The Theft of Our Lives 01

Unfortunately, it's the position she now found herself in, but made more extreme as Hank's desk is wide, spreading her long, toned arms forward and far apart leaving her giant melons even more exposed and unimaginably appealing in profile, no doubt just as my incorrigible boss intended.

As if to emphasize that design, he paused momentarily to the side, admiring her voluptuous form and low-hanging tits drooping prominently from her tremoring torso.

"Wow, what a sight! Honestly, pretty as a picture," he exclaimed, unabashed in prying at her sensitivities by commending her humiliating pose.

"Next time I'll need a camera, you know, to capture the view for posterity, or maybe show a few of the staff," my boss added offhandedly. "I know several of Ray's co-workers have wanted to see Emma Tyler's big tits for a long time."

Emma's eyes popped wide at the last remark, with the mere thought of Hank photographing her in such an undignified position humiliating and thinking of him showing them to his gawking inner circle was nearly intolerable.

Shifting to approach from behind, Hank took charge in a business-like manner, evaluating my blushing wife's splendid body. He was still not satisfied though, perhaps simply trying to embarrass her further or maybe due to a perfectionist streak common to successful people.

"Spread those lovely long stems wide, pet, as wide as your arms," he directed after some consideration.

Unhappily, Emma complied, leaving her in what had become a disturbingly obscene inspection posture I'm certain she found absolutely degrading, with her legs spread wide and ready for my vindictive boss to peruse her assailable pussy at his leisure in the most intimate detail.

Reflecting her rage, unease, and awkward circumstance, Emma's white knuckles gripped the desk tightly, with her wedding ring flashing briefly off the artificial office lights.

I was now sadly hard as a rock witnessing my winsome bride's utter debasement. I didn't want to be. I wanted to be supportive and strong for Emma, but instead I was turned on, fascinated by Hank's exercise of unadulterated power in manipulating her into the most ignominious pose.

"Lovely, Emma, such an adorable furry kitty," Hank remarked reverently, truly appreciative of Emma's openly presented pink gash split clearly for his viewing, surrounded by a bevy of fluffy brown hair.

"Huhhh," she exhaled deeply at the observation, exposed in a manner she'd never even tolerate by her gynecologist.

Sliding to her side, Hank set his hand on her lower back above the cute dimples marking the top of her glorious round ass, then slipped his palm under her tummy and running it lightly up to her chest, letting her giant fleshy left globe overflow his widespread fingers in testing its weight and density.

"Heavy. These gotta be ten pounders each," he chortled crudely, maliciously squeezing her big tit between his fingers and finishing with a playful but not overly painful pinch of her meaty eraser tip nipple.

"Ahhh," Emma peeped at the offense and his coarse description of her mammoth breasts, closing her eyes momentarily in shame.

As embarrassing as that was for my sensitive wife, it got worse when his other hand drifted over her protruding rump, led by his index finger gliding intrusively along her vulnerable ass crack, luckily bypassing her clenching sphincter, but unfortunately continuing across her perineum until reaching the sealed entrance guarded by her fleshy labia.

"Awwhhh," she gasped in her distress at the meddlesome personal probe.

"Still dry here," he determined with some disappointment. "Don't be so uptight, Emma. You really need to get juicy easier and ready for action."

'This is it,' I thought as the words left his mouth, with my modest cock raging hard. 'My asshole boss is going to fuck my wife right in front of me and I can't do a thing about it.

I'm pretty certain Emma feared the same thing, but dutifully stayed in place ready to accept her punishment, and more importantly, protect our family from separation and destruction.

'Wap,' a mild slap of her meaty ass came suddenly and unexpectedly.

"Okay, that's enough for now," Hank surprisingly declared, returning to his executive desk chair. "I have a meeting in twenty minutes, and I need to review a few spreadsheets."

We were both shocked, fully expecting the deviant bastard to take the next step and force my wife into sex right there in the office.

"You can get dressed now, Emma, we'll consummate this deal later," he advised without looking up from his laptop as Emma thanked the stars for her reprieve and scurried to put on her clothes.

"Stop by Mrs. Ogawa's desk and give her your vitals -- measurements, height and weight, you know the drill," my boss instructed, sealing our unfortunate plight as indentured servants to his desires. "She'll give you an address. Meet me there at six tonight, both of you."

"Make arrangements to be out late, and Emma, dress to please and don't be late," he warned portentously, sending a chill of the unknown through us both.

**********************************

"Dress to please? What the hell does that mean?" Emma queried uncertainly, rummaging through her closet that evening. "I mean, it's not like we go clubbing every weekend at our age. I don't know that I have anything designed to 'please' as Hank wants."

"I'm sure you'll look good in anything you wear," I flattered with husbandly affection, unfortunately suspecting it was unlikely anything she picked was staying on her wonderful body for any length of time anyway.

I quickly dressed in casual khaki's and a polo shirt, waiting in the kitchen as she put together her outfit.

"Mom and I are going out for an evening at my boss' house. We may be late so you're on your own," I explained to our two adult children.

"Okay, dad, but why so late on a weekday?" our scrutinizing 19-year-old daughter asked.

Kerri is always the more curious of the two, with her 18-year-old brother Kellen letting her take the lead and simply following blithely along with whatever came up.

"Client thing. Mr. Allenby said it could even be an all-nighter," I answered with a fib, not really certain what to expect.

Hank hadn't actually said that, but I wanted the kids to be prepared in the event we didn't come stumbling home until morning, while peremptorily stifling any prying questions if we did.

"So how come mom has to go?" Kerri pressed innocently, not suspecting anything was awry.

"Oh, you know, sometimes a spouse has to provide the right appearance for propriety's sake," I answered vaguely, recognizing she was too young to really understand without experience in the corporate working world.

"Okay, I'm ready. How do I look?" Emma announced, breezing into the kitchen doing her best at hiding her trepidation about the coming evening and sparing me further questions from our inquisitive daughter.

"Awesome, mom," Kerri chirped with an approving nod.

"Wow, great mom," Kellen piped in immediately with a concurring remark.

Emma chose a stylish black sleeveless button-down silk blouse and a pleated burgundy skirt to just above the knee, topping sheer black thigh-high stockings and the only high heels she owned, a modest 3-inch black pair with a decorative black buckle.

Fashionable but certainly not flashy by a younger woman's standards, Emma's relatively conservative look contrasted the very form-fitting nature of the top, cut to adhere to her ample curves with emphasis on her eye-catching bust.

"I don't really like this blouse. I didn't realize it hugs so closely when I bought it," she confessed on the one prior occasion she wore it.

Interesting, my naturally attractive wife wore a hint more make-up than usual, although still tastefully applied -- a natural tone base, mauve eye shadow, black eyeliner, and mauve lipstick matching her eye shadow. She looked truly lovely, and I expected Hank to think so too, even if it wasn't the sexiest ensemble.

"You look fantastic, babe," I whispered in her ear as we headed out the door after a parental admonition for the kids to do their homework and not stay up too late.

**********************************

There's no question in my mind tonight's meeting is for the sole purpose of Hank fucking my wife in his first foray into retribution for my theft.

I'd be hard pressed to imagine Emma didn't think she'd be taken sexually too and pulling up to the address provided by Mrs. Ogawa removed any doubt, as it was the bungalow Hank invited her to visit during the company picnic.

I don't have any idea as to Hank's current matrimonial status. He keeps his private life so secretive I'd need to hire a private investigator to find out and I didn't care enough to incur such an expense.

With that in mind, I'm not really certain why he keeps the downtown bungalow when I know he owns an expansive estate outside of town. It might be for carrying on his sexual dalliances outside the knowledge of his wife, if he has one, but it could just as easily be for convenience and proximity to our office on nights when he worked late and didn't want to make the drive home.

Probably a little of both, if I had to guess, but regardless, it's an ideal location to secure his claim on my wife and neither Emma nor I assumed it was anything other. Private, anonymous, and comfortable, we didn't know how the night would unfold, but I'm certain Hank Allenby fucking Emma was more than likely on the agenda.

Ringing the bell right at 6:00 p.m., an ebullient Hank greeted us at the door, all smiles and pleasantries as if we were truly there for just a friendly visit.

"Ray and Emma Tyler, I'm so glad you could make it, and right on time. You know I like that," Hank effused graciously while inviting us into the small foyer.

The bungalow isn't big, maybe 1,000 s.f. or so, but is nicely appointed with modern-style furnishings, expensive art, and lush flowering plants. I assume he has a service decorate and maintain it, since he has neither the time nor likely the inclination to do so.

The place has a small living room to the left as you enter with a passthrough to the kitchen and then a hallway leading to a dining room, den, and the two bedrooms. It's well-lit with plenty of windows providing natural light and has an overall welcoming feel.

"Let's have a nice meal, shall we?" Hank suggested, ushering us into the comfortable dining room with a table already set with food prepared and ready to serve from a fancy catering service I'm sure.

"I hope you enjoy filet mignon, but I have some vegetarian items if you prefer," he informed us, seating us on opposite sides of the table with himself at the head.

"I love a filet," I answered, a bit flummoxed at the hospitality and on edge waiting for the other shoe to drop with Hank ruthlessly pouncing on my wife, looking equally uncertain and worried about what came next.

"Yes, that would be fine," Emma agreed politely as Hank poured her a glass of fine French Bordeaux.

Dinner was remarkably uneventful and although Hank did make some flirty remarks and probing eye contact with my increasingly comfortable wife, he made no untoward moves under the table or anything more aggressive than a friendly pat on her shoulder.

It was all very disarming, with a lot of conversation about business, our kids, and Emma's philanthropic work ensuing. I realized later it was deceitfully designed to learn more about us and our family, with my cunning boss thinking it might prove useful in furthering our servitude.

After two hours, we adjourned to the living room, where Hank turned on some classic standards as background music and the night's festivities finally began.

"Let's dance, Emma," he requested in a tone sounding more like a command. "Ray, run to the kitchen and fix us each a Manhattan. You'll find everything you need in the cabinets."

"Uh, yeah, sure," I replied to the sudden change in direction as to who was host and who was husband.

As I left my boss scooped up Emma, grasping her closely and beginning a slow dance. It was humorous in an odd way, seeing the two together, with Emma towering over Hank's slim frame by a good three inches.

Less funny was the height difference placing his head about chest level and seeing his hand swiftly drop to Emma's skirt-covered bottom in an expression of his growing comfort with taking whatever liberties he chose in front of her husband's eyes.

"Ohhh, umm," I heard Emma peep while I was in the kitchen finishing up the cocktails, with the sound giving me pause but then not hearing anything else except the catchy music.

"Uh-hum," I uttered upon entering the room with a tray full of drinks, caught off-guard by the vision I beheld.

Hank and Emma were still embraced in a close slow dance, but my wife's fashionable pleated skirt had dropped to the floor and was kicked aside. I'm sure that's when she made her squeaking protest, suddenly left standing in a sexy pair of lace black bikini panties, with her long shapely legs swaying to the music clad in the sheer thigh-high stockings.

My boss had both hands firmly clamped on Emma's marvelously broad ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh lightly as they moved in one place on the hardwood floor, their bodies pressed together with no light filtering between them.

I caught a look of apprehension in Emma's flitting eyes but one of pure bliss in Hank's, burying his face into her deep cleavage, now partially exposed with the top two buttons of her blouse undone so the black bra and ivory tops of her large breasts overflowed the lacy cups.

"Cocktails," I called when no one responded, disrupting the discomfiting mood, while pretending to ignore that my assertive employer had half-stripped my beloved wife in my brief absence and was feeling her up like a college frat brother at a sorority mixer.

"Nice and well-proportioned," Hank commented after breaking away, accepting his drink and taking a sip.

I nodded but wasn't sure if he was speaking about my curvaceous wife or complimenting me on my skills as a mixologist.

Flustered and a touch unnerved, Emma hatched her beverage in one long gulp looking for fortification in a glass against whatever the coming night held now that she was partially disrobed. Her dazed green eyes cast in my direction showing rage, sadness, and ultimately resignation, with all three concurrent emotions directed at me.

"Enough of that. Sit here, dear, and take off the blouse," Hank announced abruptly, focusing on Emma while taking a seat on the sofa as I remained standing nearby.

Emma's shoulders slumped with the request but then complied without much hesitation. The blouse was only half-on anyway, so it was just a few simple flicks of the bottom buttons before she shucked it off to join her skirt, leaving her in just her skimpy lingerie.

"She knows how to hatch a drink. Another round, Ray," Hank ordered.

Just as had Emma, I obeyed without argument, fearful of what I'd find upon my return, and hurrying with the drinks not wanting too much time to lapse, or shamefully miss too much of the action.

This time no sound came from the room except the background music, turned down for ambience and no longer for dancing. Rounding the corner from the kitchen, I was presented with another vision no husband wants to see -- my self-assured boss and reluctant wife now engaged in a body-contact, full-mouthed French kiss on the sofa.

Hank's tongue probed between Emma's plush lips deep into the wet cavity while grappling with Emma's athletic body, their arms and legs entangled and his right palm grazing along the long, supple stretch of her left thigh from the knee all the way to her round ass cheek.

'Smup, mumph, sluf,' smacking and snuffling sounds emanated from lips pressed together leaving me afraid to interrupt with the drinks, so instead I simply stared as my loyal wife unhappily made out with another man.

Knowing how sacred Emma holds such personal acts as a romantic kiss, elevating them to an expression of love and caring far above the act of sex itself, I realized for her to be so thoroughly and intimately involved with my boss was as traumatizing as stripping naked in his office earlier this afternoon.

With eyes closed to her mate and the world, she nonetheless appeared to be doing her best in going through the motions, slipping her own tongue into Hank's mouth as he caressed her soft skin with this roving hands and doing nothing to fight him off.

Judging by appearances, Emma wasn't exactly enthusiastic but did her best to fake it, not outwardly struggling or resisting the aggressive pawing for fear of incurring his disapproval and blowing our deal. I can only guess how she was faring emotionally, but in my selfishness I hoped she was distraught at the violation of our sacred vows and fealty to our loving marriage.

'If I don't do something, he's gonna fuck Emma right in front of me,' I decided, thinking that was the logical next step in his progression at undermining her dignity and wounding me.

I also sadly realized that if that's what he wants to do, he'll do it anyway, and I'll do nothing about it but watch, no doubt to his great pleasure.

Truthfully, based on the sordid exhibition in his office, Emma and I both assumed Hank fucking her in my presence was almost certainly on the docket tonight, but it was still a harsh reality to accept when the time for it to happen appeared imminent.

"Uh-hummm," I cleared my throat again just when Hank's hand moved from her thigh upward, grasping Emma's big left tit over her bra and threatening to bulge out the top when pressed against his body.

"Oh, Ray, back so soon?" Hank asked in breaking the kiss, unaffected by the fact he was caught copping a feel of my wife and even irritated by the interruption.

With her face flushed pink and her silky chestnut hair disheveled, Emma's emerald eyes followed me contritely, but she made no move to hide what she was doing, recognizing we both understood the arrangement and our miserable situation in capitulating to Hank's demands.

"Looks like a little more privacy may be necessary. C'mon, pet, the sofa is too uncomfortable anyway," my thwarted boss observed, taking his drink and extending his hand to Emma.

Awkwardly standing to her full 5'10" height, my statuesque wife warily accepted him pulling her towards the hallway and presumptively, a bedroom. She looked so forlorn, defeated and resigned to this debasing fate to save our family. Still, she also looked sexy as hell -- a respectable suburban wife and mother unwillingly broken to sexual servitude at the hands of a degenerate lecher.

Willowy and graceful, but with generous curves, Emma has a natural refinement about her bearing. Between her broad shoulders, hourglass torso and hips, and long, sinewy legs drawn to carved calves and slender ankles, my incredible wife is the embodiment of feminine poise and symmetry.

Now, exposed in only a bra, panties, and stockings, her lovely face revealed a subservient weakness and betrayal, rather than her usual strength and conviction.

"Stay here and entertain yourself, Ray. If you get tired, you can sleep on the sofa," Hank instructed ominously.

Shamefully, I couldn't keep my eyes off Emma's ripe panty-clad ass swaying invitingly, inadequately balancing on her high heels reluctantly following him, and my cock twitched seeing her sheepishly slink to the hallway preparing to commit adultery with my boss.

I quickly reverted my distracted eyes just in time to avoid getting busted checking out her bottom when she turned to me with watery eyes looking every bit the wounded animal -- forsaken by her loving husband and begging for salvation, while understanding none was forthcoming before disappearing into the bedroom next to the living room.

To my dismay, the door didn't close behind them in what had to be a purposeful move by Hank, and that sent a chill up my spine. As much as anything we'd suffered so far, I feared hearing every intolerable sound emanating from the room perhaps more than anything else.