in the folio letter. I put the bracelet on my left wrist, as the small note in the box instructed.

In the top left drawer, I find two stacks of red, and black silk boxer shorts, all of which appeared to be my size. There is a stack of black silk T-shirts, and a type-written note that instructs me to remove my street clothing, place it on the hangers marked Guest Services in the closet, shower, and change into the provided clothing, and that housekeeping would remove, have cleaned, and return my street clothing before the end of my stay.