The Theft of Our Lives 14

"Peter's the last player left, Mr. Simonson. Two raw bottoms and only one hand to spank them. Want a turn?" Jerald asked graciously, his deep baritone piercing my ears in offering up my vanquished wife and her pacified sister to the father and son, with the older man overtly relishing the unlikely opportunity.

"Seriously? Is that a question?" Alan replied flippantly without hesitation, chafing at the bit to get a sample of Emma's upturned flanks, and not taking a chance on losing the opportunity by playing coy.

"Alright then, step up and finish her punishment," the affronted player prompted, waving his hand magnanimously as if at a fine dining restaurant, signaling Emma's ass, and maybe more, was his to discipline.

"Oh, with pleasure," Alan blurted excitably, dazzled by the possibly of correcting my big-titted wife so sexually and moving behind her waving rump ready to place his palm where he never expected to find it.

"Your ass is truly glorious, Emma. I've always thought so, and now I'm certain," he complimented immodestly, revealing his secret desires while studying her plump cheeks waggling before his eyes disbelievingly, marveling at their sturdy shape and her broad beam.

'Wap,' his hand came down lightly, more to announce his presence than inflict pain.

"Alan? I, uh, didn't think you'd ever, well, oh my," Emma peeped when Alan's wondering hand drifted to her puffy labia, gliding between the sealed petals letting his fidgeting digits play within their velvety seal.

"Damn Emma, you're a randy bitch, that's for sure," he praised unabashedly, noting the smoldering vaginal wetness as a clear result of the illicit spanking and string of anonymous fingers touching, stroking, and presumptuously exploring the ruffled folds so intimately.

"Huh, well, I just, um, can't, ohhh," my flustered wife uttered, unable to finish her thoughts.

Breathing heavily from her travails and wavering with greater need for release, Emma struggled under the extreme exploration by a fellow parent - a married man she'd spoken to over the years about baseball and other banal subjects, struggling to accommodate the reality he was now fondling her warming vagina so egregiously.

"Wow, I never figured you for a bald pussy, Emma, and laser smooth too," Alan exclaimed frankly, exhilarated discovering her mound lacked even a hint of stubble when smoothing his soft palm across its pristine surface, reflexively sparking her arousal further.

"Ahhhhh," my wife purred her acceptance, despite her despair at the offense to her dignity.

My ass inflamed and agonized by Coach Nichols' paddle, I was nonetheless aware of Emma's green eyes fluttering, then drooping to half-slits in resignation as her jaw slackened and thighs quivered, parting almost imperceptibly acknowledging his improper access to her most forbidden chasm.

Peter looked at his father quizzically, unconcerned about any emotional injury his mother might feel were she present to witness the violation of husband's marital vows.

Rather, the wowed younger Simonson was amazed at the chance to familiarize himself with the mature, pixy-haired beauty bent over the bench receiving his administration of Jerald's justice, without further consideration for propriety or even decency.

'WHACK!,' Peter's palm flattened Betsy's fleshy right globe.

"Ouch," she peeped, less from pain than surprise, as to this point most of the guys were reasonably moderate in the application of her penalty, and more interested in feeling up her meaty bottom.

Peter's was a stiff blow to her exposed butt cheek, however, and immediately his hand trailed lower to the opening of her fitful cunt, curiously examining the plump lips framing the heated fissure in his initial foray into the delicate secrets a woman keeps between her legs.

Thankfully, the unsophisticated virgin ballplayer was unnerved by the temptation of entering Betsy's dark fuck channel with a burrowing digit, returning instead to the spanking and groping her spectacular ass.

"Oooh," Betsy squeaked when Peter pinched a generous portion of ivory skin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Ouuccch," she bleated again when he laid another harsh slap on her upbraided posterior set over the edge of the bench so delightfully, generating an inappropriate tingling in her pussy she'd never experienced during sex play with her wife, Samantha.

One, two, three, four, five - the Simonson's joyously extracted their measure of retribution, uncaring if it was not truly merited, and simply enjoying the upraised buttocks and the increasingly soaking snatch of my wife and her lookalike companion.

On the last swat, Alan slid his rigid middle finger easily into the drenched hole of Emma's sopping wet cunt.

"Jeez, your pussy's a furnace, Emma," he crowed, sluicing the digit two or three times, eliciting a response of abject surrender by my wife, despite never thinking of the unremarkable man in a sexual sense for even a moment.

"Ummmmmmm, you shouldn't, Alan. Really," my susceptible wife sighed helplessly without true protest.

Dipping his other hand under her chest, Alan lifted and weighed her wonderful left melon with a shit-eating smile.

"Sorry, Emma, but you've teased us all far too long with these monster jugs," he said coarsely, expressing a sentiment all men felt when meeting my wife and marveling at the sheer density of the hefty tit in kneading it like bread dough.

"Awwwggh, you're just like every other man, aren't you, Alan?" Emma groaned critically, receiving a brutal twist of her nipple ring for her derision and then a jolt shaking her torso when he pulled menacingly on the pierced bud.

"Ahhh, holy fuck!" she issued an increasingly common expletive, and I didn't get a sense it was from the pain, but rather, from her exhilaration at the sharp tweak.

"Yeah, and I want what every man you've ever met wants," he challenged, speaking an undeniable truth hurtful of her feelings, while reaching for his zipper ready to let loose his erect cock to prove it.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Jerald snapped. "Keep it zipped, old man. Not happenin'. No one taps this bitch before me."

"No, Jerald, please? I'm so close," Alan protested, continuing to draw down his zipper dearly wanting to sink his cock into my wife's ready cunt.

I watched the confrontation with unusual zealotry for a husband, as two men fought over my waylaid wife as a commodity without even a concern that I was present, albeit too cucked to intervene. My prick now ached in my cage, wondering how this conflict would resolve, but suspecting we'd have a quick champion.

"Mr. Simonson, no disrespect, but if you unleash that bad boy, you're going down," Jerald warned, flexing his sizable arms in only his uniform pants, and looking extremely threatening.

"I gotta, Jerald. I'm so close, I gotta fuck her," the intent older man insisted, inadvertently shunting aside the muscular youth hoping to plant his cock into Emma's exposed pussy.

"SMACK!" Jerald bitch-slapped the balding man, not taking kindly to the shove and impressing his authority on Peter's impetuous father.

"I, uh, I'm sorry. I just, well, I've wanted to fuck her so badly for so long," Alan groveled in defeat, admitting his inappropriate lust but recognizing the wisdom of backing down to the powerful youth and accepting Jerald's dominion.

I gazed awestruck from my prone position, my backside still stinging and looking directly into Emma's wondrous emerald eyes as the battle for her dishonor took place alarmingly over her prostrate form.

It was as if a light clicked on in her head - the raw strength, the imperious manner, and the sheer masculinity of Jerald Renton crushing whatever reticence she felt servicing this slighted young man in apology for her perceived sins.

Already sexually agitated by the covetous groping of her pussy by nearly a dozen 20-something ballplayers, and uncaring who heard or saw her submission, Emma surrendered completely. My mature, big-titted, and now dissolute wife needed the young black stud, desperately wanting him to fuck her to orgasm as I stood by impotently.

Her green eyes aflame with lust and reverence, Emma wanted to worship Jerald's hard cock as a fangirl does her idol.

"I'm ready to apologize, Jerald," she whinnied subserviently her willingness to do whatever was necessary for the forgiveness of the commanding baseball star.

Turning her head over her shoulder, she dutifully maintained the inferior position bent over the bench despite no restraints holding her in place. The longing in Emma's face was striking, leaving me disquieted at the loss of her former admiration yet aroused even more than watching her in bed with Nate.

"Honest, I want to apologize. Please?" my wife implored, virtually begging to make amends with her body in a manner words wouldn't suffice.

Betsy also passively adopted the startling transformation of her big sister as I watched the power play conclude as expected, impressed by the decisive player's strength of will and noting Emma's susceptibility to his imperative with an almost girlish infatuation rarely seen in a 39-year-old suburban wife and mother.

Suddenly, Emma was a different woman - docile, accepting, and ready to please a well-built man clearly more powerful that myself, and better looking too.

"Okay, enough. Mr. Simonson, time to go," Marcus interceded, joining his brother in controlling the situation, and booting the disappointed father from the party.

"That's not fair," Alan brooded with juvenile complaint. "Can I at least taste her, please?"

It was an impertinent request under the circumstances, but apparently in satisfaction of a warped craving to sample Emma's savory nectar and inhale the heady aroma of her potent pussy juice.

"Shit, pops, sorta kinky, but what the hell, why not?" Jerald answered generously, confident in his control and sensing a carrot was enough to appease his teammate's dad.

"Oooh, Jerald?" Emma questioned, unhappy with the idea but in no position to object other than by expressing her displeasure.

"Thank you, sir," Alan accepted respectfully, dropping behind my wife's squirming backside, abruptly gripping both ass cheeks exposing her agitated slit, inhaling deeply, then sublimely drawing the flat of his tongue broadly up the glistening seam drawing in as much of the tart effluent as possible.

"Ummm, ohhh," she murmured her duress, but did nothing to stop him, with her emerald eyes popping wide when her continued across her perineum for a juicy lick of her crinkled asshole to finish his intimate traverse with the highly personal act.

"Okay, that's enough. Now, get out, and take Peter with you," Marcus demanded, turning somewhat apologetically to his teammate. "Sorry buddy, starter's only, but probably for the best."

"Yes, thank you, we're gone. I got what I wanted," the contrite older man shrugged, sorry for the lost opportunity to fuck my wife, but philosophical in achieving more than he ever dreamed possible.

"I'll always know I tasted Emma Tyler's pussy. Better than snatching a pair of her soiled panties," Alan mused obnoxiously, gratified realizing he'd always carry the memory of the distinct flavor and smell of her potent snatch whenever we met in the future.

"Good. No hard feelings then. Time to take this into the clubhouse and make it a very select party," Jerald advised, looking at Marcus with a nod to the trio of mothers in the stands and fearing a spectacle ensuing in broad daylight by staying in the dugout.

"Right," his wise brother acknowledged, easily lifting Emma and Betsy by the elbow, and escorting them from the bench towards the clubhouse door.

"You'd better come too, panty boy," he added insultingly, and I tamely followed as the pliant husband meekly doing as directed, despite knowing full-well the gang bang about to occur with the two black brothers, and as it turned out, Ricky and Luke, with Reg Nichols pulling up the rear.

"Coach, you sure you want to be here?" Marcus asked straightforwardly, suggesting he really wasn't welcome, but not bucking his authority as a coach.

"Hey, I won't play, but I'm not missing the fun," the grinning coach with the shaved head informed.

"Sure thing, coach," Jerald conceded, realizing keeping Reg happy was a smart move.

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

'Slam,' the door closed behind me, my naked wife and sister-in-law, four eager young men in various stages of undress, and an accommodating coach anxious to see what happened.

A dark spot of precum on the front panel of my panties didn't escape Ricky's notice.

"These look a bit stained," he decided, ripping the thin satin undies from my body in a heartbeat.

"Wow, check it out guys. Mrs. T keeps Mr. T caged and controlled," the smirking shortstop exclaimed, pointing at my chastity cage in ridicule.

"No wonder he wears lady's panties," Luke joined his disparagement of my thorough emasculation.

"C'mon guys, give me a break. I didn't do anything," I whined ineffectively, only adding to my image of weakness.

"You spring this wimp loose now and again, Mrs. T, or do you keep him under lock and key so he's a good boy?" Ricky chided, denigrating me without understanding my poor wife was every much as compromised as myself, but in a different way.

"You got the key, Mrs. Tyler? Might be fun for hubby to watch his wife apologize unconstrained," Marcus asked, not expecting the answer he received.

"N-no, I, um, needed to give it to, uh, someone else," Emma stammered her response, embarrassed by my exposure as a milquetoast husband and poor defender of her virtue but dodging the truth, especially after her earlier revelation about the source of her pierced nipples.

"Someone else? You gave the key to someone else?" he questioned skeptically. "Your friend here maybe? That's awfully generous."

"No, no, not Betsy. It's, um, Kellen. He has the key," my wife hemmed and hawed, nervously casting her eyes about thinking she'd already said too much, but peremptorily giving the answer she knew they'd get eventually.

"Holy shit, that sonofabitch. First, your rings, now his dad too? Who'd ever guess?" Jerald yipped with a new respect for our son, shaking his head at the implication of its meaning and the possibility of something so taboo it was too bizarre to imagine.

"Why Kellen?" Luke inquired naively.

"You've seen it. Ray's weak. A voyeur and a cuckold. It's natural Kellen should lead the family, since his father's incapable," Emma spat her disgust, fed in part by her shredded dignity, but also by her attraction to Jerald's masculinity and authority.

Avoiding our incestuous secret, my wife adeptly explained away the depraved symbol of my diminished status in the house with the humiliating truth, hoping the horny guys were more interested in she and Betsy's apology than pursuing the weird arrangement more than necessary.

"It's true. Kellen keeps me tamed," I confessed the outrageous reality, throwing away the little pride I still possessed. "He's afraid I'd embarrass the family if people knew about my obsession for watching Emma fuck other men."

"It won't come off without the key and Kellen's not here to unlock it," Emma told them honestly, stemming further discussion of removing my cage.

Apparently, it worked, as all eyes returned immediately to the naked matrons trussed up and ready to proceed to the apology phase that Emma, and possibly Betsy in her sexually agitated state, legitimately desired after their humiliating punishment.

Jerald was ready to move onward too, although now with an understanding of how Kellen convinced his formerly straightlaced mother to flash him at the game ruining his swing and filing the information away for later inquiry of his friend and fellow ballplayer.

"So, ladies, you already said you're sorry, but deeds are more powerful than words, so it's time to prove it," Marcus suggested earnestly.

"Apologies are about humility, but they may as well be fun too. I don't think you'll be needing these any longer," the cocky black youth declared, unlocking the padlocks, and removing them from Emma's swollen, aggravated nipples.

"Oh, thank you. That's so much better," my wife gushed genuinely, relieved by the absence and thankful her distended buds no longer bore the strain of the added weight, although they remained highly tender and pulsing with sensation.

"We want a fully-functional apology, so this comes off too," Marcus explained, grabbing a pocketknife, and carefully slicing through the tape binding Emma and Betsy's arms in the uncomfortable position thrusting their huge tits forward so delightfully.

"Thank you. Thank you so much," my grateful sister-in-law exalted in warped appreciation for her release.

"Thank us from her your knees, doll," Jerald said outright, no longer shy about his expectations.

Swiftly, the excited youth peeled off his pants and snug fitting compression shorts, unleashing a long, pulsing black cock drooping halfway down his thigh.

"Huh-huh, oh, my goodness," Betsy gasped as the thickly veined member hung slack in frightening proximity to where she and Emma stood.

"Wow, Jerald, you swing a big stick," my captivated wife enthused earnestly, gulping deeply at the size of the dark staff, and emitting the witty twist of praise referencing the slugger's hitting prowess.

"Well, I like drivin' it deep," the cocky bastard retorted, enjoying the verbal joust, and meaning every word as a promise.

"Yeah, I'm sure your lady fans like it when you do, but honestly, I'm curious to see you in action too," Emma professed, unable to take her wide eyes off the impressive meat and just as sincere in her desire for the young black stud as any of his younger female 'fans.'

"So then, get to it, Mrs. T, and prove how sorry you are," Jerald directed, accustomed to the reaction every woman had seeing his manhood, but especially the white ladies discovering that the stories of black men's superior endowments were invariably true more times than not.

"Oh my goodness, so insistent. See that Ray? That's how to impress a woman," Emma rebuked harshly, looking over her shoulder at me with disdain for my frailty and rubbing her newly-freed wrists getting the feeling back.

Exhibiting a scorn I'd seen in flashes during the course of her descent into service so unlike her normal sweet self, the emotional pain my callous wife inflicted on me now was apparently the result of that deeply held resentment. From the enamored look in her eye, it was also as fulfilling to Emma as the sturdy cock she was about to suck.

"I, um, not sure, oh my," she sighed aloud gauging his immense size, intimidated, and looking even more so after lowering herself to eye level with the imposing athlete's crotch.

Emma is tall, even kneeling with her torso long, but at 6'5" Jerald was too and with a lot of leg, matching her stature setting the surprisingly slack tube of ebony fuck meat directly in her sight.

I'd seen her blow countless men by now, some quite large, including Hank, Ike, and Nate, but I'd never seen her express such awe and fascination as with the fleshy hose mere inches from her face ready for her to consume, or at least try.

Too tempting to ignore, Jerald slipped his large paw to Emma's prominent left breast, holding it as his possession sizing up the gelatinous globe and finding it extremely impressive, just as every man before him.

"Whew," Emma exhaled with his touch, easily aroused as her morality grew more tattered every day of her indenture.

Turning her inflamed green eyes deferentially upward, she bathed in the aura of the player's magnificent presence, and even found his gloating expression inciting her sexually and submissively.

Staring at the substantial package, my studious wife briefly evaluated her task, exultantly noting Jerald's giant balls hanging dramatically in their hairy sack. Then, true to her training as a great cocksucker, without using her hands, she dipped her head with mouth widely open with her red-painted lips glistening with moisture.