The Theft of Our Lives 11

The Theft of Our Lives 11

By Tug Coxwell

Disclaimer: Apologies for the delay posting this chapter. This story contains various sex acts between adults, including cuckolding, interracial, incest, lesbian, and non-consensual sex in the form of blackmail and coercion. The story and all characters are fictional. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. In real life, all non-consensual sex is immoral, illegal, and not condoned by the author. All characters are 18-years-old or older. All rights reserved.

THE REYNOLDS' WEEKEND VISITOR

Dave Reynolds' tale of misery was no better than my own, and over a few drinks at a local watering hole one afternoon, he poured his heart out about his excruciatingly long weekend and the troubles he'd brought on his beloved wife and adored twin daughters.

As he told it, he'd worked very late on a Friday, and it was a little after 1:00 a.m. as he pulled into the driveway of his house. He'd texted Maggie he'd be home late, so was expected at some point, leaving the events to occur painfully dismissive of his feelings and a rude reminder of his existing reality instead.

The lights were out as he entered through the front door, which wasn't a surprise considering the hour. Quietly, he set down his briefcase trying not to disturb anyone and started towards the staircase when he heard it.

"Unnhhh, ohhh yeah," the husky male voice was low and subdued, but it definitely came from the direction of his bedroom and sounded suspiciously consumed with lust.

Understanding his family's current predicament but still suffering emotionally from his wife and daughters' continuous desecration and his diminishment as man of the house, Dave was nonetheless curious and not just a little nervous when another moan issued in the night air.

"Ummm, again, stud, do that again. Good and deep," a throaty female exhortation resounded.

He was sure this voice belong to Maggie, now overly familiar with her breathy moans whenever she had sex, especially with other men. A twitch pulsed in his previously dormant prick trapped in its unbending cage, but now, he knew what was happening.

For certainty, he moved down the first-floor hallway towards the twin's room, finding the door open but the light out. A quick peek inside revealed they were nowhere in sight, with the beds empty. As a father, he worried about their whereabouts, but hoped they were staying the night at a girlfriend's house.

Walking the stairsteps to the second-floor hallway, my buddy noticed a dim light issuing from the crack in the door to his master bedroom.

"Ohhhh, ummm, yes, drill me! Ohhh, dear god, fuck me hard like that," Maggie's sultry invocation dropped his heart to his stomach, with his mind anguished while his imagination ran wild about what was going on in his marital bed.

As his loyal friend I knew it was wrong, but listening to his story, and especially the exquisite detail he provided in his apparently cathartic release of pent-up emotions, my cock was bloated against my own constricting cage, but I hung on every word of his unsavory tale regardless, envisioning myself in his place hearing my Emma's squeals of delight.

Dave described himself as nearly lightheaded tiptoeing to the doorway. His heart racing, a whirlwind of emotions washed over him about what he'd see, at least if he found the will to peek inside.

Unlike me, my co-worker has no hidden cuckold buried within, and as I had witnessed on the yacht, he didn't get off at all on the sight of watching his adored wife fuck some other man -- friend or stranger alike. Still, he needed to know, and so he needed to look, and he did.

"Mmmmm, oh ride me, Deezy. Ride my married white cunt hard," Maggie cooed sublimely as her husband's eye peered through the two-inch opening of the bedroom door.

'Deezy?' Dave questioned, not familiar with the name among the many unwanted lovers foisted upon his once-faithful wife by Hank and his commanding black confidante, Ike Jones-Dixon.

The lamp on the bedside table was the only light in the room, and it was partially obscured by a sexy mauve chemise recently gifted to Maggie by one of the men she 'escorted' on her 'date nights' after the Reynolds' indenture to our mutual boss, creating a counterintuitively romantic atmosphere for her scandalous adultery.

Dave's wandering eyes didn't stay focused long on the sight of the telling lingerie, however, with his attention quickly returning to the hard-driving couple on the bed.

On her back, Maggie firmly gripped the base of the headboard towards either bedpost, with her toned arms straining and her diminutive body bend at the hips. Wantonly, her widespread legs were pinned backward to her ears, raising her marvelous ass upward leaving her tight pussy assailable by the young man laboring above her recumbent form.

In profile the effect was spectacular, sending her densely compact B-cup tits wobbling rhythmically atop her chest with hypnotic regularity in time to her lover's steady downstrokes, while her blonde ringlet tresses lay strewn wildly about her head as a halo around the head of a fallen angel.

"Unh, unh, uggh," Deezy grunted in time to his vigorous thrusts, grasping the matron's narrow hips with barehanded intensity, and skewering her uplifted cunt with his impressive rock-solid shaft.

Seeing Maggie fucking other men was difficult enough for her loving husband, but somehow this was different. Those men were older and nearly infirm, thereby non-threatening to his marriage. For the first time, he saw his 41-year-old wife with a younger man in his early 20's, whoever he was, and obviously a well-hung man as dark as the shadows in the low-lit room.

In a way difficult to describe, Deezy's physical prowess and appeal made him a competitor for his wife's affections. He wasn't exactly Maggie's type, and certainly not within her age-group, but he was young, muscular, and handsome. On top of that, even in the dim lights, Dave knew his manly cock was substantially bigger and thicker than his own.

Dave couldn't see much more than silhouettes of the fervently copulating pair, but he saw enough to experience a sense of dread course his body at the vision.

Deezy was probably about six feet tall, although he looked taller hovering over my buddy's elfin wife. He was wiry thin and couldn't have weighed more than 165 lbs. stripped naked, which unfortunately he happened to be at the moment hammering between Maggie's upturned thighs.

More shocking than anything, it appeared Deezy sported several tattoos, although Dave couldn't be sure how many in the darkness.

"Yes, yes, ohhh fuck yes! Fuck me, Deezy, fuck me hard," Maggie urged through harsh breaths.

Dave watched for only a moment, mesmerized but limp in his steel cage seeing the young black man pounding his accommodating wife into the mattress with machine-like efficiency.

The dramatic imagery signaled that in addition to all those qualities a mature woman finds appealing in a young stud, Deezy was a helluva good fuck, growing evermore familiar and comfortable with this desirous white woman's svelte body, gripping pussy, and rediscovered libido.

Dave felt certain neither persevering lover saw him standing there, with the intensely fucking couple so shamefully occupied they never noticed his presence, and he soon backed away, heading downstairs to the sofa hoping to escape his trauma by falling into a restless sleep.

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

'WAP, WHAM, WAP, WHAM,'

Dave awoke grimly to the sounds of flesh-on-flesh filtering from his bedroom as powerful hips collided accompanied by the bang of a head hitting the padded headboard.

"Oh god, Deezy, you're turning me into, huh, an insatiable, ugh, cockslut," Maggie giggled piercingly at her off-color comment, girlish delight edging her joyous gasps of exuberance.

"Huff, huh, whew," her determined black stud's hushed pants and wheezes told my buddy all he needed to know about the sounds waking him that morning, checking his watch to see that it was now just before 6:00 a.m.

"Yeah, fuck you, slut. Huh, fuck you into, ungh, next week, bitch. Bust you in two," he rasped raggedly as if in the gym during a particularly strenuous workout.

Deezy was clearly working hard plowing his suburban fuck doll, and Dave listened solemnly as the youngster took his enthusiastic wife through the paces of her gradual ascension to orgasm, marked by increasingly intense breathing and guttural groans, and then a rapturous, high-pitched climax on his resilient cock.

"That's it, hammer me into the bed. Fuck me, ahh, as your white bitch!" Maggie exclaimed egregiously in response, whether in truth or simply feeding her wicked fantasy unknown, but with Dave suspecting the former.

"Better than hubby, right? Better than, unghh, your wimp-ass husband?" Deezy pressed expectantly, insecurely demanding to hear the words expressing his superiority to some punk-ass middle-aged man.

"Huh-huh, yesss! B-better than, uhh, my husband. You're fucking me, ohhh, so much better than Dave!" she gushed mindlessly, and judging from her unmatched exhilaration, my friend assumed she was telling the truth.

Under most conditions those were fighting words for any man, sending him stomping up the stairs to confront the illicit duo and kick the imposter from his bed. Instead, resignation filled Dave at the thought of this young stranger -- a guy Maggie probably only met last night, fucking her better than he ever had.

Morosely, the words instilled in him a distorted sense of acceptance of his own inadequacy as a husband and a man.

Frenzied and insane with lust, Maggie and her demented partner weren't aware of Dave's presence downstairs, or at least didn't care, since she had to know he'd arrived home during the night finding his bed occupied by the insatiable pair, and probably heard her demeaning his sexual ability.

They also weren't especially concerned about her husband hearing when Deezy loudly growled his release, pouring his youthful seed into Maggie's voracious cum chamber for the fourth time that night.

"Fuck yes, skanky slut! Pump you full," he crowed for his own benefit more than anyone, but the adoring moans from his orgasming white MILF suggested she was more than happy accepting his generous deposit.

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

Later in the morning, Dave heard the shower running from his makeshift bed, realizing Deezy and Maggie were showering together creating a disturbing image of the assertive black man's hands exploring every inch of her smallish body while likely accompanied by a soapy handjob relieving his constant hard-on.

In many ways it was a tame conclusion, at least compared to the more licentious night they'd shared in the Reynolds' marital bed. Unable to contain himself, my friend returned upstairs again, but this time, without stealth hoping to signal his presence and bring the adulterous performance to an end.

Instead, standing unseen but just in earshot, the distinctive smack of Deezy's lips actively slurping a sloppy wet orifice suggested he was practicing his pussy-eating skills, parting Maggie's swollen labia, or flicking his tongue tip repeatedly over her hardened clit until producing a shuddering orgasm spilling her fragrant nectar into his ravishing mouth.

"Ooooohhh, that's good. That's very good," Maggie moaned indecently about his impressive talent. "You're almost as good as, uhh, Ike, at eating pussy."

'Smup, slup, smurph,' the sounds intensified in response to her desperate urging.

"Ohhh, make me cum. Eat me 'til I cum," she begged anxiously, nearing another eclipse, and dearly wanting the oncoming orgasm.

The disturbing words bounced off the acoustically-optimized bathroom tiles, filling Dave's ears with Maggie's dire pleas for release, and causing him to sink further into melancholy.

As if on cue, Deezy fulfilled her ardent need, teasing her to the brink of erotic madness before taking her over the top with his dancing tongue-work.

"Ohhh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, fucking yes, that's so damn good!" Maggie howled when the resplendent wave crashed, drowning her in ecstatic majesty and Deezy in a sea of her flowing juices.

Dave told me he whimpered aloud at the praise, thinking himself a master of the art of cunnilingus, and realizing this interloper was exceeding him even in that most personal and intimate gift reserved for his wife.

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

"Dave, when did you get in?" Maggie asked with faux surprise when she and Deezy sauntered down the stairs just after 8:00 a.m. in a thankful break from the nearly constant sex.

"Early this morning, maybe oneish. I didn't want to wake you so just crashed on the sofa," her husband lied, guardedly eyeing the young man accompanying his fallen wife for the first time in the morning light.

Perhaps only as a matter of pride, Dave didn't want them knowing he'd witnessed their impure romp and heard everything, considerately adding the further fib hoping to alleviate any guilt she may have felt, since he was certain she'd only ended up in bed with the guy because she had to due to his own regrettable folly.

Guilt appeared unlikely, however, noting how Maggie was dressed for her trip to the kitchen and a cup of coffee, including an unsurprising lack of self-consciousness about her appearance. Dave supposed it was simply her recognition that Deezy wasn't the first man she'd fucked with him in the house and very likely not the last.

Donning the chemise used as a mood-setting lampshade and nothing else, his newly-libertine wife traipsed about bottomless without a bra under the sheer garment, letting her perky tits bobble conspicuously, marvelously set above an indiscreet stretch of her lightly padded mid-drift with her tight bottom flexing eye-catchingly with each step.

Even with every indecorous event in their sordid life, it was an odd sight, as Maggie never walked around the house so scandalously undressed, even when the girls weren't around, and most certainly not with a strange man in the house.

Lamentably, my friend noticed the billowing tuft of curly blonde hairs normally topping her pussy mound was gone and wondered if her youthful companion had the pleasure of shaving it clean during their morning shower.

"Who's this, then?" Dave asked ruefully, studying the young guy wearing only a low-slung pair of boxers and bearing a wannabe hip-hop swag to his gait strutting by her side.

With the benefit of light, he confirmed his suspicions about the numerous colorful tats covering Deezy's toned, muscular torso and arms, front and back. The admittedly handsome man's ears and nipples were pierced, and his dark hair was shaded on the sides with emblems shaved to the skin and the top in cornrows loosely dangling from his head.

Worse, the fearsome bulge tenting the front of the black hipster's boxers signaled Dave that even flaccid, Deezy's most threatening masculine trait was not only very long, but likely extremely thick too.

All in all, the cocky young bull had the look and swagger of a real hip-hop star, just not the musical talent or song writing ability. As Dave learned later, it was all for show, as Deezy's real name was Derek, he had a college degree in engineering, and was to be sponsored as an Allenby intern by none other than Ike Jones-Dixon as a favor for a friend.

Still, he pulled off the style authentically in yet another anomaly considering Maggie's attraction to him, since she was a lifelong, dyed-in-the-wool country music fan with no interest in the rap and hip-hop music scene.

"I'm Deezy. Who the hell are you?" the impertinent overnight visitor answered, confidently greeting the husband of the woman he'd screwed several times during the night and not the least bit intimidated, probably knowing the Reynold's situation and that he had powerful forces at his back.

"I'm Dave, this is my house, and that's my wife you, um, slept with last night," my buddy challenged tenuously, fearing the self-assured young man based on deeply-ingrained racial stereotypes he couldn't justify, but also couldn't ignore.

"Not much sleepin', Dave, if you cop my drift. Mags is a firecracker between the sheets, or on hands and knees for that fact, but you probably wouldn't know that," the brash kid casually shot back the insult with a grin reminiscent of Ike whenever he had the pleasure of denigrating a pitiful husband after availing himself of a wife's plentiful charms.

Dave paused with the unspoken conclusion they knew he heard everything during their spirited fucking, reluctantly accepting the affront while anemically acknowledging the truth of the derogatory remark and meekly withdrawing from further confrontation.

"Yeah, probably not. That's what I thought, but don't let that bother you. It sure as hell ain't bothering your wife," Deezy charged openly, but good-naturedly in unsubtle affirmation of Dave's diminished role as his wife's lover.

An uncharacteristic sneer overtook Maggie's face, her rage at her chastened husband restoked about his damning mistake demoting her from loving wife and mother to worthless married tramp beholden to Hank Allenby.

A surreal change was overcoming their relationship, and Dave increasingly found her taking heartless pleasure in the impugning of his inferior sexual prowess, with disdain filling her soul at Dave's total collapse of will and integrity.

"Well, anyway, I'm glad you're home, Dave, and I especially hope you slept well," Maggie jibed maliciously, accompanied with the rare concession of an indifferent peck on the cheek just to emphasize her displeasure.

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

At that moment, the front door opened and in walked Ike, uninvited and followed closely by Suzy and Jaxy to either side wearing only skimpy white lace nighties along with their pink BBC Slut collars linked to a joint leash held commandingly by the jovial executive.

"Hello, Dave, hope your weekend is off to a good start. I see you've met my young protégé Derek," the burly African-American greeted, filling the entryway as my startled co-worker gazed in shock at the sudden appearance of his darling but bedraggled twin daughters.

"Deezy, Mr. J-D," the younger man corrected politely, relishing his swag persona before the respectable suburban couple, and wanting to maintain it.

"Yes, yes, of course," Ike agreed with an accepting roll of his eyes.

"Mr. Jones-Dixon, uh, thanks for bringing our girls home, um, safely," Dave replied, flummoxed by the tawdry condition of the twins knowing they'd clearly been ridden hard last night by the older SVP, and who knows who else.

"Oh, no problem whatsoever. They were my pleasure and very accommodating of my guests," the 60-something SVP suggested, unconcerned about the obvious implication he'd shared the lovely 18-year-old blonde pixies with his undoubtedly elderly cronies, and that they'd made full advantage of Suzy and Jaxy's ripe bodies.

Anticipating no objections, Ike presumptuously stepped from the foyer into the living room, perusing the layout of the house with a non-critical eye.

"Take my hat," he said as an order, handing over his fashionable pork pie chapeau to his astonished 'host,' and immediately making himself at home as if he owned the place.

Clearly, the domineering executive expected the courtesy of my contrite co-worker as servant to his needs in his own home and brooking nothing less as the twins dutifully followed him without a word bearing a dazed, strenuously fucked-out expression on their pretty faces.

"Since I'm here returning your lovely little sluts in well-lubed, tiptop shape, I thought I'd join you for the weekend. You don't mind my crashing your plans?" Ike asked straight-faced, expecting no opposition while making an unnecessary allusion to their shameful servitude. "Spur of the moment decision, you understand, in consideration of your family's present circumstance."