Well, That Didn't Go as Planned Pt. 03

My phone dings.

It's 1:13am what the fuck.

Blinking past the sleep. Squinting.

It's a photo of me from last week, staring at the camera all sexually hangry with my arms tied to the bed; one leg up and one to the side. My is face sweaty and my fresh fucked pussy is leaking cum on my sheets.

Jeremy's cum.

It's one of those no-reply, 5 digit auto-numbers.

"Mmmph..." Andrew rolls over and snuggles. Phone screen clicked off instantly. Silent mode activated. My heart is pounding in my throat. How in the actual marketing fuck is he doing this? Who all did he send this to? Did Andrew's phone get this?

It buzzes again. Afraid, I look at the next message.

"What time should I come over for dinner tomorrow?"

I get the point. I have no choice. So I reply: "5pm".

Not much sleep happens after that.

***

Not sure what time it is, but there's light coming through the curtains. Andrew has morning wood, and he's nuzzling up, spooning me. I lurch to consciousness with my panties pulled down mid thigh and he's rubbing on me from behind. My pussy is already sweaty from the night's sleep and whatever stimulation he might have been doing while I still slept. I instinctively move my legs to allow him in, and he pushes his dick into me.

"Ahhhh..." I cannot help but gasp. Every time. That feeling of being taken. Ravished. Loved. Fucked. Wanted. Had. Held.

He usually comes fairly quickly when we have sex like this, and this morning was no exception. I almost never cum when he does it, but I like it all the same. He pulls out and rolls me over, and his semen splashes on my lower back and butt.

"Mmmm..." I croon, "Good morning babe." He kisses my shoulder, then gets up for a napkin from the bathroom.

We're eating breakfast later, and I ask him how work is going. "Good, actually. We're about to sign a new contract today for a 12 month job that comes in at a little under $1.75 million. Jeremy brought that one to bed based on my referral. Amazing stuff. He's meeting with them again tonight to discuss implementation."

I feel better already. "Wow, that's great babe. Guess that means we're having steaks tonight huh?" Guess Jeremy isn't coming over after all.

He laughs, "Sure honey. Sounds delicious." We kiss, and he heads out to work.

Around 3:30 or so, I'm back from the grocery store, and cleaning up the dining room. My phone rings, it's Andrew. "Hey Alice," he says. "Sorry, I got some bad news. Jeremy had a family emergency, and had to leave. I'm filling in for him, and it looks like a late night. Can we take a rain check on those steaks?"

I'm disappointed, but before I can really answer, my phone buzzes. Looking down at it, I see a text from that same spoof number: "Dress sexy for me".

"Babe? You there?" He's asking me.

"Y- yeah," I fumble for an answer. "It's OK honey, I like it when you make it rain. Do what you have to do."

"Thanks babe! I knew you'd understand. Call you when I'm on my way home. Love you!"

"Love you too..."

After hanging up, I look at that text. This is different. This is very different.

The first time, I was taken advantage of. It wasn't my fault. I did not know. Now I'm being blackmailed. What do I do?

Every single day since, I've thought about what Jeremy said to me: "If you didn't wanna get fucked by a stranger, why'd you tie yourself up and blindfold yourself?" When I wake up having sex with Andrew because he has morning wood, if I'm being honest, there's a moment where I don't know who is penetrating me; I only know the pleasure and the uncertainty of what's happening next. And every time I hear the echo of that question, I feel a horny pang of truth gnawing at my cunt. Why do I like being woken up getting fucked? Why did I want a blindfold? Why do I have dreams about stranger sex? I'm happy with my sex life with my husband. Yet here I am, having to admit to myself that being blackmailed into unprotected sex with his coworker is somehow alluring.

My phone buzzes again. This time it's an audio clip. I tap to play, and it's me, screaming like a teenage porn star, "Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuuuuuck! Oh I'm cummmming!" I know the exact instant it's from. It's from when I already knew it was Jeremy fucking me -not my husband- and I couldn't stop.

How does he know exactly when to remind me?? I'm lost in that feeling. But worse, I know what's going to happen next. I'm going to masturbate to it. In my mind he's already fucking me again. I scroll up my texts, and look at that photo of myself, the audio repeating as the entire escapade replays in my mind.

I snap out of my reverie and look at myself. I've got my jeans unbuttoned, and I'm leaning against the kitchen counter, one hand deep in my panties, the other staring at my phone. Reliving my feelings of passion, shock, hunger, and fear. "I'm so wet!" I marvel. It doesn't matter if I want to at this point, but at at the same time, it also clearly matters that I want to. Will I have his baby? How many times will he make me forbidden-cum before that happens? What if it never does, and we just secretly fuck, amazingly? What if we're caught?

Somehow, this who-the-fuck guy just stumbled in on my fantasy, awakened it, and he knows exactly how and when to push me. I reach deep, and touch my ass like he did when I was all tied up. My hand gets gushed on as I cum a little.

But I stop. Because I can't hard cum now; I have work to do. I have to get Jeremy's dinner ready, and I have to dress up right for it. Because I'm gonna take his cum again. Because I have to. Because I want it.

***

The doorbell rings, and I'm wearing my sexiest black satin dress; low back, high thigh leg slits, tight on my butt and sides but loose on my tits, with spaghetti straps. No underwear or bra needed this time. Black heels and makeup.

Jeremy is there, dressed appropriately in charcoal slacks, shoes, and jacket, with a deep red shirt and matching boutonnière. He has a slim box in one hand, and a bottle of champagne in the other.

I invite him in to our formal dining room, set with candles, ribeye steaks, wine glasses, and cloth napkins. But neither of us are hungry for that kind of meal.

"I brought you a gift," he says, walking me backward to the table, almost threatening me with that box. As I reach the table, I lean back on it, and my hands rise to accept/defend myself from this box. Opening it, I see a delicately sparkling, black lace choker necklace laying on a bed of fluff. It's dainty enough that it passes as normal jewelry, but its message is as strong as any leather and steel o ring collar.

But I cannot stop him or avert his gaze, and he places it around my neck, and fastens it. The box falls to the floor. "I will have you now, Alice."

I scoot my butt back up onto the table, and spread my legs, lifting aside the front of my dress. His image flickers in the candlelight as we stare into each others' eyes.

First he pulls the cloth of my dress fully aside, revealing my pantiless pussy. I spread my legs more, expectantly, but he goes instead for my tits. Pinching my dress together to pop them out of it, he leans in and suckles my nipples. A tug, a nibble, and a squeeze of my breast. I lean back and arch my chest toward him. As I breathe, I feel the gentle contraction of my throat against my new lace collar, and it excites me.

His fingers meet my pussy, and he's starting with two at my slit and his thumb on my clit. I'm so wet, it's no effort for him to finger me, hooking them inside and pulling, rubbing the hood of my sex, while also grinding over my clit. He curls his fingers back, hitting that pocket of nerves, while we kiss and tongue each other.

I try to strip him of his jacket and manage to halfway unbutton his shirt, but he pushes me back on the table. Unzipping his pants, he pulls out his dick, and grabs my hips to position me. With a grunt, he teases my cunt only briefly with his tip before pushing in deeply.

I tilt my head forward, watching me with my dress pinched between my tits, the front flap of my dress laying over my belly and half into our dinner, my legs spread up to the heavens, and a man who is not my husband thrusting his meaty cock deep in me, over and over.He's fucking me on the dining room table my husband bought us to entertain guests at. The curtains aren't even closed all the way. What if Neighbor Dave is walking his dog by right now? God, I'm such a slut.

He's fucking me, but we don't really make eye contact. Mostly he stares at my tits and pussy, or my face generally. Maybe he's nervous? So I try to provoke him.

"You gonna cum in me again Jeremy? Huh?

"You gonna fuck me on my table?

"Are you gonna make me have your baby?"

I squeeze my pussy back on him each time he pushes in me. The feels are amazing, but I can't tell how much of this is my lust, versus my physical pleasure.

Looking at me directly, finally, Jeremy smirks, and grabs more of my hips. "That's right," he replies, "I knew you were really a cum whore, Alice." Reaching his hand forward, he places his palm on my cheek, then slaps me with his other hand!

"You want my cum filling you up, don't you?"

That's the little bit of violence we both seemed to need to free ourselves from the awkward realization of our fantasies-becoming-reality. I felt my pussy gush and his cock swell in me, and makes me moan, "Oh my God! You're fucking me so deep Jeremy!"

"Your fucking cunt is mine, Alice!"

"I don't wanna like it!"

"Love it you bitch!"

"Rape me, fuck me, own me!"

"Shut up slut!" SLAP!

"Why are you putting your dick in me?"

"Liar. You begged me to fuck you."

"It's so deep! It's inside me!"

"Take it! Take my cock you fucking slut!"

"Oh Jesus you're filling me up!"


"I'm gonna fucking cum in you!"

"I'm gonna cum!"

"I'm gonna cum too!"

I'M CUMMING OH GOOOOODD I'M CUMMING

And he spurts in me, and I'm rubbing my clit frantically as he pulls my hips into him as he thrusts in me. "YES!" I wail, "Cum in me! Yes! Oh God DAMN it I'm fucking cumming again!"

Stars. Every. Time. He Thrusts. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window and marvel how it's like I'm not even me, I'm some animal now.

He's cock isn't pulsing anymore, but he's still hard and leaning forward, filling me as deep as he can. He's just holding it there, staring in my eyes, filling my cunt, and my soul. The possession is too much for me to come down, and I whimper, "You're gonna make me cum again..." Leaning in, he whispers, "Do it," and slaps my breast.

The dam breaks.

"Ahhhhhaahaaa!" beast me wails out, my head and shoulders falling back on the table, and my body writhes with forbidden pleasures. He's not even thrusting, just holding himself rammed in me is enough to do it. "That's right! Cum on my cock you filthy whore!" One hand flops in the mashed potatoes but I don't even care. I am the orgasm! I never want to be empty again...

Finally we finish, because he's softening. I am a quivering, creampied, food smeared, breathless glamor slut. A fucking mess, laying on my dinner table with my legs hanging off it at the knees.

The snap of his camera phone capturing this moment brings me back to reality.

I prop myself up on my elbows. "Why! Jeremy..."

"You know why, Alice." He picks a wine glass up off the table.

"So you can blackmail me?" He pushes the lip of the glass against my pussy and spreads my lips, capturing some of his cum in it.

"Really?" He retorts. "You think I need filthy photos to get you to do this?" He pops the cork on the champagne, and pours it in the cum glass. "I thought you were smarter than that." Picking up a spoon, he swirls them together. "Drink," he commands, handing it to me.

I'm a little indignant. "Why are you doing this, then?"

He sighs, and pours himself a clean glass of champagne. "While I'm not gonna lie and say these photos aren't incredibly sexy, they are ultimately for you, Alice, not for me. They're for the times you will try to lie to yourself about what you really want, who you really are. But now we both know the truth. You did this. I'm just the facilitator. So let's toast." He raises his glass to me, and waits.

I stare at the entire situation.

And I raise my glass, and we toast.