This went on for awhile. I didn't want it to end.
"Damn," said Terry. "Y'all are being so cute about this you've got me hard again."
I exchanged a look with Frank.
Frank smiled knowingly.
"So come on back, man. You gotta try her sweet mouth. Beat mouth I ever had. Prettiest mouth, too."
I felt my face flush. I almost wanted to cry. Why couldn't I have met a guy like Frank. Why the fuck was I still married to Jim?
"Maybe it's time to take that gag back out," said Terry. "Maybe you can gag on this instead.
Terry took out my gag, and then thrust his cock into my mouth.
Terry's cock wasn't fully erect yet—it seems the bigger it is, the harder to fill—but it was certainly getting there, and I wanted to taste it!
It tasted a little bit like my own pussy, which was a familiar experience. I can recall a few times having sucked Jim after he got soft fucking me, and I'd try to get him hard again. But I put that out of my mind. I didn't want to think about my husband's inability to stay erect inside me. These men were hot and they wanted me!
I sucked Terry's cock until it was totally hard, all while trying to divide my eye-contact time between the two men. It was so nice, so intimate having two hot men all to myself. So nice to be desired this much. And they seemed so comfortable doing this with me together too.
I wondered idly if they were bisexual lovers or something. Somehow I had my doubts, but a girl can dream, right? Anyway, I figured now was not exactly the time to ask. After all, my mouth was full!
While Frank continued to make love to me tenderly, Terry started to get really excited and force himself deeper and deeper into my throat.
I gagged when he got a little too far.
"That okay, girl?"
"Mmm-hmm," I said.
It was humiliating and a little uncomfortable, but I liked it. I liked Terry's big cock, and the fact he could probably damn-well choke me to death with it. And that might not be a bad way to go—being fucked by two hot men. Because after they finished with me—after they were both gone—I'd be left with only my memories of these men, and with…ugh…Jim! The thought alone made me want to cry.
So I tried to suppress the depressing thought and focus on the two men. I gave Terry everything I had with my mouth, trying my best not to gag. All the while, Frank slowly built me to new levels of ecstasy with his cock. The way Frank was fucking me was almost Tantric—like he was bringing me to some new level of Nirvana and pretty soon I was going to explode with pleasure. And all the while, I was looking up at a super-hot black guy as I sucked his big, painful, yet wonderful cock.
"I'm so close," said Frank. "Can you feel it?"
And I could feel it, which was strange. It somehow felt a little more engorged inside me, like it was ready to pop. It was like we were psychically connected.
"Me too," moaned Terry, his face strained. "You feel it?"
And I could feel it. I could tell any second now Terry was going to pop in my mouth.
Then he did.
They both did.
Terry blew a huge hot load into my throat and I euphorically gulped it down while I felt Frank's hot semen shoot up inside me. It was all too much! I just wanted to burst. And I came explosively, unable to scream as I gulped down the hot black man's cum.
The two men slowed, helping me come down from the orgasm which threatened to steal my sanity.
They took me down easy.
Then, finally, they pulled out.
I lay there panting, happy.
I was happy! I wasn't thinking about being left here alone with no one to fuck but Jim.
No! I won't…I won't think about that! I won't!
To my humiliation, I started to cry.
"Aw, hey Maggie, are you okay?" said Frank.
"This was so good. Fuck, you're both so good. Please don't…"
The two men exchanged a confused look.
"Please don't what?" asked Terry. "Girl, you know we ain't gonna hurt you."
"Please don't go," I sobbed. "I mean…I know you have to go, but…I can't…I can't handle the idea of having nothing but Jim. I just can't go back to that. Not after this. But…I don't even know what you guys look like…I just want…"
The men exchanged a look and then both seemed to nod.
"You want to see us again?"
"Yeah," I said. "Just…I know you don't want to get caught, but…like I said, I won't tell anyone you were here."
"Yeah," said Frank. "Okay."
"Yeah," said Terry. "Fuck it. A'ight."
"Just…maybe call first to make sure he's not home. And…maybe I can also make sure to wear something nice for you boys."
They both nodded.
The boys got dressed and didn't bother to put their masks back on. It seemed silly now, I guess. Then they untied my feet, took the cuffs off my wrists, and I was free.
"Do you really have to go yet?" I asked when they got downstairs.
They exchanged another evaluatory look.
"Yeah, we um…" said Terry.
"We really need to revaluate our life priorities," said Frank.
"Getting out of the burgling racket?"
"Yeah," said Terry. "Fuck that. We obviously suck at it."
"We'll still drop in on you, though," said Frank, winking.
"You promise?" I asked.
"Damn straight, girl," said Terry.
"Besides," added Frank. "You might already have our baby growing inside you."
I bit my lip and felt my heart flutter as I watched the two handsome men turn and go. They headed back towards their vehicle, got it, and then both gave me another curt nod before driving away. I watched after them as they drove down the street. Then finally, I closed the door, leaned back against it and laughed.
In the end, the burglars hadn't taken anything, it seemed. But now, as I held a hand to my tummy, I was wondering if—conversely—these boys had actually broken in and left me a little something instead…
Gangbanged by Yakuza
I was home alone when they broke in. I didn't hear them. I was on my exercise bike, listening to music with headphones on. The first hint I had that something was wrong was when I turned to see three Asian men in suits, visible neck tattoos, and dangerous looked on their faces. By then it was already too late.
These men were built, and looked like they meant business—and not the legitimate daytime kind of business. They didn't look like burglars, exactly. They looked more like gangsters.
Startled, I nearly fell of my bike. I had thought my husband had locked the door behind him, so I hadn't thought to double-check. My heart raced—and it wasn't just because of the adrenaline from cycling. Or maybe it was…it was hard to tell now, but I felt like I was in serious danger.
I stepped off the bike and got behind it, putting it between me and the strange men. I felt exposed, realizing I was wearing nothing but spandex shorts, a sports bra and running shoes. And unfortunately, they were between me and my only exit, so there was nowhere to run.
"Who are you?" I asked. "How did you get in here?"
"We'll ask the questions," said the man in front, apparently the leader. "We're looking for Sora Suzuki. Are you his wife?"
"Yes," I said.
"Where is he?"
I evaluated the three men. I didn't like the look of any of them. The two men behind the ringleader both leered at me in a way that made me uneasy. One of them was huge—a bulking hulk of muscle who looked like he was going to bulge out of his suit. He looked amused, like he was considering breaking me in half. The smaller of the two men behind had a creepy smile. Like he was looking forward to attacking me. And the guy in front just looked emotionally dead. Like he was bored. They were all armed, too, I noticed.
Definitely gangsters. Damn it Sora, what the hell have you gotten us into?
"What do you want with my husband?" I asked.
"Is he here?"
"Tell me why you want him first."
"Do you know who we are?"
I looked them over. My best guess was some kind of gang.
"No," I said.
"We are yakuza," he said. "And our kumicho is not a patient man. Neither am I, come to think of it."
I am familiar with the yakuza of course. But mainly through stories my husband has told me.
Sora—my husband—is not actually Japanese per se, but his parents are. They're a sweet couple living in Queens, New York, and my husband grew up American, going to an American school and—thanks to the nature of his strict, pushy parents, who were also medical professionals—they pushed Sora to become a doctor. That's how I met him, actually. I'd sustained a few broken ribs—no thanks to an abusive ex I'm glad to be rid of—and Sora had been the doctor to see me. He kept making excuses for me to come back for follow-up appointments, and then I'd wanted to stay for the charming banter. After a few of these sessions, he asked me out, admitting he had a thing for 'clever blondes'. I loved that he thought I was clever, not just pretty. Four years later, I'm his wife and we live together in Queens not that far from his parents house. His mother is always hard on me, ever since she noticed I had a lower back tattoo. Sora tells me that's something in Japanese culture that's different—tattoos means gangs. Yakuza.
My husband had the proverbial fear of god put into him by his parents, except replace god with yakuza. Basically it was: 'stay in school, or you'll drop out and join a yakuza gang, where they will make you do bad things. You will want to get away, then we'll say we told you so, and they'll cut off your fingers.' Then it was 'go to medical school or fall prey to yakuza.' And so on.
After all that fear his parents had driven into him about the yakuza corrupting him then cutting off his fingers, I wondered why in the world he would get involved with them now.
To the best of my knowledge, Sora would never ever even consort with a known yakuza member, let alone actually get involved with one. It just didn't make any sense. His mother would most certainly have a heart attack if she found out. Or at least pretend to have one, like she does. But really, my husband just wasn't that sort of man. He was a doctor who took the Hippocratic Oath to do no harm. So why in the hell would he be involved with these guys?
"What do you want with him?" I asked again.
"Where is he?" asked the ringleader.
Sora had been called in to the hospital for an emergency shift. I wasn't sure when he was coming back, and I certainly didn't want to be alone with these men until then. But also, I didn't know if they were friendly towards my husband or not. But I was guessing not.
"He's not here," I said.
The ringleader turned to his two men.
"Kaito, Search the place."
Kaito, the smaller henchman, nodded and headed further into the house.
"Is that really necessary? What's this about?"
"Touma, grab the girl."
Touma, the massive hulk of muscle, made his way towards me, around the bike.
"Hey," I said. "What do you think you're doing?"
I circled my way around the bike, or tired to, but then I realized I'd have my back to the bossman.
"Stay away from me," I said.
My body was flooded with adrenaline. This guy was huge, and I knew that once he grabbed me, I wouldn't be able to get away.
So? I depended on my martial arts training.
Did I neglect to mention my husband encouraged me to start studying Shotokan karate with him at a local dojo? I've been doing that for four years now. I'm a black belt. And I wasn't about to let a man hurt me again.
If studying karate with a bunch of large men in a dojo has taught me anything, it's that size does matter. We martial artists, male and female alike, like to believe it all comes down to training. We like to think a woman, given enough training can take down a man. Sadly, that's usually just not true. Usually. But there is one thing that usually does work.
I spun around when Touma got close, and delivered a swift practiced kick to his groin.
Touma let out a groan, and fell towards my exercise bike, toppling it over.
"Touma, get up, you idiot!" his boss shouted.
I got into a fighting stance, ready to take on the second man, hoping against all odds I could somehow take him long enough to get past him, before his other henchman returned to assist in the fight. Or before the massive Touma got back up.
The boss gave me an amused look, and then tilted his head side to side, cracking his neck.
"You don't want to do this," he said. "I've no wish to hurt you. We are just here for your husband."
"Well you can't have him," I said.
My husband means the world to me. He believed in me when no one else did. I am the stronger woman I am today because of the confidence his love helped give me.
I had to get out of here. I had to. If they managed to hold me here, no one would be able to warn Sora. I needed to get out, find a phone, and warn Sora not to come home.
"Please just cooperate. It is not our wish to harm a woman."
I took one look behind me at Touma, still moaning on the ground, clutching his privates. I'm not sure I believed him. But seeing the agonized look on Touma's face on the ground…when he got up, he would definitely want to hurt me. Men don't like it when you kick them in the balls. I still have the ex-rays of my formerly broken ribs to prove it.
"Okay," I said, trying to look non-threatening.
I made my way casually towards this leader, with the hopes of making a dash for the door as soon as I had a shot.
He grinned and produced a zip-tie. The moment I saw it, I knew without any doubt now they'd come to harm my husband. And now me. No way was I letting him tie me up.
I kicked at his groin.
He didn't seem the least bit surprised. He simply sidestepped it and then tackled me.
I struggled, trying to get away from him, but he was so powerful! Far more powerful than he looked, and he was already a muscular looking man.
I tried to claw at his eyes and kick at his groin, but he was a very aware opponent, and I couldn't quite manage. He forced me onto my back and then zip-tied my hands behind me.
"No, let me go," I shouted, now terrified.
I needed to get out. Now.
He got up off me, and I knew I had one final move. One last shot.
I quickly spun on the floor and kicked up into his groin as hard as I could.
This time, my kick connected, and he went down. I spun around and ran for the front door. It was shut, and in fact locked, so it looked like they'd locked it behind themselves. This meant it would—unfortunately—be harder to open. So I turned and struggled with the latch.
Kaito came out of the bedroom, saw me there trying to escape and made a run for me. I got ready to kick him too.
Just before he got to me, the bossman appeared in the doorway I'd just run form.
"Kaito, careful, she—"
By calling to Kaito, he'd actually momentarily distracted him, and I took that opportunity to kick straight up into his unprotected crotch while he wasn't looking.
"Ugh," he moaned.
Kaito clutched his groin and collapsed to the floor, and I managed to get the door open.
But then the boss pushed me up against it, closing it again.
I tried kneeing him in the groin, but he turned it away from me again.
He pulled me down to the ground and then sat on my legs so I couldn't kick.
He produced another zip tie, and bound my legs together.
Then he got up off me.
As he did, lifting his crotch off me, I tried one last time to kick it with both feet.
I got him again, though not as hard as last time, and he came back down on top of me. Now he was facing me, and with my hands were bound behind me, so I really was totally helpless.
"I warned you," he said.
Then he punched me hard in the belly.
All the air left my system, and I struggled to breathe, wondering if my ribs had just been
fractured again.
He picked me up like a rag-doll and put me over his shoulder, and all I could do was let it happen. Any fight I had left in me was gone for the moment, until I could breathe again.
The ringleader placed me on the floor of my living room, and then drew my feet back to my hands and zip-tied them together, effectively leaving me hogtied.
Then the bossman went to help up his two henchmen, who were both still on the floor moaning.
Meanwhile, I too was in a world of pain, as well as a world of fear, trying to catch my breath and think of a way out of this. But it seemed so hopeless now.
The leader got some beers—Asahi of course—from the fridge and gave each to his henchmen.
Gradually, they all made their way to my living room and sat around me while I writhed on the floor.
Now I was surrounded by three well-built Asian men, all of whom I'd just kicked in the groin, and all of whom sipped at their Asahi while intermittently holding it to their bruised genitals. And all of them looked pissed off.
"Do you know what the punishment is in the yakuza for women who hit men in the genitals?" said the leader.
I was finally able to breathe again, the pain in my nervous system now a replaced with endorphins. I was at least fairly confident the man hadn't fractured my ribs as I'd feared.
I thought for a moment about what Sora and the family had told me. Women generally don't factor very highly in organized crime. Or anywhere in the world for that matter. Not even for other animals. This is doubly true in yakuza families, where the men are in charge and the women are relegated to serving the men, sexually and otherwise. There were a few notable exceptions, or so I've been told. But typically, I understand they see women as servants and whores.
"Please don't rape me," I sobbed.
I didn't actually mean to break into tears, but I think I was crashing after my struggle with the men. I'd been so close to getting away. So close to being able to warn my husband. But close doesn't count; I needed to get away completely. And I didn't.
Now these men were going to do something bad to me. I just knew it. In a way, I was suggesting the rape, not so much because that's what I'm really afraid of. Don't get me wrong; the thought of these three men doing that to me was a very real fear, but maybe—just maybe, I thought—if they have their way with me, they won't do anything worse. Like beat me to a bloody pulp, or gut me like a pig.
Ganged in New York: 3-Book Bundle: Outnumbered Lady-Cop, Ganged by Yakuza, & Burgled! Page 3
