The Theft of Our Lives -- Samantha

Sam was spinning.

"What are you saying? That you 'want' me?" she managed to say after several moments of shock.

"Well, actually, that's true, but that's not what I'm saying," Hank acknowledged, causing her to stir uncomfortably. "What I'm saying is that you need money, and I have the money you need. It's pretty much that simple."

"Look Mr. Allenby, I'm happy to do the work, but I'm not, well, comfortable with the extracurricular duties," Sam countered, her mind racing about the threat to Betsy and Robbie and his offer as a possible solution, but at what cost?

"C'mon, it's not like you're completely faithful to your blushing bride, and you need the money. Toss your precious ethics aside and leverage those other qualifications you possess," Hank rejoined, attacking her integrity brick by brick.

Sam looked on doubtfully, already compromising her morals, and even thinking a few turns in the sack with some lady client might be acceptable considering her desperate need and relaxed view of fidelity in the past, but was he suggesting she sleep with a man?

"I'm not sure what that means? What other qualifications do I possess?" Sam asked in confusion, disbelieving Hank might be suggesting anything other than her appeal to his lesbian clients.

"Don't you know, Sam?" he parried, before fully setting out his intentions. "Many men have a perverse fantasy of a night with a true lesbian. It has a lot to do with their egos."

"I, uh, what?" she stammered, dumbfounded and unable to think of a response the proposition was so preposterous.

"Look, I can get that loan shark off your back, and keep the banks from foreclosing if you just, expand your horizons, we can call it," Hank explained, ignoring her question while closing the deal with the prospect of financial salvation.

"Or, I can let the banks move forward and the other guy can collect in whatever manner he wants," he reminded as her other unpalatable alternative.

Sam sat distressed and flustered, Hank's words were so foreign she simply couldn't comprehend he was saying them, yet she also knew they were true, and that Betsy's security was at risk because of her debt.

"Of course, to do so, you need to give me what I want," he continued. "You're a savvy businesswoman. You understand. A quid pro quo. You need to help me satisfy the needs of my clients -- men and women with certain, shall we say, 'unmet desires' and physical needs that are otherwise unobtainable."

Staggered by the implication her extracurricular duties involved men and not just women, what he wanted exceeded the boundaries of acceptability, and her rage finally boiled over at the mere suggestion of satisfying Hank, or any other man.

"What the hell?!" Sam snarled, sincerely livid and not caring that she was in a crowded restaurant. "You're out of your fucking mind if you think I'd do anything with a man! I like women. I'm a lesbian, remember?"

My expectant boss sat stone-faced under the verbal fusillade, biding his time as Sam vented her anger and offense at his boldness and effrontery.

"Don't you get it, asshole? I don't fuck men!" she declared with righteous anger, her vitriol rising and indignation inflaming her blue eyes, her neck tendons straining as the clank of plates and background music fortunately squelched much of her tirade.

Hank had been through this before -- the initial outrage and refusal. Calmly settling into his seat, he let Sam rant, a smile on his face knowing she'd eventually tire and cool down as the rational part of her brain awakened to the stark reality of her predicament and lack of realistic alternatives.

"This is nuts, I mean, it's fucking bullshit!" my proud sister-in-law fumed, but with a halting ramble as reason slowly returned. "Damn you, you, um, sonofabitch."

Sam was mad, but Hank knew he'd already won because she didn't storm out.

Instead, she sat breathing hysterically with a twisted set of emotions etched on her face at the sudden loss of her temper, pared with her increasing awareness of the growing inevitability of her ultimate capitulation.

Steadily, her ire and insult weakened, her lack of control over her situation grew more apparent, and Sam predictably sought to bargain.

My seasoned boss had seen it a million times. He always loved this part of the game, recognizing it was time to close the deal and tossing a folder onto the table.

"Take a look just in case you need a last push. I'm pretty sure you'll see the wisdom of accepting my offer," he grinned in triumph, raising his eyebrow knowingly.

"I don't understand. What the hell is this?" Sam questioned, seeing the label reading, 'St. Louis' and becoming concerned, instantly turning whiter than her naturally ivory skin.

Discomfited but curious, she stared dumbly at the folder, instinctively biting her thin bottom lip, before pulling out a series of glossy color photos.

"Ohhh! Oh no, how? How did you get these?" she yelped reflexively, scanning the photos one after another and growing more disquieted with each one, seeing herself nude in a hotel room rolling around on a king-size bed with not one, but two naked younger women, obviously involved in a frenzied Sapphic ménage à trois.

"I gotta say, Sam, I like the way you party, but it wasn't easy. Fortunately, you have quite a reputation for chasing the ladies," my boss informed gleefully. "Hell, I think you like playing 'catch a snatch' as much as I do."

Sam didn't laugh at the juvenile remark.

"Anyway, the detective found a conquest willing to sell her cell phone video in exchange for a small cash reward, and my keeping her secret from her husband," he elaborated without giving further details.

"People do so love selfies, don't they?" he marveled, shaking his head. "No matter how incriminating, they just can't resist the urge to get every little indiscretion on video."

"Oh fuck," Sam whispered under breath at an especially damning screen capture focused down the torso of an anonymous white woman.

The image was hi-def and in bold detail of Sam's mouth shiny with syrupy juices and lust-filled blue eyes casting a gaze over a tuft of curly light brown pussy hairs, while apparently getting drilled from behind at the same time by an unknown black woman with a fake, strap-on cock.

"Of course, I'm guessing Betsy would feel terribly betrayed seeing these photos. I'm sure she'd find your infidelity devastating," Hank opined, with the reality of exposure flooding Sam's panicked brain just as he expected.

The St. Louis national conference was a high point in Sam's illustrious career seducing aspiring young women.

On this auspicious occasion, Sam remembered coaxing two attractive professionals into an interracial threesome unlike anything she'd accomplished in her many years pursuing straight pussy -- an ambitious, free-spirited black beauty right out of business college, and a jaded, married accountant seeking an adventure sparking her otherwise mundane life.

Shonda was a 22-year-old African-American graduate of a prestigious eastern university. Coal dark and absolutely stacked with bodacious booty and a brain to match, Shonda was a brilliant ebony lass with an inquisitive mind and an unquenchable thirst for knowledge in its most decadent forms.

Halina was a gorgeous brunette wife and mother of Czech heritage, hailing originally from Plzeň but spending nearly her entire life in Chicago. Talented and smart, at 29-years-old she was bored and bi-curious, with the national conference an anonymous place to cure her need for action and have some twisted fun.

Shonda and Halina, respectfully single and married, ripe and ready, eager and anxious, were just the type of hetero women Sam craved, remembering the weekend fondly, if somewhat foggy from alcohol.

Sam knew her Czech paramour had her cell phone out recording the moment, with my sister-in-law looking hungrily up her flat tummy into the lens while eating her cunt joyously but didn't think much of it, assuming Halina was unlikely to make the video available to the highest bidder since both were guilty of cheating on their spouses.

Money talks, however, and she was pitifully wrong on that score, just as the photos proved.

Disgusted, Sam stuffed the condemning evidence into the folder, knowing it was the clincher to her reluctantly accepting the offer, although in fairness, her dire predicament and questionable integrity was already leading her in that direction.

"Seriously, Hank, why would you want me? I'm a dyke, just like you said. I've always been a dyke," she spoke more collectedly, attempting to portray herself as an equal, which was a decidedly diminishing premise.

"That's the point, Sam. That's what make it fun," my boss confessed brazenly, revealing his derelict heart and complete lack of compassion.

Even as she spoke the words, Sam traveled the path of resignation, turning the alternatives for escaping her debt through her mind and coming up empty.

If she didn't acquiesce, the harsh retribution by her personal creditor was sure to be severe, and worse, the contents of the folder would likely cost her the most valuable thing in her life -- her wife and family.

"You have to understand, Hank, I've, uh, never, um, been with, a-a man," Sam stuttered, her voice faltering as her tough business veneer broke and her eyes grew wet issuing a final plea.

"I can't make you, Sam. It's your choice to face the repercussions of not paying the loan shark and jeopardizing your family's safety," Hank said dispassionately, sliding over in the booth next to the increasingly vulnerable woman.

"Understand this, though, if you don't want that fate, and you accept my arrangement, you serve me," he admonished, heartlessly emphasizing the term 'serve' and not 'work.'

Stunned, Sam listened forlornly as he casually set out his intolerable terms.

"You'll perform your compliance function, including compliance to me and your other duties," Hank stated dispassionately. "You don't have to like it, and in fact, I prefer that you don't, but you will do it."

Abruptly, reinforcing the seriousness of his meaning, he brazenly placed his left palm on her bare right knee just below the hemline.

"Oh," Sam started with the audacious familiarity, but otherwise did nothing to remove the offending hand.

The lack of response to his overt gesture signaled Hank was near his goal with the disheartened wife, mother, and businesswoman, deciding it was time to finish it completely.

"I can see you have some thinking to do," he calculated, rising from the booth. "I'm going to run to the restroom for 10 minutes to give you time to decide."

Sam stared at the folder on the tabletop.

"Do what you want with them," he suggested. "I have more copies under lock and key. I'm sure Betsy, and probably everyone else you know, would be very interested in seeing them."

My lanky sister-in-law's boney shoulders slumped at the confirmation of what she assumed was the case anyway.

"If you're still here when I return, I'll take that as agreeing to my terms," Hank explained, confidently turning towards the men's room at the back of the restaurant.

"How can this be happening? How was I so stupid getting into so much debt?" Sam lamented, hanging her head in grief after he left.

"And why? Why can't I stop myself from chasing women?" she castigated just as harshly, tears welling in her eyes for her boneheaded decisions setting her up for an inglorious fall.

For one irrational moment, Sam thought about running -- taking Betsy and Robbie and disappearing, but that crazed notion rapidly vanished with the brutal reality of their prospects.

"Where would we go and how would we live? I don't have enough cash to keep us afloat for a week?" she bemoaned, finding no good answer before considering the determining factor. "Even if we did run, that slimy bastard I owe won't quit, and if Betsy ever sees those pictures, she won't come with me anyway."

Tossing the folder onto the table, my utterly defeated sister-in-law dropped her face to her hands and let the tears flow. She liked playing the tough bitch, but in this instance she felt like a little girl. She simply couldn't stop sobbing at her sudden misfortune.

Hank smiled upon seeing Sam still seated as he walked across the restaurant from the men's room.

"You've got the job. Let's go," he ordered his newest prize simply and directly, holding out his hand and chivalrously guiding her from the booth.

Traipsing remorsefully out of the restaurant by his side, Samantha Fitzgerald shuddered at the awful promise of her new consulting gig, unsure exactly what to expect, but certain it wasn't going to be pleasant.

"Oh, by the way, you start right away," my boss smirked devilishly, "and we have much to do this afternoon."

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

Without any recourse, when Betsy's leggy wife arrived at the parking lot, Hank made his instructions clear.

"Follow me to this address so you don't need to leave your car here," he said, handing her a piece of paper, then issuing a stern warning. "It's not far, but if we get separated in traffic just go there. If you don't arrive within 15 minutes, this goes in the mail."

'What am I doing?' Sam bemoaned as she drove. 'Isn't there some way out of this mess?'

Between her duress and watery eyes, she barely focused on driving and nearly lost contact with Hank's car but managed to keep him in sight until pulling up in front of what appeared to be an upscale development of individual bungalows, each with neatly manicured landscaping and separated to provide a level of privacy and discretion.

It was the same comfortable hideaway where Hank first took Emma, with me in the next room as witness to her reluctant but powerful orgasms succumbing to his impressive cock. My egotistical boss harbored no doubts his newest lesbian conquest was just as susceptible despite her disdain for male anatomy.

"This is my home away from home," Hank informed Sam as she got out of her modest foreign sedan. "I keep it for just such occasions because it's closer to my office."

The reclusive location of the abode made Sam nervous, knowing why she was there, or at least suspecting that she did, and that alone was enough to make her uncomfortable.

More so, she didn't like the idea of a secret lair existing for only one purpose. If nothing else, she was certain she wasn't the first female Hank had brought to the place -- a fact confirmed when Hank opened the front door and guided her into the foyer.

The interior was nice but simply decorated in modern furnishings with art on the walls and green plants sprinkled throughout the carpeted rooms. Sam guessed correctly Hank had not done this himself, also suspecting the place was kept by a maid service.

To the left of the entry was a light and airy living/dining room combination with a kitchen on the other side of a passthrough, but Hank headed to the right, past the bedroom where he'd fucked my wife all night long towards a darker, wood paneled den at the end of the hall with only opaque windows for natural light.

Even with the more formal appearance, it was pleasingly furnished with cushioned sofas and chairs, including one of unusual design, a leather padded coffee table and, off to one corner, a well-stocked bar.

It was also occupied.

On the sofa, holding a drink and dressed in a rather revealing skirt and blouse combination was an admittedly attractive young woman with short brown hair and clear white skin. To her side in an easy chair sat a somewhat dopey looking guy bearing a striking resemblance to her tormentor Hank.

While the woman appeared to be in her early 20's, the young man couldn't have been more than 18 or 19, dressed in the faux urban attire popular with today's youth, and even Sam's own son.

The pairs' presence was completely unexpected, causing Sam to question Hank's intentions.

Sam reasonably assumed Hank planned to fuck her in his private hideaway, fulfilling his fantasy of screwing the lesbian business consultant in return for the favor of paying off the loan shark and funding the payoff of her legitimate loans.

Now, she wasn't so sure, especially with the presence of the woman, beautiful but unknown, and the youngster, who she figured was likely Hank's son.

"Sam, I'd like you to meet a couple of people," Hank began the introductions. "This lovely young thing is Mrs. Margrethe Jorgensen, but you can call her Marg."

Marg rose to extend her hand to Sam, still frozen and uncertain about what was happening.

"Marg's quite a sight, don't you think, Sam?" Hank suggested, not waiting for an answer while knowing his new lesbian pet couldn't help but think the pretty Mrs. Jorgensen was hot. "I'll bet she's just your type too. You know -- young, straight, married, and most assuredly delicious."

Marg blushed at the compliment, but it was the insight into her own past and predilection towards straight women that didn't escape Sam's attention.

"The devilishly handsome young man who takes after his father is my son Brad," Hank continued, but Brad was busier examining the pleasant curves of Marg's ass than listening to his father.

"Be polite, Brad, get your butt over here and say 'hello' to Samantha Fitzgerald," Hank scolded his delinquent son. "She's the sister-in-law of Ray Tyler. You know, the executive who expropriated a share of your birthright."

Groomed to one day succeed Hank in running Allenby Consolidation, the bratty kid was turning out to be a miserable failure incapable of such a task. Set for life regardless of whether he ever actually ran the company, he was nonetheless his father's son and every bit as depraved as his dad, with just as big an ego.

"Sam's married to Ray's wife's sister Betsy," Hank added, pausing a moment as the revelation of my deceit was registered by Sam.

The last sentence finally got Brad's attention away from the enticing form of Marg Jorgensen.

"That's right, I said wife. It's a modern world, son," Hank smiled.

Now, Brad was interested.

"Right, I've met Emma. The lady with the big tits? Wow, I'd like to tap her sweet ass," Brad suggested indecently, bearing the same smarmy grin his father often exhibited.

"Cool your jets, son. Not without my say so," his dad chided as Sam's mouth dropped at the coarse reference to Emma and the confusing allusion to Hank's control.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fitzgerald. I hope you're a fun-loving gal," the youth offered, reaching out his hand and correcting his attitude, but not his leer at the intriguing lesbian visitor.

That was as far as the polite pleasantries were extended as the younger Allenby's callous inherited traits came to the fore and his demeanor resembled his father's more and more.

"So, I guess you like girls, huh? That certainly sounds fun-loving. We have that in common already," he chuckled at his own stupid joke, although no one else did.

Brad showed all the bad habits of the spoiled rich kid born into luxury with an innate sense of superiority borne of a position in life he had done nothing to earn.

'Born on third and thought he hit a triple,' as the saying goes.

Worse, he had his father's domineering manner in the way he treated and used women, particularly when it was reluctant or against their desires, which was almost invariably the case.

Currently, Brad's boorish behavior expressed itself through his open appraisal of the tall, strawberry-blonde with the spiked hair, unrepentantly staring at her long legs and slender hips before pausing at the mounds of her apple-sized tits sending a shiver of disdain down Sam's back.

'This kind of disgusting attitude was one of the many reasons I was never interested in men,' she thought with revulsion, trying hard to be pleasant to the young jerk.

"Sam has agreed to provide services to me and the company," Hank offered as explanation to Brad's unconcealed glee. "I thought this was a good opportunity to familiarize her with the nature of the services she'll be performing."