The Theft of Our Lives 17 Pt. 01

"Whoa, Emma, that's certainly, um, a show of hospitality," Cheetah gasped, nearly choking on his beer gazing at my wife in her minimalist costume.

Emma and I stood there, our tall son proudly wedged between us as if presenting his parents at a coming out gala - a humbled husband and wife decked out in almost nothing except my jersey, Emma's blue apron, white sneakers, and black leather collar.

Oh yes, and my chastity cage, thankfully obscured by the hem of my fortunately long jersey.

That was it.

I looked as pale and wimpy as you'd expect of a meek 40-something executive in an embarrassing position who spent more time behind a desk than in the gym.

On the other hand, Emma looked as much a big-titted bombshell as Kellen intended - virtually naked with her long legs carved pillars of flesh disappearing into the front of the striped apron barely concealing her laser-smooth pussy while the square of the bib left ample alabaster sideboob tauntingly threatening to spill out of the cotton fabric.

"Damn, what a welcome!" Toad hailed truthfully, his wide eyes practically popping out of his head at the sight of my curvy wife busting out in every direction from the scant cloth.

"That's a helluva hostess outfit, Em, collar and all," Raven delivered his frank assessment, indiscreetly pointing out the intriguing leather strap around her neck but with difficulty keeping his brown eyes from continuously drifting to her expansive chest.

'Zzzzzzz,' the gentle hum of Emma's low-buzzing vibrator was audible above the stunned silence of our guests, as Cheetah muted the TV momentarily just after we made our entrance.

"Huh, huhh, mmmh," her shallow breaths purred at its unwanted stimulation as a telling squirm overtook her hips.

Kellen's authority radiated without saying a thing, and a smarmy grin covered his handsome face. If he felt any worries about exerting his preeminence before my already semi-inebriated friends, it didn't show, and any doubts they held about his elevation above his parents disappeared with a single word.

"Present," he ordered, casually turning towards Emma and exhibiting an audacity unbecoming a son to his mother.

Their few remaining scruples withered by alcohol, Cheetah, Toad, and Raven stirred in their chairs upon hearing his directive, dumbfounded at what followed.

"What did you say? Who taught you that?" Emma asked without anger but clearly perplexed, certainly knowing Hank Allenby was the only possible answer.

"Mom, I said, 'Present,'" Kellen repeated sternly, irritation etching his voice at her lack of action.

Despite the extreme circumstances, I could tell he was displeased she didn't immediately assume the subservient pose, now rarely invoked since originally required by my boss in the early days of our indenture.

Panic covered her pretty face, but obediently, Emma parted her feet shoulder-width, straightened her tall frame and hesitantly raised her hands behind her head. Interlocking her fingers, she extended her elbows and squared her shoulders, unhappily pushing her huge DD tits forward setting the unencumbered pair front and center.

Mesmerizing enough in a sturdy bra, unleashed as they were beneath the apron, Emma's mammoth melons are a wonder of nature.

"Holy shit!" Cheetah crowed, his jaw dropping, staring bedazzled by her salacious presentation.

"Damn Rat, they're incredible," my geeky accountant buddy Toad gawped at the unbelievable sight, staring openly at my wife's lightly jostling breasts without apparent remorse.

"Emma's tits have always been incredible," Raven agreed, crudely expressing an opinion held by the trio but previously kept to themselves.

"Love the apron, Em. Is that an offer?" Cheetah suggested, lewdly referencing the modified message on the bib.

Emma shuddered at the rude comment, furrowing her brow in unhappiness with Kellen and indignation at her beaming audience of 'friends,' their focus so obviously fixed on her prodigious chest. Their easy disregard for her stunning subordination every bit as hurtful and disappointing.

Initially confounded by the bizarre demonstration orchestrated by Kellen, the trio quickly adapted, undoubtedly encouraged by the vision of Emma holding the submissive pose without open rebellion, not to mention my craven inaction by not intervening to defend her honor.

The guys didn't truly understand the dysfunctional family dynamic they were witnessing, but wisely recognized something odd was going on between us and our profligate son and were keenly interested in seeing it play out.

'Whatever happens between frat brothers, stays between frat brothers,' I recited our fraternity credo as if a mantra, foolishly hoping it insulated us from word getting back to fellow alums about our depraved lifestyle.

I knew it wouldn't stop the sordid tale from reaching other frat members, but I prayed for the trio's discretion while realizing I could do nothing about it and simply hoped for the best.

"Good girl, mom," Kellen praised, satisfied with his display of prerogative and her obedience, giving his unmoving mother an innocent peck on the cheek and speaking something into her ear I couldn't hear causing her to frown unabashedly.

"I'm leaving to meet Tim at the pizza shack," our son whispered into both our ears, expecting his meaning to be clear and her compliance unquestioned. "Stay in your pose 'til I'm gone, then start playing hostess when the door closes."

"Remember, I'll be watching," he added in reference to the many 'security' cameras linked to his phone and covering nearly every square inch of the house.

Emma nodded her understanding despite her anguish, with her visceral disapproval permeating the room and the distress in her green eyes evident.

Honestly, I can only guess how she felt, but knowing her, it had to be as difficult an exhibition as any she'd made yet, including her very public orgasm at the restaurant months earlier. The restaurant patrons were strangers then, whereas she knew our awestruck guests well, and they knew her well too as the model of propriety, or so they thought.

Emma was always the woman that had it together - an excellent student, accomplished athlete, loving wife and mother, selfless volunteer, and pillar of the community. She was both envied and admired, working hard building that glowing image. It wasn't out of ego, but simply her good heart, and she valued it above everything except her family.

A year of suffering the corruption, deprecation, and infidelity forced on her by Hank was terribly difficult on her well-earned esteem. The saving grace was that, at least until now, other than family, every person she'd grudgingly fucked, sucked, or eaten out, were at best only acquaintances, and more often total strangers, creating the illusion of anonymity.

Cheetah, Toad, and Raven weren't strangers or mere acquaintances, and Emma was keenly aware of that fact.

In the beginning, as a sorority girl at the university attending a mixer at our frat house, she'd met the three guys the same night she met me. In fact, it was Toad who encouraged me to approach her after humorously watching her flat-out reject Cheetah's laughable advances.

Also at that mixer, the guys met Emma's sorority sisters and best friends, Paulina, Jolie and Pam. We all hung out together, dated and became something of a circle. Ultimately, the sorority sisters became the girlfriends and then wives of Chet, Todd, and Javier, respectively, while Emma thankfully married me.

As families, we stayed in touch over the years, visiting during the summer enjoying beach barbeques, spending the holidays watching our children play with their toys, and generally growing into a tightknit group as lifelong friends.

Cheetah wasn't really a bad guy, although something of a rascal and skirt-chaser in college - an aspect of his personality that didn't change much after graduation. It's true, he often flirted with my well-built bride by the pool, despite Emma wearing the most conservative one-piece bathing suits possible, but even his wife Paulina considered it harmless.

Now, vulnerable to the peering eyes of our guests and quite simply mortified by her subservience to our son's dictate, to her credit, Emma held her 'Present' pose.

Kellen hadn't told her to stop, and she was too well-trained in discipline to violate a rule set out by our impertinent son and now master. Keeping her arms up and elbows out, her supplication made for a humbling but highly erotic display, with her giant rising and falling tits undeniably the center of attention.

I saw the resignation in her sad eyes, and at that moment, saw the switch flip. Spurred by need and aroused by the stimulating vibrator taunting in her receptive clit, Emma summoned a survival instinct from deep within and slipped seamlessly into her 'slutwife' alter ego.

"Okay, I'm out. Good luck with the game. Go State, and, uh, don't get too crazy," Kellen joked, bidding our guests goodbye and giving a pump of his fist in support of our team with a wily look in his eye before calmly walking away.

A moment later, the front door slammed as he exited in his usual inconsiderate manner.

"Oh fuck," I cursed out loud, dumbfounded when Emma instantly dropped to her knees and dutifully raised her flaring green eyes to our flummoxed guests in compliance with her loathsome orders.

"Guys, the game's starting. What can I do for you?" she asked submissively, a falsely seductive grin plastered on her lovely face suggesting delights well beyond the standard sandwiches and beer.

It was a simple question, but the implications were huge.

In her servile pose, arms still raised, and fingers intertwined behind her neck, the question constituted a scandalous offer, and the apprehension in her voice hinted at her unhidden distress in tendering the indecent invitation.

"Rat, this can't be serious?" Toad questioned incredulously, looking at me as if this were a well-designed gag perpetrated on the trio that had gone too far.

"I don't know, Toad, look how she's dressed. Look how they're both dressed," Cheetah replied, eyeing my normally proud wife's deferential posture before turning his attention to me.

Toad paused a minute contemplating our buddy's observation, alternating his gaze from Emma to me, and then back to my wife, kneeling in an unimaginable display of abject servility.

"I mean, Em's got practically nothing on, and Rat, well, he's dressed like a damn cuck?" Cheetah stated frankly, examining me closely from head to toe and astutely employing the denigrating term for my aberrant condition.

"We can see Emma's not hiding much, Rat, but what the fuck do you got under there?" Raven, a svelte, toned 40-something lawyer who'd made a killing in a class-action lawsuit and then retired early asked, pointing at the odd bulge beneath my jersey.

"Um, oh nothing. You know, just my, um, massive package," I replied with a forced chuckle, ineptly making jest of the uncomfortable situation.

"Not as I recall it from the locker room," Cheetah interjected, intuitively recognizing the power held by our son, although not understanding its origin, but willing to use it to his benefit. "Show us, Rat, or I'll make sure Kellen knows you're not a cooperative cuck."

"Better show us, Rat. I don't know what the hell is going on, or why Emma's kneeling damn near naked, but I'm guessing Kellen can put the hurt on you both or you wouldn't be intimidated enough to do his bidding," Raven correctly assessed, insightful at reading between the lines due to his legal training.

A sick feeling filled my stomach, and the slight smirk of retribution gracing Emma's face didn't make me feel any better as I too suffered a similar indignity, raising my jersey and revealing my embarrassing chastity cage to my best friends.

"Now, I've fuckin' seen everything!" Cheetah howled, nearly falling over with laughter at my degrading prison.

"Aha, hah, ha," Toad laughed too, and it definitely was not one of sympathy.

For the first time, I caught recognition in his eyes that this bizarre turn of events was the real deal, and the same look soon filled the expressions of Raven and Cheetah.

"So, Rat, what's the deal with you and the kid?" Raven asked, curious to confirm his suspicions.

"Um, well, uh, Raven, I'm just, uh, trying to teach him, um, responsibility, and, uh, to be a man," I stammered, inventing a story on the fly and failing miserably.

"Yeah? Well, you don't set much of an example in the manliness department," Cheetah scoffed with a roll of his deep blue eyes. "Guessin' there's more to it than that, but what the hell. I mean, whatever dude. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, right?"

My ex-track star buddy didn't wait for confirmation, taking the lead in fulfilling a long-held dream, and without pity or apparent remorse, doing so before my uncertain gaze.

"What about you, Em? You teaching Kel to be a man too?" he pressed, the innuendo thick while towering above staring downward into her sparkling emerald eyes and drilling deep into her downtrodden soul.

"J-just, um, showing him how to, well, be assertive. You know, uh, get what he wants from life," my unsettled wife stumbled as much as I had, returning his searching stare and hoping the cryptic answer sufficed.

"From women too?" Raven questioned suggestively without expecting an answer and not receiving one.

"You mean, like this?" Cheetah proposed, flagrantly tugging the loose bow at the back of Emma's neck.

Instantly, the meager bib covering my unsuspecting wife's braless tits dropped swiftly to her waist, exposing the alabaster mountains of flesh as if debuting a masterwork of sculpture at an exhibition.

"Ahhhhh!" Emma gasped instinctively, but obediently didn't drop her arms or cover herself, despite the presence of the embarrassing gold barbells piercing her tight nipples.

"Damn, you have a big set of knockers, Emma," my slightly drunken buddy remarked truthfully, but immaturely. "I know you know it, and I know you know that I know it, but I've always wanted to say it explicitly to your face."

"Um, thanks Cheetah," my perturbed wife murmured bashfully, but respectfully.

"I've wanted to tell Rat too," he said, turning to me and satisfyingly speaking the similar words, literally fulfilling the desire as if crossing it off his bucket list.

"Emma has incredible tits, Rat, but you already know that you lucky sonofabitch," he said plainly, looking me dead in the eye with a toothy smile.

Then, he did something I never imagined seeing, taking her giant fleshy globe in his hand from beneath and bobbling it playfully as its mass overspilled his large palm.

"Heavy. Bouncy. Firm. A lot of gland," he appraised almost clinically.

I said nothing to the crude offense, tepidly keeping my place instead of reading him the Riot Act and tossing him from our house as a protective husband should do. I understood my place, knowing I'd draw Kellen's wrath if I did.

It was growing more obvious with each passing minute and every bold advance on my helpless bride that Cheetah and my other frat brothers knew it too, ready to take full advantage of my impotence.

Worse than the humiliation of my passivity, however, was that deep down I found my frat brother's brazenness and temerity in stripping and feeling up my subjugated wife awkwardly arousing as I stiffened in my cage.

The seal was broken, and I had no illusions my 'good' friends wouldn't take advantage of my emasculated status and Emma's surprising availability at their leisure - temporarily forgetting their own wives, our friendship, or even simple human decency by accepting the unexpected gift they never imagined receiving in their wildest dreams.

"What about Paulina, Chet?" Emma asked in a last appeal to conscience, employing his real name and hoping against hope to avoid the ordeal of fucking our college friends by leveraging their guilt about the offense to their own marriages.

"Once in a lifetime opportunity, Em. Paulina's not here, and she's not going to know, is she?" Cheetah countered dispassionately, making clear where he stood, and that guilt wasn't an issue.

"Jolie either, right?" Toad interjected, setting straight any doubts that he was onboard as well for this surrealistic voyage into debauchery neither man could refuse.

"Nor Pam," Raven followed firmly.

Our silence was the answer they wanted, and also an odd application of the frat credo I'd relied upon earlier, in this case benefiting the trio greatly.

"Okay, I understand," Emma sighed, lowering her head in acknowledgement about the unsavory arrangement, confirming she'd seal her lips to her BFF's about their husbands' indiscretions and bracing for what came next.

Fearlessly, Cheetah's exploring fingers drew along the plump contour of my wife's breast, sampling its soft skin while trailing the sloping curve to the hardened nipple where the curious digits lightly twisted her barbell piercing left and right as a shit-eating grin formed on his face.

"U-um, it's j-just jewelry," she explained without him asking, her understated tone belying the prurient nature of the metal adornments as his effective manipulations unavoidably caused her responsive buds to grow thick and engorged.

"Right, jewelry," Cheetah agreed knowingly, taking the opportunity to enjoy the view of his hand embracing the forbidden breast he'd longed for since college and enthralled by the feel of its pliable mass in his hand.

Emma knelt in total acquiescence to his audacious pawing as any remaining dignity within her vanished.

"Look up at me, Em. Show us what your collar says," our suddenly aggressive friend directed, sensing his growing power in the absence of her objection or my interference.

The black leather band lacked a metal plate or medallion, but embossed in attractive script at the front was the singular description of her place in our household as matriarch and compliant sex doll.

"Wife/Slut"

"Hmm, I like the duality. Domesticity versus inner whore," Cheetah declared pedantically. "Right out of Psyche 101."

"Looks like whore is winning," Raven offered in stark evaluation of her slutty outfit and submissive presentation. "With your smokin' body, I'm only surprised it didn't come out in college."

"I guess it just took living with Rat," Toad suggested as they all laughed at my expense. "Drive any woman into another man's arms."

Emma bit her bottom lip at the derogative slight, then politely repeated her original question.

"So guys, what can I do for you?" she asked, waiting anxiously and certain what they wanted most.

"Oh, well, I'm thinking a good 'Wife/Slut' should get us all a pour of bourbon," Cheetah replied, following with the words she truly anticipated hearing. "Then, let's see how far you've gone to the dark side, babe."

I'm sure Emma hated the familiar affectation, nonetheless, she nodded her compliance, but that wasn't enough for my demanding friend.

"A little respect, Wife/Slut," he chided mildly.

"Y-yes, Cheetah, um, sir," she stuttered slavishly.

"Better. Oh, and only four glasses. Rat won't need one," my empowered buddy chortled derisively.

Emma looked at me and then our expectant guests, knowing her place and not bucking in the slightest Kellen's instruction to play accommodating hostess. Sadly, neither did I, understanding Kellen was our master by Hank's authority - right or wrong, good or bad, earned or granted by fiat.

As evidenced by events so far, we understood our omnipotent son tolerated no disobedience when humiliating us with his friends or our own, whether he was there to see it live or not. Judging how Cheetah groped my wife and denied me a drink, it was clear he understood it too.

Truthfully, I didn't mind my exclusion from partaking alcohol. I realize most guys might want to dull the pain of watching their beloved turned into a sex toy by his three best friends in a fuckfest promising to be epic, but in a perverse twist, I'd found that booze only dampened my voyeuristic excitement.