The Theft of Our Lives -- Kellen

Disclaimer: This is a side-story providing the detail of what occurred at home between Emma and Kellen while Ray was out-of-town. It has the same underlying thread of blackmail and coercion, but has a strong incest theme, so be warned. It contains various sex acts between adults, including incest and non-consent. The story, all names, and all characters are fictional. Any resemblance to entities or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. In real life, all non-consensual sex is immoral, illegal, and not condoned by the author. All characters are 18-years-old or older. All rights reserved.

THE TEASE

"You'd better get upstairs and get ready," Emma suggested before I left to catch my flight to Duluth, looking displeased and returning to her glass of wine with her little sister, Betsy, taking another large gulp.

I went up to my room, passing Kellen's on the way and finding his door ajar. Looking in, he was peeking out his window into the backyard using the mini-binoculars he brings to ball games. I didn't know if he was checking out his mother or his aunt in their striking bikinis, but I didn't interrupt fearing I'd embarrass our 18-year-old son expressing his natural and abundant sexual curiosity.

'I'm not so sure this is going to be as difficult as Emma thinks,' I thought, shaking my head, and moving on to our room, packing up and heading out the door after giving my wife a kiss and a hug in sympathetic bonding for our travails.

Emma and I agreed to minimal contact while I was gone. It broke our usual 'openness' rule but under the circumstances I understood her reticence to speak candidly about what occurred during the week. Instead, she promised to send me texts each night keeping me updated so I didn't drive myself crazy wondering.

I hoped she was straightforward, and perhaps more went on than I knew, but Emma is honest and usually tells me everything, so I was sure she'd mention anything significant if it had occurred. As I found out, she was true to her word, and the story she told on my return was stark, if difficult to hear, confirmation of that truth.

As one might expect of a mother confronting a dreadfully opprobrious task, Emma took it slow, planning to ramp up the naughtiness as the week progressed -- in essence, building his interest in her as more than just 'mom,' but also as an object of sexual appeal.

It was perverted and wrong, but she had no choice. Knowing her cautious nature, as well as her strong fear of failing her assignment, I expect her initial efforts were so artfully subtle our oblivious son didn't even notice.

Generally, at home or out in the world, Emma is a fashionable but conservative dresser. It's true, Hank required her to don highly scandalous attire when she was 'entertaining,' as it were -- such as the slutty outfits on the cruise, the visits to his office as the 'gold-digging' wife, or the sexy schoolteacher get-up at the poker party.

More often, however, and most definitely at home, my unpretentious wife wore neatly tailored, respectable clothing -- jeans with a sweater or a blouse buttoned modestly to the neck, or possibly a breezy summer dress extending to her knees with a closed bodice on a warm day.

Prior to our capture and descent into sexual servitude, Emma would never dream of wearing anything remotely revealing or provocative around our kids, even now that they're adults.

Self-consciously, she's also extremely aware of the effect of her generous breasts on people, accustomed to the lingering stares of men and women alike throughout her adult life, and so protectively does her best minimizing her huge rack with functional, sturdy bras and opaque tops without a hint of cleavage whatsoever.

As she conveyed it to me, over the initial days after my departure, the telltale signs of her efforts began to show -- a skirt a few inches shorter than usual, for example, or a button-down blouse with one or two more buttons undone at the top during dinner.

It was so discreet I doubt Kerri even noticed, although apparently Kellen's flitting eyes drifted briefly to his mother's chest when she leaned over the table to serve him the mashed potatoes that first night, spying a deep valley of cleavage between her well-supported tits.

Emma forced a nervous smile while slowly dishing out the food, making certain to give our startled son a moment to linger on the mountains of pale flesh before catching himself and respectfully averting his eyes to his meal. She was very likely embarrassed by her act but also content for the night that step one in a long descent into depravity was taken.

After that tentative foray, the displays increased in frequency and flesh, although as Emma told it she kept her most brazen acts of licentiousness for when Kerri was absent, and she was alone with our unsuspecting son. Conveniently, Kerri spent a lot of time with friends or in her room, perhaps pondering the unimaginable events overtaking her life and that of our family and unaware of her mother's dubious assignment.

Emma's flagrantly buttoned-down blouses soon lost another button, such that her bras revealed an abundance of cleavage when Kellen returned home from school. She went lingerie shopping too, purchasing nude bras lighter in construction, colorful, and even frilly, replacing the substantial white support garments usually containing her giant tits.

These new bras were sexy and uplifting, emphasizing her impressive endowment rather than hiding it. They also weren't padded, allowing her responsive nipples to protrude against the fabric.

That minor adjustment wasn't so noticeable when wearing a loose top granting Kellen a sneak peek down the front but was readily apparent when wearing form-fitting pullovers, which she rarely did out of inhibition.

That afternoon, a tight, lightweight shirt made an appearance in Emma's wardrobe. Clearly, she was aware what she was doing, with the snug top hugging her mountainous chest, and even though warm and unaroused, prominently displaying the poking tips of her flaccid nipples to even a casual observer.

I'm sure our reverential son noticed the conspicuous and unexpected change in his respectable mother's dress code but was too well-raised and courteous to stare, undoubtedly trying to do the right thing, and failing miserably.

Big tits and hormone-driven males go together like peanut butter and chocolate, and there was simply no way Kellen could resist checking out his beguiling mother's immense rack, and Emma knew it.

"Kel, sweetie, be my big strong son and help me reach that suitcase way up there in the garage?" she cooed adoringly that day upon his return from school as he lounged in a tank top and poly-mesh athletic shorts.

Emma wore a short sundress -- much shorter than she'd ever worn before and showing a lot of leg.

My wife is tall with long, shapely legs to go with her height. For that reason, she generally didn't wear anything much above the knee, but this loose-fitting yellow number dropped only to mid-thigh. Snug at the bodice, it slung low in a squared cut, exposing a healthy amount of her eye-catching breasts supported only by the flimsy lace of a white bra.

"Sure, mom," Kellen obliged, stepping into the garage finding his beckoning mother standing on the top rung of the ladder reaching ineffectively towards the upper rafters.

"Just hold the ladder steady and I think I can reach it myself if I go up another rung," she suggested helpfully, looking down at our son's vivid green eyes transfixed momentarily on her thighs.

As my crafty wife arranged, the hem of her cotton dress was an inch or two above eye level, understanding exactly the view he'd get when she rose another step, and stretching on tiptoes to retrieve the suitcase.

"Get behind me and grab either side to brace it," Emma directed, intending to place his face in optimal viewing position with her feet parted to the edges of the step and the backs of her thighs within breathing distance of his open mouth.

"Okay, ready mom," he said when set with each muscular arm gripping the metal ladder.

"Alright, if I can just," his scheming mother strained, raising herself in a false attempt to reach the suitcase.

Emma's deceptive effort not only lifted the hem temptingly up her thighs to only inches below her bottom, but also elevated her to a height where our hoodwinked son couldn't help but see up his pretty mother's dress if he only looked in that direction.

Honorably, initially, Kellen did not, so my intent wife pretended to really stretch her right arm, looking down in doing so to find our well-mannered boy warily gazing to the side, afraid of disrespecting his caring mom.

"Kel, am I close to it?" she cleverly importuned, not wanting to let this opportunity slip away without forcing him to look up her dress.

Bamboozled but obedient, our conscientious 18-year-old followed her instructions, turning to look at where her hand was reaching just short of the suitcase and unavoidably staring directly up his long-legged mother's dress. Emma saw his eyes shift perceptibly away from the direction of her hand to straight upward and knew she had him.

"Uhh," Kellen started momentarily at the treasured view greeting him, with her full round bottom set in lacy white bikini panties a mere foot from his face.

Emma had thought about going commando, but simply couldn't take that derelict step quite yet. It was simply too far out of bounds for her to seriously contemplate, although she knew it was coming soon enough. Instead, she selected a pair of sexy panties exactly for this purpose, narrowly cut carving into her ample buttocks and disappearing in a wedge between her ass cheeks.

"Can you see it?" she asked, aware of the insinuation but wanting to be sure our son saw what she intended.

"You're close, mom," he returned uncomfortably, not truly certain of her meaning but only allowing himself to believe she was innocently talking about the suitcase.

Knowing he was hooked and couldn't force himself to look away, Emma shifted on her feet in a vain attempt to reach the suitcase, brazenly parting her muscular thighs 'for balance' with the simple turn presenting Kellen a blatant crotch shot between her legs.

For the first time, our unworldly son had a birds-eye view of his sainted mother's panty-clad vagina.

"Any better now?" Emma taunted with feigned naiveté in flashing our susceptible lad, certain his view was much better.

Sure to pull the lace fabric snugly against her pussy and without the presence of so much as a hair on her bald snatch, Kellen most definitely saw a well-defined 'camel-toe' as her labia impressed themselves against the cloth panel.

"Hey, you're not looking up my dress, are you?" my blushing wife astutely turned the tables upon noticing his obvious focus, playfully teasing in a planned 'gotcha' moment designed to break another seal between mother and son.

"I, umm, I, well, I think maybe I'd better try to, uh," our flustered son stammered, staring unblinking at his revered mother's covered pussy before becoming an unnerved kid again caught looking at a girlie magazine.

"Well, you better not be. I mean, really, a handsome young man looking up my dress. That's so, um, exciting," she chided coyly, making sure not to sound angry and instead projecting appreciation.

Climbing down and turning to Kellen, Emma made a point of brushing her statuesque frame against him, placing her hands on his broad shoulders, drawing him into her body and pressing his chest into her large spongy bosom with her ruby lips next to his ear.

"Okay, Kel, you try," she whispered seductively with a breathy lilt but a terrible sense of guilt. "After all, we can't have an athletic young stud looking up his mother's dress, now can we?"

Kellen shifted nervously with the words, not understanding what had gotten into his pragmatic, pull-no-punches mother and defaulting to the role of obedient son he'd played his whole life.

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, not knowing how else to answer the unusual admonition and instead placing his foot on the first rung to climb the ladder.

"Maybe I should boost you up, instead of holding the ladder," Emma advised with a tentative quaver in her voice betraying her discomfort with this game she was regrettably playing as he ascended to the upper rungs.

"I think I can, ahhh," Kel assured when suddenly two widespread hands braced against his muscular butt cheeks.

"Does this help?" his conniving mother asked suggestively, closing her eyes with sorrow while boldly grasping at his meaty flanks pretending she simply needed a better grip but sending a different message entirely.

"Ohhh, um, that's enough. I got it," our confounded son yelped at her illicit touch, quickly grabbing the suitcase within easy reach and practically falling off the ladder in his hurry to get down.

"I knew you could do it, my big strong man," Emma gushed with genuine pride in our helpful young man.

Kellen stood confused but pleased by his strange acting mother's praise, basking in the glow of her compliments when she suddenly pulled him in for an aggressively affectionate hug.

"My, my, feel those muscles. They're so hard. You really are mommy's big strong man, aren't you?" she purred flirtatiously, testing the sinew of his broad back in her hands while embracing him for a long minute and perceptibly pushing her hips into his pelvis with indiscreet intent.

After a moment, Emma looked Kellen searchingly in the eye, passing a message of inappropriate longing she wasn't sure he'd pick up before kissing him on the lips just a second longer than proper.

"Okay, handsome, don't you have some homework to do?" she immediately reverted to mother mode, but left one more indelible impression on our perplexed son as he headed into the house.

'Smack!'

"Now, get your cute butt in there," Emma scolded lightheartedly with a gentle slap on the ass as he ineptly walked away.

Stunned at his mother's bizarre behavior, Kellen was left clueless about what was going on but undeniably sensed the amorous effects of her unspoken overture with his impressionable young cock twitching faintly in his shorts.

As Emma described it later, it was just another unthinkable step taken as she regressed further into becoming a 'temptress mother,' as was every premeditated move to follow.

Later that night, Emma and Kel ate dinner together, with Kerri yet to arrive home from her volleyball match. Mother and son were seated on the couch in the den watching a movie in a normal enough setting. Emma had changed from the sundress she wore earlier in the garage, as each outfit she wore now had an express purpose.

Emma was dressed in a sleeveless button-down checked blouse, and as was becoming usual, the top three buttons were unfastened. While the blouse was relaxed, the fabric itself wasn't so loose that it was quickly obvious she wasn't wearing a bra, and Emma always wore a bra around the house -- always!

Now, in a nod towards Hank's obscene directive, that unwavering element of her prudent home attire was clearly missing. Kellen sat to his mother's left, with the overlapping side of the cotton blouse most certainly presenting a plentiful view of the insides of her big braless tits, if positioned correctly.

Our careless son's inquisitive green eyes wandered surreptitiously to his right every few moments, with his calculating mother purposely positioned correctly for a generous eyeful of alabaster flesh.

Accompanying her suggestive top, Emma donned a pair of not overly scandalous cotton shorts that still exhibited a tremendous span of her taut shapely legs, unadorned by so much as even socks on her bare feet. Her chestnut hair was held in her standard ponytail with her black-framed glasses necessary to view the program.

Kellen hadn't changed clothes at all, leaving plenty of flesh touching flesh as they sat watching the show. Innocent really, and other than the light clothing, lack of a bra, and their bare arms and thighs pressing casually together, it really wasn't significantly different than any other family home evening.

"Hmmm, getting sleepy. Let me rest against you, Kel," Emma murmured, bringing her feet up beneath her bottom and leaning into our son setting her torso against his chest.

The move necessarily shifted Emma's weight, lodging her substantial left breast against his ribcage, with her unleashed melons a heavy and heavenly mountain of flesh that were difficult to ignore.

Kellen was no different than any other male experiencing the delightful pressure of my wife's jello-y tits reposing against his body, however, unaccustomed to such familiar contact with his respectable mother, he squirmed just a little while allowing her to settle in just right.

"Oh, that's nice, Kel. You're so warm and comfortable," she sighed charmingly, with the words themselves not so alluring, but with a tone that was obsequiously adoring and a touch fresh, and at the same time imparting the full effect of her heaving breasts on our rattled son.

Furthering her intent, Emma's head rested dreamily on his shoulder and her hand dropped lazily to his bare thigh. Nothing provocative, but the contact alone was a small step towards breaking down barriers of intimacy between them.

In her reclining position, the top of Emma's blouse gapped widely, and under any other circumstances, she'd close it immediately. Not that night, leaving it purposely agape enticing Kellen to glance at the creamy tops of her unclad tits.

When his eyes drifted down and stuck there, ignoring the movie, she knew she'd hit another mark. Kellen was getting a heaping helping of her healthy jugs and intoxicating cleavage -- possibly to the pinkish rose rim of her wide areolae, although of that she wasn't certain.

The two stayed that way until the end of the movie, making no other moves, but the damage was done, and Emma had slipped another notch in the pantheon of her decency.

"Good night, Kel. Thanks for playing mommy's pillow," she offered, hugging him tightly against her mashed bare breasts before sending him to bed with an edgy remark perilously close to sounding risqué if tweaked just a little.

The week progressed in this manner, and I'm guessing Emma did her best keeping her seduction of Kellen from our maturing daughter's increasingly worldly eyes. If Kerri noticed anything, she didn't say, although she must have caught her reserved mother once or twice surprisingly without a bra.

Suggestive touching, prolonged hugs, kind but suggestive compliments about his developing body and build -- each day Emma directed more and more salacious behavior towards our unsophisticated son, prepping him for the dreaded day when she'd spring her trap in the preposterous form of an overt sexual proposition.

On Thursday, Emma really cranked up the heat, pushing boundaries she'd never imagined by displaying herself in a very unmotherly way to our bewildered young man.

Kel had baseball practice that afternoon and wasn't expected until past 5:00 p.m., just before dinner.

As common in the network of local mothers, Emma received a text from the mother of another player informing her the session was canceled, so on the spur of the moment apprehensively put into action a plan she'd plotted lying awake during a sleepless night pondering how to accomplish this impossible goal set by Hank.

"Bottoms up," she said presciently before slugging a rarely consumed mid-afternoon shot of whiskey for courage before initiating the scheme.

Around 2:15 p.m., Emma grabbed a miscellaneously composed load of dirty clothes to take to the laundry room. It didn't matter the content -- colors, whites, permanent press, that wasn't the point of the exercise.

Just before closing the lid, she unfastened the button on her designer jeans, stripping them off to throw in the wash before pulling the baggy shirt she wore and tossing it in as well. Adding the detergent and applying the settings, just as she hit the start button, she heard the front door open and close, just as expected.