The Theft of Our Lives 17 Pt. 02

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Kellen made certain his devoted mother served his selfish needs for his personal benefit as well - plotting naughty tasks and placing her in uncomfortable situations not of her choosing, each designed to maximize her embarrassment and line his pockets.

Indeed, our impressionable son had learned from Hank how to use his control of his complacent mother to acquire the favor of others, advancing his own unsavory agenda, and in doing so, gaining a valuable bargaining chip when the debt was repaid, often ten-fold.

Sadly, his mother's unconditional love and maternal instincts, not to mention her unyielding obedience to his mandates, played directly into Kellen's hands. As a beguiling temptress, big-titted sex treat, and previously unattainable married woman, Emma was perfect for securing such gratitude and payback.

Perversely, Kellen realized Emma derived an especially intense humiliation at the idea of her body used as a commodity for trade. It made her truly feel like a whore, and unconscionably, he wasn't shy about doing just that when it suited his own meretricious wants and desires.

That wasn't enough however, as insightfully for a guy of his age and relatively limited life experience, he also astutely recognized my shameful proclivities for voyeurism and cuckoldry, making certain to use them for his amusement.

I saw that use firsthand during an especially mercenary event when Kellen exploited his loyal mother as quid pro quo in hopes of securing a pro baseball contract, with me as the reluctant but aroused intermediary acting as business agent, but Emma providing the necessary 'incentive' to seal the deal.

With Tim holding a similar dream of a pro career, the pair of morally-challenged youths decided roping a very willing Anja Bradley into the ploy might aid the venture's success and provide much more entertainment value as well.

The set-up was easier to accomplish than one might expect, although in hindsight, tempting a pair of past their prime baseball scouts, lonely on the road and whose own pro careers, along with the benefits coming with them, were only memories, wasn't terribly difficult.

"Huh, really Kel? This is necessary?" Emma whined one morning, exhaling harshly and flushed after the exhilarating orgasm roiling her body from the vigorous doggy-style fucking he'd just administered while bent over the kitchen counter after interrupting his mother preparing breakfast.

"Do it, mom! These guys are in town to sign Jerald, not me. I want to get signed to a minor league deal too," Kellen countered forcefully, explaining his intention to his confused mother.

"C'mon, Kel, you're a great player. You don't need my help," Emma replied hopelessly with words that would come back to haunt her, feeding his growing ego but reluctant and grasping at straws despite knowing she had no choice.

Listening to the conversation from the breakfast nook and doing my best not to hyperventilate in reaction to the spontaneous coupling of mother and son just feet from where I sat in my feminized business suit, I dearly wanted to cum too, but was conditioned to the reality that wasn't easily done wearing my high-tensile steel constant companion.

I found the confidence Kellen displayed fucking Emma in my presence both impressive and humiliating all at once, and was equally amazed how acquiescently Emma accepted his rigid cock in her well-used fuck sheath without question, along with his never-ending ability to rock her world even though they'd been screwing almost daily for the past year.

I knew the 'guys' Kellen was talking about were pro scouts in town to watch Jerald Renton play as the obvious star of the team and sign him to a contract with a fast track to the big leagues.

Kellen is a talented player too, especially in the biased eyes of his doting mother, but he rightfully assumed an appeal by Emma wearing a suggestive outfit designed to persuade and offering access to the promise of what lay beneath might go a long way towards furthering his chances.

"I'm not at Jerald's level, mom, but I bet you can convince the scouts otherwise," our son insisted, enforcing his demand with a firm tone conveying that this wasn't a request.

"You know I can't talk to them intelligently about baseball, Kel. I'm just a casual fan. I go to the games to see you play, not to follow the game," Emma protested, pretending she was uncertain about his intentions while raising herself to pull up her panties and straighten her skirt, returning to her meal preparation.

"Dad will go with you to talk baseball and a deal. You just need to provide the incentive," he directed, listening to her doubt with disapproval but confident she'd do his bidding as directed.

"Your father? There with me?" Emma questioned, chastened but also recognizing the wisdom of my attendance. "Won't the presence of my husband put them off?"

"Or turn them on," Kellen suggested the more prurient reason he want me there, although he also knew my business acumen and that I was best suited for the negotiation.

I took no small amount of pride in that acknowledgement. It was the only thing giving me value in his eyes by this point, and I meekly ate up the compliment even if the negative implication was that I was otherwise worthless as a husband and father, and as a man.

"Anyway, dad will make it clear you're there as a perk to close the deal. Fuck, suck, whatever it takes. You know it'll get dad off if he gets to watch," he added crudely, the disrespect for his mother's virtue, or lack thereof, painful and shocking to me.

Emma simply stared at our impertinent son, her green eyes wet with his denigrating perception of her value, grabbing a tissue and wiping a tear.

"Bring Anja along. Tim needs more help than I do, and I know she'll spread her legs just for the fun of it, especially if it helps him," Kellen suggested as a concession, denigrating his Finnish paramour while considerately noting his mother's troubled mind, or perhaps not.

Emma knew he was right, recognizing the transformation of Tim's demure mother into a total cockhound over the past few months as Anja made up for the lost years of her failed marriage to Frank in a shameless string of hookups with her son's buddies, neighbors, and strangers alike.

"Am I making myself clear, mom? I'm not asking you. I'm telling you, so do it!" Kellen snapped at what he perceived as resistance to his order, learning early on from Hank that Emma responded best when her hesitation was stomped upon, and her objections shut down immediately.

"O-okay," she murmured quietly, slumping against the countertop and resigned to doing Kellen's bidding.

Whatever shame she felt at the defilement of her body during our indenture, my downtrodden wife didn't like disappointing our son, even when using her as a curvaceous commodity, traded or exchanged for his benefit, along with his amusement.

By now, however, she'd fucked so many men for no other reason than my boss saying so that she didn't see any reason to refuse. Besides, Emma loves our son, and deep in her warped heart, silently admires his unmitigated authority and commanding presence.

So, willingly, albeit reluctantly, she decided to do what she could in aid of Kellen's professional prospects, even if that meant luring the scouts into bed to bring his natural athletic ability and talents on the field to their attention, employing her exceptional skills on her back or on her knees to complete the task.

Together, Emma and newly minted mom-slut Anja Bradley could make it a night to remember for the unknowingly fortunate men, melding their bodies with my business acuity in securing an opportunity for our sons, and with the added perk of feeding my deviant addiction for cuckolding as we did.

"Alright, alright, tell me where and when, and your father will meet us there. I promise, we'll make an 'impression,'" Emma conceded affirmatively, setting my plate on the table unthinkingly with the residual mix of her cum-sodden pussy and aromatic juices filling my nostrils, overwhelming the smell of the sizzling bacon.

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Later that evening, Emma and Anja sauntered up to two men sitting in a booth of a nondescript local diner studying the film of various players on their tablets, taking notes and nursing beers while deeply focused on their jobs to the exclusion of the activity around them.

We'd been at the game earlier, noting the men watching Jerald take his swings, so we knew who they were and what they looked like, making them easy to spot as my eye-catching wife and her licentious Finnish friend circled the table as birds of prey ready to pounce.

I took a seat at a nearby table, within view and ready for my introduction, but not overly obvious or intrusive enough to spoil the ladies' mojo as they went to work seducing their targets to secure Kellen and Tim's futures.

Engrossed and inattentive to the room around them, 37-year-old Josh Tyson and his partner, 53-year-old Bart Williams, didn't initially notice my tall, busty wife and the petite, black-haired vixen approach, buried in their work without glancing even so much as to take a sip from their beer mugs.

Josh was a star ballplayer just five years earlier, at least until a torn MCL ended his career the season before he was due to sign a monster free agent contract, setting him up for life.

Missing out on that payday, he was now working his way into baseball management, starting at the bottom in the scouting department on the lookout for raw young talent at the high school and college level.

The man's playful brown eyes spoke of his impetuous nature while his close-cropped full beard provided a distinguished appearance contrasting a wide grin expressing his ebullient personality. Tall and lean with skin the color of dark cocoa and still physically buffed, the muscular man kept himself in excellent shape.

Divorced soon after his retirement when his gold-digging trophy wife dumped him for a former teammate still drawing the big paycheck and living the glamorous life of a famous jock, the hard-luck man was only now adjusting to his lesser role and the absence of the dearly missed perks of his previous lifestyle.

Bart was Josh's supervisor, a gruff, stocky man with a balding pate whose own baseball career never achieved much but who had a gift for identifying talent in young players he lacked himself. Single and a veteran scout, his job was to mentor his neophyte partner, leveraging his vast experience developing Josh's skills as a talent evaluator for the ball club.

I sat anxiously watching the scenario about to unfold, my dick flinching in its cage and the buzz of my prostate wand a constant annoyance. Horny and on edge, the anal stimulation abetted my latent voyeuristic tendencies anticipating the demented evening to come.

Admittedly curious, I wanted to observe how Emma and Anja went about completing their avaricious task.

Given the circumstances, I didn't think it was an especially difficult chore. I mean, seriously, two beautiful, sexy ladies interrupting the comfortless men's dinner/study session had to be a welcome diversion from the mundane hours spent on the road.

I've been a baseball fan all my life, and I know scouting players involves a lot of travel and a lot of lonely nights. I also know the men toiled in obscurity, far away from the cheering crowds and postgame female fans.

The anonymity had to be especially difficult for Josh after the adulation of his playing days, and I felt certain he was therefore particularly susceptible to the wiles of a pair of flirtatious women with generous curves, even if they were more mature than the ambitious young ladies he attracted in the past.

Complicating matters for Emma was the presence of her gal pal's, Margie and Carolina, at the booth three places down, with the chatting women noticing Anja and my wife's entrance dressed more like promiscuous groupies than the modest mothers previously held in high esteem by our community, but no longer after their aberrant behavior of the past year.

"Hey, Em," Carolina waved with forced congeniality, poorly emulating her past greetings when my wife was a more acceptable acquaintance.

Courteous and accommodating as usual, Emma started to return the gesture, momentarily forgetting her shameful attire, when Margie suddenly drew down her Hispanic companion's arm and shook her head conspicuously, casting a disapproving glance at my fallen wife.

I saw Emma's pretty emerald eyes grow dull and hurt, her sorrow palpable at the rejection of her coffee clatch mates and longtime girlfriends.

Margie's open repudiation and Carolina's acquiescence in following the snobbish woman's lead were a very real and painful dagger to my shamed wife's esteem before her social peers, and Emma did a poor job hiding her suffering as the knife of their condemnation drove into her back.

It was as crushing to watch as anything I'd seen Emma endure to date, and my heart sank for her sense of loss at the good standing she'd built over the years. I knew she cherished that well-earned status among her fickle friends nearly as much as she valued her lost virtue and integrity under the onslaught of her enforced licentious behavior.

Disheartened but not defeated, Emma turned her eyes away, pretending she hadn't noticed the slight and the duo's overt reproach of her trashy outfit and salacious appearance, but her embarrassment at their witnessing her scandalously introduce herself to two strange men was obvious by the blush of her cheeks and the contrition in her eyes.

I assume my presence was inexplicable to the conservative matrons studying our every move, although given Emma's growing notoriety around town as a cheating wife and easy lay, I guess they believed it's part of some twisted, kinky fantasy game we'd concocted as a depraved couple.

In actuality, they didn't realize that warped suspicion wasn't nearly as demented as the truth, and that my wife and I were fulfilling the deleterious demands of our self-indulgent son in securing his baseball future.

The presence of recently divorced Anja Bradley, the formerly shy and unassuming housewife turned local temptress and insatiable cockhound by her side as Emma's accomplice only fed Margie and Carolina's fertile imaginations about the purpose of the disreputable rendezvous.

Emma realized, and I did too, that the wild stories and sordid descriptions they'd tell their gabby group of girlfriends as soon as they possibly could weren't good for my sweet bride's renown, further tarnishing their opinion and undermining her character another notch.

None of that could be helped, however, and reading Emma's mind I suspect she unhappily accepted the censure as one more disgraceful result of my mistake, Hank's retribution, and our family's inexorable moral decline before our entire community.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, aren't you the scouts come to town to watch our local team?" Emma fawned, resigned to her fate and dropping her hands to the table setting her deep cleavage only inches from their faces in a prototypically female move never failing to draw a man's interested gaze.

Instantly and as intended, the men's focus pulled away from reviewing Jerald's stats and game video to an abundant set of impressive female stats all their own, threatening to spill as a waterfall of flesh from the cups of my clever wife's lace-frilled bra before their enraptured eyes.

"Uh, yeah lady," Bart answered surely, skeptical of the unexpected approach by such appealing temptresses.

"Perhaps we might have a minute of your time?" she asked, a coquettish lilt sending a seductive message in tandem with her gaping mauve blouse unbuttoned halfway down the front.

"I'll bet they have sons that play ball," Josh commented to his mentor, checking out the wedding ring on my wife's hand but willing to listen considering the brazen display of Emma's unparalleled DD-cup marvels.

The sudden appearance of two attractive, provocative women was a welcome diversion from the men's lone existence visiting nameless towns and living in monothematic hotels.

"As you can see, I have a couple of bigtime players here I don't want you to overlook," Emma purred sexily, the double entendre about her massive chest so indelicate only a dolt could miss its meaning.

"As you suggested, Josh, and putting her best assets forward to open the negotiation, I see," Bart gibed, acknowledging his partner's correct assessment of the women's intent without hiding his interest in the proposition and openly gawking at my wife's barely constrained tits.

"Yes, we both have assets we want you to scrutinize closely, but we also have son's you'll want to consider as well," Anja apprized with equal brazenness, leaning onto the edge of the table wearing a lightweight purple V-neck top scooping extremely low revealing most of her own generous alabaster mounds.

Without invitation, the Finnish vixen assertively one-upped my bodacious wife, slipping confidently into the leather booth extremely close to Bart's side until the skin of her bare thigh in her short shorts pressed against the micro-fabric of his loose jogging pants.

In a heartbeat, Emma emulated her shameless girlfriend's bold move from the other side, sidling her broad, skirt-covered bottom over the smooth leather cushion until her hip bumped against Josh's own, presumptuously draping her arm on the seatback above his wide shoulders and temptingly pressing her heavy right melon into his burly bicep.

"Tim Bradley is an excellent player. Versatile, but a bit of a free swinger, like his mother. He really understands how to play the game though, also like his mother," Anja suggested, dropping several not-so-subtle allusions in her obvious come-on while emphasizing her meaning by resting her hand immodestly on Bart's knee.

"I'm Anja Bradley, by the way. I'm Tim's mother and biggest fan," she added breathily, rubbing her palm along his thigh sending an unmistakable message. "My son is great at hitting and pitch selection, but I'm the Bradley that really knows when a player is swinging a big stick, and what to do with it, you know?"

"Yeah, well, that comes naturally to some, although sounds like you've had some practice," Bart chirped plainly, surprised by her brashness but letting her hand roam freely up his thigh towards his package, nonetheless.

The innuendo was thick as butter, but it was a fun game to play, and Bart was more than happy to return her saucy banter, especially if it wasn't just an empty tease and the audacious siren with classically Nordic features and elvish stature was ready to back up her seductive appeal.

"Emma has a son too," Anja deferred, tacking from her unblushingly straightforward approach that was so opposite the demure personality she exhibited in the chaste confines of her wasted years of marriage to Frank.

Even Emma was taken aback by her once-timid girlfriend's brazenness, particularly since she was the one who'd drawn Anja into the web of illicit desire with the lure of our well-hung son, Kellen, and soon after, the even more scandalous seduction by the Finnish mother of her own son, Tim.

Ultimately, my corrupted wife had charmed the cloistered matron into her own bed, releasing Anja's stifled physical longings and introducing the needy mother to a world of inexhaustible young men's cocks, erotic bisexual sex, and a bounty of mind-altering orgasms she'd never experienced with her ex-husband.

Now, Anja Bradley was an equal partner, motivated by Tim's future career, it's true, but also secretly hoping Bart, a man in his early 50's, had the physical equipment and sexual wherewithal to make the deal interesting for her as well, satisfying her heightened libido more than simply securing her son a contract.