The Theft of Our Lives -- Samantha

Marg remained silent during the introductions, feeling unsteady on her heels as the reason for her attendance at this hastily arranged meeting was slowly becoming clear, although she knew from the minute Hank called it involved sex.

When Brad also showed up and announced himself as Hank's son, she assumed that included screwing the little twerp too. It was an unpleasant but unremarkable task considering she'd been doing just that with a number of men since joining Hank's stable of company 'closers.'

Nonetheless, bringing Sam into the mix caused Marg to rethink today's assignment.

Over the past few weeks, Marg had betrayed her marriage vows on multiple occasions with depraved old men in positions of power -- men Hank needed in furthering his business interests. The young newlywed's curvaceous body, glorious breasts, pliant ass, and tender pussy had been groped, stroked, teased, and abused by the decrepit men.

She'd applied her full ruby lips sucking their stubby cocks until shooting their sour milky cum into her mouth, or taken their turgid staffs into the sanctified folds of her moist cunt draining their foul seed while moaning convincingly of her pleasure for their satisfaction.

Unlike the powerful, will-defeating orgasms experienced under Ike's dominating black cock in Hank's office on the day of her moral collapse, Marg only achieved weak climaxes with a couple of the moral vital men, resorting to fake orgasms with the other less capable clients in persuading them to happily sign deals with Allenby Consolidation.

As yet, however, the sheltered college graduate not been with a woman, and she rightly feared Sam's presence at the bungalow indicated Hank expected just such a pairing today.

Marg had seen Hank demand incestuous lesbian sex by my unfortunate wife, our innocent daughter, and even my charming sister-in-law -- Sam's wife Betsy. She knew such illicit couplings, at least to her way of thinking, were not outside the boundaries for his sexual playthings.

'The more perverse, the better,' she understood.

"Now that we all know each other, let's have a drink and get comfortable. We have all afternoon," Hank advised, already thinking how best to proceed and excited by the prospects for his new gay sex toy.

Always the gracious host, Hank poured each person a drink, making the ladies' cocktails particularly potent before invited them to sit on the sofa together getting acquainted while he and Brad each took a chair.

Purposefully, Hank chose the unusual, padded leather chair with arms swooping precipitously down towards the back. It was of similar design to the chair in his den his father Karl used allowing our daughter Kerri to ride him 'reverse cowgirl' well over a month ago.

After small talk about business and Sam's other legitimate responsibilities as a consultant -- just long enough for the stiff drinks to kick in on his newest sex dolls, my boss guided the conversation in a more lascivious direction.

"Marg's a newlywed, isn't that nice?" Hank informed cheerily, turning the conversation away from business. "What's it been, about two months now?"

"Yes, Hank. On the 18^th," Marg responded warily, unlike most blushing brides unhappy talking about her dishonored marriage, as it only emphasized her betrayal of Frederik and her infidelity.

"She's beautiful, don't you think, Sam? Pretty and fresh, with a helluva body, eh?" my boss extolled Marg's virtues. "Not to mention straight and, well, inexperienced in so many ways."

Sam listened but was disquieted, thinking Marg was indeed appealing, but sensing the young wife didn't want what Hank was clearly about to offer.

"I understand you have a thing for straight girls, right Sam?" Hank inquired knowingly. "So nervous and uncertain the first time in the arms of a woman. I mean, Betsy was straight when you met, wasn't she?"

Once again, the allusion to her relationship with Betsy. Sam didn't like how much he seemed to know about her wife and, folder or not, was beginning to get upset about his continuous references to her beloved.

"You must be awesome in the sack to turn a straight girl queer, Sam, that's all I'm saying," he complimented in the most salacious tone imaginable.

Marg kept silent but didn't like where Hank was going with the conversation any more than Sam did, while Brad simply sat beaming and watching his father work.

Finally, Sam had enough.

"What makes you think you know so much about me Hank? Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I just want to convert straight women. I've been with plenty of true lesbians, for your information," she scoffed indignantly, confessing more than was necessary.

"Also, how do you presume to know so much about Betsy?" Sam inquired, finishing her defense by spurting out the question gnawing at her brain.

Hank knew he was pushing the right buttons in his new femtoy, the first fully lesbian woman he'd brought into his stable, since Betsy was certainly bisexual. Whether she realized it or not, Betsy had simply taken to the pleasures of a hard cock too easily to harbor any true distaste for a man's thick shaft plundering her ravenous vagina.

"I mentioned I met your wife through Emma and Ray several weeks back, remember?" Hank explained serenely.

"So pretty and built so much like her big sister. You must really like stacked women, Sam, like that black beauty in St. Louis. Why, I'll bet you find Emma pretty hot too," he charged egregiously, with a not-so-subtle reminder of the photographic evidence he held of her marital indiscretion.

"Really, Hank! That's so rude," Sam exclaimed, flustered by Hank's use of the familiar terms when speaking of her cherished wife and admired sister-in-law's physical attributes.

"Anyway, when I asked afterward, Emma told me of her interesting lifestyle and how the two of you met," he concluded innocently, merely smiling at successfully pushing her buttons.

"I'd appreciate it if we keep my relationship out of this conversation. It's not relevant to our business arrangement," she snorted brashly, hoping to protect her sweet wife from Hank's evil grasp and not knowing her sexy life partner was already drawn into his lair.

"No worries, Sam. I was only saying that pretty young Marg here probably has the same attributes of the girls you generally pursue when on business trips," Hank insisted, masterfully setting her up for her first assignment.

"I mean, you gotta admit, she is lovely, isn't she? I'll bet if you were at a conference you'd be all over her sweet ass, coaxing her into bed with you?" my provocative boss prodded, noting her covertly appraise the charming young saleswoman sitting directly next to her on the sofa.

Sam couldn't arguably disagree.

Marg was indeed lovely and just the kind of girl Sam pursued throughout her college years and secretly now in her professional life. She was simply unable to resist the challenge of bedding sexy women. It was ingrained in her DNA and a shameful secret she could never tell Betsy for fear of hurting her partner in love.

Even now, Sam's wandering eye couldn't help noticing Marg was dressed in a sexy business outfit with a short black pencil skirt barely reaching halfway down her sheer, black stocking-covered thighs looking athletic and shapely.

Marg's burgundy silk blouse was form-fitting on her obviously well-endowed chest with the front buttons open far enough her abundant cleavage, pushed upward by her visible black lace bra, was prominent to Sam's observant view.

This ravishing femininity was topped by the fine porcelain features reflecting Marg's Danish heritage with her cute short-cropped sandy brown hair only slightly longer than the pixy cut favored by Betsy.

The alcohol coursing her veins and the undeniable allure of the enticing, but reticent, young wife had Sam breathing a touch shallower, while an involuntary, unstoppable warmth spread throughout her crotch sending her narrow bottom squirming almost undetectably on the sofa cushion.

"Mrs. Jorgensen joined the 'team' a while back and has been instrumental in closing several important deals since then. She's a valuable addition," Hank praised, looking directly at Marg as he talked, and nodding in sincere appreciation of the subdued bride's efforts on behalf of the company.

"Still, she grew up protected in a conservative family, never able to enjoy experimenting with her sexuality in college the way so many girls do these days," he casually dropped, almost as an aside. "You understand?"

It was now clear to Sam her tormentor was offering her this beautiful new bride as some type of enticement, and it was not what she expected.

Now, Marg shifted tentatively in her seat, knowing where Hank was going and dreading the next step in her further sex education, submission, and moral downfall.

"I'm sure she could learn so much from a woman of experience," their mutual master posed with transparent intent. "One who's guided the uninitiated on the journey to Sapphic pleasure. A woman with a knowing touch and a delicate kiss. A woman with a way of turning a straight arrow kinky."

Hank's message to my unconventional sister-in-law couldn't be clearer and Sam, whatever other misgivings she had about the arrangement was lured ever deeper as her lust for the nubile bride so within her reach rose incontrovertibly.

Sam stared transfixed at Marg, who in turn looked at Hank or anywhere else hoping to avoid her tempted gaze. The Danish-American beauty was nervous and uncertain, not quite sure how to handle her impending lesbian deflowering at the hands of this total stranger.

"You see, Sam, service to me won't be all bad," Hank teased in an encouraging tone interrupting Marg's train of thought. "It starts with a gift. Lovely Marg Jorgensen is my gift to you, Sam."

Sam sat in stunned silence, unmoving and undecided how to react.

"Go on, unwrap your present?" he cajoled lightly.

Sam was moving beyond the settings on her moral compass telling her this was wrong. She knew Marg didn't want this and that the anxious newlywed was beholden to Hank in the same manner as herself.

Nonetheless, my rakish sister-in-law was also growing more deeply enraptured by the promise of the tender young thing breathing with trepidation on the sofa and the wonders of the shapely body hidden just from view.

"Marg, why don't you help your new girlfriend get started by removing your panties. Just slip them off and hand them to Brad," Hank prompted, giving a little nudge starting the pair towards the torrid coupling he envisioned.

Marg hesitated at the proposal, discomfited and frozen to inaction.

"Marg! Be a good girl and do as I say," Hank barked insistently, reminiscent of an impatient parent.

The scolding was sufficient to spur the intimidated Mrs. Jorgensen to action. Leaning backwards, she tenuously slipped her hands under her pencil skirt, remarkably disturbing the hem resting on top of her thighs just a little in a way only a woman can manage.

Lifting her round ass from the sofa cushion just long enough to complete the act, Marg grabbed the black satin thong by the waistband and tugged them off her hips until they became visible at her knees, then dropped to her ankles.

The move was performed so swiftly and so adroitly there was never a hope of catching more than a glimpse of the set-upon woman's pale inner thigh, which everyone most certainly did.

"Got 'em!" Brad declared enthusiastically, abruptly snatching the dainty panties off her feet before Marg could hand the crumpled underwear to her employer's impatient son.

"Ohhh," Marg yelped as the young miscreant quickly placed the satin fabric to his nose for a sniff.

Brad then mortified the surprised young wife by holding the black undies wide at the waistband for the inspection of the room, adding to her blushing embarrassment. Satisfied, he tossed them on the side table to be collected later as a remembrance of the day's momentous events.

"Souvenir," he declared with glee and indifference for the honor of the compromised Allenby saleswoman.

Watching the fresh-faced 23-year-old remove her panties at Hank's request was the last proof Sam needed that everything he had threatened was horrifyingly real. Until that moment, she still held some hope against hope this was a perverse joke or bad dream.

Now, certain of her position and driven by a rising desire for the exotically sweet, straight wife presented to her by Hank to 'educate' in the art of lady lovemaking, Sam took the bait, reaching to the top button of Marg's silk blouse.

"Don't be afraid, honey. I'll show you what to do," she assured, doing her best to relax the skittish saleswoman.

Marg leaned against the cushion, eyes wide with uncertainty as Hank's newest and decidedly unique sex toy undid one button after the next from the top down.

"I'll take care of you, sweetheart," my well-intending sister-in-law spoke as seductively as possible, her heart fluttering under the watchful gaze of their debauched audience poised to eagerly follow her every move.

With each button the tops of Marg's large creamy breasts became visible, as did the sexy, frilly black lace push-up bra holding them in place, at least for another moment. Marg's deep, sonorous breathing sent her chest rising and falling, taking the pillowy soft mounds with it in a most alluring manner.

The growing excitement in Sam was palpable, and purposefully she pushed aside her feelings of remorse for yet another betrayal of her wife, allowing the thrill of sampling the otherwise unattainable young woman to ease her recriminations.

'Regret can wait for later,' she rationalized as her shaking fingers exposed more and more of the supple, white flesh of the motionless bride.

Sam was always a 'tit gal,' and big, bouncy, beautiful jugs were her weakness.

It was one of the many attributes attracting her to Betsy, and despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but be reminded of her devoted wife while admiring the bra-clad melons of this lovely woman, who was not much older than Betsy when they met in college years ago.

"Let's just see what we, uh, have here," Sam stammered breathlessly, too agitated by the thrill of unveiling the generous chest of the newlywed to speak calmly.

It had months since she had disrobed a woman of this tender age, and even longer of one so gorgeous, naïve, and vivacious. Pausing briefly, Sam zealously inspected the bounty Hank had provided for her instruction and use, mightily resisting the urge to remove the cups and see what lie beneath.

Barely contained by the overstuffed bra, Marg's ripe tits held the promise of pliable flesh and firm delight found only in youth, and Sam was grateful the panting wife had chosen a front snapping bra while dressing that morning as her husband slept-in from a late-night cramming for exams.

Unable to wait any longer, without further reflection, Sam tweaked the front capture, easily unhooking the last barrier to releasing the twin globes fully from the encumbering garment.

"Ohhh, my goodness," Sam gasped involuntarily, catching the air escaping her lungs as the proud peaks bounded freely, settling into wonderfully rounded mounds projecting forward, while sloping mildly but otherwise unaffected by gravity.

Capped by poker chip, deep pink areolae, the tips of Marg's alabaster breasts were set flaccid, with the delectable eraser tip nipples not yet stirred to arousal.

In recent weeks, the apprehensive saleswoman had adjusted to the exposure of her splendid tits to Hank and his cronies, but it was their unveiling here to the two strangers -- the disrespectful little brat Brad and the unusual spiky-haired consultant, causing a paralyzing twinge of uneasiness to pass through her uncovered body.

Hank and Brad wore broad, shit-eating grins, and the immature youth couldn't help but belt out his satisfaction.

"Wow! What knockers!" Brad whooped his elation, unconcerned about Marg's feelings in an unsurprising reaction from the immature spawn of Hank Allenby. "I'll bet your husband loves playing with those puppies!"

"Umm, uh," Marg's high-pitched peep to the 'compliment' expressed the jittery half-nude newlywed's humiliation, her bashful face blushing scarlet down to her splendid breasts at the mention of her beloved husband.

The unfortunate new wife's alabaster skin grew blotchy with color and clammy with sweat from her distress at the reminder of her betrayal of her marital vows, and while Sam was sympathetic to the poor girl, she didn't let that stop her appreciation for the size and shape of Marg's truly eye-catching breasts.

In her mind, perhaps as a self-defense mechanism for her own unrealized peril, my smitten sister-in-law reverted to her younger self when access to such abundant, youthful breasts was commonplace and easily obtained, rather than the increasing challenge she faced now with each passing year as she grew older.

Compelled to touch the jiggling mounds, Sam guesstimated they were probably larger than Betsy's and maybe even close to my own wife's splendid rack, although Sam had never actually seen Emma in anything less than a one-piece bathing suit, much to her secret chagrin.

"Ohhh, spectacular. Truly dear, so lovely and, well, simply magnificent," Sam softly exclaimed, happily appraising the generous melons settling perfectly on Marg's chest.

"It's a shame you're not bi, but I'll do what I can to change that," she promised expectantly.

"Oh dear god, no, please don't do that," Marg squeaked plaintively when her pursuer's hand inquisitively cupped her buoyant mound, lifting from the base testing its weight and density before gingerly grazing her hand up and over the sensitive nipple.

"Nice, and responsive, too. I like that," Sam exulted, smiling when immediately upon contact the fleshy nub stiffened reflexively, driving a stiff point into the center of her palm.

Marg's eyes pleaded silently, her feeble protest to the first woman ever feeling her breast in such a sexual manner totally disregarded. Her girlish squeal revealed how truly distasteful to her conservative moral sensibilities she found the inappropriate touching.

The demoralized salesgirl/sex toy was naïve, but not stupid, knowing what was about to happen and growing restless at the reality. Despite every deviant act she'd shamefully performed in the last few weeks, they were at least with men, but this was a woman.

The distressed damsel wasn't particularly religious, but in her heart, under her sheltered upbringing, she couldn't set aside the notion this was wrong, or at least not acceptable.

"Shhhuush, it's okay, hon," Sam spoke in a breathy, deep voice edged with her arousal, trying to calm both herself and her playmate down.

"Let it go, sweetie. It can't be helped and tits like these were just made for fun," my gratified sister-in-law assured, her words and intonation almost masculine and filled with unremitting lust.

Sam proceeded to close her fingers around the hardening nipple of the uncomfortable bride, with the rubbery tip crinkling in response to the physical stimulus, regardless of whatever moral concerns Marg maintained.

At the same time, Sam raised her other hand to the motionless woman's right breast and did the same, rolling the erect nub between her fingers or using both hands to palm the vast globes and jostle them joyfully, squeezing the firm mountains of flesh between her unyielding fingers.

"I could play with these girls all day," Sam mused with inappropriate glee considering the conscripted nature of Marg's participation, but she simply couldn't contain herself. "I haven't felt tits like these since Sarah in the freshman dorm.'

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

Sarah Roselli was a brash Italian girl sharing Sam's dorm room her first year at the university. Eighteen years old and a lapsed Catholic with a strict upbringing, she wasn't particularly promiscuous, but did enjoy her newfound freedom as a college coed, dating occasionally and enjoying a good party.