The Theft of Our Lives -- Samantha

In fact, the neophyte pussy-eating saleswoman did an exceptional job cleaning Sam's soiled twat, remarkably finishing her off with a teeth-chattering climax equal in ferocity to the thigh-shaking orgasm Marg herself experienced under the more knowledgeable tongue of her newfound female 'lover.'

"Marg, you may insist you're still straight, but you'll have a tough time convincing me you didn't cum hard on Sam's tongue, and even returned the favor in kind," Hank charged, embarrassingly acknowledging what everyone saw.

It was an accusation lowering Marg's head in undignified shame, and while unknown to the contrite bride at the moment, Hank planned to give her ample opportunities for refining her cunnilingus skills going forward.

"Of course, I loved christening your tight little snatch, Sam. Certainly no real man's cock has ever enjoyed its delightful interior," he stated succinctly, heaping a dose of shame on her as well. "I'm honestly surprised you're a lesbian because you're a natural at taking big cocks."

Hank's frank appraisal of Sam's ability to coax his nasty seed from his heavy balls, spill the contemptible jism within the soft walls of her untested cunt was humiliating. Worse, the explosive waves of orgasm she was unable to resist, despite her obvious distress, had her shrinking in her seat at the harsh truth of his words.

"Now I guess that just leaves poor junior unrewarded, and two lovely, sweaty, nearly naked women to see to his needs," Hank announced to the exhausted ladies. "Marg's a talented cocksucker, Sam, so you're fortunate having such an accomplished teacher."

The frightening words grabbed Sam's full attention, at once snapping out of her post-orgasmic stupor, recognizing what Hank was suggesting. Well, not suggesting, but rather telling her to do.

"Oh, no, Hank! I'm not, I mean, I'm not gonna do that. I can't. I've never done, um, that before," the gay siren adamantly refused.

Hank was unmoved.

"Well, you're gonna learn, and you're gonna learn now," he replied with a deadly serious tone, "or you can spend your future looking over your shoulder wondering when someone's gonna break your legs for failing to pay your debt, or maybe Betsy's legs too."

"Please, Hank, please, I can't do it. It's too, uck, too nasty," Sam begged, her tactic instantly changing into a stuttering plea for mercy. "It's so, um, male. I'm sick just thinking about it."

Sam held a sliver of hope her genuine revulsion at taking a cock into her mouth might grant a reprieve from my demented boss.

As she was fast learning, she was wasting her time, as her unqualified disgust only fueled his dementia, making the prospect of my appalled lesbian sister-in-law on her knees with a meaty, masculine cock filling her mouth that much more appealing and exciting.

"Okay, Sam. That's fine. You don't have to do it," Hank countered in a pleasant demeanor he often used when deceiving a desperate woman, letting her falsely believe her objections found a receptive audience earning her respite.

"I'll just put my pants on and run out to the mailbox with that envelope to Betsy," he added with devastating effect, tweaking her other paramount concern while reaching for his boxers and watching her closely.

Sam's head dropped meekly in defeat, crestfallen at her fate with despair consuming her soul. She simply couldn't let Hank mail the condemning envelope and risk losing Betsy too.

Marg watched idly by, seeing this power play before in her limited time in service as an Allenby closer, and immediately knowing her newly-introduced companion in servitude was beaten.

Brad grinned from ear-to-ear, admiring the way his father defeated a woman's spirit.

"No, wait. Please, WAIT! Don't do that, Hank," my dejected sister-in-law called, reconciling herself to what she was agreeing to do by asking him not to mail the envelope.

Even then, she tried one last ploy, hoping logic succeeded where sympathy had not.

"Wouldn't it be better for Marg to do it?" she proposed, grasping for any hope, and maliciously throwing the desirable newlywed under the bus simply to spare herself. "She's straight. I'm sure she'd be much better at it than me. I mean, I've never even done it before."

Marg's eyes squinted at her slim, teary-eyed betrayer, not appreciative of Sam trying to shift the duty to her just because she was heterosexual.

"No-no, my pet, Marg's your teacher. She'll get you started and show you what to do. You taught her how to eat pussy, now she can show you how to suck cock," Hank retorted, casually shutting Sam down while somehow making even the tawdriest acts sound reasonable and routine.

"I think you should start by taking off your dress. You wouldn't want your wife to find it stained with cum in the laundry," he suggested with a cruel taunt emphasizing the adulterous nature of the sordid task.

"Brad, you'd like seeing Mrs. Fitzgerald's tits, wouldn't you?" Hank asked, knowing the answer.

'Oh, my god, this is out of control. How can I be doing this?' Sam questioned, bereft with sorrow, required to do what she considered obscene and revolting by taking a man's awful cock into her mouth and sucking him off.

Tearfully, she rose, reluctantly unbuttoning the front of her dress before removing it and the light satin chemise she wore beneath. Her white lace bra was simple but pretty with uplifting cups announcing the presence of her cleavage in the now forgotten hope it advantaged her in landing the business consultation gig with Allenby.

I know from private conversations with Emma that Sam's breasts are probably a small to medium C-cup and nicely suited to her lean, lithe frame. I also know she's not bashful about displaying her body to get her way, especially around women, but she isn't comfortable with the exhibition in men's presence.

None of that mattered now, and simply deciding to just be done with it, like tearing off a bandage, Sam made quick work of it. Perfunctorily unhooking the latch and pulling the straps from her boney shoulders, she refused turning the act into a strip show for the leering eyes of her tormentor and his immature son giddily watching nearby.

Calmly, she unzipped the suit skirt, letting it fall to her ankles and stepping out. Bunched around her waist for the better part of a half hour, with her shaved cunt on full display, there was nothing left to hide anyway. Disrobed to the skin, my towering sister-in-law stood proudly upright to her full 6'0" height.

Mustering all the fortitude she possessed and determined not to be stripped of her dignity along with her dress, she dropped her arms by her side not covering herself in the least. Still, she couldn't completely prevent her lower jaw from trembling with discomfort and unhappiness at her nudity and dishonorable situation.

"Very nice, Sam. Very nice, indeed. Such beautiful tits, and so perky too for a woman your age. No wonder you have such a reputation with the ladies," Hank heaped his unmistakably accusatory praise.

Samantha Fitzgerald presented quite a sight -- tall, svelte, and toned with hands set on her narrow hips above long, slim legs tapering to surprisingly petite knees and fine ankle bones. Nervously, her boney fingers dug tightly into the pale flesh of her waist with the tension of the moment.

Betsy's 38-year-old wife's torso was long like the rest of her body, extending from broad shoulders to a defined rib cage above her hairless pubic mound. Firm and full but with little fat, Sam's lily-white tits rested apple-sized on her lean frame, pointed with small, cherry nipples topping a perfect tear-drop swoop and jiggling perceptibly with each breath.

Attractive even if with a masculine quality, her angular face featured high cheek bones, a pointed chin and nose above thin pink lips framing a wide mouth, with Sam's alabaster skin modeling her Irish-Scandinavian heritage. Avant Garde by nature and something of an attention seeker, she kept her strawberry-blonde hair short and gelled spikey, completing the butch look she'd cultivated since discovering her sexuality.

Clearly unnerved by her coming degradation at the hands of Hank and the cock of his son, she still bore a confident disposition instilled by a comfort with who she was and how she wanted to live her life. Unfortunately, at the moment, that life was under the firm control of my boss.

"Damn, girl, you really are hot, in a dykey kinda way. You're gonna be quite popular at parties," Hank assessed with almost juvenile enthusiasm, whistling in genuine appreciation of his gay sex toy while imparting the unwanted and disturbing compliment.

The sordid insight into her future shook Sam more than anything so far, with the comment making her knees buckle, conveniently aiding her descent into a kneeling position before Brad's chair ready to serve as Hank grasped her shoulders and gently pressed downward.

"Get over here, Marg, show your new girlfriend how to get started. Teach her some of your best moves, then let her take over," Hank ordered, leaving little doubt about his expectations of the subservient women.

"Please, Hank," Sam started one last time with jaw trembling, then stopped, with the harsh realization any further entreaties were wasted on Hank, and her apprehension spread throughout her upper body at the intolerable prospect of giving head to a man.

'Oh, dear god, can I really do this?' she bemoaned as the bile reached her throat at the idea of taking Brad's rigid cock into her mouth.

Marg didn't want to do this either, but foolishly thought she might escape sucking the obnoxious junior Allenby at all if she played her cards right, hoping to simply advise and turn it over to Sam.

"Undo his pants and get his cock out, Sam, and then I'll show you what to do," Marg instructed with a clinical tone expressing her own distaste for the odious task.

Sam closed her eyes, gathering herself before unbuckling Brad's belt and undoing the snap, then drawing down the zipper of his pants. With the trousers at his knees, Sam couldn't miss the pulsing form of his hard-on beneath his printed cotton boxer shorts.

'Oh, my god, it looks alive,' she grimaced at the horrible snake squirming in his underwear anticipating her touch and mouth, before reluctantly grasping the waistband and tugging slowly downward.

Humorously, the pointed head of Brad's throbbing prick caught in the elastic band, then bounced wildly mere inches from Sam's face once set loose, igniting a gut instinct to back away, scowling and casting her eyes aside, averse to even looking at the swollen monster directly.

"Check it out, sweet cheeks, and just think, it's all for you," the loathsome youth chided his woe-begotten attendant in the most deriding manner imaginable for a proud woman of any sexual orientation.

Brad's crown was a fat purple helmet topping a veined stalk of inflamed meat leading to a thick, dark bush of curls surrounding the base. His golf ball-sized nuts hung suspended in a fleshy sack beneath, churning with the youthful cum it was her unhappy duty to extract.

Sam's inexperience with men made her no judge of size, but Marg noticed Brad was built somewhat smaller than his dad at probably 6" in length and a slender girth. It was still a decent-sized cock, although the brunette sex pet had surely seen and felt much bigger tools since her moral demise at the company celebration in Hank's office.

"Take it in your hand, Sam. You'll want to feel it to gauge how to get it down," Marg's didactic advice sent a shiver through the discomfited consultant.

Sam's skin crawled in disgust at the directive, but her mentor didn't stop there.

"Feel his nut sack. Weigh his balls and stroke your finger along the delicate skin at the back of his scrotum. Men love that," Marg expounded educationally but without enthusiasm for the act.

"Oh, oh I don't know. This is all too weird," Sam admitted squeamishly, hesitating and mentally tormented.

Finally, after some gentle coaxing by her experienced teacher, Sam touched the offending organ briefly with her forefinger as if warily approaching a threatening animal, watching the rigid pole spring responsively up and down.

"Ahhhhh," Brad sighed his gratification.

Satisfied it wouldn't bite, Sam cautiously returned, this time taking the long tube between her slender fingertips to lightly graze the sensitive surface, determining the density of his shaft and how much pressure to apply to the swollen length.

"Nice, very nice, babe. Big, huh?" Brad taunted egomaniacally regardless of his only average size.

"Touch the head, it's the most sensitive part," Marg suggested, moving her pupil forward before she lost her nerve.

Cautiously, Sam spied the angry purple knob, with the mouth at the tip wide and a pool of precum glazing the opening, threatening, and even dangerous. She didn't want to touch it.

"Do it, Sam. It's only cum!" Marg barked, employing uncharacteristic impatience and stark frankness. "You're going see a lot more of it from now on, so get used to it."

Sam cringed at her new girlfriend's insightful prognostication of her future, knowing instinctively Marg was right.

"Smear it around the tip. Lubricate the surface and run the flat of your thumb around the rim. That'll drive him wild," Marg suggested as Sam absorbed her first lessons on the proper and most effective ways of handling a hard cock.

Broken from her hesitation, Betsy's timid wife did as she was told, dipping her fingertip into the dribble of precum and washing it around the tender flared crown of Brad's ardent cock.

"Uunnhhh," he groaned, nodding his satisfaction to the lesbian MILF signaling she'd done well.

Hank studied with interest his newest plaything learning to manipulate his son's cock under Marg's careful instruction, as if watching her play with a new toy. In a telling manner, Sam's eyes expressed a certain wonder at the responsiveness of the pulsating tool to her provocative touch.

"See how well that works. It's sensitive like a clitoris, so just think of it that way and everything will go much easier," the helpful saleswoman explained compassionately, assuming the poor woman appreciated the familiar analogy.

"There, now that he's good and ready, just pop the head into your mouth, swirl your tongue around, and work down from there," Marg concluded succinctly as if it were no big deal.

The advice was so obvious and straightforward to the former sorority girl, naturally inclined towards men and practiced at sucking off college frat guys at the university.

"Nnn-ohh, ohhh, I can't," Sam balked, shaking her head vigorously and sealing her lips tightly.

"It'll be okay. It really isn't that bad once you do it a while," Marg encouraged sympathetically, sincerely trying to help the highly-reluctant lesbian by providing the moral support necessary to get past the awful ordeal.

Unfortunately, her reassurance was to no effect until finally, she hit the older woman with a hard dose of reality.

"You have to do it. You know you do," she scolded rightly, but Sam continued struggling as tears rolled down her cheeks at the horrid truth.

"Shit, lady, wrap your lips around it already!" Brad excoriated his father's reticent new pet for her refusal. "All you're doing is pissing me off, and my dad too."

"Nooooo! Oh, please, no," Sam wailed a final cry, her image of feminine strength and resilience in tatters while bowing in despair.

"Just open up and do it, Sam. Just suck his cock, damn it" Marg interceded angrily, lifting the distraught woman's head by the chin, and putting pressure on her jaw muscles as if trying to make her eat an unpleasant meal.

Brow-beaten and unable to fight any longer, Sam allowed her protégé-turned-mentor's directive, brushing her thin lips on the spongy crown before haltingly slipping her tongue into the salty reservoir of precum dotting the mouth of the frightful beast.

"Unnnggh," she objected but didn't pull off, much to Marg's surprise.

"Roll your tongue around the surface a few times and then glide down the shaft taking as much into your mouth as possible," Marg urged her repulsed student. "Trust me, it'll be okay."

Agonizingly, Sam's narrow lips stretched around the broad rim of Brad's smooth cockhead, enveloping what was far and away the strangest thing she ever imagined putting in her mouth.

"Be sure not to use any teeth, dyke," the disrespectful Allenby scion warned menacingly, "and look up at me when you have my cock in your mouth. Right, dad?"

Snarling with unearned superiority and malevolent venom, Brad could rightfully be called Junior, because he was every bit as heartless as his demanding father, although clearly not nearly as bright.

"He's right, Sam, look him in the eye," Hank agreed with his pugnacious son. "That's what a great cocksucker does for her man, and don't use your hands except to play with his balls."

Marg obediently nodded her concurrence.

Sam's experienced mentor's 'help' was certainly useful, but my weeping sister-in-law couldn't believe the words were directed at her as a lifelong lesbian abstaining from, and disdaining, men.

Still, she took Marg's advice, drawing up her tear-filled blue eyes meeting Brad's -- steely and unforgiving glaring back with a bullying stare instilling her with a sense of dread and weakness, along with an implicit message to do a good job or suffer the consequences.

After a few quick swirls, Sam was on her own, deliberately but with great trepidation working more of the expectant young man's rigid pole into her mouth.

'It's longer than it looks, and I can't believe how much it fills my mouth,' she quickly realized, instinctively sensing she couldn't take very much of the fleshy staff.

With her slight lips straining lewdly, after consuming about a third of the turgid length, Sam retreated, relaxing her jaw and inhaling much needed air.

"You're doing good, Sam. Just do the same thing again, swirl your tongue around the head, then try to take a little more. You can do it," Marg assured with the practiced enthusiasm of a cheerleader once again.

Stalling momentarily, Sam bravely gathered herself for her next assault on the intimidating shaft, while emotionally absorbing the disturbing advice with anguish and disgust.

"Just repeat it -- up and down, each time taking more of his cock into your mouth," the brunette moppet urged, turning her acolyte out on her own. "You'll have him ready to cum in no time. You'll know by his breathing."

'I think I'm going to puke,' Sam thought, sickened at the mention of Brad's awful spunk and struggling to keep her lunch down at the mere thought of it spewing into her mouth.

Despite her growing queasiness, she again took the fat cockhead between her lips, running her tongue gingerly around the supple skin, and careful not to scrape it with her teeth. Then, in a personal victory, Sam took his veined shaft halfway into her mouth and, feigning respect, trained her crystal blue eyes on the evil little twerp the whole time.

"Awesome, doll! You may get the knack for giving head after all," Brad gleefully exclaimed, patronizing and fascinated watching his hard shaft disappear between the stretched lips of his father's subdued lesbian fuck toy.

Tapping a genetic nerve evoking his relationship as Hank's son, it was the very notion that Sam was gay and had never even considered sucking a cock that was extremely exciting to Brad. He thrilled seeing the revulsion in her weepy eyes, simply adding to his pleasure leaving little doubt he'd grow up to be just as depraved as his dear old dad.

Simply hoping to finish her assignment, but fearing the vulgar conclusion, Sam picked up the pace, earnestly trying to make Brad cum quickly. Her inexperience aside, she knew young men were notorious for their inability to hold back and was counting on that frailty, dealing with the results of her efforts when they arrived in her mouth.