The Theft of Our Lives 17 Pt. 02

Josh flashed a big smile at Bart, then turned a piercing eye to my wife - the overly friendly, big-titted MILF with the cutesy ponytail and fetching beauty. She looked good - hot, sexy, and ready to go the distance for our son.

Bart nodded, turning to his compatriot signaling it was cool to 'play ball' with the ambitious matrons and affirming that on rare occasions, the appearance of a rapacious mother willing to do anything to propel her son's pro career was one of the few perks of a job that didn't have many.

"That's hard to read. What's the collar say?" Josh asked Anja, noting the black choker with black sequins in script around her neck.

"'I Swallow', and I do," she answered indiscreetly, asking teasingly. "Like it?"

"Do I ever!" the wiry ex-jock replied enthusiastically.

"What about yours, doll?" Bart followed his partner's lead, curiously studying the sparkling black script on the monochrome background around my wife's neck.

"'Make Me Gag'" Emma purred invitingly, implying she throated and that he'd get the opportunity to find out if he was up to the challenge. "If you're man enough."

"Oh, I'm sure of that," the wily veteran scout boasted confidently.

Bart knew he had minor league deals available to offer, at least if the ambitious mothers were truly willing to let the men round the bases and score for such a concession.

"What about your husband? Where does dad stand on his wife 'promoting' your son's baseball career?" Josh asked warily, encountering more than one pissed-off spouse after unknowingly banging a married team follower on the road during his playing days.

"No hubby, no more," Anja declared proudly, exuberantly announcing she was a solo act by waving her hand in the air displaying the absence of the ring she wore faithfully for so many years suffering her betrayed marriage to Frank.

"Dumped the bastard's sorry ass just this year. That makes me a free agent," the eager European beauty added, the zealousness of her energetic demonstration naturally sending her unbound tits swinging within her clinging top.

"Yeah, we can certainly see that," Bart replied approvingly, ignoring her barren ring finger and instead concentrating on the pinprick tips of Anja's rigid nipples crisscrossing left and right beneath the flimsy fabric in time to her movements.

"What about you, mama? Is your hubby supportive of your efforts on behalf of your son?" Josh asked expectantly, encouraged by the shorter dark-haired siren's response and hopeful the chestnut-haired MILF with the long legs and giant rack held a similar attitude.

"Yeah, does hubby share his wife's enthusiasm for improving your son's professional prospects?" the blunt older man queried skeptically, not needing the complications of a riled-up husband learning his wife went behind his back, or on her back, to secure their son's tryout.

"Oh, he's supportive alright, and probably hard as a rock as we speak, or at least trying to be," Emma replied callously in cryptic reference to my Beta-male status and bloated cock bound in its restrictive cage.

"Really?" the barrel-chested older man questioned, doubt edging his voice.

"Well, he's sitting right there, so let's ask him," my wife suggested, nodding to where I sat meekly observing at the next table within view and easy earshot of the group.

The cold-blooded Emma persona was now horribly recognizable to me in her assumed role as wife/slut, ruthlessly obedient to Kellen's wishes doing whatever necessary in gaining his opportunity for a shot at a pro career, even if it meant exposing my emasculating submission to appease the influential men's concerns about an outraged husband.

"Ray, these are the scouts Kellen mentioned were in town checking out prospects. Do you mind if I engage in a little 'tit for tat' to grease the deal? You can watch, if you like?" she daringly inquired, her huge breasts jostling actively within her lacy bra while turning to me with a condescending expression of complete disrespect.

In that moment, knowing how much the embarrassing revelation of my cuckoldry got me off after months of Hank's mental conditioning, Emma purposefully exposed my sordid affinity for voyeurism, and my trapped prick unerringly twitched within its unyielding bars watching her flaunt her ripe curves so provocatively before the dumbstruck men.

Call it rage, hurt, sorrow, or disgust, at times my loving wife was brutal in her retaliation at me for getting our family into this mess - a punishment transforming Emma from a compassionate housewife and mother into a degraded tramp, turning our vivacious college coed into a rich man's whore, and releasing the hidden demons in our good-natured son, all at Hank's behest.

"You know that's what Kel wants us to do, and we always do what he says," she added immodestly, ensuring the open-mouthed scouts knew exactly where I stood vis-à-vis our commanding son and who wore the pants in the family.

"Y-yes, sweetheart, do what you need to do. We want to keep Kellen happy," I answered mildly, managing an anemic smile of concession signaling my lowered status in the family hierarchy.

It was now clear to any thinking male I was a spineless wimp and merely a figurehead as patriarch, while Kellen was the true man of our house. I doubt, however, they imagined his prerogative extended into the bedroom, replacing his father and fucking his mother to loud orgasms when and how he desired, often with me as an impotent spectator.

I was at the diner simply to review the paperwork, and with any luck, provide an enthralled audience as my profligate wife closed the deal alongside Anja Bradley in the hotel room of the two fortunate scouts.

"Ray's here for his business acumen, and that's all. He's good that way, and a good provider too. He's not much good for anything else, if you know what I mean, but I've got other avenues for that," Emma proclaimed, giving an indiscreet peek into our taboo family dynamic.

"You're fucking kidding, right?" Bart gawped, staring at me derisively yet remaining uncertain of her cryptic allusion.

"Oh no, I don't kid about fucking," she answered wryly, growing serious again and turning to me.

"Answer the man, Ray. Tell him what I'm willing to trade, and what you need as well," Emma demanded firmly, resignation about performing Kellen's sordid task barely hidden behind her soulful green eyes but resolute in succeeding according to his wishes.

"W-well, guys, I, uh," I stammered, unprepared to so blatantly put into words my dissolute predilection for voyeurism and cuckoldry, along with the debasing humiliation it engendered.

"What my husband is so poorly trying to say is that I'm game for anything, and as you can see, I'm not the only pussy in the family," my cutthroat wife interrupted, boldly announcing her availability and my degenerate condition in seeking to gain the men's confidence.

"I mean, seriously, look at the way he dresses. Check out the feminine hair and earrings," she stated disparagingly.

Now, the men looked me over carefully - one brown, muscular and handsome, and the other ruddy, white and out of shape, instinctively realizing Emma was right and that I was inferior as a man, incapable of satisfying my licentious wife's prodigious sexual appetite lit aflame under Hank's control.

I did too, recognizing the pair as masculine and superior, just like every man commandeering my fallen bride. I knew my deficiencies and I knew the deal, expecting Bart and Josh to fuck Emma, and Anja too, throughout the long night in ways I couldn't match in order to close the negotiations for our son's contracts.

"Ray's a pussy through and through, and a cuck on top of that, but he truly wants what's best for our son. He wants you to sign Kellen, but I know something else he wants just as badly but has trouble saying," Emma declared certainly, striking a deliberately sassy pose and teasing the men with her huge tits projecting enticingly forward in her blouse.

"Secretly, what he really wants, and what gets him off," she proposed, pausing for dramatic effect ready to reveal my deep dark secret, "is seeing powerful men with big thick cocks fuck his wife into oblivion. He wants to watch me trade my pussy in exchange for a contract. Why, I'll bet he's turned-on just thinking about it."

Now, I imagined sitting anxiously in a corner of a nondescript hotel room, stripped to my humiliating chastity cage in stockings and garter but little else, desperate to cum but completely denied while exalting in every minute of Emma's defilement, as well as her ultimate sexual rapture under the hard-driving cocks of complete strangers.

"So, use me, guys, and use me hard," Emma assured lewdly, and to my surprise, almost hopefully. "Let Ray watch as you do, then we'll complete the deal I've earned for Kellen."

"Me too! Fuck me hard too," Anja piped up eagerly. "Any way you want. I'll do whatever it takes, but please, just give my Timmy a chance."

"Well then, sounds like a bargain. Cuck, pay the check and we'll be on our way," Bart directed without another moment's hesitation, comfortable the sinful offer was legit and anxious to get started, exiting the table hurriedly.

Dutifully, I left cash and a generous tip on the table, then humbly assumed my place following a few feet behind.

Immediately, I noted Bart casually drape his arm around Emma's waist, then presumptuously drop his hand for a quick grab of her broad ass over her short skirt, pointing his other hand at the hotel across the street where they were conveniently lodged.

Emma made no effort to stop him from the very public groping, and while the overly familiar move was probably intended for my viewing, it was also picked up by Emma's friends nearby.

"Ahhh!" the ladies' mouths hung collectively agape, openly disapproving of the disreputable spectacle of my once-chaste wife exiting with another man, his palm on her butt and her intentions obvious to everyone in the diner.

I've no doubt they were equally disdainful of my meek acceptance without so much as a hint of protest at the sordid affront to my manhood and marriage. I'm also sure their jabbering jaws quickly spread the gossip of Emma's slutty behavior to all their friends within minutes after we left.

Josh took his cue from the older man, wrapping his muscled left arm around Anja's narrow shoulder, creating quite a contrast between her diminutive, ivory doll form and his over six-foot-tall, cocoa brown frame.

A minute later, we strolled past the hotel's front desk, with Bart giving a telling nod to the clerk and receiving an accepting wink in return, suggesting the two lonely scouts were frequent guests of the establishment, and occasionally secured the services of prostitutes or picked-up a couple fun-seeking ladies in a local watering hole.

The look in the clerk's eyes told me he assumed Emma and Anja were the former, at least considering they were dressed like streetwalkers rather than suburban mothers hustling for the benefit of their sons.

Haughty and self-assured on the outside, I'm betting that inside Emma disconsolately felt like a hooker, empathizing with Kerri's new status as merely a piece of desirable flesh for sale, or in this instance barter, at the direction of our commanding son.

A moment later we were in the men's hotel room, sipping Scotch most likely purchased to drink by themselves, and certainly not in the company of two mercenary but very inviting women trading sex for their son's baseball careers.

I was surprised when they gave me a pour of the liquor, but I guess they weren't exactly intimidated by the prospect of an angry, inebriated husband. Instead, they seemed appreciative of my acquiescence, and even interested in shaming me, hoping to witness my cuckolded personality blossom under the influence of the inhibition loosening libation.

"Well then, let's have some fun, but you should strip first, Ray, just so you can enjoy the full experience," Bart suggested strongly, establishing himself as the leader of the night's performance.

"Um, I-uh, it's kind of embarrassing," I said, hesitating, and concerned about exposing my nipple rings, ladies' undies, and caged condition to two strangers.

"Oh, c'mon Ray, let's see the goods, pretty boy," Anja chided mirthfully, adding her voice just for fun in feeding my insecurity and her newly ribald sense of humor.

"Yeah, Ray, do it for Kel. Take one for the team," Emma prodded acerbically, forcing me to share her plight, knowing what I hid beneath my business suit and taking advantage of my inveterate need for shame and abasement.

"Yes, of course, dear," I answered obediently.

My prick immediately stiffened at the thought of the men discovering my secret, aided in no small part by my wife as willing accomplice to my exposure as a cuckold. That didn't even consider the humiliation I'd suffer once reduced to my girly attire, revealing every naughty item I wore daily and hearing their derision of my sissified condition.

Mostly, however, I was dying to watch the virile men take Emma before my eyes for the benefit of Kellen's future baseball prospects. So, piece by piece, I removed my clothes, expediting the process since I was anxious to get to the main event.

I'm not really sure which was worse - revealing my nipple piercings serving no purpose other than signifying my emasculation, or lowering my pants exposing my cotton candy pink panties, sheer black hose, and naturally, my inviolable steel cage containing my inferior prick.

"Shit, you really are a pussy. Look at that boy-clit trapped in its cage," Bart guffawed hilariously when I dropped my panties to my ankles, cruelly comparing my insufficient male member to a woman's tiny sex nub.

"Nice nipple rings, buddy. Very fem," he added with a nasty chuckle.

"Damn, Ray, no wonder your wife sluts herself out. She's clearly not getting it at home," Josh ridiculed uproariously.

I shrank in my shame, knowing his jibe was only partially accurate, and that my elusive wife had so far only hinted at the whole truth about where she did 'get it' from at home, skirting a taboo scenario even the raucous men couldn't imagine.

Indeed, Emma was not only getting it at home, but at my office, in Hank's bungalow, and pretty much any other place where my boss or Kellen got the urge. Yes, my beloved wife was definitely getting it from alternative sources, but she wasn't getting it from me.

"Leave the stockings on, Cuck, but put on your wife's heels. They won't do her any good pointed at the ceiling, and I'm betting they tighten your calves nicely for a girlish appeal," the wicked older scout instructed, getting into the idea of tormenting me as a sissy incapable of satisfying my wife like a real man.

I didn't bother protesting, recognizing I'd already established my inadequacy as a husband, slipping awkwardly into Emma's 5-inch black spiked heels and standing on wobbly legs trying to find my balance.

At 5'10", my wife is tall, and thankfully her feet match her height, so while her shoes were a bit tight and pinched a little, they actually fit better than I might have expected. As predicted, the addition created an elegant sense of femininity to my posture, sparking my responsive penis involuntarily and sending an unnerving rush of arousal up my spine.

"You may as well keep going, babe," Bart suggested now that Emma had her shoes off. "I've been curious about that big rack you're sportin' since you dropped 'em in my face at the diner. I'm aching to see those girls unleashed."

"Yeah, well, my tits are a big selling point. Super big, in fact, from what every guy I've ever met tells me," my wife conceded dryly, maintaining the pretense of a negotiating stance but with barely hidden disgust at the inevitable focus on her massive mammaries.

Reflexively aroused, as was her now common response when submitting to a man's use, Emma's tone suggested she nonetheless despaired the sacrifice of her dignity. Dutifully though, she performed her unpleasant task, drawing a deep breath while reaching for the few remaining buttons of her form-fitting blouse in compliance with Bart's directive.

"You too, Anja. Wearing that gear isn't getting Tim into pro ball," Josh interrupted, without any indication his imperative was optional.

"Hey, here's a thought. Since you're such good girlfriends, you can strip each other, and maybe take a little girl time together," Bart said, giddily adding the impulsive variation designed exclusively for the men's pleasure.

"Nice idea. That's sexy as hell, Bart, but don't you think strippers need a stage?" Josh suggested, gesturing towards the balcony while refilling everyone's glass, including my own.

"C'mon gals, baseball is the entertainment business, and you need to do a little entertaining," the older scout agreed, taking the initiative. "Give us a nice performance if you want your sons to get a shot at playing in the league."

"Um, it's not yet dark, and there's an office building next door. It's pretty public," Emma cautioned uselessly, understanding what her 'hosts' wanted and frowning at the realization she'd do it regardless of her concerns.

Casting a dubious glance at me, she turned to find Anja's crystal blue eyes beaming with anticipation.

"C'mon Anja, it's for Tim and Kel," my jaundiced wife capitulated, convinced her libertine friend was unflummoxed by the idea of public nudity and who knew what else before strangers.

"Straight, lesbian, and everything in-between. Tim's horny mom is always up for a romp," Emma had confided to me a few weeks earlier in one of our increasingly rare open conversations.

Sauntering the few feet towards Anja and taking her hand, Emma reluctantly led her sex-charged lady lover to the balcony, recognizing the late-30's mother wasn't fazed in the slightest by the idea of putting on an indecent lesbian show for the benefit of anyone working late at the office lucky enough to catch the lurid act.

Josh and Bart's grins signaled their eagerness in exploiting a pair of straight suburban housewives desperate to earn baseball contracts for their sons, as the reprobate scouts relaxed with a glass of mediocre Scotch, enjoying the contrived exhibition along with an unknown number of anonymous viewers in the nearby office complex.

"Slow and sexy, ladies," the older man urged, settling into the cushioned chaise lounge mere feet from the balcony 'stage' leaving the desk chair for his younger partner leaning forward into the chairback, drink in hand with golden brown eyes fixed on the sultry women.

I was perched unevenly on Emma's spiked heels clutching the edge of the desk for balance, as excited as the covetous men despite knowing it was my beloved bride they were suborning for their benefit at the behest of our morally bereft son and my malicious boss.

Drawing a long sip of straight whisky, I was more than ready for the depraved display of erotic stripping and sensual lesbian passion most guys find intoxicating, me included, and that I'd not yet witnessed other than from a distance.

"Ray, I'm sure you're not interested in watching your wife get it on with a woman. Be a good cuck and go get some ice. I prefer my Scotch on the rocks," Josh ordered, nodding to the empty ice bucket on the desk just inches from my hand.

On the balcony in the diminishing sunlight, Anja had just undone the last button on Emma's blouse, parting the fabric exposing the lacy cups of her overstuffed bra and staring longingly upward into her emerald eyes with a smoldering fire signaling she was just as enthralled by her lover's billowing white breasts as the men.

"What? Now?" I asked stupidly, terribly disappointed at the prospect of missing the show but knowing that's exactly what the ex-ballplayer intended.

"Yeah, now," he pressed with a dismissive wave of his hand.