My Fertile Secret Ch. 06

The doorbell rings and I get up from the couch and strut barefoot to the front door, wrapping the folds of my bathrobe around myself. My heart is pounding as I try to act naturally. There's been nothing natural about my life for the past few months, but for the sake of my three children, I have to pretend otherwise.

I reach out to grasp the door handle and a vision of a gang of musclebound Black men waiting on the other side flashes through my mind. Half a dozen dark-skinned thugs with big arms and big cocks ready to lay their brutish hands on me and pin me down while they take turns splitting me open with their black mambas.

The image in my head is so racist I have to stifle a laugh, but given how drastically my life has changed, I'm terrified that my awful husband might want to up the ante. As if having his own wife raped and impregnated wasn't despicable enough.

The doorbell rings again and startles me out of my distraction. My visitor is still waiting, so I take a deep breath and open the door.

I actually half-expect to see a group of Black gangbangers on the other side, or maybe even a gang of White rednecks waiting to pounce and gang-fuck the mixed White-Asian housewife who opens the door to greet them. But when the door is fully open, I see that there's only one person waiting on the front porch.

The visitor is tall with an athletic physique barely contained by his shirt. There's a thin layer of manly stubble on his otherwise clean-shaven face, making his strong jawline stand out even more. His dark hair has grown out a little, but it's still slicked back like he's an extra in Grease. He looks at me with the same beautiful blue eyes as my baby son and grins.

My rapist steps across the threshold without being invited in -- but of course he's already been invited in by my husband for this staged hookup scene. I remember to stay in character, and I grin back as he steps into my waiting arms.

His lips are soft against mine, and his thick arms wrapping around my waist squeeze me tight against his firm body. I break off the kiss and hustle him inside before the neighbors see us.

This is all part of the scene we're filming -- all caught by hidden cameras positioned around the house -- in which a lonely and horny housewife hooks up with her secret lover while her clueless husband is at work. It's a scene that's occurred in one form or another in every culture on Earth for thousands of years, and now I'm acting it out for perverts on the internet.

My rapist shuts the door behind him and resumes the kiss. His hands wander across my body, seeking out the open folds of my robe while my own hands clasp his clean-shaven cheeks and hold his mouth against mine. We walk backwards into the front room, alternately kissing and giggling as we stay in character while I try not to make eye contact with the hidden cameras.

When we reach the front room, I break out of his embrace before taking a few steps back. My rapist plays along with the scene, even though he probably wouldn't let me get away from him if this were real. I can see the bulge in his pants from here, and he's not even fully hard.

I reach down to my waist and loosen the cord of my robe, keeping the black lens sticking out between the leaves of the houseplant in the corner of my eye. My rapist feasts his eyes on the strip of naked flesh just visible between the folds of my robe from my neck down between my still-covered breasts to my navel, my freshly shaved crotch, and the tiny triangle of black cloth.

Finally, I grip the lapels of my robe and disrobe, exposing my bare shoulders, then my breasts and the rest of my body, and let the robe fall to the floor.

Despite giving birth to three babies, I'm still a prime specimen of womanhood. My hips are wide, and my waist is thin, while my bare breasts are an impressive D cup, swollen from their original B cup size thanks to three pregnancies. My pale skin is largely untouched by the sun, and the only part of me still hidden from view is the thing my rapist wants most.

My rapist closes the distance and puts his hands on me again. He kisses me ravenously and my heart races with anticipation. I feel his powerful hands running across my bare skin, his fingers and palms groping at my vulnerable flesh, seeking out my breasts and crotch especially.

I let him guide me to the couch and lower me down onto the cushions. He continues to kiss and fondle me, his lips covering my mouth and neck with kisses while he touches me. He's gentle enough that I can almost pretend I want this, because a part of me truly does.

He pauses his ministrations to remove his shirt, revealing an athletic chest with thick pecs and a toned six pack that would make any man jealous and every woman wet. I know he won't take the rest of his clothes off just yet. The script requires some foreplay.

His hands and lips migrate down from my neck to my big tits, which he spends a while fondling and kissing like a horny teenager. Then he moves down across my bare belly to the newly bald mound of my crotch before moving my thong out of the way to expose the real prize.

I twist my body around on the couch so that the other hidden camera can get an excellent shot of my rapist going to town on my pussy. He parts my bare thighs with his hands as if I'm going to snap them shut around his head and presses his mouth against my crotch.

I tilt my head back and dig my fingers into his dark hair, keeping my thighs wide and my toes curled for him. He licks and sucks at my pussy with hunger and skill, his tongue flicking across my clit and between my folds. Probably the only perk of being a housebound sex slave and an amateur porn star is that I get way better sex now than I did before this man raped me.

Before long, I'm shaking with pleasure, pulling his face in close to my crotch while he devours my cunt with gusto. He keeps his strong hands on my inner thighs, and I keep my legs locked at the knees for him, my feet shaking in the air as he goes down on me. I can already feel the tightness of an early orgasm in my vagina, and the more he licks me, the tighter it feels.

I'm moaning through my teeth, genuinely enjoying the oral pussy worship while trying to keep the circumstances and backstory out of my head. If I asked him to stop right now, he wouldn't. This man raped me in my own bed at my own husband's behest, and this encounter is all part of their sick plans to control me and fuck me for money.

So much for trying to keep my mind off it.

My rapist sticks his fingers inside my wet pussy and wiggles them around, making me squirm with pleasure and soak his fingers with lubricating fluids. After a moment of that, he takes his fingers out and sticks them in my mouth.

I suck on his fingers like they're a cock, tasting the tang of my own cunt juices while he moves closer towards me. That's enough pussy eating for my rapist. Now he wants to fuck me.

He stands up to pull his pants down while I play with my pussy, keeping my thighs wide and ready for him while chewing playfully on my lip. His boxer shorts come down, and the eight-inch rod that changed my life forever pops out, a dribble of pre-cum glistening at the pink tip.

He gets down between my open thighs and maneuvers his weapon into position. I stare into his eyes, breathing through my gaping mouth as I pant with anticipation. My heart is pounding as I feel his glans press between my labia. He rubs the head of his penis up and down to tease and torment me, staring into my eyes with his own blue gaze before pushing inside.

Three babies have stretched my birth canal more than any cock ever could, but I still gasp with unfeigned discomfort as I feel his thickness penetrate me. My vagina is already wet thanks to his licking and fingering, so his length slides smoothly inside me, but his girth pushes my walls outward in a way that makes me yelp.

He lowers himself down on top of me and begins thrusting immediately. I moan and whimper as he fucks me. The feeling of his overbearing masculine weight pinning me down makes me feel even more vulnerable than the weapon thrusting inside of me, but I do love the feeling of his chiseled muscles gliding across my bare breasts and smooth belly.

My legs are still spread wide and locked out at the knees -- a nice little pose for the perverts on the other end of the cameras -- and I wrap my arms around his body, digging my trimmed nails into the flesh of his back and moaning incessantly with each stroke. His head is down next to mine with his face buried in the cushion, and if I strain my neck, I can see down the length of his back to his taut ass rising and falling between my married thighs.

As we make increasingly passionate love for the cameras, his body is pressed so close to mine that I can feel his pubic bone rubbing against my clitoris every time he thrusts inside me.

It isn't long before an orgasm is on its way. I try to clench my pelvic floor and resist the rising tide of pleasure growing between my legs, but it's hard when your man is determined to fuck you until you cum. He's humping me increasingly aggressively, like he has something to prove that can only be proven with his penis, like he's trying to breed me all over again.

The camera concealed in the houseplant has a fine view of my rapist's ass pistoning back and forth inside a married woman's snatch. I turn my head to the side and catch a glimpse of the other camera mounted on top of the wide-screen TV. This one has an excellent side view of our lovemaking as my knees rest on either side of his flanks and my arms embrace him.

My rapist's cock slides forcefully in and out of my vagina, his length massaged and moistened by my increasingly copious sexual juices. My body has long since surrendered to the natural joy of being fucked by a man more virile than my weak, pervert husband, and my will to resist is slipping away like my increasingly slippery pussy.

My rapist is grunting and growling in my ear. He's close to cumming. I renew my grip on his body and squeeze him close, moaning into his ear as my own orgasm approaches. It'll be great for the cameras if we cum together.

Sure enough, I hear that familiar snarl of raw masculine pleasure and feel him push his cock as far inside my pussy as it will go. His penis twitches inside me, and then I feel the warm spurt of his seed shooting into my vagina. The sensation of liquid warmth spurting into my pussy bursts my own bubble of pleasure, and I cry out as my own climax overtakes me.

My cunt muscles contract rhythmically as they squeeze my rapist's thick cock for every drop of virile seed it can render, and my body shakes spasmodically as a full-blown vaginal orgasm makes me forget for a few sweet moments how terrible my life and my marriage have become.

I'll never stop enjoying sex no matter how many times this animal rapes me and no matter how many abusive amateur pornos my terrible, horrible, no-good husband forces me to star in. For just this moment, my rapist really is my sexy lover visiting to fuck me while my husband is out earning the money to raise our children -- including the one my rapist fathered.

Then his orgasm fades, and he collapses on top of me. My own orgasm takes a while longer to subside, and I drag my nails gently across the flesh of his ass and up his flanks. I continue that for a while before doing the same to his shoulders and finally stroking his hair lovingly.

I continue caressing him like a lover even after I remember that this man is a rapist in cahoots with my evil cuckold husband. The cameras are still rolling, so I have to keep up with the show for the viewers. They'll pay good money to see a real married woman cheating on her husband, and they want it to be convincing.

"I am so gonna put another baby in you," my rapist growls lustily in my ear.

His words pierce my gut like a knife, and not in a pleasurable way. I hate him so much. Not as much as I hate my husband, to be sure, but what woman wouldn't hate her rapist? In that sense, my will to resist really hasn't gone away. I lie back and spread my legs when I have to for the sake of my children and my own safety, but I won't ever give in.

His arrogance is astounding. He really thinks he's entitled to fuck me whenever and wherever he wants; and so that he can feel smug and virile at the sight of my pregnant belly bulging out of my waistline, he wants to put another baby in my belly.

Well, he already has.

***

My rapist fucks me several more times in the front room in various positions before I pretend that my husband is coming home early, and he has to leave before he gets caught. The whole thing was planned out by the very man supposedly getting cheated on, and when he does walk through the door, it's all I can do to keep playing along and refrain from smacking him.

When the late afternoon arrives, the girls are back from school and I'm taking care of my baby boy while they watch an afternoon movie. My husband is in the home office 'working late' -- he's actually reviewing and editing the footage into a new porn flick -- and my rapist won't be back until the next porn shoot.

How the fuck did my life come to this?

As my baby boy suckles on my breast, I gaze into his beautiful blue eyes -- the same blue eyes he inherited from his rapist father -- and I smile lovingly at him. I really do love him. He's still my flesh and blood. I grew him in my belly for nine months and spent six long hours pushing him out into the world. There's no way I can't love him, despite how he was conceived.

For his sake, and the sakes of my two daughters, there's no way I can continue playing along with this double life: being a loving mother on the one hand and a sex slave and involuntary porn star on the other. I have to escape from this house and this marriage. How exactly I go about doing that has kept me awake at night for the past three months.

Once my baby son has finished suckling, his eyes begin to droop. It's time to go back to sleep, and I'm happy to give him another nap so I can think. I stand up and rock him gently as I return him to his crib and pull the little covers over him. Then I lie down on the bed again and think.

I can't just pack up and leave. Even if I take my kids with me and stay at my parents' house, my husband has a hard drive full of terabytes' worth of potential revenge porn material. It's the same reason I can't run to the police, either: he can humiliate me and claim I went along with it this whole time. The cheating slut-wife who wants out of her marriage.

It's not as if it's straightforward blackmail, either. He's created an online persona for me as a horny cuckoldress who deliberately conceived a baby with another man just to humiliate her husband and get aroused by doing so. As far as the internet is concerned, that's what I am, and there's no way I can outrun that unless I change my name and completely re-invent my identity, and even that wouldn't guarantee a clean slate to start afresh from.

No. As long as my husband has all those videos and pictures of me stored on his computer, I'm totally under his thumb. Any escape plan that doesn't involve a data heist to get all that material is a non-starter. Fortunately, I do have a background in that sort of thing.

In the meantime, plotting to change my awful situation has involved accepting the things that I can't change, like the fact that I'm going to be a mother again.

They took away my morning-after pills, and I can't get any other contraception without my husband noticing. He's determined to have my rapist impregnate me again so that he can re-live his gross fantasies of being cuckolded by his cheating wife again. After several months of being fucked relentlessly by my eagerly complicit rapist, they've succeeded.

I lift up my shirt and rest my hand on my belly. I haven't told either of them yet. When I found out I was pregnant with each of my daughters, I kept the pregnancies a secret from my husband for a week for the personal excitement of knowing something about him that he didn't know. I did the same after finding out I was pregnant with 'our' son for very different reasons.

And now, I'm pregnant with 'our' fourth child, and I don't want either man to find out. They'll find out, eventually. If the morning sickness doesn't give me away, my bulging belly will, and that puts a timer on when I can execute my daring escape plan. It'll be hard to run around with a swollen belly while carrying a baby and two little girls in tow.

An abortion is definitely out of the question for much the same reasons as I can't get a hold of any contraception. At the same time, even if that were an option, I don't regret this pregnancy. I loved my son when he came along, and I'll love this baby for the same reasons. There's just no way I'm going to raise my kids under this roof given what routinely happens to me under it.

Which brings me back to my escape plan: first, I need to acquire all the porn materials that my husband has, along with any backup copies. Second, I need to commandeer one of our two cars, preferably the Mitsubishi SUV, because it's bigger. Third, I need to pick up my daughters and my baby without a hitch, with enough supplies to get us to my parents' house.

How the hell am I supposed to pull all of that off? Even if I do pull it off without a hitch, there are all kinds of ways in which the plan could go awry. What if my husband has entrusted backup copies to my rapist? How far away would we have to run to stop them tracking us down? What if my husband misrepresents this as an ugly business dispute and sues me? How will I earn a living as a former housewife who hasn't had a full-time job for nearly a decade?

Well, I do have some things going for me, like my B.Sc. in computer science with a minor in cybersecurity. I don't think I want to go back into computer science as a career, but those skills can at least help me escape my current circumstances.

***

I was wrong about my rapist not coming back until the next porn shoot. He arrives two weeks later to have a late-night dinner with my husband and me -- after the girls have eaten and gone to bed, thankfully. I don't want them within ten miles of their half-brother's biological father.

The dinner is awkward as fuck. My husband offers me wine and I demur because it makes me drowsy. He exchanges a look with my rapist. I can sense that the two of them suspect it's just an excuse and that there might be a fourth child on the way, but they don't question it openly.

I hope against hope that after dinner my rapist will go on his merry way, but I suspect he'll be staying the night in the marital bed, and possibly getting another quickie in while my husband masturbates next to us. I keep my mouth shut while the two bastards chat amiably to each other, and once we've all eaten dinner and cleared away the plates, we sit down to watch a movie.

Their choice of movie is a sick joke. It's 'My Fertile Secret'. We're going to watch the feature-length film of me being raped, my pregnancy and masturbation sessions, and then the birth of my third child on the 65-inch TV screen.

"I know I've said this before, but you're both absolutely disgusting." The two worst men in my life make me sit between them on the couch, and it makes me feel like a piece of meat between two dogs. "You're seriously gonna make me watch this?"

"Of course not," my husband answers casually, "you can go to bed and take care of the baby while we have our movie night down here."

My eyes flit to the baby monitor on the coffee table, ready to broadcast the baby's cries when he inevitably wakes up. I would actually much rather be alone with the baby than ensconced between these two awful men, and I get up to leave.

"Actually, no." My rapist's hand closes around my wrist, making me flinch in alarm. "I think you'll enjoy watching the movie you starred in. And I'll need you for when I feel frisky."