My Husband Fuced Me Over

Samantha finds out her husband stole from his employers, and they want her to have three children for them, one to raise themselves, to avoid prosecution. This chapter contains oral sex, lesbian sex, anal play, a threesome, coerced sex, and coerced breeding. My thanks to JohnnyGalt and Steve150177 for helping to make this better.

My Husband Fucked Me Over, Ch 1

"You Bastard"

"Hey, honey, you look gorgeous," Ransom said.

Ransom Ford, was my husband of six years, father of my beautiful daughter, Emmaline, or Emma for short, age almost three. My name was Samantha, although most of my friends just called me Sam, and I had to agree with him. I did look gorgeous, incredible in fact. I kept my 5-10 figure in pristine shape, playing volleyball, basketball, with some aerobics and weight training thrown in. I didn't weigh an ounce more than I did when I graduated from college, despite having had a child.

Then, last Monday, Ransom had given me five hundred dollars and told me to buy a new dress. We were invited to his boss's mansion for supper on Friday and he wanted me looking my best to impress the boss.

"Why are they inviting us?" I asked. "Are other employees going to be there?"

"Nope. It's not a party, or work meeting. It's just us. I think he's looking at me for that new vacancy for the head of the accounting department. I think he's just vetting us to make sure we fit in with the other big wigs, which is why I want you looking your absolute best."

"Damn, does that mean we can think of having another child, maybe move up to a bigger house, honey?"

"I sure hope so, babe."

So I went out and bought the perfect little black dress, which emphasized my nice bust, my slender hips, my flat stomach. I bought matching fuck-me pumps with four inch heels, so I wouldn't be taller than my husband's six feet-two inches. I'd had my hair done, a nice blonde wave falling to just below my shoulders. I'd just brushed on some ridiculously expensive lipstick that was supposed to last all night without rubbing off, and when I looked in the mirror, I looked ab-fab.

"Of course, this would make you look a hundred times better, Sam."

Ransom handed me a long black velvet jewelry box.

"Wow, what's this. You don't have the job yet, honey. We can't be wasting our money."

"Don't worry. I've managed to put a little aside for a rainy day. I know it's not raining today, but tomorrow is looking a hell of lot sunnier."

I opened the box, maybe hoping for a string of pearls. Instead, I find a necklace of what looked like diamonds to my untutored eye.

"Rance, are these real diamonds?"

"They sure are."

"We definitely can't afford this, Ransom. This necklace has to be worth at least ten thousand dollars."

"More actually. I told you I had some money set aside for a rainy day."

He took out the necklace and fastened it around my neck. It was stunning. I really did look like a million bucks.

"Rance, it's too much. We could use this towards a down payment on a new house. Please tell me you kept the receipt and you can get our money back?"

"Don't worry. I've got it covered."

"How can you have it covered? We've been scrimping for five years. How the hell do you put enough away for a rainy day to afford this?"

"I'm a financial wiz, honey. That's why I think they're looking at me for the new job. I've got lots of ideas for the department. They're going to be so glad they promote me."

"Counting chickens, Rance. I hate that. We build for the future, and not mortgage it on things like diamonds that I probably can't wear more than once a year."

He kissed me. "Come on, Sam. Live a little. Can't you put a smile on, just for me. We're going places. This is just the start."

"I sure hope you're right." I tried to put a smile on. Still, I had a bad fucking feeling about this, going on this crazy spending spree.

Ransom was dressed in a new suit that he'd purchased and he looked good. I straightened his tie, and when I did I saw the tag over the inside pocket. The suit coat said Armani. What the ever-loving fuck!

******

Robert Taft, Founder, President, and CEO of Taft Financial Services, was a self made millionaire, maybe a billionaire by now. He didn't live in a Mcmansion; he lived in the real thing. He lived on ten acres of prime real estate in Naples, Florida, with 200 feet of ocean frontage. The land itself was probably worth 20 million, let alone the house on it. He drove a car more expensive than my house in Lehigh Acres, and his wife had one just as expensive.

I'd seen Mr. Taft from a distance a few times at company to-dos, but never met the man. He was very handsome, a sort of chiseled from a block of granite, sort of guy, in his mid forties according to the company bio. He had salt and pepper hair, very distinguished, a philanthropist, sat on the boards of a half dozen other companies in addition to his own. He probably had a couple of country club memberships, as I understood he had another home in Aspen, but he was fit, probably playing tennis, golf, yachting, whatever.

His current wife, Penelope, his second after his first wife died in a crash with a drunk driver, was a bit of a trophy wife, although reportedly smart as a whip. She was about ten years younger, so say, age 36, blonde like me, killer body, a perfect smile and gracious as all get out. She served on a half dozen charitable boards, apparently a fund raising demon. I'd seen her photo in the society pages a couple times, but never met her personally, either.

I admit to being a little nervous meeting the boss and his lady. Apparently, this was a big deal for Ransom, the kind of make or break dinner that could jump start a career, or kill it. I was a bit of a rough cut, a tomboy for the first sixteen years of my life, but a reasonably good student, probably B+ average through high school and college. Got to college on an athletic scholarship, volleyball, mid-level school, but I'd never been tutored in the finer points of etiquette, and worried I'd eat something with the wrong fork, or some equally bizarre faux pas.

Remember the scene from Pretty Woman, where Julia Roberts accidentally flips an escargot about four tables away, and an alert waiter snatched out of the air in the fancy restaurant she was in? I was worried I might pull the same sort of stunt, but there'd be no alert waiter and the escargot would disappear into the décolletage of a several thousand dollar dress Penelope was wearing. That kind of faux pas. Yes, I was nervous. Turns out, that wasn't the kind of nervous I should have been. No, no, this was a hundred, a thousand, times worse.

******

The house was beautiful, lights everywhere illuminating the house, various and sundry trees, and even the flowers around the house. The bottom floor was just concrete pillars, a place to park the cars, and to protect the house itself from flooding from storm surge during the occasional hurricanes we got in Florida. There was a staircase on the outside, going up to a wide deck facing the Gulf, the first of the three floors above it, four if you included a widow's walk arrangement on the top, which was nothing more than a small solarium, surrounded by wide spaces and a railing. So we went up the stairs and knocked on the door. When we arrived, a butler opened the door. A butler. I felt like I was in a dream, one which was about to turn into a nightmare.

I was surprised we weren't met by the Tafts themselves. I couldn't imagine having someone over for dinner and not meeting them at the door.

"You must be Mr. and Mrs. Ford. Right on time. Mr. and Mrs. Taft are in the drawing room. Right this way, please."

"Not the dining room?" I asked. It was seven PM. I'd barely eaten lunch in anticipation of the evening, and I was hungry. I didn't need small talk, I needed food.

"No, ma'am," the butler said.

We followed him to, what, a cross between an office, in that there was a light desk, or table, that Mr. Taft was sitting behind, and several chairs in comfortable arrangements. One of the chairs occupied by Mrs. Taft, another by an officious looking man. There were a couple of burly guys standing beside the door, and they locked the door behind us. This definitely didn't feel like a dinner party, and Ransom knew it too. He looked extremely nervous.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I thought we were coming for dinner. I didn't have much for lunch, so if this is a meeting of some sort, could we have some snacks?"

"No, it's not dinner, but I can order you something to eat," Mr. Taft said. "Anything in particular?"

"A sandwich works. I'm not fussy. Are you offering Ransom the job in the accounting department?"

Mr. And Mrs. Taft looked at each other in a way I didn't like. This looked more and more like a trial for some crime I was unaware of. Robert made a call on a desk intercom, and ordered a roast beef sandwich. Ransom was sweating, even though the room was cool. I even had some goose bumps from the a/c.

Mr. Taft hung up the phone. "It's not a job offer, at least not to Mr. Ford. I'm informing you of a crime and what you need to do, to take care of it."

"I haven't committed a crime, if that's what you're implying," I said.

"How much did that necklace you're wearing cost?"

"I have no idea. Ransom gave it to me tonight. He said it was diamonds, so I thought at least ten thousand. You think he stole it from the jewelers?"

"I doubt it," Mr. Taft said. "And the cost is probably twice that."

"Then what crime are you referring to?"

"The theft of at least $500,000 dollars from the charitable accounts that your husband manages at Taft Financial. Possibly more. The accountants haven't figured the total amounts stolen yet."

I looked at Ransom. Sweat was pouring off him now. The fucking weasel. He'd done it. I knew with sudden clarity, he'd done it. He wasn't protesting his innocence, not shocked by the accusations, nothing an innocent man might be doing at the moment. I balled up a fist, hauled off and hit him, knocking him flat on his duff.

"You stole from these people, from charities?" Ransom cringed, expecting me to hit him again. I wanted to. "Rainy day account, my ass, motherfucker."

I shook my hand. It hurt from clobbering him in the jaw. I hope I didn't break it, my hand anyway. If his jaw was broken, good. My reaction had stunned everyone else in the room. The two Tafts were looking at each other again. The two big guys by the door were on high alert, wondering if they would have to jump in. Ransom stayed on the floor, maybe a little loopy. I hadn't held back.

"I take it from your reaction, that you weren't aware of your husband's activities, haven't profited by it?" Mr. Taft asked.

"This necklace, and this dress, and possibly his suit, are the first evidence I've had, that we had a shred of extra money," I said. "He gave me money for the dress a week ago, and the necklace tonight. I've wanted to move into a larger house, have another child, but we haven't had the money, and I certainly haven't been looking for one. I'm so sorry. What happens now? Is he going to be arrested?"

"Ransom opened up accounts in your name." Mr. Taft said. "It's likely you'll both be arrested."

"You did what!" I screamed at Ransom. "You involved me in this shitstorm?" I kicked him in the ribs. "Who the fuck is going to take care of our daughter, you asshole?" I kicked him again.

I turned back to the Tafts, and held out my hands to be cuffed. "Could you at least call my parents and tell them to pick Emma up from the babysitter. I'm assuming I might be able to bond out on Monday."

The Tafts looked at each other again. "We might have some way to avoid prosecution altogether," Mr. Taft said.

There was a knock on the door, and one of the guards let the butler in with a sandwich. He brought it to me. I gratefully took the plate. It looked like an artisan bread, with a half inch of roast beef, lettuce, tomato and cheese, with packets of mayo, ketchup and mustard on the side.

"I'm all ears," I said. I sat down in one of the chairs and took a bite. Ransom started to get off the floor, eager to hear anything that would keep him from going to jail.

"If you get off the floor, I'm going to kick your balls so hard, they'll come out of your throat," I warned. "Stay there, like the fucking worm you are."

This seemed to amuse the Tafts.

"Since you don't seem to be involved in the theft," Mr. Taft said. "I'm a little embarrassed by this offer. It seems you'll be paying for the crimes of your husband."

"If it saves me from going to jail, and lets me keep my daughter, I'm willing to listen," I said.

"My attorney, Mr. Bancroft, will explain the offer. Go ahead, George."

He must be the other man in the room, the officious toady seated between the Tafts.

"Er, uh, Mr. Taft has no children. His first wife, was killed when she was pregnant with their first child. Penelope Taft is infertile. She had to have a hysterectomy several years ago. Uh, they would like you, Samantha Ford, to have two children for them, conceived naturally...by, uh, sexual intercourse."

"You mean he wants to fuck me?" I asked. "Don't mince your words, Mr. Bancroft. We're all adults here."

"Yes, ma'am, he wants to fuck you." George said.

"Go ahead."

"To that end, Mr. and Mrs. Taft want you to stop taking birth control as of now. Any further sexual relations with Mr. Ford would require him to wear a condom, uh, exclusively, for the next several years, uh, until you had provided two children for Mr. And Mrs. Taft, and another one, that would be yours for you and your husband to raise, uh, a kind of reminder that Ransom is a cuckold, raising Mr. Taft's child."

"It will be a cold day in hell before Ransom gets anywhere near my pussy again, but it doesn't sound as if you're finished, Mr. Bancroft."

"Each time you become fertile, uh, you'd come here for several days of, er, breeding, until such time as you conceived. Six months after delivering their first child, you'd begin trying to conceive their second. Six months after delivering their second, Mr. Taft would begin trying to give you the third child for you to raise, but there's more."

"Of course there is."

"Uh, Mrs. Taft is a bisexual, and, uh, although she hasn't engaged in sexual relations with women since her marriage to Mr. Taft, er, would like to have sex with you when you're here, uh, fucking her husband, uh, kind of compensation for letting you have sex with him, and because the charities were hers."

I'd never had sex with a woman before, but if I had to start, I could do a lot worse than Mrs. Taft.

"I'm assuming my husband no longer has a job. How am I to pay for all the medical bills, and my house and car, and care for my daughter?"

"Uh, Mr. and Mrs. Taft were going to make up the losses to the charities, and allow you and your husband to keep the ill gotten gains, as sort of a pre-payment for your breeding services. Mr. Ford is going to be allowed to keep a job, though not in a position where he manages any money, and at a reduced salary."

"Oh, I think it very unlikely that I'll remain married to Mr. Ford," I said. "I don't want my daughter raised by a thief."

Ransom still cowered on the floor, stung by my accusation.

"Uh, that's one of the stipulations of this contract, Mrs. Ford; that you remain married. Mr. Taft wants Mr Ford to raise his child with you, a complete and utter cuckold, a constant reminder that Mr. Ford has fucked you. He can't do that if you're not married."

"I see." That sucked hairy balls. At this point, I wasn't sure if I even wanted to see him again, let alone remain married. "And if I don't agree to stay married to him, we both get arrested tonight?"

"That was the purpose of the meeting. To allow you to decide to abide by the terms of this contract," holding up a sheaf of papers, "or go to jail. You have to abide by all the conditions. Any child you produce will have DNA testing to ensure it's Mr. Taft's, you have to show up here any time that you're fertile, and a camera system would be installed in your house to ensure Mr. Ford is not having unprotected sex with you..."

"You're going to watch me having sex with my wife?" Ransom said.

"They won't see you having sex with anyone, Ransom, especially not your wife," I said. "Now shut the fuck up, while I consider my options."

He shut up. He was still within ball kicking range.

"Is there anything else?" I asked.

"There's a Non-Disclosure Agreement you and your husband must sign. Neither one of you can reveal that you're having Mr. and Mrs. Taft's children. The final condition, is that you need to suck Mr. Taft's cock in the presence of your husband, and you'll be spending the weekend here to become better acquainted with your hosts. Mr. Ford will be sent home to look after Emma this weekend."

"Before I agree to be your brood mare, I want to see the actual evidence of my husband's crime."

"Of course," Mr. Bancroft said. "If you come to the table, I'll lay it out for you."

I walked to the table and the lawyer showed me all of the evidence. I wasn't an accountant, but I could see Ransom's fingerprints all over the accounts he managed, and I saw the new savings accounts, two opened in my name at two different banks, neither of which I'd banked at before, and a facsimile of my signature, although it wasn't mine. I'd never signed anything. Almost every time money went missing from one of the accounts he'd managed, an equal amount showed up in one or both of mine. Fuck me running.

"This signature is forged," I said.

"I'm sure that handwriting analysis may prove you correct, Mrs. Ford, but it won't stop you from being arrested tonight, based upon the evidence, and doesn't necessarily disprove a conspiracy by you and Mr. Ford to steal this money, only that it wasn't your signature on the accounts."

I looked at my poor excuse of a husband. "Do you see what you've done to me, what your actions are doing to me? Do you have a shred of a clue, how much I hate you right now? Do you know how much I never want to see you again? And yet I have to remain married to your sorry ass. Rance. if I were a Muslim, I could say 'I Divorce You' three times and we'd be done, and you ass would be history. Fuck you to hell.

"When I come back on Sunday night. I want Emma with me in the master bedroom. I want you in her room. I may have to remain married, but I for damn sure, don't have to fuck you." I turned to Mr. Taft. "Sir, I'm willing to accept this agreement, but only under the condition that all of the stolen money is moved to an account under my sole control, and that my sorry excuse of a husband can't touch it. He obviously doesn't have a lick of sense when it comes to money, and I won't have him wasting it on whores and strip joints because he's not getting sex with me anymore."

"Mr. Bancroft has already seen that the accounts were frozen, and what you want will happen on Monday."

"What about me?" Shit for brains asked.

"If Mr. Taft could fuck a child into you, you'd be paying for your crimes, not me. Since I'm going to be doing all the work, I'm taking all of the money. I expect you to keep up with the house payments and utilities on your salary, plus whatever you eat. I'll take care of Emma's and my food and clothing and my car payment. Fuck you very much."

I signed the contract, and told Ransom to sign the damn thing, so I could get on with it. He did. It was unfair. He should be paying for his crime, not me. If not for Emma, I would have taken my chances. There was only circumstantial evidence of me doing anything, but I wouldn't leave my daughter's fate in the hands of the state to decide. My parents could end up with her, but they'd done their duty to me, raising me. I didn't want them to raise another child on their own with a fixed income. I wouldn't take that chance.