Blacmailed at First

I sat alone in the chair, waiting for rescue, knowing that my daughter (by my first wife), nicknamed 'Peanut' and Sharona, her lover-partner would drive to my house—not my home, anymore—and, using Peanut's key, get in and rescue me. That drive would take a long time, because they were quite a few miles away.

They'd get the cuffs off me easily, because the handcuff key had been placed on the dresser behind me by my two ex-friends. Those 'friends' both laughed about my not being able to get at it, just before they'd stripped and started the fun with my ex-wife. I just couldn't get to the key, being bound to a chair, which was screwed down to the wood floor of the house bedroom.

What a fine joke it was. Cyndi never un-locked me either.

Peanut and Shgarona did get in to rescue me, by 1 AM. By then, I'd pissed my pants twice. After I got free, I showered and changed clothes. I described my 'adventure' with my cheating slut and her 5 guys to my daughter and her life-partner. It was more than obvious that there'd been a lot of sex in the bedroom, because of all the cum stains on the bed sheets.

The room stunk of spilled semen and some shit, probably from the ass-fucking Cyndi did so freely ... anal loving I never got from her.

Due to the sensitive nature of my private work, I wanted to avoid formal contact with the police. However, I smashed the chair to firewood and then burned it. I also discarded the bed and rented a new one.

With Peanut's and Sharona's help, I spent some time getting the rest of Cyndi's stuff out to recycle bins and the trash.

I had the whole house professionally cleaned, to get any traces of liquid or solid-dried sex contamination off the floors and walls.

I discovered, as I expected, that Cyndi had panicked impulsively (again) and cleaned the home safe out of all our emergency monies, then maxed out all our credit cards in cash advances, with a similar clean-out of the checking and savings accounts. I figured she'd be able to live comfortably for half a year before needing to get paid work again.

The safe deposit box was intact, so I had my ultimate emergency money to pay off and cancel the credit cards and the rest of the financial stuff and re-establish my credit.

The car never showed up as stolen and was probably sold for cash, abandoned and crushed or re-sold south of the border, somewhere.

I decided not to press formal charges. Let her and her gang-banging friends stew in her own gang-fucking juice. Not usually a man to quote Bible versus, I remembered one that was appropriate, Proverbs 28:1 "The wicked flee when no one pursues."

My two ex-best friends had worked for me, off and on. Not surprisingly, an audit revealed they'd been taking sizable amounts of money from special accounts they'd set up to drain my assets. I fired both of them from my small company, with no recommendations and with accurate descriptions of their sexual and fraudulent betrayal. I didn't press state or local charges against them.

I did, though, notify each of their wives about their fun with Cyndi. Knowing both me and Cyndi socially, neither was surprised or seriously shocked. A quick check of the Internet revealed the first un-edited version of the fun-and-games, showing their husband's faces and erected cocks going into her willing body. They both decided to divorce their cheating husbands. I lost contact with these ex-wives after a few months.

The other 3 men were fired from their jobs with the school system, so I heard, but I had nothing to do with any of those events.

My ex-friends and my cheating, gang-banging ex-wife disappeared. That was OK by me.

Unable to contact Cyndi (I didn't try very hard), I filed for a Dissolution of Marriage, Non-Respondent, listing 'irreconcilable differences' and 'abandonment' as the reason. I was free of my formerly-wedded wife within a year.

I sold the house and moved my shrunken company (just me, now) to San Diego, California, burying myself in work and earning money. I found a small house from a foreclosure sale, about half-way up the hill in Ocean Beach and rehabilitated it over a couple of years.

I didn't socialize, being far too shell-shocked and un-trusting of friends and women. I dated Freddy-Feel-Good and his Funky Little Five-Piece Band a lot. When I needed sex, I found a few transient friends-with-benefits, but there was no 'spark' in the sex, just momentary relief of pressure.

I armed myself, getting a Concealed Carry Weapon license. Some Jehovah's Witnesses and Seventh Day Adventist folks were shocked and intimidated when I opened the front door, cocked revolver in my hand.

Trust in friends and lovers had gone out the door with Cyndi's gang-fuck fit of pique.

- - - - - - -

Somewhere about now, as you read this tale, you'll wonder just who is telling the story. As I said in Part 1 of this tale, I'm Estafastan Morgonovitch (but call me 'Stan'), born here in the USA to Hungarian parents who fled the Hungarian Revolution and Soviet Occupation of the 1950's. There both deceased, so it's just me now. I attended school like any other American kid, and went to college, getting a couple of degrees. I discovered a dual love of microcomputers and private forensic investigation but with a dislike of the typical PI wife-/husband-following life.

I specialized as a self-employed 'finder,' mainly finding hidden money, people or things that businesses either wanted found or were trying to hide (like illegal insider trading or stock options and cash for corrupt executives or corporate whores). I was and still am, good at it.

I made a good living for myself quite well. Enough so that, when I married, my wife didn't have to work, although she did work because she was good at her job, as a little-kid teacher.

Married, oh yes. Twice. When helping raise my daughter, nicknamed 'Peanut,' during the arranged visitation days I wrung out of the breakup of my first marriage, I met one of her teachers, Cyndi-with-an-i. Average height, but with glossy black hair. She was skinny. Cyndi was best described as an elfin, fairy princess, appearing delicate.

She wasn't delicate, though, as she demonstrated on our 3rd date, when she surged up under me, orgasming and screaming incoherently as she came. I was lifted right off the bed, as she arched her back with me on top, cumming deeply into her.

Small tits, but perfectly shaped and wide based, so she didn't have to wear a bra except when she was on the job. She didn't like panties, either. She only wore underwear on the job, I found as we dated and, later, got engaged, then married.

I spent many happy hours in or house and in the car, with my fiancee calmly sitting beside, across from or on me, naked as a jaybird. That included being impaled on my cock or with my fingers or tongue inside her. We spent time at nude beaches, back then, as she showed her nude tits, legs and pussy off to mostly male passers-by

Cyndi was sexy, too, but oddly reluctant to try any other positions except missionary, doggy or cowgirl, any other place than bed and any form of penetration that wasn't vaginal. Those, she practiced on me as often as I could get hard. She liked hand-jobs and oral, but not swallowing, so she was a spitter. We filled up a lot of paper towels, in the 6 years before this last episode.

The only major flaw, it seemed, was that Cyndi had a problem with low self-esteem, which she compensated for by becoming jealous and briefly frigid if I even looked at another woman.

All this, however, was just for me, because she was also impulsively flirty toward other men, particularly hunks and I was forever trying to keep her from getting felt up or worse at parties or at the beach.

In essence, it was a double standard for her.

She didn't—at least not then—seem to have an interest in having affairs or taking other lovers, so I put up with the continued 'freeze-outs' as she imagined faults and insults that I hadn't done, and then punished me for them.

It was almost a game, to her. More of an irritation to me, but one I thought I could ignore.

Apparently that was my major error.

- - - - - - -

About a month after I arrived in San Diego, I received an anonymous demand for a lot of money, with the threat of revealing a well-edited DVD of my chair-bound viewing of my wife's gang-bang to my family and business associates if I didn't pay immediately.

I just answered with the Duke of Wellington's reply to a blackmail attempt, namely, "Publish and be damned to you!"

The time to stop a blackmailer is the first time. As I found out later, it's too bad Cyndi didn't listen to me or learn this lesson until way too late.

So, of course, the DVD of my ex-wife's gang-bang punishment of me was sent to my associates and clients, as well as going viral over the internet. My business and social life suffered some, as I became the butt of nasty, semi-sexualized jokes, which what prompted my move out to the West Coast.

As I expected, though, the clients that laughed and teased me the most were the weakest ones and were those that contracted for work and then didn't pay in full, making excuses, or took a long time to pay.

I made new contacts and got new clients, and my personal humiliation receded into the distant past—at least regarding my professional services—as the next series of scandals for other folks came and went.

That first DVD was followed by several other porn DVDs, which I bought online over the next 3 years, all starring a certain stage-named 'Sindi Suxgoode.' I watched them all with a sort of detached interest, as my ex-wife was obviously no longer licensed or employed to teach K-12 grades in any state in the USA.

She was, in fact, barred from pretty much any legitimate employed work, after the first DVD came out, titled 'Hot For The Teacher,' where I was portrayed as a clueless School Principal and she was a boarding-school Hot-Wife Slut Teacher. Her 'performance' as depicted on the DVD—and the ones that followed, later—pretty much insured that she'd be a porn whore, performing paid sex scenes for the rest of her working life.

You just never know what wicked kink lurks below the surface of the people you trust, not to mention marry.

END OF PART 02