The Theft of Our Lives 09 Pt. 01

"Does Sam know about the incident?" Hank asked deceitfully, wanting to know exactly where he stood relative to Betsy's spouse, deviously figuring to use the knowledge to leverage Betsy.

"No. I swore Robbie to secrecy, and I never told Sam or anyone," Betsy confessed, assuming the reason for his interest was simply limiting the damage.

Betsy was so relieved about her possible redemption, or at least a continued cover-up, she didn't really consider any other reason. Instead, she merely grasped at the ray of hope, focusing on the solution Hank offered and not yet considering the quid pro quo he asked in return.

"I'll do what's necessary to save Robbie and our family. Just tell me what to do?" she assured naively, the anxiousness in her voice unmistakable.

Now, Hank no longer pretended to cloak his desires, giving Betsy a long, leering look up and down before the first of many orders to come in her inevitable descent into servitude to him.

"Good, that's good to know, Betsy," Hank smiled devilishly. "You can start by removing that blazer. In fact, you can take off that pretty blouse too."

"Huh? Excuse me?" Betsy asked quizzically, her expression a picture of incredulity as the look of hope on her puzzled face gradually changed with his words and it slowly dawned on her what he was telling her to do.

"You said you'd do whatever was necessary to keep me from sending the video to the police," my expectant boss paused for effect. "This is what's necessary."

"You can't be serious!!" Betsy gawped, aghast at the unthinkable demand and tremoring throughout her curvaceous body at the indecent demand.

Still, it didn't take her long to realize Hank was extremely serious and that, despite her shock, she had no choice.

Panicked, but with nowhere to turn and too timid to verbalize her vehement objection further, Emma's charming younger sister reluctantly removed the blazer. Then, with visibly trembling fingers, button-by-button, Betsy tensely undid her blouse until it too was off her shoulders and perched on the back of a nearby chair.

'If he wants to see my boobs, I guess that's a price I'll have to pay for his silence,' she convinced herself, even if disgusted by the 'immodest' proposal.

Standing before him in only her skirt and lacy white bra overflowing with the creamy tops of her billowing breasts, Hank initiated a well-crafted inquisition to humiliate the petrified lesbian mother and slowly etch away her dignity and pride.

"So, you like girls, eh? Well, I guess we have that in common. I'll be sure you get an opportunity to express your preference," he beamed, foreshadowing his intent for my lovely, entrapped sister-in-law.

Betsy glowered at the allusion, not understanding the full implications, but contained her urge to protest.

"I wonder if your sister has a similar interest?" my boss added cryptically.

"What?" Betsy questioned uncertainly, not comprehending Hank's reference to Emma, with no idea her older sister was already ensnared in his net of degradation.

"I bet you're a large D, right? Maybe a touch smaller than Emma, but not much," Hank asked his indelicate question with sublime surety in his position.

"How incredibly rude!" she snarled at the inappropriate reference to her big sister, losing her cool and not thinking of the risk in his disapproval. "Besides, how would you even know Emma's size?"

Betsy was genuinely confused and uncomfortable standing half-undressed in Hank's office answering extremely personal questions, not thinking clearly and afraid someone might enter finding her in the disreputable situation.

"I'd say in Emma's case it's rather obvious," Hank snarked, referring to the unavoidably prominent chest sported by my stacked wife.

"Now, give me your bra so I can see if I'm right," he then requested perfunctorily, letting the defiance pass this time since she was flummoxed.

Besides, he thought her harmless rejoinder was cute and also sexy in a 'matron in distress' sort of way.

"Please wait, isn't there another way? There must be something else I can do?" my unhappy sister-in-law complained, not ready to take the next step of standing topless in a strange man's office.

"No, there's not, damn it! Now, take it off and hand it to me," he growled, his patience only so measured with her continued recalcitrance and making that point crystal clear by his tone. "I've wanted to see those big tits since I met you by the pool, and I'm getting tired of you questioning my every order."

"Oh, I'm, uh, oh-kay," Betsy sniveled, mortified at the lewd demand and the prospect of exposing her bare breasts to the twisted businessman.

Unfortunately, she was also certain he could and would ruin Robbie's life as well as her own, so finally relented, obediently slipping the straps of the lacy bra off her shoulders. Nervously, she unsnapped the front hook sending her splendid globes spilling forth unrestrained and bouncing buoyantly before settling marvelously on her chest.

"36D! I can always tell," Hank gloated proudly, pleased with himself while inspecting the tag on the frilly bra she had reluctantly turned over to his eager paws.

Scrutinizing the magnificent pair, my fastidious boss observed that my cowed sister-in-law's bountiful tits were only a hint smaller than Emma's giant set. They were also quite similar in shape, and as a result, were therefore spectacular regardless of any minor difference in cup size.

"Really nice! No sag and truthfully not much smaller than your sister's tits at all. Oh, and I love those fat nipples," he exclaimed crudely, noticing her big jugs possessed no droop whatsoever while also topped by wide, rose areolae he assumed grew thick and dense with the right stimulus.

"I'll bet your wife loves big tits," Hank smirked tauntingly.

"What the fuck? What Sam thinks about my breasts is none of your business!" Betsy snapped imprudently with her ire inflamed by the insulting remark.

"Watch the mouth, darling," my boss scowled sternly. "I'll ask about your tits, her tits, or anything else I want, period."

"Ahhh," Betsy's gasp and openly frightened expression signaled the fearsome message was received and understood.

"Better," he approved, returning to his jovial demeanor.

"I gotta say, those really are an impressive set of lungs. I'll bet your taste for pussy disappointed a lot of guys in college," Hank praised offensively, adding the denigrating remark as a disparaging dig at her dismissal of men.

Betsy steamed as her skin flushed scarlet at the comment, but she meekly allowed it without further protest, rightly fearing harsh repercussions if she persisted.

"Stick out your chest, and don't slump. Show me those great tits," my gloating boss indecently ordered, growing ever cruder and more degrading. "I mean it, push 'em out. Be proud of those big girls."

Chafing at the demeaning order, Betsy hesitated momentarily, considering refusal to the insult to her dignity by performing the disturbing act before this virtual stranger.

"Now, honey!" he barked harshly, intent on enforcing his will with the condescending directive.

Intimidated, Betsy reticently adjusted her posture, pulling in her hips and obediently squaring her shoulders. Projecting her sizable melons, the delightful duo rose and fell with her breathing, although her broad rose-pink nipples remained flat and smooth in the warm office air.

"Beautiful! Really, you've got an amazing rack! Shake 'em for me," Hank admired sincerely, demanding the embarrassing move as a personal favorite designed for that purpose, just as he did of every new conquest.

"Oh, dear god, no. Please, Mr. Allenby, don't make me do that," Betsy bemoaned, already deeply humiliated simply standing there topless and terribly flustered by the request.

My bereft lesbian sister-in-law's green eyes grew wet, referring to my commanding boss by his formal name in yet another indication of her unwitting submission. Foolishly, she had hoped removing her top might sufficiently satisfy his lurid desires and convince him to withhold the threatening video tape, but that clearly wasn't happening.

"Keep in mind, Betsy, I'm not making you do anything. You don't have to do it. You can just put your top back on and leave, then I'll send that video to my friend the D.A.," he countered ruthlessly and without remorse.

My unconscionable boss loved letting a captured woman know she did indeed have options and that the degrading act was her choice, even if her options were few. It made it that much more painful if she believed she chose the immoral display rather than being forced.

"Oh, no! Please, don't do that," Betsy begged, water welling in her eyes uttering the plaintive wail, then placing her hands on her hips and timidly shaking side-to-side to send her eye-catching tits swaying with her motion.

"There you go! That's the way, but clasp your hands behind your head," Hank encouraged salaciously, happy when she abjectly followed his directive by tentatively placing her hands behind her neck.

"That's right, just spread your elbows to the side. Yeah, just like that," he applauded, nodding to my disgraced sister-in-law with her arms raised and elbows out placing the entire focus on her superbly displayed set of knockers.

"That's your Presentation pose, and you'll assume it whenever I say 'Present.' Understand?" her new master counseled firmly, making clear this was no joke.

"What? You mean, whenever?" Betsy questioned, disbelieving the ridiculous order.

"Whenever you hear me say it, regardless of the circumstance. Understand?" my boss reiterated seriously.

"Y-yes, I understand," she stammered docilely, her natural tendency for submissiveness rising to the surface.

"Sir!" Hank barked fiercely.

"Y-yes, I-uh, understand, Sir," Betsy conceded uncomfortably, expressing her submerged passivity, just as her older sister had in that very office weeks earlier.

"They really are firm, aren't they?" her ogling audience of one commented as she once again shifted her torso back and forth making the wonderful duo shimmy and shake across her chest.

"Hank, you busy?" Isaac Jones-Dixon called, popping his head in the office door.

It wasn't prearranged or anything, but the company president was pleased seeing his long-time friend and associate.

"Aahhhhh!" Betsy squealed, standing in just her skirt and heels, paralyzed at the sudden intrusion after first dropping her arms and covering her exposed breasts.

"Ike, get in here. You gotta see the show!" Hank enthusiastically invited the mid-60's black executive.

Ike was more than happy to accept the offer, unsurprised walking-in on the not uncommon scenario of an attractive woman in a state of undress in his boss and mentor's office. Strutting to Hank, the equally depraved businessman admired the half-nude woman frozen by fear standing just feet away.

"Go on, honey. Don't stop on Ike's account. He's seen married women's tits before," my boss admonished Betsy, adding a scurrilous order giving force to her continuing downfall.

"Present!"

Totally embarrassed and uncertain of any other recourse, Emma's addled sister hesitantly shifted her hands back behind her head returning her awe-inspiring melons to prominence. Self-consciously, she resumed wagging her chest unasked, swinging her large breasts to and fro for her expanded audience.

"Ike, you remember Ray's wife Emma, right?" Hank asked as Ike smiled his acknowledgement. "Well, this is her little sister Betsy. I'm sure you can see the obvious similarities."

Hank's reference was clearly to the size and shape of Betsy's tremendous jugs, with the off-color allusion not lost on either Ike or my humbled sister-in-law.

"I'd say I see a couple of obvious similarities," Ike joked in a crack modeled after the type of comment his captain and benefactor might offer.

It was a disparaging remark but distracted by the trauma of two virtual strangers ogling her bare breasts, Betsy still hadn't connected how they knew so much about her sister. Knowing how conservative Emma is, it never dawned on her my unfortunate wife was caught in a similar trap.

"That's great, hon, you can stop now," Hank directed in an overly familiar manner adding to her shame.

"Are you heading to the client meeting, Ike?" the company president queried his trusted lieutenant with business-like efficiency.

"Yes, I just stopped by for any last-minute instructions, but from the look of things I wish I could stay," the Senior VP responded wistfully.

"Nothing for now but stop by afterwards. I expect there'll be other 'business' requiring your input," Hank advised presciently, receiving a knowing nod from Ike as he left, leaving Hank and Betsy alone once again.

As much as he wanted to take her captivating melons into his hands to squeeze, bobble, and pull like modeling clay, Hank's plans were carefully set, and he had a schedule to keep. Betsy's desirable tits could wait for another occasion, of which he was certain there would be many.

Emma's little sister now stood topless in Hank's office, trembling uncontrollably as her bottom lip quivered visibly with distress listening to his enlightening explanation of her future.

"Look, this is the deal, these are the rules, and they're non-negotiable," Hank counseled matter-of-factly.

"Oh, I don't know if I, uh," Betsy sighed with resignation, exposing her genuine subservience to his authority.

"Yes, you do, and I'll make it simple so you can't fuck up! You do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it, with whomever I tell you to do it -- without question and without hesitation," my stern boss stated succinctly, purposefully severe in hammering the message home, then pausing to gauge her reaction.

"Uhh-hummm," mewling sighs escaped her trembling lips as she listened, subdued yet anxiously attentive.

"You won't like it, and as far as I'm concerned you don't have to like it, but you WILL do it," he emphasized forcefully, before closing with a not-so-implied threat. "If you don't, you and Robbie go to jail. I'm sure Sam will learn to get along without the two of you after a while. Maybe she'll even find someone new."

"Whaaat? Ohhh, please don't! Please don't do this to me," Betsy wailed as he mercilessly plunged the dagger into her tormented heart, with the unveiled promise of her and Robbie's destruction emotionally overwhelming.

Betsy saw her happy life torn away in a heartbeat if she didn't do as he demanded, and she intuitively understood that her expected participation in sexually placating the bastard required more than merely exposing her naked breasts to his greedy eyes and those of his buddy.

Hank was talking about sex, that was clear as day.

"Oh, please, nooooo! I don't even, um, like men," Betsy burst out crying and blubbering, unknowingly sending her big bare tits bounding enticingly as her torso convulsed in her despair.

My smiling boss stood delighted as Betsy broke down in anguish, a steady stream of tears flowing freely down her grief-stricken face and her shoulders shuddering with the sorrow of her situation.

"Man, I love this part," he chortled aloud, uncaring if she heard and relishing every minute of breaking her spirit.

"Don't think I won't turn this video into the police if you break the rules, Mrs. Fitzgerald. There's still over two years left on the statute of limitations. I looked it up. So, until then, your lovely ass is mine," Hank warned, ruthless when it came to closing a deal and leaving no room for disagreement.

A man without conscience, he didn't wait for a commitment from Betsy, now wallowing in her misery. Instead, he simply undid the latch of his belt and pulled down his pants and boxers, removing them completely and taking a seat in the executive chair behind his desk.

"Come here, sweetheart, and get on your knees. I've got a job for you," he politely invited her to join him, his big cock rising from the thrill of the hunt and the anticipation of his newest conquest.

"You need to impress me with your ability to handle your end of the deal," Hank warned, all business on the outside but excited inside about the debasing paces he planned for his lovely mid-30's lesbian prize.

"Ohhhhh, um, you don't mean, uh, please, nooo?" Betsy stammered weakly upon catching sight of Hank's imposing prick and clearly understanding his intent.

Forsaking men in favor of a life with Samantha, she hadn't seen a male erection in years, and her sniffles rose with tears streaming steadily now, whimpering her distress at the stiffening pole's ominous presence bringing the reality of her misfortune to the fore.

Hank was in heaven with her sobbing, understanding his command was disturbing enough for any compromised married woman, but her lesbianism only made the idea of Betsy on her knees uneasily sucking his cock that much more unpalatable for her and entertaining for him.

Finally, shaken and upset but afraid to do anything but obey, my unsure sister-in-law warily moved around the desk to reluctantly kneel before my eagerly awaiting boss in only her skirt and heels. Raising his finger, Hank simply pointed and motioned for her to crawl into the well of the desk.

As Betsy huddled low, petrified, and waiting for the next horrible instruction, her new master renewed a litany of personal questions no woman is comfortable discussing, especially with a perfect stranger. It was his favorite psychological gambit in diminishing a woman and highly effective, with each query designed to humiliate her as much as possible while undermining her dignity and self-esteem.

"So, have you ever been with a man, or were you always a rug muncher?" he asked snidely.

"I've, uh, been with, um, men before," Betsy's monotone answer was halting, looking up contritely through teary eyes.

"How many and when was the last time?" Hank asked forthrightly, not holding back with any sympathy whatsoever.

"Two. Almost 17 years ago. Not since I met Sam," she replied bashfully under her breath.

"So, you prefer eating pussy to sucking cock? Is that it?" my gleeful boss intoned, his voice edged with a hint of feigned disapproval when in truth he delighted in her unease.

"It's not about that. It's just that I love Sam," she protested, her flickering contempt raising its head in her defense of her relationship.

Hank noticed but was unconcerned, intending to crush her intransigence while also planning to use her devotion to her spouse against her at some point.

"Well, that's nice and all, my lovely pet, but for now you're going to get a healthy dose of cock," he merrily informed his new dyke fuck doll, heaping on the condescension reducing her further in his ongoing quest for her demoralization and complete collapse.

"You do remember how to give head, don't you? Or were you too uptight a bitch to do that for your boyfriends?" Hank quizzed nastily, intentionally insulting.

'This can't be real? I can't really do this?' Betsy decried silently, her worst fears coming to fruition one after another.

Instinctively, she considered Hank's semi-hard shaft with disgust, then returned to his cruel gaze drilling into her sparking green eyes confirming her plight was indeed quite real.

"I remember I didn't like it," she then retorted with spite, foolishly deciding that if she was going to do this awful act she'd make certain he didn't enjoy it.

Clearly, my forsaken sister-in-law didn't know Hank the way her sister or I did.

"That's too bad, because you're gonna get plenty of opportunities," his calm admonition provided a discouraging portent of her future.

Betsy gulped apprehensively at the disagreeable promise.

"Come on, get started," Hank's commanding voice rose and staying on schedule after granting her a brief chance to muster her courage to do as ordered.

Rightfully understanding she was pushing the limits of her tormentor's patience, Betsy took his inflamed shaft into her hand, cringing while staring at the flared purple crown repulsively.