My Fertile Secret Ch. 05

Tasers don't literally knock you out. The pain is just so intense that you black out for a moment and can barely move when you do wake up.

My husband is dragging me across the landing like a drunken floozy who just got back from the club, and I don't have the strength to shove him off of me and run for my life. If I did run, what about my baby boy? Or my two daughters?

I have enough strength to look up and catch a glimpse of our bedroom through my bleary eyes. He's carrying me to bed as if I have a hangover and just need to sleep it off. Is he going to fuck me while I'm passed out? Has he already done that without me knowing?

Huffing and puffing from my weight -- a fact I'm mildly insulted by -- my husband heaves me onto the bed, and I begin wriggling like a dazed worm. A quick slap across my cheek is enough to put a stop to my enervated struggles and make me go limp.

My husband just hit me, and that's one of the least bad things he's done to me.

He disappears into the cabinet and pulls out a bundle of objects I can't see clearly. He climbs onto the bed with them as my vision begins to clear, and I see that he's holding a bundle of leather restraints. They're the kind you use for BDSM play; a pretty normal kink compared to what I now know he's really into.

I don't even bother to resist as he ties my wrists to the metal bed frame and secures the leather straps tight. He does the same to my ankles until I'm tied up in a spreadeagle position on the bed like a damsel in distress about to be ravished and sacrificed by some primitive tribe.

Now that I can't escape, my husband feels comfortable kneeling down by my side. He won't be doing the ravishing, not yet anyway. I'm more or less fully awake, and I'm full of questions and an overwhelming dread of the answers.

"Comfortable?" Hubby asks with a wry, sardonic smile.

"Fuck you!" I spit angrily.

"I wasn't planning for you to find out this way," he explains as if there's a good way to inform your wife that you arranged for her to be raped, "but now that you know, I'll have to move the schedule up. Although the timing isn't bad, since the girls are gone for the weekend."

"Are you gonna pimp them out too once they turn 18?" As soon as I ask him that, I'm overcome by a nauseating fear that he might not wait that long.

"I'll do nothing of the sort. Ever." He says it with a firmness of tone that -- almost -- reassures me that he means it. "My business partner and I prefer mature women."

The nausea clears up and is replaced by an anxious knot at the mention of his 'business partner'.

"You mean..." I'm terrified to ask for confirmation.

"The father of our cute little baby boy." My husband casts a sideways glance at the baby's crib where -- mercifully -- my son is still sleeping. "He paid good money to have his way with you and very much enjoyed it, almost as much as I enjoyed watching. I only wish I could have been in the room when it happened, but that would have ruined the scene."

Ten grand. That animal paid my depraved pervert of a husband ten grand for the right to rape me in our bed. All to pay for a nice jacuzzi tub and high-quality cameras and computers for the sake of his gross fetishes, not to mention that new Mitsubishi SUV hybrid.

My husband is the accountant, but something about that doesn't add up.

"We paid Forty grand for the Mitsubishi, and you said you got paid ten grand." I should just shut my mouth for fear of knowing the answers lurking behind my sham of a married life, but I just have to know. "Where'd the rest of the money come from?"

"Ah, well, I guess it's time to show you." My husband walks out, leaving me tied to the bed.

I tug uselessly on the leather restraints. I understand I'm not getting out of here any time soon. My husband returns a moment later holding what looks like a DVD cover. My first thought is 'who still watches DVDs in an age of streaming platforms?'

But then my husband climbs onto the bed again and I see the cover up close.

It's a pornographic cover image in two parts. The upper part features a muscular male body on top of a naked woman. The man's face is turned away while the woman is looking slyly at the camera, with her diamond wedding ring clearly visible. The bottom part fades into the top of the lower image featuring that same woman caressing her pregnant belly and also looking slyly at the camera while a different man, also with a wedding ring, embraces her from behind.

The nausea is back with a vengeance. The woman in the cover art is definitely NOT me, but my face has been photoshopped onto hers and given that expression of sly smugness through digital graphic manipulation. My husband's face has been photoshopped onto the face of the cuckold husband in the image -- or maybe that's really him posing with a model.

And then there's the title.

"'My Fertile Secret'." My husband says with a sense of pride that brings a bit of stomach acid to my mouth. "This is just a sample cover for posterity. Why sell physical copies when people can stream the full movie online?"

I want to pass out, but the adrenaline won't let me. This is so much worse than having me raped and impregnated and jerking off to the video. He filmed my rape and used the footage as porn. I can't even begin to comprehend how violated I ought to feel.

"The true story of a cheating Asian hotwife who gets fucked and bred by her White alpha male bull and tricks her cuckold husband into raising the baby." I notice there's a bulge in his pants, and I'm not sure I can take many more revelations like this. "Over five thousand preorders and more than a hundred thousand paid downloads in the first month alone."

"I want a divorce." I want a lot more than that, but that's the only thing I can think of to say.

"Even after I tell you that we've grossed over a million dollars?" My husband asks, as if he can buy my consent the way he sold my pussy. "And that's not counting the revenue from all the short-form content on our OnlyFans page. Well, technically, it's your OnlyFans page."

I'm too numb to react. I'm not even feeling sick anymore. I can't even formulate the thoughts that are swirling through my head right now, let alone put them into words. Is this really all he ever thought of me? Just a fuckable piece of middle-aged meat to be rented out to the highest bidder and dangled in front of the internet for a price?

A jingling sound catches our attention.

"Sounds like our guest is here." My husband turns to leave the room. "I'll be right back."

It only takes a few minutes before my husband returns from answering the door with the guest in tow. He's tall with the body of a pro-athlete under his shirt and the handsome, clean-shaven face of a male model. His eyes are a beautiful blue, and his dark hair is cut short and slicked back like a well-heeled business executive.

My blood freezes and my heart pounds like an engine in my chest. This is the first time I've ever seen him with the lights on, but I have no doubt who this is.

"It's been a while," my rapist says with a grin.

"We met just over a year ago and it turns out we have some overlapping interests," my husband explains as though he's introducing his colleague or his former roommate. "He's been looking forward to meeting you again, not to mention the baby."

My husband switches on the bedroom light before shutting the curtains. At the same time, my rapist walks over to the baby's crib, and I begin bucking and thrashing furiously, ready to rip the restraints off and claw him to pieces.

"Relax, sweetheart," my rapist admonishes me. He lifts my baby out of his crib with the utmost care and cradles him in his strong arms. "Do you really think I'd hurt our son?"

I'm barely relieved to see him hold my son so tenderly. It's even weirder to watch him hand the infant over to my husband with equally tender care, and then to watch him pick the crib up and follow my husband out of the bedroom again and down the hall.

They don't want the baby to be present for whatever is about to come next.

Before long, both men have returned, and my husband is carrying camera equipment which the two men then help each other to set up. My heart is still pounding painfully hard. I can hear the blood pumping in my ears. I know exactly what's going to happen.

"Here's what's gonna happen," my darling husband explains. "I'm gonna untie you. Then he's gonna fuck you, and I'm gonna film you. All you have to do is lie back and enjoy yourself."

"You sick worthless piece of shit!" I scream at him, thrashing futilely at my restraints.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" my rapist asks wryly.

"Do you think yours would be proud that she birthed a rapist?!"

"No idea," he answers without being remotely fazed.

My husband has finished setting up the camera equipment, which it turns out is mounted on a harness for him to wear so he can get up close and personal with the action. There's a ring light around the camera itself, and the light makes me wince until he turns it down a little.

My rapist is undressing himself, removing his shirt to reveal a cut and toned physique which is undeniably attractive. It used to make me wet and excited when I imagined his naked body in my head, but now the sight of his bare chest and arms terrifies me with the knowledge of what he's about to do to me.

A moment later, his pants are down, and I get my first good look at the source of my baby boy. His cock is already hard, and he cradles his eight-inch length in one strong hand while stroking his pair of plum-sized gonads with the other.

"You untie her ankles and I'll untie her wrists." My husband walks to the side of the bed and prepares to release me while my rapist stands ready at the foot of the bed. "I'll tell you when we start rolling, then just do your thing and have fun."

I avert my eyes from the blindingly bright ring light and turn my head away from the camera in shame, even though it's apparently not rolling yet. I do notice that the harness is designed in such a way that my husband's hands are free to move.

I stay limp as my husband loosens and removes the first of my wrist restraints. My rapist does the same for one of my ankle restraints. He waits while my husband walks all the way around to the other side of the bed and prepares to untie my other wrist restraint. I'm still lying limp, trying to restrain the anticipation and fear rising in my belly.

The two men -- if you can call them that -- pause and exchange looks before proceeding. At a given signal, my husband removes my second wrist restraint, and my rapist does the same for my other ankle restraint.

I bounce right off the bed and try to make a mad dash for the open door, but my rapist is ready for me and pushes me back onto the covers. Before I know it, he's already between my thighs, trying to pin my arms down while I struggle frantically to escape him.

"Let me give you a little incentive, sweetheart." My husband's sweet tone is so totally at odds with what's happening that it deflates my will to fight even more than what he says next. "It'll be very hard to convince a family court or child protective services that you should be granted custody when you use our house to shoot amateur porn."

"On the other hand," my rapist elaborates, pinning my wrists down to the bed, "if you act like a slutty housewife having secret sex with her lover while her cuckold husband is working late, then they need never find out. Not just the authorities, but the kids."

Something about that threat doesn't quite make sense, but the mere chance that I might not see my three children again -- let alone that they'd be left in the care of my evil husband -- suddenly makes me eager to explore this unorthodox career path. For their sakes.

This time, I really do go limp. I don't try anything else when my rapist relinquishes his grip on my wrists and pulls me up until I'm sitting upright with my thighs on either side of his body. He pulls me into an embrace and holds me there, and I force myself to gaze into his pretty blue eyes, swallowing as much pride and dignity as I humanly can for the sake of my children.

"Lights." My husband stands back and gets into position and adjusts the brightness of the ring light. "Camera." I notice the little red light next to the lens. "Action!"

I slide my hands across my rapist's bulging pecs and up to his neck, sliding my fingers to the back of his head and pulling him into a sensual kiss. I close my eyes as our lips connect, and I open my mouth to let his tongue violate me.

His own hands slide around behind my back, reaching for the bottom of my shirt and trying to pull it up. I lift my arms above my head and allow him to remove my shirt, which he tosses to one side before undoing the clasp on my bra and tossing that away as well.

My breasts are bare for him now, and he fondles them carefully, much more carefully than my husband would have done. I become very conscious of his enormous cock sliding against the exposed skin of my belly like a wet snake.

"When does your husband get back?"

The question is like a mental curveball, I barely stop myself from pointing out that he's the one filming us. Fortunately for me, I remember my role and come up with a line.

"He doesn't get back until midnight." I reply with an eager grin, remembering to keep my eyes on my co-star. "You can fuck me all evening."

He returns the grin and tilts me forward until I'm lying on my back again. He shuffles back and takes a hold of the rim of my sweatpants, tugging them down my legs and removing them in one go, leaving only my panties, which I dutifully remove as well. Both sets of clothes end up on the floor, along with my shirt, my bra, and my dignity.

Then he's all over me again. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and pull him towards my face again for another kiss. His lips caress mine and our tongues tangle together as he gets into position between my thighs. This is so much better than the last time he fucked me. I can almost pretend that I really want this.

His strong hands paw at my full breasts, fondling the flesh that nurtures and suckles his baby. Unlike my gross hubby, my rapist doesn't start trying to drink the milk from them, although he does get a few drops out of the nipples.

The touch of his skin against mine is electric. I love having his powerful hands all over me and the pressing of his cock against the vulnerable lips of my womanhood. It's so easy to forget the camera a few feet to one side with the ring light shining on us both.

He sticks his fingers inside me, and I squeal through gritted teeth as he does a 'come hither' motion inside my pussy. I can feel the pleasure making my crotch feel tight, and the juices are already starting to flow. He wants me nice and wet before he enters me.

I moan and buck my hips as he fingers me, barely able to suppress an orgasm while trying not to forget that this is actually a rape scene in progress. He continues fingering me until it's just too much, and I cum on his fingers, my juices squirting all over his hand and my unforced cries of pleasure turning my cheeks red with shame.

Now, he's ready to get his.

He wipes his fingers clean on my pubic hair and on my belly, then readies his pale anaconda to slither inside me. With scarcely any more foreplay, he thrusts into my vagina, and I cry out again as his thick girth stretches me wide. Ever since the night we first met, I'd never forgotten what he felt like inside me, but the reminder is awe-inspiring.

My rapist begins to fuck me once again. Long, slow, deep strokes all the way in and all the way out. I embrace him like the lover he's pretending to be and hold on tight as he rapes me, pleasure once again building between my thighs as the passion threatens to overrun my mind and any thoughts of what's actually going on.

My vagina is wet and welcoming to his stiff serpent, and he savors every inch of my married snatch. It's still a little uncomfortable given how big he is. The walls of my cunt haven't been stretched this intensely since I last gave birth.

"Ooh, you're so much bigger and better than my husband," I purr with complete honesty.

"Glad I can give you what he can't," my rapist growls into my ear.

His chest is right up against mine, rubbing slowly and sensuously against my breasts with each stroke. It reminds me so much of the night he raped me, the way he forced himself inside me and kept fucking me until I craved more. I realize I'm pushing my hips back against his cock as he plows me. He's fucking me like he owns me, and my body loves him for it.

"You're so much better than my husband in every way." I've realized I can let how I truly feel and stay in character for this fucked-up porno. "His cock is barely half the size of yours. I can barely feel it when he's inside of me while you can make me scream."

It's completely true, and it's totally compatible with how they want me to act. My rapist is way better endowed than my husband could ever hope to be. I resist the urge to look over at him to gauge his reaction, but I can tell that my rapist is loving my dirty talk.

"Keep talking like that," he urges me lustily. His strokes are getting faster and harder, and the wet friction is threatening to make me cum again. "Tell me how much better I am than he is."

"He's everything you're not." I'm already panting from the exertion of getting fucked, but I have to get this off my busty chest. "He's a pathetic, gross, ugly, creepy pervert who jacks off to the videos of me giving birth to your child. And he has no fucking clue it's not even his kid. I bet if he walked in on us right now, he'd just sit in the corner and beat his meat to the sight of his wife getting railed by a real man like the good little beta cuck piece of shit that he is!"

It feels so good to cuss out my hateful, depraved pervert of a husband and pass it off as fictional dirty talk. My husband has no right to call himself a man in any sense of the word, and if I can humiliate him in any way possible, I'm gonna fucking do it. It's the least of what he deserves.

"Let me give you another one." My rapist's thrusting is accelerating to an animalistic frenzy. "Let me put another baby in your belly. I want to fuck you and breed you over and over and over again while he goes to work and brings home the bacon to raise our brood of kids."

"Yes! Fuck me! Cum inside me!" I beg my rapist, and there's a part of me deep in my soul that means it. "Put your baby in my belly! Breed me like the cheating slut I am!"

He suddenly stops thrusting and rolls us over until I'm on top of him.

"Well, if you want another baby by me so badly," he responds with a horny grin, groping and fondling my breasts, "you'll need to work for it, sweetheart."

I've never done cowgirl except when pregnant, but I can't break character, so with his boner buried up to his balls inside me, I grind my hips back and forth. It's easier than I thought, and before long I have a good rhythm going. It's a strong workout for my core as I move my hips forwards and backwards, undulating like a belly dancer while my rapist plays with my breasts.

It's quite a commanding position I have. I could even smack him in the face, jump right off his dick and run screaming from the room, hoping someone hears me.

I think better of that idea and continue grinding on his cock. I love the sight of his muscular chest all splayed out before me with that strong jawline and handsome face set on a pair of big, broad shoulders I could hold close to me if we were lovers.

When my core gets tired, I get into a squatting position and start bouncing up and down. His rod is so thick and long that he doesn't slip out even once. I actually feel empowered in this position -- as empowered as it's possible to be when you've been forced to take part in a porno with your rapist while your evil pervert hubby films you; but empowered, nonetheless.