The Theft of Our Lives 13

While encouraging overt displays of public sexuality, Hank was careful to whom and how he exposed Emma's burgeoning slut wife persona. For that reason, his favored guests didn't visit our house too often, with my boss not wishing to raise suspicion by a parade of visitors traipsing in and out at all hours in our otherwise quiet neighborhood.

Rather, he preferred demeaning my wife and family at the office, his bungalow, or even a ritzy hotel - dressed to the nines and ready to please in the slinkiest, sexiest fashions.

On one such occasion, I came home finding Emma and Kerri preparing to go out for the evening, or all night, as it usually turned out, entertaining Eldred Bick, one of Allenby's largest customers, at a get-together in his penthouse downtown.

"Holy shit," I marveled, my jaw dropping when Emma sauntered down the stairway decked out in a minimalist ensemble more enticing than I'd yet seen, if that were possible.

Without any apparent concern for modesty, my sensuous bride entered the living room wearing a simple black satin corset hugging her rib cage. Emma's heavy melons spilled over the supportive demi-cups, displaying a generous amount of bountiful tit-flesh centered by large roseate areolae surrounding her thick eraser tip nipples.

Matching the corset were sheer black stay-up thigh-high stockings emphasizing the tantalizing span of her long legs, black lace French-cut bikini panties so revealing no detail of her bald mound was unavailable to the eye, and black stiletto heels shaping her toned calves into carved pillars of muscle.

All of this slutty perfection was topped by a remarkably slutty application of make-up more attuned to a high-class call girl than a modest suburban wife and mother, including shimmering bronze eye shadow accentuating her emerald green eyes, heavy mascara, and a glossy ruby red painted on her plump lips sending an unmistakable message.

"Cocksucker Red. That's what Hank calls it," she joked with a wink and a nod, unasked but apparently feeling the need to elaborate on the lipstick's true import.

I didn't laugh.

Emma's chestnut brown hair formed a loose collection of playful curls framing her classic facial features rather than her standard ponytail, giving my normally unassuming wife a distinctly wild, femme fatale appeal.

Of course, she wore her gold wedding ring as the ever-present reminder to these important clients and cronies, men and women alike, that it was another man's wife tending to their rock-hard cocks or dripping wet pussies that evening.

I've learned it's important to Hank that his guests know Emma is a happily married woman betraying her sacred wedding vows, even if under duress. He takes even greater joy informing them she's the wife of a high-ranking company executive, often with me present, and the mother of the two adult children also catering to their sexual desires.

The most shocking adornment that night was a black leather collar bearing a simple metal medallion dangling at the base of her neck, drawing unneeded attention to her immense chest, reading "Mom" on one side and "Slut" on the other.

"It's my 'Fuck Mama' guise," she confided with some embarrassment.

I had to admit she looked incredible, and I wasn't sure if it was the slinky black lingerie or just my imagination, but she seemed thinner too, particularly through the waist and hips.

"You do look extremely hot, honey, and you look slimmer too. Is Kellen making you exercise, or has he put you on a weight loss program?" I inquired, compelled to compliment her looks although I knew where she was going, and for what purpose.

"Thank you, Ray, that's sweet of you to notice, but no, that's not it," she answered quizzically, shrugging her shoulders with a somewhat whimsical grin setting her big tits bobbling captivatingly.

I stared with a puzzled expression on my mystified face.

"Look, dear, I know you don't want to hear this, but think about it for a minute," Emma explained, pausing briefly and letting me do just that before elaborating on her 'exercise routine' with painful directness. "It's all the fucking. I mean, between Hank and his buddies, I'm on my back half the time, and my hands and knees the rest."

"Um, yeah, I hadn't thought of that," I confessed my ignorance, not realizing how much physical effort a woman puts into sex when most guys think they just lay there letting the guy hammer away.

"I've been getting a hell of a workout over the last few months, although I don't seem to lose these boobs," she observed light-heartedly, with a quick gaze down at her fully-exposed set of jumbo tits.

I reluctantly nodded my understanding, not in the least bit surprised, since I know Emma's giant melons are more about gland than fat, so don't vary much in size and heft with weight loss.

"That's not to mention our tireless son," Emma quipped unnecessarily. "Kel can't keep his hands off me, or his cock out of me. It's like he's always hard. Young guys, ya know?"

I thought a moment about the painful truth of her statement, knowing Kellen's sexual appetite was insatiable, especially in response to his growing domination of his mother, sister, and Aunt Betsy.

"Honestly, I think we've created a monster. I mean, literally, Kellen's a 'motherfucking' monster," she quipped amusingly, but with a tinge of real exasperation at the punchline.

Even I had to smirk a little at the joke, although it was something few mothers could say genuinely about their son.

"You have to understand, Ray, getting laid several times a day is strenuous. It's bound to burn up some calories, you know?" Emma unceremoniously concluded her demented rationalization.

She was right, of course, but it never occurs to you when you're not the one getting laid.

I simply didn't realize how much time Emma spent fucking and otherwise entertaining men since our surrender to Hank's service and now Kellen's ever-present needs, incessantly taking the plundering cock of some stranger or our increasingly demanding son.

Not surprisingly, Kerri's attire was no different than her mother in degrees of shamelessness, appearing shortly thereafter in an outfit no father should ever see his lovely daughter wearing, yet alone wear outside of the house.

Donning an almost non-existent white lace thong resting high on her girlish hips accentuating her long legs and a push-up bra elegantly highlighting her large ripe tits, our cute daughter's outfit was accompanied by white stockings and garter with matching stiletto heels.

The eye-popping ensemble was set off by her short auburn bangs and adorable freckles dotting her face and cleavage, but with little make-up, adding to her appeal as pure and innocent. She truly looked 'angelic,' but in a sexy lingerie ad kind of way.

Kerri too wore a white leather collar matching her costume, with her medallion delicately placed at the top of her gorgeous breasts reading "Daughter" and "Tease" on either side.

Hank wanted her look to shout, 'Angelic Tease,' and he was quite successful.

Kerri hadn't lost weight like her mother, largely because her trim frame had nothing to lose, but the excessive physicality of the constant sex, particularly with her equally athletic brother, kept her muscles toned, offering the hint of a six-pack tummy and a wiry physique difficult to ignore.

To my shame, the sight of her stirred my cock in its cage with alarming frequency, despite being my daughter, and I fought mightily the impulse to imagine my own cock dipping into her youthful snatch.

As occurred frequently, and despite his new role as ruler of our roost, Kellen was also part of the night's activities in furtherance of our family's indenture to Hank. Brashly, our confident youth strutted down the stairs a few minutes later wearing only his jock strap, his baseball cap, and a gold 'swinger' chain with a medallion reading "Son" and "Stud."

It was clear Hank wanted his guests aware of the taboo pairings he offered for the evening designed to awe, with his wonderstruck audiences witnessing lewd performances they never thought possible.

On the nights when Betsy's presence was required, which was often, she appeared at our house dressed in regular street clothes before changing into lingerie so as not to raise the suspicion of Samantha.

Of course, Betsy's outfit was every bit as hot as Emma and Kerri's.

I must admit, after all the years seeing my sister-in-law in her bikini, the sight of her now was eye-popping, wearing a red satin teddy with spaghetti straps barely covering her large breasts with her turgid nipples poking through unconstrained and a snap at the crotch for 'easy access.'

Betsy's seductive clothing topped nothing else but a pair of red spiked heels, so her shapely legs showed completely uncovered and available for viewing. Betsy also wore a leather collar in a matching red with the engraving "Aunt" on one side and "Dyke" countering the other.

The whole production made my already twitchy cock strain against its prison, and I confess, I'd have jerked off in my study after they left, if able, but I wasn't, only adding to my frustration.

The four threw on overcoats for the trip to Mr. Bicks, but otherwise this was all they wore for the evening, at least until it too was removed.

I often played bartender at these affairs, watching every obscene, humiliating act my family endured, and I did on this occasion as well, staying my suit to present a proper servant.

I'm sure it turned on Eldred's degenerate party guests knowing their tempting playthings' husband and father was standing by mixing cocktails while his family serviced them sexually or performed an unnatural incestuous exhibition for their voyeuristic delight.

Secretly, it turned me on too, both the sordid displays and the shame of my cuckoldry before their disdainful gazes.

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

These 'entertainment evenings,' as we euphemistically called them, occurred only a few times a month. As we were learning, Hank had other women on the hook in what was really a stable of 'closers' - women trapped into servitude from various positions within the hierarchy of the company.

Some were entry-level receptionists or secretaries - pretty young things easily overwhelmed by my corrupt boss and broken to satisfy his lust with their curvaceous bodies.

Certainly, the availability of so many compromised women let Hank spread the wealth, as it were, among his friends and business associates as easily as the unfortunate ladies spread their legs. I suppose this kept the selection varied for Hank's favored guests and kept the women fresh and desirable.

At home, for every step I descended in my role as man of the house, Kellen gained in stature, his dominance over me, his mother and sister, and even his Aunt Betsy, growing stronger as I grew weaker.

Wearing women's panties every day didn't bolster my sense of parental authority, although truthfully my erection stifling cage had pretty much finished off that last remnant of masculinity even before I'd donned the snug bikinis upon arriving home from the lingerie store.

Gloria was right about the size, but they still felt awkward and uncomfortable.

Cut for a woman's anatomy, the soft satin felt a little too good, but was binding on my scrotum while also drawing up my ass crack despite numerous attempts at unwedging them. I suppose it was simply impossible for them to accommodate a man's package.

"Gee dad, think that's girly enough?" my gloating son chuckled when I dropped my pants at his order, verifying my obedience at Hank's request after my boss informed Kellen of the diminishing mandate.

"Did you get me a pair to replace the one you ruined, daddy?" Kerri asked, repressing her own giggle as I stood in the living room with my slacks around my ankles wearing a bright blue panty barely containing my caged cock, bulging in the pouch-less front panel.

"Um, no, sweetie, I forgot. It was kind embarrassing, you know? I wasn't thinking, and besides, the Stanley's were there, and I wanted to...," I apologized, adding the unnecessary information stupidly before Kellen cut me off.

"Mr. and Mrs. Stanley? That's hilarious," he scoffed, snapping a quick picture with his phone. "I may need to show this to Mr. Stanley, just to get his opinion."

"Kel, c'mon, please, don't do that," I groveled worriedly, fearing he'd actually do it, confirming in Don's mind what I suspect he already knew in the lingerie store - that the panties were for me in the first place.

"Just be a good boy, dad, and I'll keep this in my back pocket," my menacing son mocked, reducing me further with his derogatory words.

With Hank's backing and his father sidelined as family patriarch, Kellen was taking command, and he exercised his authority more and more, with the women of the household undertaking progressively lewd and subservient tasks for his pleasure and their training as submissives.

The sweltering summer months only added to the paucity of clothing, not that there was much less to lose, and Kellen adopted Hank's proclivity for dictating wardrobes around the house, and even when his mother or sister went out.

Expanding his knowledge and horizons by visiting trashy online lingerie stores to feed his imagination, I was forced to purchase a variety of scandalous underthings for Emma, Kerri, and dare I say, my sister-in-law, Betsy, too.

Comfortable, chic, and most importantly, revealing, the skimpy attire served one purpose - accenting the most obvious natural physical gifts of the women, emphasizing their long shapely legs and big, heavy tits. Soon, Kellen developed his own favorite looks for each of the trio.

For his mother, it was a sexy white lace shelf bra designed to support large-breasted women, propping up Emma's huge DD jugs but doing nothing to contain them, letting the alabaster flesh bobble delightfully with her flaccid rosy nipples leading the way.

Even now, I noticed the blush of inhibition in his mother's eyes, performing the most mundane household chores with her jello-y tits bounding, probably reflecting internally her conservative upbringing and past days wearing more modest attire around the house.

As a young woman, and even more so as his athletic big sister, Kerri's appeal was somewhat different than their mature mother, and intuitively as a horny guy, Kellen preferred our freckle-faced coed in a cut-off tank top, similar in design to the t-shirt Emma was caught wearing the day Tim stumbled upon her unexpectedly.

Perky, pointed, and poking through the thin cotton fabric, our daughter's buoyant D-cup tits danced a lively step whenever she moved, with her protruding nipples just covered above the hemline threatening to escape beneath, and the firm white flesh of the bottom of her shimmying boobs fully available for viewing in all their spectacular glory.

Simply sitting and doing homework, or lazily draped on the sofa watching television, Kerri's breasts were a marvel to behold, and it was easy to see Kellen's fascination with her mesmerizing set of tits.

Of course, in our house our lucky son was never at a loss for a mammoth pair of plump, bounding knockers available for his entertainment, and as with Emma and Kerri, Kellen's requirement for his stacked Aunt Betsy was just as temptingly revealing.

On her frequent visits, Emma's little sister wasn't spared her nephew's lurid demands, quickly changing into the white chemise hanging in my wife's closet chosen especially for her stay. As sheer as gossamer and just as transparent, the scant top was remarkably cute on Betsy, especially beneath the mop of short curls conveying the sassy look men found intriguing regardless of her professed sexual orientation.

Unlike Kerri's tank top, the hem was low enough to cover his fun-loving aunt's prodigious melons, albeit just barely, but left her bellybutton adorably visible centering the soft padding of her rounded tummy.

Covered or not, the wide-open vee at the bodice exposed so much cleavage it was easy for Betsy's giant globes to pop out with even the slightest provocation. Not that it mattered, as the cloth was so see-through her broad pink areolae may as well be exposed, regardless.

Apparently developing a tit-fetish as compelling as any man, or as his Aunt Sam, for that matter, Kellen focused so much on Emma, Kerri, and Betsy's big racks he didn't care what they wore below, so long as it was short, displaying their toned legs, and gave easy access to their female goodies - panties, short-shorts, or petite skirts - all were acceptable.

What our devilish son did care about was the newest accessory giving him hours of entertainment at the trio's expense - the pink remote-controlled vibrator and butt plug combination introduced to Emma by Hank, and now with matching models purchased on my credit card for Kerri and Betsy, on Kellen's orders, of course.

"Ohhh, oh Kel, please, I'm almost, uh, there. Oh, my god, you're d-driving me, um, ohhhhhhh...," Kerri begged, squirming on the carpeted floor of the family room butt naked, with the shocking pink vibe embedded deeply in her clenching pussy and the antagonizing prod pressing her plump sex button mercilessly.

Tremoring with an approaching orgasm, our writhing girl suffered, so close to a glorious cum but frustratingly unable to crest the wave as her devious little brother, sitting only feet away grinning in the easy chair, fiddled with the app control, easing off after raising her to the peak and letting the hum die just before she groaned her much-desired release.

Kerri tugged and pulled her taut nipples on her prominent cones zealously, doing everything in her power to launch her over the top, only to be denied as the buzzing stopped whenever her ragged breaths huffed too mightily, discontentedly returning to earth, only to have the damned pink demon buzz to life all over again when she calmed.

Kellen's cruel edging continued endlessly as Aunt Betsy knelt between his muscular legs, decked out in only her white chemise with her own pink toy stuffed in her sloppy pussy, attentively blowing him as best she knew how, while desperately fending off a climax under the nagging harassment of her throbbing flesh pearl by the insistent clitoral prod.

"Don't cum, Aunt Betsy, not before I do," Kellen admonished vexingly.

"Moh, mohhh, mumph," my gay sister-in-law's muffled moans issued around her nephew's thick stalk, stretching her silken lips in what appeared to be a losing battle, and trying everything she knew to resist the compelling urge to climax.

Such spectacles were a common theme in our house, in varying combinations and with alternating scenarios designed to entertain and amuse our disturbingly amoral youth. They also served the benefit of enhancing his control, and as taught by his mentor, Hank, he employed it judiciously whenever sending a message about desired behavior.

With Kellen's delinquent encouragement, Emma's public clothing selections grew more revealing and uncharacteristically immodest, designed to turn heads but never risqué enough to get her arrested.

Previously fashionable designer jeans were replaced by shorts so short the cheeks of her plump ass spilled out, or worse, pleated cotton skirts not much longer than a tennis skirt, with a view of her brightly colored thong panty precariously just out of view.

For our anniversary dinner, Emma's white strapless dress, picked for the occasion by Kellen as his 'gift' to his mother, tightly hugged her curves sans bra with an indecent slit up the side to her hip that almost got us thrown out of the trendy bistro.

Looking more escort than spouse, the restaurant's owner gave her the once-over twice with a critical eye.

Fortunately, the waiter, anticipating a pleasant service hovering above the canyon of her prodigious cleavage with eyes glued to her overflowing tits, found the view so appealing he simply seated us at a less conspicuous table in the corner.