The Theft of Our Lives 07

"Don't get hard, don't get hard," I pleaded with myself, thinking of work or anything else but my modest wife disreputably teasing and flirting with our athletic son, terrified of an erection in the nasty contraption and grateful when the swelling reversed.

The next day was much as the first, and I even grew more comfortable in my unforgiving steel prison, although Linda, a pretty and curvy 20-something on the Driscoll operations team was distracting. The attractive woman was friendly and engaging but didn't flirt or do anything suggestive. She simply exuded a natural sexiness catching my attention, but I managed to keep myself under control even after weeks of sexual denial.

'Ping!' my phone sounded just as I was hitting the sack.

This time a photo appeared of Emma from the neck down, dressed in a form-fitting tank top and short shorts emphasizing her curves but that wasn't excessively naughty other than the impression of her thick, pointed nipples in the fabric. It was clear she was braless, something she'd never do around the kids before Hank took over our lives.

"For you know who" were the only words accompanying the revealing picture, and I knew she wasn't talking about me, but rather wore it to tempt our bamboozled son.

As the week progressed, the days remained filled with hard work and long hours, while the text messages arrived nightly around bedtime.

'Ping!'

"A little skin" the Wednesday night message said, but without a picture leaving me to wonder just how much skin.

"She wouldn't show much, would she?" I considered with a mix of concern and unwarranted arousal, taking a quick cold shower keeping my erection in check thinking of my statuesque wife traipsing around the house in lingerie, or wearing even less clothing than she'd showed in her picture the previous night.

'Ping!' the text arrived Thursday night, with the implication of the message alleviating my fears from Wednesday, but only transferring them to today.

"Flashed a peek today" Emma wrote, once again cryptic and without detail.

I didn't think she was purposely opaque to be cruel, but rather out of her sheer mortification at the increasingly shameful steps she took towards her ultimate goal. Regardless, the effect on my twitchy cock was compelling and difficult to subdue, and I was running out of ideas about how to keep it soft.

"A peek?" I asked myself. "Did Emma give Kellen a look at her nude body, or at least part of it? Maybe her bare ass, or worse, her naked tits?"

I was tormented, and in a quandary letting my vivid thoughts roam unanswered. It was every bit as bad as sitting in the living room of Hank's bungalow listening to my beloved bride fuck my boss that first night, and actually worse knowing it was Kellen she was flashing with equally depraved intent.

Friday arrived, and I was making good progress on the account, but realized I wasn't getting home that weekend, with the job bleeding into the first part of next week. That meant a weekend alone in the hotel with just my thoughts and the unrelenting image of my buxom wife weaving her feminine wiles on our undoubtedly confused son.

'Ping!'

"When you coming home?" her mundane question was a relief after a week of building indiscretions.

"Early next week. Can't be helped." I replied clumsily on the buttons.

"Oh, sorry. Disappointing" her response popped up a moment later.

The normal exchange was comforting, and it made me miss her more than ever, realizing I loved her so much for her sacrifices for the preservation of our family.

"Running out of time. Need to ramp it up. Touching" a subsequent text arrived after a brief pause, igniting my interest but also sparking my overreactive cock, growing restlessly in its cage after a week stifled by my efforts.

'Unngh,' I winced as the brutal spikes pressed against the tender skin of my shaft and cockhead but managed to furiously bang out a query before I acted to relieve the ache, desperate to know what she meant by the clue.

"You? Or him?" I asked, needing to know who was touching whom, and more importantly, where.

An excruciating minute passed, and I mean that literally, because the suspense kept my prick hard against the painful spikes of my unrelenting cage. My only relief was learning that they didn't draw blood. Still, it was agonizing, especially combined with the stunting of my unstoppable erection by the constricting steel bars.

"Some touch and feel" Emma finally answered, and now my cock swelled torturously thinking of my wife and son awkwardly grasping and fumbling as forbidden lovers on the living room sofa.

"What?" I furiously typed back but didn't receive an answer as she was done for the night and probably too distraught to say anymore.

"Did Kellen touch her breasts? Was it over or under her blouse? Did she feel his hard-on?"

A million questions matched with unsavory images rattled my brain, keeping my agitated cock swollen in the confounding cage until I finally ran to the ice machine for a bucket of cubes to bring it down. Sleep didn't come easy again that night, with myriad sordid thoughts crowding my mind.

I ended up sleeping almost until noon the next day with nothing to do but think and nowhere to go in the tiresome city. Hours passed with me tuned mindlessly to college football games I didn't care about, anxious for my evening text and not even venturing out to eat since my stomach was in knots.

'Ping!' the beep came painfully late at almost one in the morning, or around ten o'clock back home.

"Topless" the words sat on the screen, speaking volumes about her progress leaving nothing else to say, but it didn't stop there.

"Handjob" a second message followed after a long delay, no doubt the result of Emma's anguish, but rocking my world.

Emma, my beautiful, conservative, and now conscripted wife had obviously given our horny 18-year-old son a handjob, and she'd done so exposing her big, DD tits for his view, and possibly to grope, I wondered.

Whatever my proclivities for cuckoldry watching other men use Emma's voluptuous body aside, this message didn't harden my cock at all. I was dazed and disconsolate thinking of her long slender fingers wrapped around Kellen's rigid column, skillfully stroking him to orgasm as she had any other unwanted lover foisted on her by Hank.

The idea of her giant melons unleashed from her constraining bra and our son zealously plying the spongy globes in his hands as she jerked him off consumed my thoughts. I never made it to bed, fitfully falling asleep in the easy chair fully dressed and waking up Sunday morning stiff and sore.

Bored and with nothing to do but wonder what tragically perverse activity was occurring at my home that very day while holed up in a hotel room thousands of miles away, I got drunk, ordering a bottle of vodka from room service, and downing three-quarters of it before passing out on the bed.

'Ping!' I awoke from my intoxicated slumber, finding it dark outside and checking the clock seeing it was around ten.

"School night," I told myself, realizing Kellen couldn't stay up too late so Emma must have performed whatever salacious act with him earlier than she had on Saturday.

"Head" came her punishing text, and I did a double-take with my brain pounding from the alcohol.

"Oh! Ohhh no! Ohhhhh fuck, nooo," I groaned, stunned yet with a rush of prurient arousal in my mind as the word hit me square in the face.

The adage "too drunk to fuck" proved to be my savior from physical pain, with only my inebriated state preventing me from experiencing an unwanted erection. While sparing me from the vexing cage, my intoxication nonetheless couldn't block the emotional angst I suffered realizing that my sweet, caring, and morally upstanding wife had almost certainly blown our son.

It really couldn't mean anything else, and I unavoidably conjured an image in my sodden mind of Kellen's big-titted mother topless, on her knees with her hair in her ubiquitous ponytail, swallowing his hard cock whole as he sat awestruck on our living room couch.

Another big swig of vodka straight from the bottle and I thankfully fell asleep again before my imagination wandered any further, passing a restive night and waking with a killer hangover but making it to the Driscoll offices on time, my pain and distress notwithstanding.

"Look at these spreadsheets, Mr. Tyler," Linda requested around 10:30 a.m. in the unsorted mess of paperwork strewn about the big conference room table, surrounded by six other Driscoll employees.

'Ping!' my cellphone lit up again, not expecting it to be Emma so early in the day.

"It's done" the message simply read, and I fell back in my chair doing my best not to let my devastation show.

"When? Where?" I texted, dying for the details regardless of my surroundings and conflicted emotions, now aware of Emma's success in luring Kellen between her widespread legs.

Moments ticked by waiting for her answer, and my unceasing prick, still sore and wounded from swelling in the spiked cage the past few days, rose uncontrollably again while considering the possibilities for positions and locations.

'Cowboy on the living room sofa?'

'Doggy-style over the kitchen counter?'

'Or, heaven forbid, missionary in our bed?'

All three prospects consumed my mind, and I blocked out the world momentarily, fixated on my wife and son together.

"This morning. Don't want to talk now" my traumatized wife wrote back and that was it, as I reluctantly respected her wishes despite my anxiety at not knowing.

"I need to, um, break early for lunch," I excused myself without asking, staggering to the lunchroom looking at the banal words on the screen that were so innocent on the surface, but carried so much meaning behind them.

I wanted to be sick, but sadly, I also wanted to jerk off.

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

'Knock, knock'

Kerri's simple rap that same Monday of Emma's successful completion of her assignment rattled the glass to Professor Charles Robertson's faculty office, given more as a courtesy since she was expected even though it was past office hours.

"Come in," the mealy-mouthed voice of the tall, bookish professor echoed from the other side, with an undeniable pitch of excitement filling his words knowing who stood at the door, and more importantly, the reason for her visit.

"Professor, I'm, um, here for my private tutoring session," Kerri squeaked, tenuously entering the academic's spartan but good-sized inner sanctum.

"Yes, Kerri, I've been looking forward to it. I'm sure there's so much we can, share, shall we say, enhancing our knowledge and experience," Chuck Robertson offered euphemistically, unabashedly eyeing our sweet, auburn-haired coed clutching her books nervously to her full ripe chest.

The tension filling the air was somewhat surprising, especially since the lecherous professor had already seen his charge fully naked on her knees enjoying her cherry red lips receiving an awe-inspiring blowjob just a week earlier.

Still, this was the first foray into the required "tutorial" visits pressed upon our unhappy 19-year-old daughter, with student and teacher nervously acclimating themselves to the forbidden rendezvous arranged for his benefit by Chuck's longtime college buddy, Hank Allenby.

"Put the books down, Kerri, you won't be needing those for today's lesson," the beaming professor advised licentiously, his beady brown eyes roaming his pupil's lithe, willowing 5'9" frame hungrily, ready to pounce and held back only by a misplaced sense of propriety ingrained after years of teaching.

"Oh, yes, Professor. Where, uh, should we begin?" she asked tensely, setting the books on the desktop, and shifting from foot to foot dressed in everyday student attire of a mid-thigh loose tan denim skirt, sandals, and a printed blue button-up cotton blouse emphasizing the swell of her generous chest.

The clothes were fashionable for a coed and intended to draw the attention of the college guys, not a leering older professor. Kerri's short straight hair was held back by blue barrettes to either side, as usual, leaving her cute bangs draped above her charmingly freckled face.

"Office hours are over, Ms. Tyler, but time is still short, so perhaps we should just get to the core of the lesson by you removing your blouse and bra," Chuck directed, cutting to the chase, less from time constraints and more for fear of getting caught after normal hours with a half-naked coed in his office.

"Here? Can't I just, um, leave them on? Someone might see," Kerri said uncomfortably, noting that the wavy glass of the office door obscured images, but didn't truly block them out.

"Kerri, don't make me report negatively to Mr. Allenby. Take off your blouse and bra. I'm sure you know the effect a young lady with your big set of tits has on a man of my maturity," he insisted, invoking Hank's name just the once in gaining her obeisance to his every desire.

"Yes, professor," she reluctantly agreed, casting another glance at the glass panel looking for any sign of life outside.

Methodically, Kerri's fingers nimbly undid each button from the top down until the blouse opened and was summarily shucked from her broad shoulders, revealing an appealing, lacy white bra encompassing her gloriously pale D-cup tits.

"Whew," the professor inhaled involuntarily at the profound vision, barely able to contain himself and self-consciously tugging through his pants at his hardening cock.

Hoping to get the visit over as quickly as possible, without pause our beguiling lass reached for the shoulder straps, drawing them down her long, toned arms before hooking her hands around her back undoing the sturdy clasp holding the garment on.

"Oh my god!" Chuck wheezed at the sight of Kerri's unbelievably firm jugs, set high and pointed looking even more disproportionately sized against her lean, athletic body than he remembered from the poker night.

"Kerri, I just can't believe your tits. I mean, I check them out while lecturing sometimes, but they're quite simply amazing in the flesh," he gushed uncontrollably, confessing his bad deed of ogling her big knockers in class without remorse or concern.

Our daughter squirmed, becoming more sensitive about men's fascination with the size of her large breasts, just as her mother had years ago when her chest expanded, and men took notice.

"I need to see 'em shake," Chuck demanded egregiously, so awed by the splendid pair he felt weak in the knees.

"Huh?" Kerri huffed dumbfounded, assuming the same expression of dismay as Emma when similarly requested to perform the ridiculously embarrassing act.

"Hands behind your head, Ms. Tyler, and give 'em a shake," the insistent professor ordered sternly, his need too great to patiently explain his expectations.

Kerri's eyes shifted to the door, then obediently did as told, raising her hands, and interlacing her fingers behind her neck, and then shimmying her dense tits back and forth just as Emma does for nearly every man Hank brings her way.

"Spectacular! I want them. I want every inch of your body, Kerri. You're so hot and such a stacked bitch," he intoned demeaningly, losing his usual calm presence with his rising need to exploit our radiant college freshman.

The derogatory name stung Kerri, accustomed to respectful treatment as a burgeoning adult.

Now, her corruption under Hank's guiding wing was pronounced and her skin thicker to the insults, so she simply blew it off as merely the words of a man crazed by the idea of playing with her marvelous big tits, using her sumptuous mouth, or just straight-out fucking her delectable pussy.

In Chuck's mind, Kerri embodied every pretty coed who'd ever sat across from him during office hours flashing a glimpse of leg or hint of cleavage hoping to tease a good grade from the upright academic, now wrapped up in the forbidden package of our previously untouchable daughter's delicious body.

Seeking payback for those years of taunting and temptation by the enchanting college girls, the fortunate professor fully intended to take Kerri as often as possible, making up for every single lost opportunity to exploit the seductive damsels of his past, even if that was by his own choice and fear of disciplinary reprisal were he caught.

"Lift your skirt, Kerri, and show me your panties," Chuck inquired brazenly, unconcerned about her feelings or his reputation as a scholar.

"Um, okay," she replied with a sideways smirk, thinking the request odd, but also rudely learning every man had peculiar kinks when it came to sex.

Assuming Professor Robertson had a panty fetish, or something like that, Kerri uneasily lifted the loose fabric, revealing simple but pretty white panties with little pink roses sprinkled across the cotton material, fashioned into a low-waisted bikini cut emphasizing the slimness of her developing hips.

Facing him bravely, thin wisps of auburn curls escaped the elastic at the sides of the front panel in a display some men found off-putting but sent a twinge through Chuck's rapidly swelling prick.

"So cute. I like the roses, did your mother pick those out for you?" he asked with demented glee, imagining Emma selecting her adult daughter's underthings in a warped perversion born of the incestuous lesbian performance he witnessed only a week ago.

"Uh, no sir, I pick out my own panties," Kerri replied, thinking more and more that her kindly professor was a little twisted but going with the flow, knowing leaving before he had his fun wasn't an option.

"That's a shame. Now, take them off, then come over here and set them on my dest," Professor Robertson ordered, rolling his executive chair away from the desk and pointing to his lap.

Obediently, our daughter stripped of the panties, letting her skirt drop along her toned thighs and scooting to stand before him, dropping the flimsy panties on the desk as if surrendering some contraband found during lecture and awaiting his next miserable instruction.

"Ms. Tyler, I'm very concerned about your progress in my class. Your written work is good, but you're in danger of failing due to poor oral performance," he announced, turning the conversation in a weird direction suiting his desires.

Apparently, Chuck was serious about fulfilling his unrequited fantasy after years of failing coed's currying his favor but suffering his refusal to his great regret and lowering their GPA.

"Of course, you need the proper tools to achieve success. Kerri, take out my cock, and let's work on your oral skills together," the professor directed, as if asking her to open the assigned textbook to the correct chapter.

"Professor?" Kerri inquired innocently, knowing what he wanted but finding the entire scenario bizarre, then deciding it's what got him off, and as a result, what she was there to provide.

"Ms. Tyler, you'll never pass this class if you don't drop to your knees and suck me to erection," Chuck scolded in pursuing his fantasy, knowing in fact that our daughter's coursework was excellent, and she was well on her way to an A grade without such a performance.

"That's how all the pretty coed's pass my class," he added to complete the charade.

With a roll of her pretty green eyes, Kerri played along, kneeling before the odd man ready to fulfill his wish by taking his cock into her mouth for the second time in a week, after never imagining doing such a distasteful thing when sitting in his class before that inglorious Friday night at Hank's mansion.

'Zippp' his zipper came down and Kerri fished out his modest prick, already semi-hard in his excitement for her breathtaking tits, and now poised inches away from her luscious lips with her cherry nipples perked and preening under the duress of her sad situation.

Lamentably taking his average six-inch tube into her mouth to suck him to fullness, Kerri felt a subtle tap on her shoulder and a mild admonition from the man.