The Theft of Our Lives 14

The Theft of Our Lives 14

By Tug Coxwell

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.

BATTER UP

"Nice! That did the trick," Kellen congratulated joyously, noting with amusement how quickly Emma and Betsy covered themselves upon completing their mission.

The pink flush of their skin and nervous scans at the surrounding crowd filing out of the ballpark suggested just how terribly embarrassed they were by the entire event.

"Jer's a sucker for pretty women with big tits," our pleased son exclaimed crudely about the success of his plan. "There's no way he'd get a hit with that display in his line of sight."

"Well, I'm glad your team won," Emma blushed, pleased for the victory despite the extreme cost to their dignity and especially her reputation in the community.

Mostly, my flustered wife was just glad the game was over, although that relief turned out to be short-lived.

"Don't go yet. Jerald said you owe him an apology for messing with his baseball career. There were a lot of scouts in the stands, you know?" Kellen advised, with the unfortunate news carrying the weight of an order.

"Me? I messed with his career?" his miffed mother protested incredulously, recognizing the importance of the failure to the young ballplayer but unhappy taking the blame considering their indecent exhibition was totally Kellen's idea.

"Well, yeah, all of you. I mean, they were your, um, goods on display," our son excused his role disingenuously, a devilish grin breaking onto his face and the wheels in his head spinning naughtily.

Disturbed by the nefarious set-up, Emma, Betsy, and even Kerri shot Kellen a dirty look, but wisely said nothing.

'Bzzz,' Kellen's phone buzzed with a text message from Hank, and Kerri's rang simultaneously.

"Oh, Mr. Wagnell, how are you?" our daughter answered, confused but pleasantly surprised by the unexpected call from the older philanthropist who'd fucked her to several orgasms weeks ago in her parent's bed.

My wife's eyebrow rose hearing the name of the dominant man she secretly admired, remembering the rapture of his splendid cock driving her into a frenzy, generating an adulterous devotion to the handsome patrician and sparking a flush of jealousy too.

'Why is Nate calling Kerri?' she questioned, disenchanted listening to our fluttering daughter's side of the conversation.

"Six o'clock? Tonight? Yes, I'll be ready," Kerri answered with the girlish lilt of a young woman asked on a date by a long-sought suitor.

"What's that about?" Emma asked enviously, her piercing green eyes expressing her resentment at Nate Wagnell's obvious fascination with our fresh-faced coed.

"Mr. Allenby texted. Dad's on his way now. You and Aunt Betsy need to apologize to Jerald. Hank wants me to take Kerri home. Something about a date," Kellen interceded, rudely cutting off his mother while spit-balling an answer to her question with a respect out of keeping with his plan for the afternoon.

"Can't we come with you? We can apologize to Jerald another day," she blithely offered, understanding it wasn't a mere apology expected from her and her lovely, curvaceous, and scandalously dressed little sister.

"No, mom. Jerald's waiting in the clubhouse. C'mon, I'll introduce you and then we gotta get going," Kellen directed, grasping his mother by the wrist and marching to the opposing team's inner sanctum, with Betsy and Kerri obediently following rather than argue.

"Kel, really, shouldn't we go home. I mean, it's a locker room. There's other players there. It could get, you know, out of control," Emma stammered, suspecting a gangbang was at hand with our son abandoning she and Betsy into my ineffectual care and a testosterone-laden lair of youthful masculinity.

"Uh, yes, Kel, I'm sure the guys don't want us invading their male domain," Betsy concurred lamely, echoing the same concerns as her perceptive older sister.

"Well, I said you'd come, so you will, more than you know, and I'm pretty confident they'll be happy to have you," her puffing nephew confirmed with barely hidden import, intending to ingratiate himself with the other players.

"Sorry I can't stay, mom," Kerri said precociously, perhaps even meaning it at the thought of several hung studs drooling to get at her body, but inordinately pleased she was the subject of Nate's lust rather than her desirable mother.

Now, jaded in her corruption, our curious daughter was intrigued by the prospect of so many young men stripped down in the locker room, but that was for another day, perhaps envious of what awaited her tenuous mother and aunt.

In their early 20's, most of the players were older and Kellen considered them idols.

Dearly wanting to please them, gaining their trust and acceptance, he understood the minds of horny guys, astutely knowing a shameless apology by the mature temptresses ruining Jerald's game winning at-bat would do the trick.

Reluctantly tromping along, Emma cast a wary eye at her sister, understanding full-well his meaning and not enthused by the depraved prospect in the least.

Sublimely, despite their doubts, the hint of a smile graced their knowing faces at the thought of so many young men anxious to sample their many charms, perhaps intrigued and even excited in their arousal by the indecent possibility after so many nights on their backs with a feeble old man huffing and puffing between their widespread legs.

"Hey Kel, and ladies," Jerald greeted politely, with the admittedly handsome youth's muscular frame filling the doorway, eyeing Emma not-so-surreptitiously as she returned his appraisal with one of her own.

"Hello, Jerald, it's my pleasure, and I am truly sorry for the distraction. You played a great game otherwise," Emma answered graciously, with the euphemism for flashing the poor guy understood.

"Yeah, well, it might cost me a spot in the amateur draft, so a little compensation may be due," the cocky 19-year-old slugger suggested licentiously after the earlier clue from our son.

Checking out Emma with a lingering stare, Jerald signaled he meant to collect, not caring about her marital status, yet understanding this was Kellen's intent after his bizarre comment that his family had an 'unusual dynamic.'

"Hello, Kerri, really cool you could make it to the game, but that was a pretty nasty trick you played. Then again, I like nasty," Jerald chided, his insinuation smooth and his intention clear.

"Hi, Jerald, I didn't think you'd mind, but I'm afraid I can't stay and, um, 'apologize,'" Kerri blushed openly, unsophisticated in flirtatious banter despite her recent sexual experience and giggling ever so adorably, adding greatly to her appeal.

"Can't stay? Damn shame," the black youth complained lightly, wanting a long-desired crack at Kerri's hardbody, and sensing it slipping away.

"Afraid so, Jer. Kerri has another obligation, and we need to get going. Mom and Betsy will express her apologies on her behalf though," Kellen informed, essentially promising a bravura performance by my wife and her sister.

"Betsy?" he asked, directing the question to Emma but gazing at her sister in the sleazy tube top imagining the fabric pulled down again as when he struck out, satisfied he'd get a longer look at the glorious set of ivory tits very soon.

"Yes, this is Betsy, uh, Fitzgerald," Emma murmured, tight-lipped about their true relationship, fearing she'd spark a more indecent performance if she revealed it.

"A pleasure, Ms. Fitzgerald, or Mrs.?" Jerald inquired intrusively.

"Either is fine, but yes, I'm married to a, um, woman," Betsy replied powerfully, perhaps hoping an admission of her sexual preference might spare her further indignity and quickly realizing it only fed his interest.

"Hey, that's cool. We're all about equal opportunity here. Your wife's a lucky woman," the black youth said considerately, open-minded while assessing Betsy's every generous curve displayed in her scandalous outfit.

Recognizing our conspiratorial son had set up a lewd exhibition, Emma relented without further protest.

'What the hell. Why not?' she argued internally. 'At least they're hot.'

With her cherished morality already in tatters, the awful truth was my wife got off on the extramarital sex she endured, realizing these young studs could give her a ride I'd never match, nor any of the decrepit old men she often entertained, for that matter.

As for Jerald, the vital young man was simply taking up the rare opportunity indecently offered by Kellen, happy to obtain his retribution in the form of his former teammate's big-titted mother and her equally well-endowed friend.

'Why wouldn't he?' Emma accepted, especially after the gauntlet of female anatomy the trio unleashed while swinging fruitlessly at the plate.

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

"Hey, there's dad now. He'll stay while you apologize," Kellen advised, spotting me walking towards the clubhouse and chuckling, knowing I was in for a voyeuristic cuckolding unlike anything I'd yet suffered.

I didn't stride, nor did I skulk, but dropped my shoulders in defeat seeing the group of ladies gathered in their flesh-revealing clothing before the impressive black player, with the message our son and Hank wanted me to receive about our submission clear.

At the same time, I found myself abnormally energized by the lewd performance I felt certain was in the offing.

"Dad, this is Jerald Renton. Jerald, this is my dad, Ray Tyler," our son introduced.

"Be nice and agreeable," Kellen said in a subtle directive to all three of us, starting with Kerri towards Emma's minivan, ready to hurry his titillated big sister to her 'date.'

I put out my hand in greeting only to be left hanging by the star ballplayer as Jerald instead studied me with a critical eye, intuitively sensing my frail posture, slumping shoulders, and passive demeanor, as a natural dominant recognizing me as the wimp I truly am.

My saying nothing admonishing my voluptuous wife for her disgracefully skimpy outfit, told Jerald everything he needed to know about the 'unusual family dynamic' referred to by Kellen, and that was the only greenlight he needed.

A big smile raising the corners of his mouth, Jerald turned to his older brother Marcus with a wink, before giving a telling nod towards the clubhouse entrance.

"Welcome then, Mr. and Mrs. Tyler, and Mrs. Fitzgerald. Come meet the team. I'm sure they'll be interested in the women who put us into second place, and Kellen's, um, father," their impromptu host invited sarcastically, setting the mood for Emma and Betsy's comeuppance and my further disparagement.

My cock pulsed slightly in my pants at the implication, caged and ensconced in a baby blue panty beneath my otherwise respectable business suit.

"Woooh," Emma gasped wondrously at the powerful youth as Jerald took charge, abruptly drawing her and Betsy by the elbow through the door, once again followed by me as an anxious spectator to their expected defilement.

The 'clubhouse,' as it was referred to loosely, wasn't much more than the size of a large living room, brightly lit but spartan, with a few gym apparatus, a small meeting area in the corner, and lockers on either side of the white walls fronted by wood benches for changing.

Clearly, this wasn't the major leagues.

A group of about dozen players, college age and firm with youth, stood in various stages of undress before heading into the showers. Some of the more modest guys had already left, or may have had other obligations, leaving with parents to shower and change at home.

Sheep to the proverbial wolves, the players remaining leered hungrily at my scantily clad wife and sister-in-law. Whether from anger at the infamous ploy causing their loss, or from the insidious lust of hormonally-charged young men tantalized by half-naked, big-titted beauties intruding in their male sanctuary, was uncertain.

"How are you, ladies? Ever been in the player's locker room before?" Ricky Arroyo, the 20-year-old shortstop suggested, wearing only his jock strap beneath his chiseled abdomen, and flexing visibly in an obvious display of machismo.

"N-no," Betsy muttered tenuously, unable to suppress her nervousness staring at the mass of partially-clad male muscle, with her wide nipples responsively drawing into tight knots beneath her tube top despite her apprehension.

"Guys, this hot lady that ruined my swing is Kellen Tyler's mom, Emma," Jerald informed the gathering crowd, now circling the trio as bees to honeysuckle.

"Woot, woot!" a roar of cat calls and wolf whistles rose from the team.

"The subdued fellow in the fancy suit is Ray, Kel's father. He's here to wait, and uh, watch," Jerald added, diminishing me before the curious youth as harmless bystander, while alleviating their concerns at my presence by assuring them I knew my place.

"This other nice lady is Mrs. Betsy Fitzgerald. Betsy and Emma want to apologize for ruining my swing, and to express their appreciation for our, um, athletic ability," the handsome black player announced euphemistically.

"Good game, guys, I'm really sorry," Emma offered contritely, her giant tits in her halter the focus of their collective attention with the meaningless apology going right over their heads.

"Yeah, that's nice, lady, but actions speak louder than words. We need a more demonstrative apology, if you know what I mean," Marcus Renton, the 21-year-old brother of Jerald and an outfielder on the team intoned, as unhappy with the loss as anyone but seeing the same opportunity for payback as his younger brother.

"Hell yeah, and your friend too. You both flashed," Peter Simonson, the 20-year-old catcher noted, not realizing Betsy was Emma's sister, while checking her out curiously and mentally stripping what little clothing she possessed.

"Um, really, we're sorry. It was just spontaneous. You know, a lark," my 36-year-old sister-in-law explained weakly, insecure wearing the sparse top and tight yoga pants in the sweat-soaked, musky locker room so foreign to her lesbian sensibilities.

As a coach, Reg should have objected to the interloping women's presence in the clubhouse, but at 26 not much older than the players, he suffered the same physical needs and immature moral deficiencies as the young bucks, while also sensing the responsibility he felt as team leader.

Still, he was angry about the loss and just as eager for retribution from the sexy tarts willingly stepping into the team's locker room, even if he decided he shouldn't actively participate.

Well, mostly.

"Anyway, we feel bad about the joke, and want to make it up," Emma insisted, sealing their fate, recognizing by this point in their servitude her little sister understood they really didn't have a choice but to appease the hopped-up guys as Kellen required.

Betsy understood the gambit, gaining strength from Emma by her side, imbuing her with a similar resolve to make the best of the situation, and maybe even enjoy a romp with a group of admittedly virile studs.

"Yes, we do. Can't we do something to make it better?" my gay sister-in-law conceded coquettishly in an unmistakable ploy, shrugging her shoulders, purposefully shimmying her large, bobbly jugs under the tube top, and adopting a decidedly seductive pose.

Incontrovertibly corrupted, easily aroused, and innately deferential to Kellen's growing authority, Emma and Betsy surrendered to his perverse game - designed to improve his stature and acceptance as the newest guy in the league, by avariciously playing the role of mature sluts enticing a restless group of young guys.

Reassuringly, Emma draped her long arm around Betsy, drawing her close while at the same time presenting themselves to the awed ballplayers with unintended sensuality, encouraging the idea of pleasing the roused teammates with the unspoken offer of their appealing curves.

The gleam in my wife's emerald eyes was different than I'd seen before with her many older lovers. Then, Emma's projection of arousal was false - an artful act placating their egos into thinking a married woman of her beauty and grace sincerely desired their aged, shriveled pricks.

Now, I feared her sexual hunger was stunningly real, excitedly scanning the half-dressed, muscled youths contemplating the power of their hard thrusts pounding their steely cocks deep into her receptive cunt and driving her to places only existing in her most lurid fantasies.

I shrank at the image, knowing I was about to witness that powerful lust brought to life before my eyes.

Frozen in place with my breathing shallow, an undeniable acquiescence, and even anticipation, to witnessing these hung studs fucking my beloved wife into oblivion, and doing nothing to stop them, gave me an erotic rush like nothing I've known before when seeing Emma screwing other men.

Betsy's expressive green eyes were as craven as her fallen big sister as a dormant bisexual spark lit, ignited by Hank and Kellen's ongoing breakdown of her sexual identity, replacing it with a hard-driving urge for the deep penetration and vigorous, hammering fucking by a real man's thick shaft that even Samantha's mightiest strap-on dildo couldn't match.

Reactively, a warmth heated Betsy's profoundly stimulated pussy at the prospect of a posse of hunky athletes almost half her age gratifying her awakened craving for hard, tireless young cocks, and her reticence to 'take on the team,' as the saying goes, vanished in an instant.

"If you truly want to make it up, you need to be punished first. You've teased us enough with those big, heavy tits, it's time to put up and put out," Jerald stated boldly, staring at Emma's ripe melons only feet away, his chocolate brown eyes challenging me to object and understanding completely by my pallor that wouldn't happen.

"You mean, strip? Here, with you, in front of my hu-husband?" Emma feigned breathlessly just for effect, demurely holding up her gold wedding band and disingenuously accelerating my excitement at her coming infidelity by doing so.

"Bullshit! Don't play coy. You're not just here for a weak-ass apology. You know it, Kellen knows it, and even your loser husband knows it," Marcus charged, as eager for the unveiling of my wife's huge jugs as any guy in the clubhouse.

"It's just that, there's so many of you, um, watching," Emma wavered bashfully, acting the role of reluctant suburban wife and mother thinking it added to her allure as forbidden fruit while undeniably driving me crazy with my inadequacy.

The truth was my newly libertine wife was inordinately turned on by the idea of so many lusting young men anxious to see her naked body, thrilled for the vision of her big billowing tits, and fully accustomed to my fevered response whenever she supplicated to a superior man's power and masculinity.

In her younger days, Emma shunned the attention of guys, suspecting they only wanted one thing. Well, two things, as it were, from the moment she developed her spectacular DD chest.

I'm sure that's why she gave me a chance to date her when we met in college.

Sure, I was secretly fixated on her jumbo melons just as any other man, but I was also captivated by Emma's beautiful face, gentle demeanor, and endearing personality, so took the time to get to know her as a person before trying to cop a feel of her glorious breasts.