The Theft of Our Lives 13

Disclaimer: This multi-chapter story is a fantasy. While not occurring in every chapter, the overall story contains various sex acts between adults including, but not limited to incest, cuckolding, interracial, oral, humiliation, and non-consent in the form of blackmail and coercion. The story, all names, and all characters are fictional. Any resemblance to entities or 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.

KELLEN TAKES CHARGE

It was well into summer now and the school year was done, leaving plenty of time for our outgoing 18-year-old son and 19-year-old daughter to socialize with friends, but also spend at home with their mother in what should have been normal familial bonding, but wasn't nearly as pure and innocent as it sounds.

Instead, the time was often spent with mother and daughter in a classic sixty-nine laboring between widespread thighs, satisfying Hank's demand they practice their Sapphic talents on the other's ready pussy, or with Kellen strenuously pounding his cock into his athletic sister as Kerri wailed a high-pitched succession of body-rattling orgasms.

Per Hank's instructions, Kellen was taking charge and feeling more confident in his position as man of the house, dominating Emma and Kerri's home routine and increasingly dictating every aspect of their sex lives.

Kellen had always been a polite, respectful son to his mother, and although an annoyance to Kerri as are most little brothers, he actually admired his big sister, and would defend her if necessary against any slur or detractor, not that she had any.

As a result, it was a surprise to see how quickly he was evolving into his new role, but power is a tremendous aphrodisiac and his mature, big-titted mother and svelte, freckle-faced sister possessed the tempting physical traits certain to corrupt even the most upstanding man when offered the opportunity to avail himself of their bodies.

I was reduced to the position of pathetic but highly interested bystander, kept under lock and key in my cage watching as my maturing son insinuated himself into my traditional role of family caretaker, although I maintained my status as financial provider, but little else as the patriarch.

With his father merely a spineless onlooker, Kellen continued expanding his dominion over his mother and older sister, exerting his authority, and apparently, relishing his new power and role in our family dynamic.

Incestuous sex occurred unabated all around me, and in fact, Kerri and Kellen's increased availability only heightened its frequency and intensity. Cowed, caged, and cuckolded, discretion wasn't necessary, with depraved sex everywhere and right in my face while I only watched, no doubt as my boss intended.

At Kellen's instructions, during the warm summer weather Emma grew ever more relaxed and careless about what she wore at home. It wasn't uncommon for my full-bodied wife to traipse casually about the house in a skimpy pair of bikini panties and a loose tank top with no bra, or a cut-off tee barely covering the bottom of her rounded breasts.

"Oh Ray, it's just more comfortable this way," she explained whenever I commented on her suggestive attire.

I understood her mandate and point of view.

Besides, it truly was cooler dressing in practically nothing, not that it mattered anyway, as Emma was now regularly screwing our adult children and they'd adventurously explored the rolling hills and curvaceous valleys of her naked body more times than you can count - up close and very personal.

After debuting her free-spirited, and in their minds trashy new style at her coffee clatch with the girls, Emma's notoriety as a rapacious cougar grew within our rather conservative community as well, undermining her well-earned reputation as the paragon of virtue she proudly portrayed for years.

In our stodgy neighbors' narrow view, my wife's daring attire under Hank's shameful dress code did nothing to dissuade the ladies of the block that she was nothing but a latent harridan shamelessly flaunting her admittedly unbelievable figure, even at the mature age of 38-years-old.

Time of day or location didn't matter, Emma immodestly presented an eyepopping vision of naughty temptation.

Unsurprisingly, none of the husbands in our immediate vicinity appeared to mind nor missed an opportunity to cast a leering glance, although more than a few took an elbow to the ribs from their miffed wives for staring a little too long.

Gardening in the front yard decked out revealingly in a tight mid-drift crop-top and cotton-poly yoga shorts so formfitting the imprint of her thong strap up her butt crack was visible, and the neighborhood men invariably stopped by 'just to chat,' while also surreptitiously catching an eyeful of her billowing curves.

Even casually out at the market, Emma sported white short-shorts and blocked high heels emphasizing the magnificence of her long, toned legs, below a lightweight strapless bustier in a vivid floral print wholly insufficient for constraining the heavy bounce of her loosely-bound DD melons.

Only the light coat over her shoulders and her status as a longtime customer stopped 50-something store manager Kevin Winston from asking her to present herself more decently on future visits. Well, that and the obvious gleam in his eyes as they drifted down to her prodigious cleavage when he was discussing the matter with us.

She was only dressed this way at Kellen's behest, but I know Emma well enough to realize the entire experience was traumatic, as her reputation took another hit.

Passively, my contrite wife stood at the customer service counter with me by her side, her eyes watery with shame acknowledging Kevin's concerns while accepting his blatant stare at her abundant chest without protest, with my presence apparently not enough to prevent his gaze from wandering.

Emma told me later that despite her embarrassment, she was simply happy her ever-present pink vibrator didn't light up at that moment, maintaining the constant low buzz keeping her on edge and squirming, but not to the point where anyone but she would notice.

My once-modest wife's new look didn't stop with just her clothing either, although that alone was enough to send a signal something had dramatically changed in our household.

Emma wore her hair differently too, and while she didn't completely shun her easy favorite on-the-go ponytail, she just as frequently teased her chestnut locks set with hairspray into a wild lion's mane surrounding her pretty face, creating a cat-like appearance searching for prey.

Never one for excessive jewelry, she now favored flashy, dangling earrings, or big hoops drawing more attention to her otherwise wholesome face, along with gold chain necklaces and gawdy, multi-layered bracelets and bangles of all colors.

Perhaps as a concession to her previously restrained fashion choices, Emma kept her make-up tastefully applied unless ordered otherwise, although her eyeshadow selections were more sparkly and vivid, her mascara heavier, and her lipstick a remarkable array of highly glossy options sending a definite message about her prowess as a cocksucker extraordinaire.

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

Honestly, I thought she'd balk at the more salacious outfits, but Emma was undeterred, fearing Hank's wrath if found in violation, especially with his acolyte, Kellen, watching her every move. Intoxicated with power and lust, our easily-manipulated son willingly betrayed his mother's confidence to stay in his mentor's good graces as head of the family.

Unfortunately, sometimes she strayed a little too close to the edge, and I actually got a chuckle one morning when she skipped out to quickly turn-off the front lawn sprinklers wearing only a white undershirt barely covering her ass - no bra, no panties, and nothing else either.

It was early at 7:00 a.m., but with untimely bad fortune, Rose and Hal Walker, our late-40's neighbors from a few houses down, were just finishing their morning power walk, stumbling upon Emma in practically nothing.

I'm sure it was a tremendous shock, as the snobby couple undoubtedly viewed my pretty, outgoing, and conservative wife with the same high esteem as everyone else.

"Emma?" Rose gawped at seeing my bare-assed wife bent over the wall spigot to turn off the hose with a hand-held sprinkler head.

As I watched through our front plate glass picture window sipping my coffee before leaving for work, Emma burst into red-faced embarrassment, and from where I stood there little doubt Rose and Hal got a clear crotch-shot of my statuesque wife's precious pink gash peeking between her parted thighs.

"Oh! Rose, you scared me," Emma peeped, turning to find husband and wife staring with wide-eyes at the most unexpected sight.

As she did, my poor spouse lost control of the nozzle, spraying herself at full volume before managing to point it harmlessly in another direction.

"Ohhh! Oh my god!" Emma panicked, her trembling body dripping with the water, effectively turning her lone item of clothing into a wet t-shirt, virtually transparent and hugging every bountiful curve as if a second skin.

Her acute angst sent Emma's huge tits flailing under her shirt, and the drenched fabric revealed her stunning nipples in bold relief against the prominent dusty rose circles of her clenching areolae, most certainly catching Hal's attention.

It only got worse with her kneejerk response of pulling on the hem downward trying to cover her bald pussy, but instead emphasizing the huge, bounding mountains of tit-flesh pressing the taut fabric and embossing her thick, ringed nipples against its thin veneer.

"Turn your head, Hal," Mrs. Walker barked at her dumbfounded husband, "and pull your tongue in your mouth."

"I'm, uh, so sorry. I didn't think, ohhh, I, oh my," Emma apologized profusely, mortified, and instinctively reverting to her modest personality.

I know it was wrong seeing humor in her predicament, but I was in the living room guffawing out loud and breaking into a difficult to control smile I was happy Emma never saw.

Flustered, she ran in the front door with a flush of humiliation, racing to our bedroom uncertain how to respond to the devastating exhibition.

To my amazement and her credit, not much later my chastened wife returned to the kitchen, composed and dressed just as scantily as before, preparing Kellen and Kerri breakfast half-naked and looking every bit the reprobate mother she was gradually training to become by Hank, and now, our son too.

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

I was still sleeping in the study, but the bed in our master bedroom was rarely occupied by Emma alone, often with a stranger sent by Hank, but frequently by our son or daughter, or both.

Betsy visited a couple of times a week too, telling her wife Sam she needed to help Emma with some such thing or another. It was nothing suspicious or unusual for her to visit regularly, so her explanation satisfied Sam.

Of course, Betsy spent those nights with Kerri or Kellen, but also wrapped in Emma's arms fulfilling the incestuous edicts of our master Hank Allenby, imparting everything she knew about eating pussy to her older sister and improving her abilities to the benefit of the numerous female guests they entertained at his behest.

Not surprisingly, Emma's meager attire encouraged Kerri to dress the same in obeying Kellen's house rules, and it wasn't unheard of for me to walk through the upstairs hall and run into our topless daughter.

"Oh, hi daddy," Kerri exclaimed in mock surprise, her splendidly firm tits bouncing energetically with each lively step mere inches from my untendered grasp while wearing only thong panties.

Although he didn't fall within the dress code established for the ladies, our ego-driven son was even worse.

With a muscular body justifying his pride, Kellen pretty much gave up wearing boxers altogether, letting his impressive cock hang loose in open-legged shorts, or flat-out cruising about completely naked, unconcerned who saw his swinging dick out and about.

I suppose it made it easier for our horny teen to relieve his constant sexual tension in the readily available mouth of his pacified mother or bend his docile older sister over the arm of a cushioned chair and fuck her tight pussy until groaning their mutual orgasms out loud.

"Ooohh, Kel! Ohh fuck yeah, give me your cock. Give it to me hard!" Kerri's squeaky calls of sated lust became a common refrain in our house.

Between his mother, sister, and aunt, Kellen was never at a loss for a warm, wet place to put his cock whenever the need arose, and as a virile youth with three beautiful women running around practically naked, the need arose as often as his hard-on, meaning A LOT!

Those, of course, were just the instances I witnessed, and they were frequent enough. I can only guess the number of sexual liaisons occurring daily while I was at work.

In fact, they were so common Emma no longer bothered telling me about the many sessions fucking our randy son and eating our accommodating daughter. Now, it was only when Hank introduced some new face into the mix - a guest, a client, or maybe a fellow Allenby executive, that Emma gave me the sordid details of her day.

As if it wasn't bad enough my family was now not much more than human blow-up dolls for the gratification of my boss and his favored cohorts, I had my own problems beyond watching Emma suck off some guy while I strained the confines of my unforgiving steel chastity cage.

I needed to buy lady's panties, but not for my wife, nor even our trim, 19-year-old college daughter.

No, I needed to buy them for myself, and adding to my humiliation, I needed to be certain to ask for assistance from the saleswoman on hand as to the correct size for an early 40's man, namely, me.

Our city is good-sized, with many options for purchasing women's lingerie, from department stores to high-end specialty boutiques. I didn't like the idea of a department store, figuring they'd be well-trafficked, so found a small independent shop on the edge of town, hoping to maximize my anonymity and minimize the possibility of seeing anyone I knew.

"Looking for something special for the little lady?" the overly cheery mid-forties saleswoman with graying black hair and glasses asked not thirty seconds after I entered.

Feminine and brightly decorated, the store featured an admittedly classy, seductive selection of lingerie in all forms and fashions - bras, camisoles, garters, stockings, corsets, teddies, chemises, bustiers, slips, and of course, panties.

"Um, something like that," I answered disingenuously, deflecting reflexively before realizing merely buying the panties wasn't enough to satisfy Hank and Nate.

How they would ever learn about the nature of our conversation almost didn't matter at this point. The repercussions were too severe, and I was so tamed that meekly fulfilling their dictate was all that mattered.

"Well, I'm happy to be of assistance. I know many men have difficulty selecting just the right item for their, um, significant other," the woman suggested politely.

"I, uh, perhaps you could be of some help," I said, struggling putting the words together knowing what I needed to ask.

"Gladly, what are you looking for?" Gloria, as indicated on her name badge, inquired.

"Actually, I need to buy some, um, panties," I replied, already blushing even saying the word.

"Oh, I see. Well, that's a highly personal item. Most women purchase them for themselves, as they need to fit just right," my helpful attendant observed, probably thinking of me as odd already but considerately only raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, I'm sure that's true," I answered sheepishly.

"So, what size is she?" Gloria pressed, overly efficient in responding to my needs.

"Ummm," I hesitated, uncertain how much to say and hoping to get out of the store with minimal embarrassment by fibbing a little. "She's, uh, slim. I mean, slender hips, much like a man."

"I see," she answered suspiciously, grabbing a tape measure, and sidling up next to me. "Like you, for example?"

"Well, yes, I-I, uh, suppose," I stammered, sensing I was busted as she drew the tape around my hips.

"Hmmm, thirty-eight inches," Gloria said with a telling nod suggesting she was on to me.

Just then, I caught a familiar voice in conversation nearby, finding Don and Audrey Stanley an aisle over, talking between themselves but clearly surprised seeing me in the store and, I suppose, assuming I was buying a gift for Emma.

"Ladies, probably a size 6 or 7, and in what colors, sir?" Gloria chimed in at that moment with more information than I wanted our nosy neighbors to know.

"Oh," Audrey gasped, realizing I wasn't buying panties for my broad-beamed wife in that size and perhaps thinking I had a secret lover on the side, while Don simply chortled, astute enough to figure out they were more likely for me.

"Ummm, a variety, I guess. One for each day of the week, and one must be pink," I whispered low enough it wasn't easily within earshot of the observant Stanley's.

"Bikini? That's what most men want. For their wives, I mean," the saleswoman persisted, and gazing into her mirthful eyes I guessed she was taking some small amusement from my plight.

Thinking anything less humiliating wasn't what Hank and Nate intended, I simply nodded a 'yes' and she scurried off to rummage a few selections from the panty aisle.

"Hello, Audrey. Hi, Don," I greeted politely despite my embarrassment and avoiding any hint of discussing why I was at a lingerie store buying panties far too small for my voluptuous wife.

"Hi Ray. Interesting choices. For Kerri, perhaps? It's not every man who's brave enough to buy panties for his daughter," Mrs. Stanley said pointedly with a disapproving frown, knowing full-well they weren't for our tall college girl.

"No," I replied and added no more, grateful with Gloria returned clutching a handful of multi-colored undies, including a hot pink pair standing out brilliantly amongst the other more muted tones.

Stopping to look me up and down openly as Audrey and Don simply stared in astonishment, the beaming saleswoman tipped her hand once more of her suspicions about the intended wearer of the frilly lady's underwear.

"Yeah, these should fit. No need to try them on," she appraised, focusing on my hips and comfortable with the size and selection of styles and colors.

"Thank you. I'll take them then," I agreed with a sheepish nod, anxious to just pay and get the hell out of there with what little dignity I had left.

"Very well, sir, and please, come back when you're in need of more, or perhaps some bras," Gloria advised smarmily, handing my credit card and the big pink bag containing my new undergarments.

"Bye Ray and say hi to Emma. I saw her unloading groceries from the car the other day but didn't get a chance to chat. She's certainly dressing for warm weather," Audrey teased, certain I'd understand her meaning.

"Yes, she's quite, um, neat and trim these days," Don added, a salacious grin on his face alluding to the pleasure of shaving Emma's pussy in our own shower.

Opaquely, our gloating neighbor left me wondering if his inquisitive wife knew of that much cherished adventure, at least until he received a nudge from his smirking spouse signaling she most likely did.

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

Looking the role of scandalous hussy while performing such mundane chores as grocery shopping, pumping gas, or merely taking a walk around the neighborhood was one thing, but that didn't mean Emma slept around.

Absolutely not!

Deferentially, my wife obeyed Hank's directive not to fuck anyone without his or Kellen's approval, despite the increasing number of offers by hopeful husband's thinking their dreams of bedding the once-respectable, big-titted lady down the street had finally come true.