Here’s a sample from Cuckolded by Yakuza, a sexy black woman/asian men gangbang and alpha male cuckoldry tale! This story crosses all kinds of boundaries, and is only for the mature of heart.
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I was used to not knowing what happened in my own home. On more occasions than I could count, I came home to see my husband, Donte, and his buddies nervously sitting there, obviously having just put whatever illegal activity they were organizing under the sheet they laid over the coffee table in the living room. They never made a real effort to make sure I didn’t know what they did — I told Donte to make sure I didn’t do anything illegal, or anything provable in court anyway, and I told him not to tell me what was going on in his life. I loved him — still do, in my own way — but I didn’t want to know how his life was going.
He made an exception a few months ago when he thought he was going to die. I don’t know exactly why, but he had angered the local yakuza, who were called Clan Kyuu. They had put a hit out on his life. He told me only when he narrowly escaped a gunman and thought he might really die.
“Here, Janine, baby. If I end up dead, give this to the cops. They’ll get the oriental bastards, but it won’t look like either of us was snitches,” Donte said. He handed me a manila envelope then, which I hid away. I didn’t want to look inside, frightened of what I might find within. I pictured that envelope every time I was alone and the phone rang, sure that this would be the moment when I needed to do as he said, to avenge his name.
A thousand thoughts ran through my head then — all the reasons I wanted Donte to live. He had been sweet once, when we were courting; he was sexy and strong and I loved everything about him, including the risk and the gangstaism and the endless crime. His desire to have no children was alluring then; now it was off-putting, boring, disappointing. What was the point of our relationship if we weren’t going to have kids?
But I still stuck it out, until this morning. I came back from work early — I have a real job, a legal one, that pays me in money and not blood-stained cartons of cigarettes — only to see Donte through the living room window, going to town on a pretty white girl. She was blond and half my age and skinnier than me.
“Give it to me, big daddy!” she screamed. That was loud enough the neighbors probably heard, I realized, they must have heard this in the past and knew he was cheating on me. That was clearly a white girl’s voice, nobody would have thought it was me.
I ran out. A part of me wanted to rush in there and confront him, but that wasn’t the part of me that controlled my feet. That part turned tail and fled.
It wasn’t until I got on the subway heading home that I had second thoughts. Why should I have run away? I didn’t do anything wrong. It was only Donte who did something wrong. And the yakuza, presumably.
A Japanese man sat down near me on the subway. He was handsome in his own way, but certainly not sexy. He wore an ill-fitting gray suit, and he spoke on the phone in Japanese.
“Watashi wa Kuran Kyuu ni chūjitsudesu.”
He said that several times, each time more certain, as though he was trying to convince somebody. I noticed it because he emphasized Kuran Kyuu as though it was important, and I recognized that word, Kyuu. That was the name of the Yakuza clan who had threatened Donte.
“Excuse me, sir,” I asked when he hung up the phone. He took a deep breath and sighed as though that conversation had been nerve-wracking. He was pale, hands trembling.
“I’m sorry… I just heard you say something about the word Kyuu. Can you tell me what that means in Japanese?”
He looked her in the eye, trying to divine the purpose of her question through peering deeply into her eyes. He spoke hastily and tripped over himself, almost as though he was lying. “Nine. It is simply the number nine.”
“Oh. I thought it was something more important than that.”
He cleared his throat and paused like he was considering whether or not to provide more information. Then he said, “The more correct word, technically speaking, is ku. But that sounds like the word for ‘suffering’, so we usually use kyuu. That is a word that has… other connotations as well.”
“I see… Like the Yakuza?”
He bit hit lip but didn’t say anything.
“Sir? Is that the name of the Yakuza?”
“I do not know. You should not ask questions about Kyuu.”
“It’s just a number. I like math,” I said.
“Then do your maths in English. You do not want to know more about the Kyuu,” he said. “They bring only suffering to anyone who deals with them. That is where their name comes from. They bring suffering to people, and make them pay for the privilege.”
“Obviously, I would never work with or for the Yakuza, especially Clan Kyuu.”
“If I wanted to find them, how would I do that?”
He shrugged and laughed. “I don’t know. Accept bets on Japanese professional baseball games. They’ll find you.” The subway train rolled to a stop, and the Japanese man stood up. He smiled at her. “I was kidding, by the way. Don’t do that.”
He hurried off the train, and I sat there thinking about what he said. That wasn’t a terrible idea — not accepting bets, but horning in on their territory to make them come to me. Did I really want to go through with this?
The conversation with the Japanese man had distracted me from what I saw, so once I remembered again, and pictured Donte with that trashy white broad, I knew exactly what I had to do. Not gambling, that was risky, and somebody might accept, and then what would I do? Actually take some illegal sports bets? Of course not.
Instead I hurried to Little Tokyo. I knew this was silly, that it probably wouldn’t even work, but I felt like I had to try. My heart pounded when I walked into a restaurant of some sort — I couldn’t recognize virtually any of the food items on display. The clerk, a pretty young girl, looked at me in confusion. Presumably they didn’t get a lot of black women in here.
“Hello,” I said. “My name is Janine Powers.”
“Nice to meet you, Janine,” she said. She had a perky, excited voice.
“Yes… Let me be perfectly frank, miss,” I said. My heart started pounding. “I’m going to extort you.”
“I have a feeling something bad will happen to your store if-“
“It’s my grandfather’s store.”
“Yes, and it will be your grandfather’s pile of ash if I don’t receive some reward for keeping it safe,” I said.
“I know it’s not up to you, dear. Just tell whoever you need to tell. My name is Janine Powers, and I live in Brooklyn,” I said, giving her the exact address. I knew it was foolish to give out my real name and address, but I figured that was the best way to ensure they didn’t just kill me — they would certainly investigate first, and if I gave a fake name, they’d assume I was a cop and kill me without asking questions.
“Okay. You know we… uh… We are already… insured against loss,” she said.
“You already pay protection money?”
“No, of course not.”
“Just tell whoever you need to tell,” I said, then walked out the door. I had planned on visiting a bunch of shops, just to be sure word got back to Clan Kyuu quickly. But after my third restaurant, I was certain that would be enough — all three had alluded to already being under someone’s protection.
So I went home to wait. I wasn’t expecting anything to happen tonight, except for Donte to call and say that he was going to be home late. Of course, Donte, I thought, of course you will. White girls got stamina these days.
It was only the next morning, when Donte had already come home and gone in the very early dawn hours, that I heard an unobtrusive rapping on my door. I knew instantly who it was. Only a Japanese gangster would knock in a way that was both soft and intimidating at the same time.
I opened the door, heart pounding. There were three Japanese men in suits. The one in front was handsome, tan, possibly only half-Japanese, or maybe he had that eye-rounding surgery, I thought. The two behind him were clearly the muscle; one was short, the other tall; neither were classically handsome, but I found them plenty alluring. They bulged from the tailored suits they wore, and a few colorful tattoos peeked out the edges of their clothes.
“Hello, gentlemen,” I said.
“Mrs. Powers, so nice to meet you,” said the man in front. He sounded well-educated, and had no trace of an accent. “May we come in? We have much to discuss.”
“Of course. I insist,” I said. My hands trembled as I put a kettle on to make tea. I set out four cups on saucers, then showed them to the living room to wait for the water to boil.
“You have a beautiful home, ma’am,” he said. “I should formally introduce myself. I am Katashi Takugatsi. These are my associates. You may call them Matsu and Timo.” They each nodded at me.
“So nice to meet you. I’m sorry for my rudeness in asking for money from those people — I never had any intention of taking their money.” The tea kettle was about to whistle, so I hurried into the kitchen. I smiled at the feeling of their confused looks at my backside. I shook my ass a little, hoping they got wind of what I was suggesting.
They were politely silent until I returned with their cups of tea. They each took a sip, and Katashi thanked her. “It is most delicious tea, ma’am. May I ask why you attempted so clumsily to extort money if you had no intention of collecting?”
“Well, the yakuza doesn’t have a webpage,” I said. “That was the quickest way I could think of to get in touch with you. I was worried you’d be an elderly man — like in The Godfather, I guess. I’m so glad you’re hot.”
Now he looked flustered. “Are you able to pay on your husband’s debt?”
So that’s why they want him dead, it’s just money?! “In a way,” she leaned back and spread her legs. “He’s probably going to be home in a little while. I am hoping he will walk in on me being triple-teamed by you three. I do think you should deduct an amount you think appropriate from his debt in payment, because I want him to walk in on me being paid by you for sex.”
Katashi cocked his head to one side and examined me. It looked like Matsu and Timo had the general idea of my suggestion — my body language was making it pretty clear — but didn’t know English well enough to quite pick up what I had said.
A very long silence ensued. One of the muscle-men (Matsu, I think) said something in Japanese, and Katashi barked an order back to him. He smiled at me.
“That is a most interesting proposition. So you extorted money only to attract attention? Were you not scared we would simply kill you?”