Blackmailed & Controlled Pt. 01

Blackmailed and Controlled, Pt 1

Author's Note: While this storyline focuses on a woman's desire for young men and being forced into performing sexual acts, every character is of legal age, 20+years of age, and the primary female character ultimately enjoys every sexual act she performs.

Many thanks to HeyAll for the editorial inputs and corrections.

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As I felt the young man's cock nudging against my puckered backdoor, pushing to be added to the cock already violating my pussy, both of them eager to participate in making me a "three-hole slut," I panicked and once again thought about how I got here. I mean... I'm not someone's slut. I'd never been submissive to anyone growing up or in my marriage. My husband has never so much as spanked me, taken my ass or forced me to do anything, and here I was, a mother in her 40s being gangbanged by five college-aged guys... one of them my son! Even as my brain screamed out that I shouldn't be doing any of this my body was screaming even louder for it not to stop. How had this happened?

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My name is Melissa, and it all began when I started reading erotica online. My husband and I had been together for over twenty years and to say that our sex life had gotten stale would be an extreme understatement. We both had full time jobs that were very demanding, and we'd raised our two sons, Todd and Erik. When they'd gone to college, I'd hoped that my husband, Scott, would show more interest in our sex life but he didn't. It stayed the same. Once or twice a month he'd ask if I was interested, and he probably truly believed that was an acceptable "seduction." If I felt like it, I'd say sure and after very minimal foreplay we'd fuck - usually missionary or me on top. I couldn't tell you how long it had been since we'd had sex in any other position. I'd give him head sometimes and would swallow if he came, but he would shy away from going down on me. I didn't get it. I'd tasted myself off my fingers when I masturbated and knew I didn't taste or smell bad. I maintained myself and paid attention to hygiene. What was his deal? I've not let myself get fat or flabby. At five feet five inches tall and a very fit 108 pounds, I run and do yoga daily, so my ass is tight and firm, my belly is flat - like it was before I bore his two children - and my chest wasn't saggy at all as I had small B-cup breasts with very sensitive nipples.

But since Scott wasn't showing any interest in an accelerated sex life, much less in anything beyond seriously vanilla sex, I took to reading erotica and regularly fingering myself to multiple orgasms. I even hid that from Scott because I knew he'd be judgmental. "Prude" would be a good word to describe him. I guess, based on my behavior, it would describe me too - but it certainly wouldn't describe my mentality. I had no idea what the variety of erotica was and started out reading sexy stories about couples having anything but vanilla sex. Then I saw other stories about women with multiple partners; women coerced to have sex against their will; women gangbanged at bachelor parties; couples who swapped with other couples and so many fetishes I'd never even heard of. With every new kink I read about my fantasies and sexual needs expanded and I'd become expert at fingering my pussy to orgasm in just a few minutes. It even got to where I was going to the bathroom at work, biting my lip to keep from screaming out as I fingered myself to orgasm in the stall thinking about a coworker - or two or three - using me. Those fantasies progressed to them using me and sending me home to Scott full of cum. Soon I realized that Scott's lack of interest had morphed, in my mind, into him being a "beta" - a guy who isn't first in his woman's life and who serves only her pleasure and the pleasure of whomever she commands him to. I found myself getting off on the idea of having multiple men fuck me, cum in me, and then making my husband eat me clean. I fantasized about him watching it, embarrassed and weak, powerless to do anything but watch and wait to be ordered to eat up the mess other men made in me.

One author on an erotica website I frequented wrote stories that particularly appealed to me. From the time I first started reading erotica to the time I found his stories, it was probably a year. The website offered a service where I could email him some comments and I did. My email said, "You are an amazing writer and I think your stories are very hot. I'm early 40s, married/mom and need more than life offers. My husband is sweet but doesn't get me going and my fantasies are overwhelming me. - Melissa"

I was scared he'd reply and even more scared he wouldn't. I had read many of his stories and wondered if they were true or simply fiction and then realized I didn't care. I wanted to be the woman I read about in his tales: a wanton slut who got off on pleasing the men she played with, one at a time or in groups. I wanted to be the wife that hosted poker parties and serviced every man there. I wanted to be the wife that was strapped to a St. Andrew's Cross (I had learned what that was) and spanked... flogged... touched by every man and woman in the room and fucked by several of the men. Scott and I had never had anal sex - I was an anal virgin - and I found myself masturbating to the idea of being a "three-hole slut," made "airtight" as I was used... treated like nothing but a fuck toy as men used my every hole and came wherever they wished.

That author, Frank, did write back and we opened a dialogue. To say that I was... am ashamed of my fantasies would be another understatement. My fantasies had grown quite dark and gone far beyond simply wanting passionate sex in a variety of positions. One of my favorite fantasies was to be coerced or forced... just shy of raped... into sex with at least three men. There was no way I'd admit to such fantasies of course, but the emails back and forth with Frank became a highlight in my day and I found myself being more open than I thought I could be. Within a few days of our back-and-forth he knew what I did for a living, the general area I lived in, my physical description, my husband's name, the fact that I had two college age sons and their names... so much. He also knew what my darkest fantasies were. The emails where he questioned me... where I found myself giving him honest answers, or even oblique answers that led him in the right direction to answers I was ashamed even to type... Those emails left my pussy dripping wet and in even greater need of service or use. Yes, I wanted to have someone fuck me well, but more than that I found myself truly craving simple use. I wanted a man... actually men, to simply use me; fuck me as they saw fit; control me to give them head; take my ass. I wanted to become an animal meant for nothing other than sexual use and pleasure. But I couldn't admit that, and I certainly couldn't take any action to make that a reality. As much of a prude as Scott was, I didn't even have the courage to talk to him about my fantasies. Hell, I couldn't confess I'd been reading erotica.

In one of his emails to me, Frank had mentioned that if he was ever in my area (he lives several states away) we should have lunch. While he didn't even suggest a sexual tryst, he did say that IF we ever had lunch together, he fully expected me to trim my pubic hair down (his wife keeps hers closely trimmed and I don't. He expressed his requirement that I trim mine, even if he'd never see it.) I have to confess that the idea of trimming my pussy for another man, even if he wouldn't see it, as a requirement to have a meal with him made my pussy drool.

Months went by. Frank and I continued to exchange emails. I kept reading stories. My fantasies kept growing. I masturbated more frequently. Frank introduced me to a website where I could look at some adult toys (yes, I was a mom in her 40s and never so much as had held a vibrator or dildo). My only concern with the idea of a vibrator is that I'd like it more than a real cock and I already felt enough disdain for Scott's sexual prowess and equipment that I was sure... if I got a vibrator and liked it more, Scott would rarely, if ever, get near my pussy again. I held off on buying anything... but even the pictures of those toys and the thought of having them in me was enough to get me wet.

Frank sent me links to videos of women - wives and mothers - getting gangbanged or going to swingers' parties and being shared for the first time. Every time I watched one of those videos, I imagined myself as the woman. The more hardcore the video, the wetter I got and the more intense my orgasms were. In one video I watched a woman who was fucked by six different men. One came in her ass. One came in her pussy. One came in her mouth. The other three all came on her face. I had the most intense orgasm of my life imagining myself as her with cum in every hole and all over me. That one woman had left all six men drained and satisfied. I so badly wanted to be like that.

Then... I guess karma happened. Scott had to go out of town - across the country actually - for six weeks for a training program. Two weeks into that timeframe, Frank emailed and told me he was going to be in my area... less than a forty-minute drive away actually. He didn't know that... but I did as soon as he told me where he'd be. He even casually mentioned the hotel he'd be staying in and it was one of the higher-end ones. He'd be so close... should I tell him? Could we have that lunch and NOT have sex? I didn't want to ever cheat on Scott. If he ever found out it would destroy him... and for whatever weird kinky reason between my ears, the idea of him being emotionally destroyed, not only knowing I'd had sex with another man, but that I'd done all kinds of things with another man that I'd never done with him AND, even better, if Scott could be manipulated to watch it... oh my gawd but I could feel my pussy juice making my thighs slick at the thought.

Shocked at myself as I did so, I emailed Frank back and suggested he'd be close enough to have that lunch date he had mentioned months back. To make myself feel better I told him clearly that it would be JUST lunch with no hope of anything else... and then I added that to make up for it I'd be sure to trim my pussy as he'd requested. At least the knowledge of that should be some consolation. He accepted and our lunch date was set. It would happen in about a week.

For that week I was a mess. I could barely concentrate at work, and I know Scott thought there was something wrong when we'd have our evening phone conversations. He'd call while I was watching a video of some woman being used by a group of men, my fingers deep in my pussy and I wouldn't stop. During one call he even asked if I was having an affair because he could hear my heavy breathing as I approached orgasm. I laughed at the idea reminding him our sons were just down the hallway and I could never do such a thing without getting caught. He made a comment about how at least he knew that would stop me... and I didn't realize until later that his comment implied he couldn't think of any other reason why I wouldn't have an affair. More thoughts piled onto that: first that he said it like he thought I WOULD have an affair if the boys weren't around and second, he said it so casually it seemed like he didn't care. Combined, it really pissed me off and I found myself contemplating the option of having sex with Frank just to prove to Scott (and myself?) that I WAS capable of it, and he (Scott) should have given a little more consideration to trying to take care of me at home.

Truth be told, somewhere inside of me that I didn't want to admit and was ashamed of, I knew I was going to have sex with Frank when we met for lunch. The restaurant we were meeting in was right next door to his hotel, and even if it weren't, I knew I needed to experience the kind of sex we'd discussed; the kind of sex I'd seen porn actresses have in many videos; the kind of sex I knew my husband would never give me. Of course, I couldn't admit that, not even in emails. I couldn't tell Frank that I knew... I was hoping... that I needed it. I couldn't admit to anyone, not even myself really, that if I didn't get that from Frank... I'd lose my mind. I was already near insane with need, and to have the answer available, willing and eager even, and not have it - I'd just go nuts.

When the day came, Frank had been in town for two days already. I had been thinking about him and what might (might!?) happen at our lunch. That morning, as I trimmed my pussy hair down - in compliance with his request - I realized that my pussy had been wet, pretty continuously, for the whole week. I loved how delicious it felt and tasted. I gave a fleeting thought to the fact that I was in the peak of my menstrual cycle, ovulating and easily impregnated. I hoped he brought condoms... and then tried to push all those naughty thoughts out of my mind. I could NOT have sex with this man. That's what my brain said. We ARE going to let this man fuck us is what my pussy said.

I guess I should describe Frank. He'd sent me pictures of everything except his manhood. He was about six feet tall, and a pretty fit 190 pounds. He had a few tattoos but nothing excessive and nothing shocking. He had that mat of hair on his chest that is so manly. His moustache and goatee had just the slightest smattering of gray. Throughout our email exchanges he had never told me how old he was, but I knew he had at least one son not much older than mine, so I thought we were about the same age.

I went to work that morning dressed in my usual conservative attire: a skirt that reached my knees, a blouse that was professional looking and a pair of flat shoes because I'd be on my feet all morning. Underneath was something different. I put on a thong that Scott had never seen and a matching bra that accentuated my nice boobs. I was distracted all morning waiting for noon to arrive as I was meeting Frank at 12:30, and I had taken the rest of the day off just in case lunch ran longer than my one-hour break. I didn't want to be stressing time at lunch. Since it was going to be a one-time opportunity, I wanted to enjoy talking for however long we had.

Promptly at noon I checked out of work. On the drive over to the restaurant I tried not to think about how wet my pussy way or how hard my nipples were. After I had parked, I unbuttoned another button on my blouse. It didn't look slutty, but it showed a bit more skin and I knew Frank would like that. I wanted him to look.

As promised, he met me just inside the restaurant doors and I was pleased to see that he looked like his pictures and as he'd described himself to me. His shoulders were wide compared to his hips. His waist was trim, and he was neatly groomed. He was wearing a polo shirt that fit him well and was tucked into his dress slacks. I put my hand out for a shake since it was our first meeting, but he smiled, said, "God it's nice to finally meet you in person," and then, totally ignoring my hand, pulled me into a hug.

For a VERY brief moment I resisted the hug, but my body screamed into it, pulling him close, feeling him against me from knees to shoulders and inhaling his scent. He smelled delicious - and there's just no other word for it. I couldn't identify his cologne but his scent, whatever it was, made my body scream. I wanted to start pulling his clothes of him right then and there but... the hug broke, and he took my hand. Together, holding hands, we were shown to our table. It was actually a booth near a back corner of the restaurant; fairly secluded as public eateries go. My mind was going a million miles an hour and my pussy felt like it was buzzing. My nipples were so hard they ached. What was I doing?!

I felt like I was two different people. The married conservative mom in me was shouting inside my brain. I should stop this. I should apologize to him and leave. I should tell my husband, Scott, everything when he got home from work, and we'd figure it all out to keep us both happy and satisfied. Something else in my mind was way louder. The needy wanna-be-slut in me was driving me forward, clutching Frank's hand, wondering what he'd feel like naked against me; what his equipment would feel like in my hands; what his COCK would taste like as I sucked it both before and after he fucked me hard.

Frank guided me into the booth and then, to my surprise, slid in right next to me. I had expected him to sit across from me; not next to me. No! I'm trapped! YES! I want him close to me. The emotional rollercoaster fighting the physical desires was mentally exhausting. Finally, something relaxed in my brain. Like a snap I just let myself go to enjoy the meal and the company of this man next to me. After all, we were in a public place, and it was just lunch. (Who was I fooling?)

We made small talk in between looking at the menu and ordering our drinks and food. Frank ordered a beer, so I saw no harm in ordering a rum and coke. I certainly wanted the alcohol to help calm my nerves. One led to two, but I stopped myself there. I felt a bit better and the Caesar salad I had for lunch made me feel responsible and healthy. All through the meal Frank complimented me and asked questions showing his interest in me; my day; my work; my life. He already knew Scott was out of town and how unhappy I was with so much in my marriage. I realized this man knew my darkest desires; he knew things about me my own husband didn't know. It was both exhilarating and scary.

At some point in the meal Frank casually asked me if my pussy was prepared as he had requested. I smiled a big smile as I confirmed for him that it was. He looked at me, very seriously, and asked, "Am I to take your word for it?"

I giggled. "What would you have me do to prove it?" I asked him. "Stand up and show the world so you can see?"

He chuckled. "No, nothing so dramatic," he said. I felt his hand on my thigh under the table and he continued, "just spread your thighs for me and pull your panties aside. Let me feel for confirmation."

I balked at the idea even as I felt my pussy gush. Loving the feeling of his hand on my flesh but still keeping on some semblance of my conservative wife face, I smiled and replied, "You think I'm just going to let you feel my pussy right here? I'm a married woman and this is just lunch."

He smiled back at me. "Uh huh," he said as his hand moved higher up my thigh and over toward the inside. I felt my thighs spreading, as if they had a mind of their own. "Now pull your panties aside so I can make sure you're telling me the truth."

I knew I shouldn't. I knew what would happen if I did. Once I let him touch me, I wouldn't be able to deny him. I'd give him anything he asked for; do anything he told me to. But even as I was thinking those thoughts, I reached down to pull my thong aside... well out of his way. He saw and felt the movement and with his eyes locked on mine, he slid his hand all the way up my thigh and onto my neatly trimmed sex. I'm sure half the restaurant heard my moan when his hand pressed against my swollen pussy lips. I jerked and jumped in the seat as he dragged a finger between them, over my swollen clit. My eyes closed and my head fell back as his fingers slid down between my lips again and one dipped inside my wetness just ever so slightly.

"There she is," he said very quietly in my ear. "There's the slut I knew was in there." He pushed his finger deeper into me. I was so sensitive, and the frustrations had been so built up that I was almost ready to cum right there. I spread my thighs even farther as my body expressed the desires I couldn't make my mouth say.

I heard him chuckle against as he slid another finger into me, his palm putting pressure on my clit, rubbing up and down as he slid his fingers in and out of me. I heard the squish of my wetness and then gasped as I heard the server's voice. "Will there be anything else, sir?" I moaned involuntarily as Frank said, "No, thank you. Just the check." His hand never stopped moving and the server HAD to have seen what was going on. "Yes, sir," the server replied. Frank's hand kept moving. Oh, god what had I just done? A server in a restaurant had just seen this man fingering my married pussy! I was so ashamed... and more turned on than I had ever been in my life.