The Theft of Our Lives 14

Emma and Betsy obediently headed towards the door without the benefit of another slap, and I unquestioningly followed, accepting that the order included me too, with the three of us peeking outside before hesitantly walking up the dugout steps to field level.

"No running for you, lady boy. You stay and watch," Marcus suggested with a shove to my shoulders, perhaps assuming an ordinary businessman standing in the open air wearing only a pair of baby blue panties was punishment enough, or as likely not wanting the sight of my sorry ass detracting from the beauty of the naked women.

Eyeing Emma and Betsy's full bottoms wagging before my face with arms taped to the elbow behind their backs, I followed hesitantly, rising up the stairs finding what Coach Nichols predicted - a few groundskeepers watering the field and tidying up after the game, with a quick scan revealing only a dozen people in the stands.

One was a trio of thirty-something women I didn't recognize, but the look in her eyes told me Emma might know them as fellow mothers of players. A few others were sprinkled throughout the park, but one of them was Alan Simonson, the father of Peter, and a man attending games since both his son and Kellen started playing baseball together.

Alan knew Emma and me well from those games, chatting casually afterward and praising our son's play while no doubt lingering on her giant tits as did so many men. I'd noticed him grasping peeks at her body between innings even when she was dressed much more conservatively and I've no doubt seeing her nude left him stunned.

"Oh my god, is that really Emma Tyler? Naked?" Alan questioned his own vision, flabbergasted by the sudden appearance by my statuesque wife wearing her white heels and nothing else.

More remarkably, she was clearly bound with her unbelievable tits bobbling freely, and accompanied by another beauty Alan didn't recognize, but who looked suspiciously similar to Emma.

I can only imagine what a shock today's turn of events was to the lanky, sexually neglected mid-forties husband and father, suffering a mid-life crisis in a marriage lacking excitement, especially when I appeared immediately thereafter hilariously donning only blue bikini panties.

"Jeez, she really does have huge tits. Wait a minute, are those weights on her nipples?" he exclaimed to no one in particular, blown away by the dangling metallic objects prominently displayed at the center of her wide areolae.

Joined by the equally-trussed, pixy-haired matron by her side, the two shapely women were amazing - tall, curvaceous with long limbs, broad asses, and giant breasts bounding in every direction. Even from 100 feet away, Emma's fleshy jugs were more spectacular than Alan ever imagined, jiggling unavoidably with her every movement.

"Woohoo! Yee-ha! Go girls go!" a collection of laughing, chortling ballplayers stripped down to jock straps and compression shorts followed us out of the clubhouse, proud and preening with muscles flexing unconcerned if anyone saw, knowing women were desirous and men envious of their sturdy physiques and youthful energy.

Shuffling their legs, arms pinned behind their back and their bodacious knockers leading the way, my wife and her sister regretfully started the arduous task of running the warning track.

Even in their mid-to-late 30's, Emma and Betsy are naturally athletic, so running the perimeter of the ballpark wasn't overly exhausting in itself. Doing so while naked with their abundant breasts unstrapped and arms bound behind their backs made the task considerably more difficult.

Without the availability of their arms providing balance and stability to their gait, the trip was set-up to be an awkward,, unwieldy, and ultimately humorous journey, taxing their dignity more than it did their bodies.

Betsy's sandals were low, and without the weights straining her nipples she started at a brisk pace, with legs driving, her ripe ass rippling, and her unencumbered melons bounding crazily, simply wanting to get the horrible trek over quickly.

Unsurprisingly, my wife lagged behind, treading lightly with the padlocks adding an element of danger to her efforts.

Self-preservation dictated her movements, minimizing the jostling of the weights and trauma to her stretched nipples. Her higher, blocked heels only made things worse, forcing her to stumble along clumsily, sending her humongous jugs careening haphazardly, leaving her highly distressed.

Alan watched Emma struggle through her paces from afar, enjoying her splendid form but even more the precipitous bounce of her incredible breasts memorably bouncing up and down while wincing with every step, working to get through the ordeal with a minimum of pain, but a large dose of humiliation.

The guys all laughed, the remaining spectators pointed and mimicked their inelegant trot, and the three mothers leered disgustedly at Emma and Betsy as cheap cougars, trying to outdo the younger baseball fangirls by doing whatever was necessary to gain the players' favor.

Alan stared gob-smacked at their every step, while the groundskeepers leaned on their rakes, smiling and jabbing elbows, surprised the groupies were so much older than the usual collection of clamoring trollops eager to snag a player or two for an after-game romp.

"Damn, this is difficult, Bets," Emma complained, not about running naked around a ballpark in blocked heels, or even the destabilizing effect of her useless arms, but rather about the discomforting pull of the padlocks on her taut nipples with every painful step.

"I'm sorry, Em, truly, but I can't wait for you," her little sister advised, unwilling to delay her naked round-tripper even for her beloved sister.

Rattled and anxious, Betsy took off, her form perfect. She was an established athlete herself, playing softball in her youth. That fact didn't stop her ample tits from gyrating wildly as she ran, much to the amusement of the cheering guys admiring her graceful body galloping with a steady stride even without the use of her arms.

Emma struggled, paranoid about the weight on her rings tearing at her sensitive buds, leaving her stumbling about and jogging with a lumbering gait, unfortunately exaggerating the motion of her jiggling ass and bobbling melons.

It was now after 4:00 p.m., with my wife and sister-in-law halfway around the warning track pursuing their embarrassing public foray with Betsy leading Emma by at least ten yards.

Alan had an almost goofy grin plastered to his face, and I can only imagine what he was thinking, waving to me watching in the crowd of players as my big-titted wife followed her equally stacked sister around the ballpark, huffing and puffing in their travails.

Betsy was a picture of pure mortification, while Emma's green eyes suggested her fear of injury to her nipples was her primary concern, exceeding even the humiliation of running stark naked in public.

A moment later, Alan started towards the clubhouse, not really understanding why Emma and the other lovely woman were running bare-assed around the perimeter but assuming he'd learn the reason there.

"Hi Ray, um, nice outfit," he scoffed upon arrival with nod to my female undies.

"Hi Alan," I said simply, thinking there wasn't much else to say and accepting my fate as belittled husband in the eyes of a fellow parent.

"I didn't know Emma was so into running. I suppose her lack of hair reduces wind resistance," he guffawed, unable to avoid the allusion to Emma's surprisingly bald pussy as she drew closer.

"Yeah, thanks. She's always been an exceptional athlete," I replied innocuously, my voice small and demeanor even more so acknowledging her silky-smooth mound.

"Well, I'd say her physical attributes are displayed wonderfully well. She's all woman, there's no doubting that," the beaming man exclaimed, his long-cherished fantasy unexpectedly coming true in the most unlikely of circumstances.

After suffering the hissing of the disapproving mothers calling them 'sluts' and 'whores' while jogging the last leg along the third base line, Betsy, sweating and puffing, reeled up to the clubhouse completing her infamous run.

"Oh, oh, thank god!" Emma exclaimed breathlessly soon thereafter, slowing to a crawl as the bobbling padlocks took their toll on her aching nipples.

"Alright! Well done, ladies, and you looked so lovely circling the track," Marcus shouted, clapping his approval at Emma and Betsy's humiliation. "Pure perfection."

"Hell yeah they did!" the guy next to me agreed, with the rest of his teammates slapping his back in support of his call.

"Mrs. Tyler puts on a good show, Mr. Tyler. Hope she puts out just as well," Ricky jibed, slapping me on my panty-covered ass in the manner of an athlete acknowledging a teammate's great play.

As with Marcus, everyone was thrilled I was watching, excited that the patriarch of the family was present, and hoping my humiliation became part of Emma's punishment.

Honestly, and I know this sounds odd, but I don't think I've ever seen Emma look sexier.

Huffing and puffing, her skin glistened with perspiration, while her arms pulled backward left her posture upright and her fabulous breasts tremoring in agitated glory. Her pussy was smooth, and labia withdrawn as blood flowed to other parts of her statuesque frame.

She was a sight, and I saw in the maniacal eyes of the team they agreed, eager for more as Kellen's unbelievable mother recovered from what was only the beginning of her penance.

Betsy was every bit as appealing, winded herself, tossing her pixy curls about gasping for breath, with her piqued tits jiggling and her own pretty shaved pussy on display and ready for use.

"Damn woman, nice job! You won," Jerald congratulated my tired sister-in-law, presumptively taking her heaving right tit in hand and giving it an overtly affectionate squeeze, before lifting to gauge its weight and density.

"Ahhh," Betsy peeped when his other hand slid over the top of her barren pudenda.

"Bare, I like that," he cooed, easing his long dark middle finger downward as she tensed slightly with his openness, splitting her ruffled petals investigating the entrance to her steamy cunt, and foreshadowing a more invasive insertion we all knew was coming.

"Now, time for penalty number two," Marcus announced, catching the winded duo by surprise, thinking maybe they were done with the penalty phase for their misdeed.

"Wasn't that enough?" Betsy protested, uncertain what he had in mind and thinking the pain and public humiliation of their nefarious lap was more than enough to pay for causing Jerald to strikeout.

"We really are sorry. Can't we just do something more, uh, pleasurable, to apologize?" Emma purred her desire to avoid further punishment, trying dearly to suggest a licentious alternative she suspected was on the way regardless.

"Apologies later, over the bench now!" the strident youth declared, pointing at the pine bench in the dugout, still in view of the field and the few people remaining in the stands, who didn't appear intent on leaving until this bizarre spectacle of postgame ribaldry was complete.

Guiding my wife and sister-in-law to the narrow row of wood running the length of the dugout, Marcus deposited the women on their knees then directed them to lower their torso over the one-foot width, resting their heavy tits on one side with the meaty rumps propped on the other.

"Uh, this is kind of uncomfortable," my wife complained, her full melons hanging pendulously towards the dirt of the dugout, with her rose nipples stretched by the padlocks, drawing the buds into elongated tips.

"Suffer, Mrs. T. This won't take long," he sneered with an ugly tone, kicking his foot gently at her knees and then at Betsy, vulnerably spreading their legs.

I faded into the background watching Emma and her sister assume the position, expecting the next penalty to be a spanking just like everyone else, and noting the wide grin on Alan Simonson's craggily face ready to enjoy a sight I doubt he ever even dreamed about, yet alone expected to come true.

"Not so fast, panty boy," Jerald barked in my direction. "Get your ass over the bench and take your punishment too."

"Huh? Me? I wasn't even here," I countered, stunned by the order, and suddenly terrified of the smacking on my bony backside.

"Fuck that! She's your wife, and Kel's your son. Get into position, bitch, and take your medicine," the insistent slugger barked, his muscular arm pointing the way.

Too browbeaten over the months to object further, I slunk to Emma's side, taking the same pose over the bench, while fearing the worst and docilely parting my knees without his saying so.

Oddly, I was grateful they let me keep my satin panties, hiding my chastity cage and perhaps more importantly, supporting my scrotum protecting the sensitive orbs from an inadvertent blow I'd find extremely painful.

"Look at those big, beautiful bottoms lined up for a good chastising. Five whacks of the hand for each lady, guys. That's what you get," Marcus decided, sending panic through us expressed in the form of a deep, audible exhale.

"Except Mr. Sissy. I think he deserves the paddle as a worthless husband serving up his wife without a fight, right coach?" the powerful black player interjected, holding up a ceremonial wooden paddle the team gave to the 'Star of the Game' whenever they 'spanked' an opponent on the field.

"Good thinking, Marcus," Reg Nichols replied, turning to me with an unequivocal order. "Get up. Stand at the end of the bench and bend forward with your hands on your knees, little wimp."

While I should've been concerned about the hands of nearly of dozen handsome young athletes spanking, and almost certainly groping, my wife and sister-in-law's round, primed asses, the notion of a paddle stinging my narrow flanks was even more worrisome.

"Oh god," I let slip a fearful gasp with Emma and Betsy stoically before me, much to my shame, and a chill of sheer terror ran along my spine, although I dared not move even for self-preservation.

The warmth of the late afternoon sun warmed my skin, reminding me of my exposure to the great outdoors in such an undignified position, with Alan smirking, the trio of mothers carping, and the groundskeeping crew riveted on the infield, witnessing our collective humiliation.

Only feet from my grimacing face, bent prostrate over the narrow bench, Emma and Betsy awaited with trepidation, their bottoms wiggling temptingly on one side and their twin sets of heavy breasts dangling loosely over the other with arms still taped from behind.

Honestly, between their similar facial features, enticing bodily curves, and impressive jugs distinguishable only by the padlocks adorning the gold rings stretching Emma's distressed nipples, in my mind it was easy to see they were sisters and I assumed at least some of the players were suspicious too.

In two randomly formed lines, on shuffling feet the remaining team members eagerly took their place, ready to reap their enviable reckoning on the bare behinds taunting them, while marveling at their good fortune for staying late after the other players left the ballpark after the game.

For the first time, the hunky group had a clear view of Emma and Betsy's flowering pink slits, glowing with their physical effort and a forbidden flush of arousal by assuming the submissive pose in open daylight, ready for the lewd reprimand they feared but also indiscreetly anticipated.

'Wap,' the clap of a hand sounded.

It was only the beginning of a series of rousing, but not overly vicious, smacks and spanks, with my repentant wife and sister-in-law shifting on the bench, with each blow sending their jello-y tits bobbling so appealingly it caused another twitch in my trapped prick and probably in the youthful cocks of their admiring tormentors.

"Oooh. Ahhh. Oh, my goodness," the girlish chirps echoed in the small space as a palm landed on their ripe derrieres, followed swiftly by another, and then another, raising the color on the skin of their reddening half-moons.

'SMACK!' a blistering swing of the wooden paddle then struck my proffered rear-end, and damn it, it hurt.

"Yowwwww!" I screamed, my right cheek sparking with pain as the solid surface smashed it flat.

My brain lit up with white-light agony when the second blow slapped my left side, initiating a steady stream of howls matching each and every peppering strike the merciless assistant coach placed on my insufficiently padded posterior.

'Slap!' Emma received a gentler spank directly before my eyes as a player I didn't know contemptuously enjoyed his allocated swats, followed by her expression of arousal both surprising and disconcerting as her tamed husband.

"Ooooohhh!" her highly vocal coo issued.

"Ahhhhh!" Betsy joined in when a modest blow landed on her ripe butt by another guy I didn't recognize, with the gasp repeated as the ladies slowly succumbed to the eroticism of the infamous spanking applied to their glorious bottoms.

Consumed by my own pain, I couldn't focus too long on the action happening before me until, after ten firm swats, Coach Nichols thankfully paused. Perhaps he was simply resting his arm, and at that moment I didn't care the reason, as it allowed me a brief respite to gather myself and return my glance to Emma and Betsy getting put through their paces.

It was Ricky's turn with Emma, and Luke now stood behind Betsy.

The young Latino shortstop's surprisingly large cock tented his jock strap, and Luke's more modest member was pressing his compression shorts just as fiercely, dishing out their punishment for the distraction costing Jerald his swing and the team the game.

"Bien, bonita," Ricky urged favorably, slapping his dark hand forcefully onto Emma's lily-white ass.

Then, in a new twist not taken by the less experienced players, I watched humbly as the brash youth rested his hand atop my uncertain wife's fleshy glute, imparting a firm and overly familiar squeeze before turning his gloating brown eyes directly towards my own and giving me a sardonic wink, adding to my diminished status as husband and patriarch.

Triumphantly, the impudent 20-something deliberately slipped his hand down the curve of Emma's round flank into the crease of her tender thigh, brushing against her pulsating vulva before delivering an indecent, open-palmed rub along the warming seam of her undefended cunt.

"Ummmmmmm," Emma hummed long and deep, responding involuntarily to the harsh spank mixed with the irresistible pleasure of his lingering exploration of her laser smooth mound.

Exuberantly, the insolent youth demonstrated his power over me and dominion over my faltering wife with another smack, and then repeated his visit to her available pussy.

Reveling in his own retribution, Betsy was in no better stead as Luke slapped her wiggling ass, emulating his teammate's example by dipping low and gliding his fingertip deftly along her pussy entrance until reaching the protective hood of her clitoris, giving the tense nub a gentle swirl sending her shuddering, and once again swatting her tenderized backside.

"Ohhhhh, ohhh, my god," she sighed as he plied her perceptive clitoral bud a second time after another smarting spank.

"SMACK!" Reg beat my ass again, returning my attention to my torment.

Emma and Betsy's effusive moans unfortunately occupied the empty silence between each blow as white noise, with two more youngsters replacing Ricky and Luke and following the youths' bold example by appreciatively probing the complacent ladies' assailable twats.

"YOWWHHH!" I howled as ten more solid swats landed from Reg's merciless paddle on my flaming buttocks, with my thin satin panties doing nothing to soften the sting of the chastisement.

Sadly, but unsurprisingly in light of my warped training and gradual descent into cuckoldry, the strain on my swollen cock only increased receiving the scourging while watching the happy players toy with Emma and Betsy's slickening pussies, and an embarrassing wet spot dotted the baby blue fabric where precum dribbled from my penis.