Blackmail

A fresh egg, a fresh start.

Glancing out of our kitchen window, the morning light does little to ease the darkness from the knot in my stomach, the dangling threads of yesterday woven tightly within it. But I push forward, stirring life into a steaming pot of rice, the scents of home and routine cocooning me.

"Honey," I call out, "breakfast will be ready soon! How do you want your eggs today?"

From the bedroom comes the shuffle of feet and the clink of a belt buckle. "The usual would be perfect."

"The usual it is." I whisk in a splash of tamari.

Ken emerges, adjusting the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. "Smells amazing," he beams, the lines of worry from the previous night smoothed away by sleep and the dawn of a new day.

"And it's about to smell even better," I declare with the confidence only a spatula-wielding housewife can muster.

The kitchen is a bustle of East-meets-West breakfast prep. I glance at the recipe Jack and I loved from Japan, tamago kake gohan, with its creamy risotto-like rice begging for a touch of American sass. I've got the cast iron pan out.

"You're adding bacon?" Ken's eyebrow raises.

"Bacon goes with everything," I say, winking at him over my shoulder.

"You know, they might exile you from Japan for this heresy."

"Until they taste this." I whip the egg into the rice. "Look!" It's turning the perfect shade of creamy yellow.

Ken peers into the bowl, feigning concentration. "Impressive. I'm getting a hint of... is that cheese?"

"Sharp as ever, Mr. Nakamura." I beam at him, then usher a spoonful toward his mouth. "Taste test?"

He obliges, his lips closing around the spoon. "Mmmm." He nods his approval, his eyes lighting up. "Well. You've revolutionized tamago gohan. Just don't tell my mother."

"A secret I will keep." I gesture like I'm locking my lips and throwing away the key.

Breakfast is served—a fusion dish on matching blue plates. He sits, his jacket dangling off the back of his chair, his tie loose around his neck.

I slide into my seat across from him. This feels normal. We eat, stirring in scallions and sesame seeds with every scoop, our chopsticks tapping a peaceful rhythm.

"So, Seto?" I venture, poking at a patch of egg with my chopsticks. "What else can you tell me about the new position?"

Ken glances up, chewing thoughtfully. "I'll ask some questions today. Some sort of strategic move to a new office. That's all I know."

"Don't forget," I point at him with my chopsticks, "you promised me the router yesterday. I need my internet."

Ken laughs, a sound that wraps around me like a warm blanket. "I won't forget this time. Sorry."

His phone buzzes. An urgent vibration that spells out 'duty calls.'

I hand him his briefcase, my fingers brushing his. "Gambatte."

He stands, I wrap him in a hug, and plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Work hard," I whisper.

"For you." His voice is soft now, threaded with a warmth that never fails to thaw my worries, even the ones hidden deep.

—

With Ken gone and breakfast remnants cleared, I start thinking about the boxes. Right, might as well leave them packed. I rub at a smudge on the countertop, the kitchen bleach doing its thing, whitening everything, including my thoughts.

No need to unpack. Not now.

Pushing away yesterday's memory is like pressing down on a spring; it just bounces back higher. The grotesque images, the vulgar pawing...

Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down with a glass of water, cold and sharp.

At least he used a condom. At least there's that thin layer of latex between his disgusting self and...

But physical barriers don't soothe mental scars. The violation was still real. Every repulsive detail imprinted on my brain.

THUD. THUD.

The knock at the door freezes me in place. My spine solidifies, my hand suspended in mid-air—clutching at the kitchen towel like some pathetic flag of truce.

It can't be...

There stands Mr. Otonari, his grin the size of the archipelago, his eyes roaming my body.

"Good morning, ma'am!"

He's the embodiment of my unreleased screams, the shadow I've been pushing away since yesterday. And yet here he is, his presence dismantling my feigned composure, piece by piece.

"Why is your face looking like that?" He cocks his head, feigning concern, his English broken and edged with mockery. "Are you going through something tough?"

My hands clench at my sides, knuckles whitening as I hold back the urge to release a torrent of anger on this man. The very sight of his big ugly face rewinds the tape of yesterday's nightmare.

"DON'T TALK TO ME!!!" My voice cracks the air like a whip, finality laced in every syllable.

Unmoved, or worse, emboldened, he steps into the apartment.

In a voice steady as I can muster I warn him, "I'll call the police."

But his smile stretches; he's the cat who not only got the cream, but beguiled the dog guarding it as well. "Meaning," he drawls, "that you haven't reported me yet?" His grin is venomous. "What a relief! I was so worried about it!"

My heart seethes, a torrent of emotions held at bay by the dam of fear his threat holds against me. Heat flushes my previously pale cheeks—embarrassment, outrage, hatred.

I realize then—I should have never opened the door.

"Don't bother me ever again," I hiss through gritted teeth, the futile bravado shaking in my tone. "We'll be moving out of here immediately! Very soon!!!"

Still, his grin doesn't waver. His satisfaction hangs heavy in the air.

"Ah, please wait for a bit," he says with a casualness that belies the iron grip as his hand grabs my arm. His flesh is clammy and confident, as if he has every right to be here, to touch me.

He CAN'T be serious, but the evidence before me is undeniable. He's basking in his perceived invincibility. But I'm about to snap.

"It's a shame that you're gonna move out, but well, setting that aside..." His other hand rustles around in the bag he brought, and like a perverse jack-in-the-box, out come his implements.

The contents spill into view —the glossy sheen of red rope, the cold glint of metal clasps, a ball gag… There's more, but it's the gleaming, grotesque shapes of the sex toys that drop my stomach into an abyss.

"What the fuck!"

This is not happening!

"I was thinking," his voice curls around each word like smoke, thick with dark intent. "If you wanna try a few more things, to help keep your mouth shut."

My blood runs cold as I realize the extent of his depravity. My breath hitches in horror, heart plummeting as though the ground beneath me has given way. The air thins around me, each breath a struggle against the dread that chokes me.

He reaches for me, a hunter assured of his prey, his fingers digging into my flesh, claiming it. His intention is all too clear, a declaration without words that we're far from done — that he's far from done with me.

Terror paralyzes me, the air in my lungs crystalizes to ice. There's a moment – a fleeting, desperate moment – where I believe I can break free from his grasp, that I can somehow bolt the door and leave him outside, leave him relegated to the realm of nightmares and never again let him cross the threshold into reality.

That moment shatters.

A squeal rips from my throat as he grabs me. The sound is high, sharp, a nail hammered into my own coffin. His grip is certain, possessive, and the seal of my fate.

—

The scrape of the camera tripod grates through the silence like a broken record. Mr. Otonari, chubby and mostly naked but for his briefs, crouches down – his beer belly jiggling obscenely. His bald head glistens under my apartment's harsh lighting, and he wears a grin as wide as the Pacific, as if he has just hit the jackpot.

In a manner of speaking, he has.

"Your husband's situation..." He starts, his voice slurred and heavy, testing the microphone. "...being thrown around at work from place to place. It sure does sound hard."

He moves around the tripod, his large, flabby body like a grotesque parody of an artist in his studio. His voice echoes in the room, each syllable a gnarled claw scratching on my nerves.

"I feel sorry for him... Having such a cute wife..." His eyes roam over my body, a smirk playing on his lips. "...Only to be raped by someone like me..."

The words are like acid, burning into my consciousness, branding me with humiliation and degradation. My heart pounds in my chest, my blood raging in my ears.

He pauses, as though savoring the impact of his words, his grin widening. "The more I think about your circumstances... The more aroused I get..."

Pure filth.

There are words - Japanese - and I catch a few. 'Fun'... 'rape'... 'cute wife'... 'aroused'. They tumble from his mouth like tar, sticking, staining, polluting everything they touch and I'm drowning, choking on the verbal filth that spews forth.

"I thought I'd have a bit more fun with you before you move out."

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, my breath catching in my chest.

My reflection in the camera lens amplifies the grotesque reality of the situation. I can't help but whimper around the smooth sphere of the ball gag wedged between my teeth. The saliva trails down my chin, warm and sticky strands of shame that I can't wipe away.

My reflection is distorted— a woman trussed up, sitting on her own couch, naked, and so incredibly exposed. My knees are pulled up and tied together, my legs splayed wide, the red silk rope snaking around my pale thighs and disappearing beneath me.

There is no shred of dignity left in my current state. Helpless, my big, round, pale breasts jut out, bouncing and jiggling with each ragged breath, the ropes cutting into the soft flesh. The rope encircles my waist, and is knotted around my wrists and ankles, leaving me utterly immobile.

The vibrator, a monstrous, buzzing intruder, is wedged inside me. My panties, pulled to the side, the fabric strained taut, holding the device in place. The vibrations pulse through me, each wave of sensations eliciting a muffled moan. My hips squirm involuntarily, every little movement captured by the unfeeling eye of the camcorder.

I try to wriggle, to gain some semblance of control. But with every movement, the vibrator shifts, its hum growing louder, my body reacting with shameful arousal. I whimper, the sound muffled, deformed by the red ball gag. My breaths come shallow and fast, each inhale and exhale punctuated by the sadistic hum of the vibrator.

My skin, my freckled, pale skin, is slick with perspiration. My hair sticks to my face, my legs shake uncontrollably, my arms strain against the cuffs in futile attempts to free myself. My body is now a spectacle for a man who sees me as nothing more than a toy.

The sensations build, like a relentless tide that refuses to ebb. The vibrator buzzes loudly, every pulse sending waves rippling through me. I whimper, throaty, stifled squeals muffled by the ball gag. My body convulses, my hips rising and falling in rhythm with the incessant hum between my legs, and I feel a knot coiled tight in my tummy.

Mr. Otonari watches.

"Did you just cum?" he says.

"NO!!!" I want to scream, but it comes out as a whimpered sob, lost in the unrelenting buzz of the vibrator.

His grin widens. "You're quite sensitive, ma'am," he says, uncapping a small, medicinal brown vial. "So I'm thinking... I'll give you something that makes you even more sensitive."

My heart pounds even harder, the fear twisting my insides into knots.

His words hang heavy in the air. My eyes open wide in a silent plea for mercy. My fingers claw the air, but all I grasp is the weight of my helplessness.

He leans closer, the leer on his face growing wider. "Don't worry, this isn't some illegal drug," he says, holding my head back. His hot, putrid breath washes over me, and I gag.

He pours the liquid into the holes of the gag. It's bitter, burning my tongue and throat as it slides down.

An involuntary shudder runs through me. What did he just give me?

Mr. Otonari's pudgy fingers reach for my breasts, seizing my nipples. He twists them hard, and a high-pitched squeal tears out from my throat.

"Your nipples are so stiff!" he crows, his fingers continuing to flick and twist the sensitive nubs. "They're so sexy."

His breathing is heavy, labored as he watches my writhing form. His gaze lingers over my breasts, my stretched, glistening skin, the ropes cutting into my soft flesh.

A heat is building inside me, a pressure that is impossible to ignore. I desperately try to quell it, to resist the sensation that threatens to consume me. I will not — I refuse to — orgasm at the hands of this grotesque man.

I grit my teeth, my eyes tightly shut, as I battle the rising tide. I clench down on the ball gag, my tongue tasting the bitter residues of the liquid he forced down my throat. The vibrations continue to pulse inside me, cruel and unrelenting, and I feel a shameful trail of liquid seeping from my pussy, staining our new couch.

I force my muscles to relax, to resist the mounting pressure. I focus on the taste of bile in my mouth, the grip of the ropes on my wrists, anything but the undulating hum of the vibrator between my legs.

It's like trying to stop a freight train.

Each pulse of the ominous vibrator sends shockwaves through my body, radiating from my core, sparking nerves alight across my skin. It's a gnawing, insistent sensation that tightens and winds circles in my belly.

The vibrator hums, lodged deep, my own panties holding it in place. The frenzied buzzing is loud in the room, amplified by the slick walls of my pussy that adds a sloppy undertone to the noise.

My muscles spasm, the silky rope biting into my soft flesh even deeper. I close my eyes, focusing on the sting of the ropes, anything to distract my body.

My skin glistens, slick with sweat as I struggle against the bonds.

"Your eyes are crossing," he gloats.

I feel the sweat trail down between my heaving breasts, my chest rising and falling in harsh pants. My eyelids flutter shut, my eyes rolling back, the sensations threatening to overwhelm my senses.

But I can't— I won't. I refuse to give this disgusting man the satisfaction. So, I pull myself back from the edge of the trembling precipice of orgasm. Each gasping breath is a battle, a tug-of-war against the mounting pleasure.

Suddenly, the vibrations cease. My eyes snap open to find Mr. Otonari grinning at me, his pudgy fingers pulling my soaked panties aside, withdrawing the buzzing monstrosity from my depths. His gaze is glued to my glistening folds, my pussy lips swollen and slick, quivering from the relentless assault.

"Hey ma'am," he leers at me, "Seems you can't take much more. I'm guessing you want some dick pretty badly by now!"

He brings the slick vibrator up to my face, the aroma of my own arousal hitting my nostrils. The smell is a heady mix of musk and saltiness, a scent that is uniquely mine, and I feel another rush of shame. My ears burn.

Slowly, he unclasps the ball gag from my mouth. I want to scream, to spit, to hurl vile words at him. But all that escapes from my lips are pathetic whimpers.

"B-b..." I stammer, but the word 'bastard' won't form. My mind is a cluttered mess of fear and shame.

He grins at my feeble attempt to fight back. "Sure," he says. He moves closer, his hairy, flabby body pressing against my splayed legs. I can feel the heat radiating off him, the stench of his sweat filling my nostrils.

The ropes dig into my skin, the harsh fibres grating against my soft flesh. My knees are pulled up and tied together, my legs spread wide, my pussy on full display, silent and helpless.

"I..." I stammer, the words jumble in my mind. "Are you... sick?" My words are a whimper, a last ditch plea in the face of impending horror. My eyes dart to the tripod, camera rolling, capturing every humiliating moment. "ARE YOU SICK IN THE HEAD?!" I manage to shriek, the words ringing in my ears.

His cock hangs like a sword of Damocles over me.

The ugly length of it is stunning, impossible to ignore. A thickened, bloated bell-end, shining with a droplet of pearly yellow fluid, stands out. It's horrific, the realization that he truly means to take me raw, to steal my dignity without a scrap of latex as barrier.

The sight forces a bile-filled gulp down my throat. I should have reported him, shirked off the fear of the video exposure, the potential humiliation. I should have screamed the moment I saw him at the doorway.

But I didn't.

"THIS IS JUST-" I gasp, my voice shaking. "D-DON'T-" My breathless sobs punctuate each word, my voice thick with disgust. "UNFORGIVEABLE!"

A laugh bubbles up from his throat, a sound that chills my blood. "Well then, sorry about that." His grin is chillingly casual, his eyes glinting with cruel delight.

And then...

SLAM.

There's a loud, wet slap, followed by the obscene squelch of my pussy yielding to his huge cock. My body convulses, my muscles straining against the red silk ropes. My hips thrust up involuntarily, my back arches, my toes curl.

His bare cock is inside me, splitting me open, filling me.

Oh god.

The world fades away to nothing but the sensation of being brutally owned, my tight pussy stretching to accommodate his monstrous cock. There's no gentleness, no caution in his thrust. Just raw, uncompromising dominance.

I feel every hot, pulsating inch of him inside me, my sensitive inner walls clenching around him reflexively. The sensation is indescribable, a cocktail of torment and forced pleasure that threatens to rip me apart. My body tries to rebel, to expel this vile intruder, but his next thrust leaves no room for resistance, his balls slapping against my ass in a loud, wet smack.

My body bounces with the impact, his every thrust causing my breasts to jiggle violently. The cold air nips at my nipples, hardening them further. My hips jerk upward, matching his rhythm involuntarily.

Each harsh thrust is punctuated by a loud wet SLAP, a loud, monstrous reminder of this violation. His huge, bulging belly presses down on me, his sweaty, flabby flesh smothering my curves.

"I'm terribly sorry about this, Mrs. Nakamura," he grunts in rhythm with his thrusts, the absurdity and grotesqueness of his apology adds yet another layer to the horror unfolding. "If it makes it any better, I also think I'm sick in the head."

His words hang in the air, punctuated by the nauseating, lecherous squelch of our joining. He's enormous inside me, pinning me, penetrating me. His cock, veiny and obscene, is embedded deep within my violated sanctum.

"Ughhhh... Mmmm... This would normally be a crime the cops should handle, huh?" he says, his voice thick with twisted satisfaction.

Each thrust sends me into shuddering spasms, my bound body bouncing under his grotesque weight. My soft, freckled skin is a stark contrast to his sallow, flabby flesh. His swollen belly squashes into my heaving breasts, the sweat mingling, seeping into the silk ropes binding me, soaking the couch even further.

I'm pinned beneath him, spread wide and filled with this monstrous intruder, the sloppy slap of his belly against my thighs, the grating squelch of his cock driving deep inside my helpless pussy echo around the apartment.

"Ohhhh... mmm... I understand... I understand why you're upset," he pants, his flabby face glistening with exertion. His dark eyes are glazed with lust, his bulbous lips stretch into a grotesque grin. "But after having a taste of such a fine, young..." he thrusts particularly harshly, making me squeal, my voice echoing in the quiet room. "...beautiful pussy... I just can't stop myself anymore!!!"

His words are a spiked vise tightening around my throat. I gasp, wheezing for air, choking on the horrifying reality of his statement. My heart is a wild drum in my chest, my breathing erratic as the sickening realization washes over me.

His hefty thighs pin my legs to the couch, his balls slap against my ass with each thrust.

"Take a look at my dick!" he pants, pulling half out. His fat, swollen length glistens obscenely, my arousal coating his ugly cock, a testament to my body's perverse reaction. "I'm so rock hard!"

"Nnghh... N-n-no... " I whimper, my voice barely more than a raspy whisper. The sight of his veiny, engorged cock halfway buried in my sopping center sends a shudder racing through me.

I wriggle, straining against the silk ropes that bite further into my soft flesh.

"Why...? W- why are you..." My broken plea is punctuated by his next thrust, my hips bucking involuntarily as his girth invades me again. "D- doing this... S- stop..."

"Ah, but why would I? Look at you," he grins down at me. "This lewd pussy's sucking me hard. Trying to milk me, huh?"

I shake my head, my words dying in my throat. The reality is too much to bear, my body's betrayal, the sticky wetness between my thighs, the undeniable evidence of the perverse pleasure I'm experiencing.

His laughter is cruel, echoing in the silent room. His hand reaches for my breasts, squeezing the tender mounds, his fingers tugging at my painfully swollen nipples. I gasp, a high-pitched moan slipping past my lips as electric pleasure zings through my body.

He bends forward, his hefty body pinning my legs back even more, his disgusting face looming over my chest. I watch, horrified yet unable to look away, as his tongue lolls out, licking his dry lips with a disgusting smack of his chops.

He lowers his head, his lips closing over one of my nipples in a hard suckle. The sudden intense sensation has my back arching off the couch, a loud, shuddering moan tearing from my throat.

"Nnnghh...!"

He switches to my other breast, his mouth sucking hard on the sensitive mound as his thrusts continue to plunder me. With each cruel suck, he pulls at the turgid nipple, dragging more sounds out of me, making me writhe in a bizarre mix of humiliation and pleasure.

"S- stop..."

Disgusting slurps come from his mouth as he feeds hungrily on my bouncing breasts, punctuated by the sloppy, wet slaps of his groin against my swollen pussy.

His thrusts grow more frenzied, more intense. The pressure builds inside me, my body responding to his in a primal dance as old as time. I grit my teeth, digging my fingernails into the palms of my hands. I can't... I can't climax this way.

No.

His slobbering lips slurp at my sensitive nipples. My skin crawls in revulsion as his tongue laps greedily, the sensation sending unexpected jolts of pleasure through me. I squirm in futile attempts to escape his lewd assault, but my movements only cause my breasts to bounce enticingly before his eager eyes.

"They're so big... so soft," he pants between mouthfuls of boob, his eyes gleaming with perverse delight. His fingers knead the soft mounds, molding them to his disgusting liking. "They don't throw off your proportions. They're perfect..."

His cock slams into me, each thrust jolting me, forcing me to sway with his rhythm.

"Your body is so responsive... so sexy," he grunts, his words punctuated by every hard thrust. "This sensation... it feels so good."

My body jolts, my nerves alight with unwanted pleasure. My breath catches in my throat, my moans escaping in whimpered gasps.

"The way your pussy reacts when I thrust inside... It's like you crave it," he taunts, his grin spreading wider with each word. "I'm so jealous of your husband. He gets to indulge in this every night."

Shame burns hot in my cheeks, my eyes welling with tears. I can't respond, can't form any words to refute his claims. My mind is filled with the image of Ken, my loving husband so different from this hideous, disgusting man.

"But you're totally feeling it, aren't you? You can't deny it," he gloats, pushing himself deeper into me.

"N- n- no!" I try to protest, the waves of pleasure making it hard to form coherent sentences. "I'm not... s- stop it already..."

SLAM.

His cock hilts itself balls deep inside me, the sensation forcing a gasp from my lips. His fat, swollen length is lodged fully in my violated center, every twitch, every pulsation felt so acutely.

"It seems like our bodies are a perfect match for each other," he says, grinding his flabby hips against me. His cock twitches inside me, the sensation making me squirm. My body is reacting to him, responding to his intrusion in a terrifyingly pleasurable way.

"Ahhh... uahh..." I moan helplessly as he grinds against me, his shaft nudging tantalizingly at my g-spot. My body arches in response, a wave of pleasure washing over me.

"How about you become my sexfriend?" he proposes with a lecherous grin, his words making my blood run cold.

"W- w- who would want to be sexfriends with a rapist like y- you?" I manage to whimper out, my words choked and weak. "S- stop it!"

My protests are cut short as his slovenly mouth descends onto mine, his tongue invading my mouth with disgusting fervor. His taste fills my senses - stale beer, sweat, the underlying stench of something acrid and unpleasant.

"OH!!! I'm close! A thick one is coming!" he grunts, his fat, flabby body grinding against mine, the disgusting sound of our flesh slapping together echoing around the silent apartment. His cock twitches inside me, the sensation sending a shudder through my body.

"P- pull out!"

A fiery grin splits his face.

"I'll shoot it inside, I think."

"NO!!! YOU CAN'T!!!" I screech, my voice hoarse with fear and disgust. But he just laughs, the sound harsh and cruel, his eyes alight with a perverse satisfaction.

"What, you don't want my hot cum inside you?" he taunts, his fat fingers digging deeper into my hips, his thrusts becoming even more frantic.

"NO!!! P-PLEASE!!!" I whimper, my words swallowed by his cruel laughter. The ropes bite into my skin as I strain against them, my attempts to escape as futile as they are desperate.

Suddenly, he pulls out, his glistening cock twitching in the cool air. His hand wraps around his shaft, the veiny length throbbing with impending release.

His ugly face contorts in pleasure as he pumps his cock, his hips bucking into his hand with a guttural grunt. My heart is hammering in my chest like a wild drum.

"Take it, like a good little housewife!"

His cum explodes from the tip of his cock, thick, yellow-white ropes jetting out with a force that makes my stomach churn. Each grotesque splurt lands on my belly, my breasts, streaking down my soft, pale skin like obscene graffiti.

It's revolting. The thick strands of his cum, sticky and putrid, splatter across my skin. The sight is nauseating, the smell of bleach and male exertion filling the room. Each viscous strand oozes down my flesh, the lewd sight of it sliding, pooling on my stomach, onto my breasts, then seeping onto the couch, adding to the humiliation.

The first spurt lands with a wet slap, right across my belly. Then another, this one arching high, before splattering across my left breast, the thick, revolting fluid coating my nipple.

Another, thicker, more forceful spurt paints a zig-zag pattern across my right breast, the gooey strands hanging down, clinging to my skin like an unwelcome, invasive leech.

The next one is a fat glob, landing with a squelch on my stomach, sliding down slowly, leaving a trail of his cum in its wake. Another arcs high, landing with a splat on my chest, near my collarbone, the viscous fluid slowly dripping down, staining my flushed skin.

The sight of his cum, an old man's thick, creamy load splattered all over my youthful body, is degrading in itself.

"Whew! That was a close call," he pants, his voice saturated with satisfaction. "I was about to creampie you!"

His words spark a surge of absolute revulsion. His cum, a thick, vile mess on my skin, is a terrifying reminder of what could've happened.

"Ma'am, you're so sexy," he drawls, his eyes roving over my cum-stained body with lascivious delight, "Because of you… I got way too horny."

"I- I-" I stutter, my voice thin and weak. "I will never forgive you..."