WIFE BLACKMAILED
Monique had just experienced multiple orgasms at the hands of B.D., her son's martial arts instructor. Billy had complained of being bullied by bigger kids at school, so Monique encouraged him to train under the guidance of one of his bullies' father. The father turned out to not only be a martial arts trainer, but a demanding alpha male. Now, she feared, she was being bullied.
B.D. was an irresistible bastard. He was physically imposing, tall, muscular, rugged looking, and charismatic. He was experienced sexually, knowledgeable and skillful in the art of love making. But love had little to do with this story. B.D. knew how to introduce a mature woman to raw sexual bliss.
Monique moved quickly, rolling out of the bed where moments before she had an explosive orgasm that flooded the sheets with vaginal fluid and urine. While climaxing she erupted, spewing fluids not only on the bed, but all over B.D's face, hair, and chest. She was both stunned and embarrassed. In her thirty-five years she had never experience the loss of her bodily functions. She was paradoxically frightened and sexually aroused. Making matters worse B.D. had taken several photos of her nude and ravaged body.
B.D. was now in the shower, so she made a quick exit out of the bedroom. She gathered up her bra and blouse, dressed, smoothed out her rumpled skirt, and dashed out the door wobbling on spiked heels. She made a quick exit to escape the clutches of her new lover.
After driving home, she showered, washed her hair again, and dried off. Stepping into her closet looking for something to wear to work, she glanced at the full-length mirror and took a double take. Her nipples were still aroused, breast swollen enhancing their fullness, and small bruises were noticeable on both her fleshy well-toned thighs. Her cheeks and eyes were red, but her mood was blue. Monique felt the pangs of guilt. She had committed adultery for the first time. She dried her hair, dressed, and went off to the real estate office where she worked. Important paperwork was stacked on her desk.
Thankfully that night, Billy, her son was busy playing video games with his dad. Her husband would not notice her recently ravaged body. He had eyes for numbers, stats, and gaming. He was a technological nerd.
Several days passed since the encounter with B.D. While driving home after picking up her son from school, Billy asked if he could have more martial arts lessons from B.D. She blurted out, "Why?" He told her he needed to hone his skills. "I'm now getting some respect," he bragged.
During dinner Billy ask his dad if he could have another three days of training. He answered tersely, "I am okay with another week. Your mood has improved. Go for it." Later that night Monique fired off a text to B.D. asking if he was willing to continue training Billy. He answered within an hour. They were on for next Monday bright and early.
The next week, like clockwork, Monique chauffeured Billy over to B.D.'s house for an hour of martial arts training. She dressed casually wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. She did not want B.D leering at her voluptuous body. But her conservative dress didn't stop her from admiring B.D.'s athletic frame. His muscled arms and legs rippled as he gracefully trained her son in the fine art of self-defense. He pushed Billy to improve, but never to the point of physical or mental discomfort.
At the close of their final session he walked Monique to the front door. Billy had dashed to the car ready and eager for school. He was a new boy. Monique again thanked B.D. for his coaching. She offered to pay for his services. He smiled and said sternly, "I don't want your money. I want your body."
"What?" Monique shot back defensively.
"You heard me," B.D. said.
"I can't. I'm a married woman," she answered indignantly.
"Yes, that's a fact. But you are also a slut. Be here Monday morning at nine. Wear something that will please me. This is not a request. This is an order." He went in the front door, turned and flashed her a wicked grin. "Don't be late."
Monique drove Billy to school, went home and dressed for work. It was TGIF. She was tired. She had looked forward to the weekend, but it turned out to be stressful. She was consumed by thoughts of B.D.'s last Friday's order. The bastard had the audacity to end their brief conversation with "Don't be late."
The weekend dragged on. She had an open house on Sunday. There were several couples stopping by in the early afternoon, but the last few of hours dragged on leaving her alone with her tormented thoughts. Monday morning was closing in. There seemed to be no escape. If she didn't show, the bastard would surely blackmail her. He had taken a few photos of her bruised and ravaged body after their torrid sex. He had forced her to look at his phone. It revealed several revealing photos of her swollen breasts, aroused nipples, and slightly bruised thighs. He had evidence. She knew he would use it.
She woke up early Monday morning, made breakfast for Billy, and saw her husband off to work. As he left the house her mounting guilt intensified. If she ignored the bastard's demands, she would pay with prolonged grief. If she complied, her guilt would be washed away by intense erotic pleasure. Her mind was shot through with nagging guilt; but her body craved the bastard's masterful sexual skills.
After driving Billy to school, she showered, wash her hair, and shaved clean the small patch of dark hair adorning her aching pussy. Scanning her closet, she seized on the appropriate outfit. A micro mini black skirt she had worn to a costume party back in her college days. The black skirt just barely covered her voluptuous ass. When she moved about the closet her satin smooth flesh rippled beneath the clingy material. She chose white stockings and attached them to a black garter belt. The white fabric of the sheer stockings added alluring contrast with her olive complexion. She chose the black spiked heels she wore the last time she was seduced by the bastard. She looked at the floor length mirror in her closet and gasped, "Fucking slut." She completed the outfit with a bra she bought years ago at Victoria's Secret. The bra was designed with small openings where her large nipples poked through. Over her bra she put on a sheer nearly transparent silver blouse. She had only warned this blouse with a camisole. Every time she moved the sheer material of the blouse massaged her extended nipples.
She was just about to leave the house when it donned on her that this outfit was not appropriate for public consumption. She camouflaged her slutty out fit with a black house coat with gold trim around the neck and sleeves. "It's now or never," she shouted to the empty house. "God help me!"
She drove to B.D.'s house, parked, took a deep breath and approached the front door. Her right hand trembled as she rang the doorbell. B.D. greeted her with a lascivious grin and motioned for her to enter. "Have a seat on the sofa. I have coffee brewing." He moved to the kitchen, poured two mugs of black coffee, spiked one with the same aphrodisiac he used before, and sweetened it with a splash of brandy. He had already taken Viagra earlier in the morning
