Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.
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This started out as a short, straightforward cuckold story. However, the main characters, Jack and Diane, seemed to take control of the storyline, making the sex broader and darker, and Diane's cuckolding of Jack turned into ...
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A complicated relationship
I don't think I every really expected to get married, let alone to a woman with supermodel looks, who turned out to be a nymphomaniac who tried to turn me into a cuckold, then dragged me into incest with her family. After all that, I couldn't have imagined I'd still love her, but I do, though our relationship is, well, at best, complicated and few would surely ever understand it. I know I don't.
But I guess I should start back at the beginning. My name is Jack. Most people would call probably me a nerd, or a geek. I'm a lean six foot, but my arms and legs seem bigger than my body deserved, so I always look gangly, rather than athletic. My parents both died in a car accident when I was three, and I was brought up by my mother's older sister, whose children had already grown.
I was always hopeless at sports, even basketball, which otherwise I seemed to have the build for, so I never got any attention from girls at school, who always followed the sports jocks, it seemed. At home, it was like being an only child, in a family which never really wanted to have to look after any more children, and certainly not a nephew.
Perhaps it wasn't surprising, then, that I became a loner, but this suited me just fine, because I discovered I had a thing for computers, first with games, then rapidly moving on to teaching myself low-level programming. What I love about computers is that they are so ruthlessly logical, totally predictable and totally stupid, but yet can do a few simple things so unbelievably fast that most people think they are smart.
Did you know that all a computer processor can do is really to add, subtract, and to compare whether one numeric code is the same as a different one? To even to get them to do something as simple as multiplication, a human has had to work out a set of instructions to string together multiple additions to get the answer.
That's the whole challenge: to find ways of programming them to do clever things. When people say 'it's just a computer error', it's wrong. It's always the human who made the mistake, or failed to anticipate a special set of circumstances where the ruthlessly logical computer would just do what it was told, and deliver a perfectly wrong answer.
By the time I was a teenager, I could write code in many computer languages, and I could hack into no end of systems which were supposed to be private. I got a real buzz from being able to do it, though I never tried to do any harm, and looking back, I guess it just substituted for the excitement that normal kids seemed to get from sex. To start with the prospect of it, and then the first actual steps. So me, I never took any steps into sex, even when I was way past eighteen.
No, I just shrugged off the names I knew people were calling me, finished my education in computing science, and with funding from my surrogate parents, who were glad to be rid of me, I moved to Silicon Valley, and set up my own computer company, focusing on security.
It was hard at first. When I pointed out the holes in a company's system, their IT folk were defensive, and when I got past them, their bosses first reaction was that I was trying to hold them to ransom, like a Russian hacker. In the end, though, I broke through, becoming trusted and well rewarded. I took on staff, and expanded into image manipulation, you know, the sort that can create what is now called 'deep fake', where an individual's appearance can be convincingly grafted on to someone else's body in a totally different context.
And that's where this story really begins. I was twenty-four, still a virgin, though that wasn't something I thought about much, when a big, world-famous fashion house gave me a contract to create them a new app. What I was offering was a way for a customer to photograph or video themselves in a standard way, then they could select an item from the company's sales range, and the app would show them dressed in it. Perfectly.
The customer could change sizes, colours, patterns: everything. Then they could order it, confident that it would be a perfect fit when it arrived. Of course, the company also learned a lot about customer preferences as they tried things out, and ended up with an anonymised dataset of their customers' measurements, so they could avoid making styles, colors and sizes that no one wanted. That in itself must have been more than worth what they paid me.
This was how I first met Diane, when I was called to a meeting of a world-famous fashion house in Burbank. I suppose I was expecting that the meeting would be with IT guys: men and women, geeks a bit like me, so I when I'd signed in at the reception of the glitzy glass and steel lobby of the company, I was stunned when a smartly-dressed woman came to get me.
And she was not just a woman, but the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Well, she must have been for me even to have noticed.
"Hi, you must be Jack," she said, smiling, and offering her hand for me to shake.
"Um ... yes ... I guess so," I stammered back, as I took her hand.
Her grip was firm, not one of those awful dead fish handshakes I hated. Her hair was pale brown, her eyes emerald green with shards of brown, and her face was beautifully symmetrical. I knew she must be wearing make-up - I mean, surely no one had lips quite that color - but it was so subtly applied I couldn't spot it.
She led me to a glass-fronted elevator, and as we rose through the huge atrium, she was telling me things about the company and the building. Or at least, I think she was, because my brain was busy checking out her elegant curves: firm breasts, perfect for her size, and balanced beautifully below a slim waist by the hips that had wiggled so delightfully as I followed her, and a lovely, rounded butt.
I told myself that I was just checking her out to work out how well the app would handle her, though for the first time in my life, I knew I was lying to myself. Just a bit.
She took me into a light and airy office, furnished with a large desk in pale wood, matched by a filing system in the same material, with a large-sized iMac computer on the desk, and a coffee table in the same wood, surrounded by four, obviously designer chairs.
"Please, take a seat. I just need you to sign our NDA before we get started. We already signed yours electronically, didn't we, but we're still a bit more traditional."
I sat in one of the chairs, and watched as she took some papers from the files, then walked back over to the coffee table. I'd expected her to sit, but instead, she bent over and slid the paperwork towards me.
It was a long way down to bend, and there was no way I could have avoided seeing what I saw, as the loose scoop-neck of her dress fell forward, revealing her cleavage. Well, more than cleavage, because I could see almost all of her breasts hanging in front of me, and I couldn't help trying to work out whether those were her nipples, or just the material of what could only have been the tiniest bra.
"Well, do they look acceptable, Jack?" she asked.
