Disclaimer: This is a multi-chapter story that reads more as a series of vignettes connected by an underlying thread for continuity. It's my attempt at the well-traveled premise of a boss exploiting a family. While not present in every chapter, the story contains various sex acts between adults, including but not limited to adultery, incest, cuckolding, interracial, lesbian, and non-consensual sex in the form of blackmail and coercion. The story and all characters are fictional. Any resemblance to businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. In real life, all non-consensual sex is immoral, illegal and not condoned by the author. All characters are 18-years-old or older. All rights reserved.
THE NEIGHBOR
Don and Audrey Stanley have been our neighbors for the dozen years since we moved into the suburban home on a quiet
cul-de-sac
.
It's a nice upper middle-class neighborhood, and they're good neighbors -- always there to help when needed, but not constantly in your face either. I guess they're somewhere in their early 60's, have two grown children who visit occasionally, and are generally good people, or so it seems to me and my wife.
Don is semi-retired, but still has a business interest in imports, while Audrey is a retired nurse. They are active for their age -- swimming, playing tennis, or walking around the neighborhood. Don is a good height at six feet while Audrey is average at 5'4" but looks especially petite standing next to my statuesque wife.
Emma and I assume they were probably fit and attractive in their youth, and still look surprisingly good, other than the paunch Don developed around the waist over the last few years. Both are blonds, although gray is taking over for the most part.
Commendably, I suppose, Audrey refuses to color her hair, preferring to go gray naturally.
Maybe it's just typical male hormones, but Don has a habit of admiring my attractive wife whenever he thinks no one is looking. I even caught him peeking through a knot hole in the fence once or twice when Emma tanned in her modest one-piece bathing suit, getting some sun by the backyard pool.
It seems harmless though and isn't overt, so I always overlook it. I can't really blame him. Emma is nearly 20 years younger and very pleasing to the eye, even in her admittedly conservative bathing suit.
For her part, Emma appears to be adjusting to life remarkably well considering the tumultuous drama in Hank's office, the debauched weekend yacht cruise, and the radically deleterious change in our lives. Initially traumatized, she's resilient and has bounced back faster than I expected.
Honestly, I don't know if Emma is in denial or just wants to forget the whole horrible turn of events, because she doesn't really talk about it much. I do reassure her I love her for her sacrifices for our adult children, and I think she sincerely takes that to heart.
All in all, her mood has been light and upbeat, until one day about a week after the cruise when I was at work.
Emma was home as usual, and Kerri and Kellen were in classes for most of the day. At 18-years-old and a senior in high school, Kellen is involved in one sport or another. Since it's spring, the sport is baseball. It seems our kids inherited their mother's natural proclivity towards athletic endeavors.
Kerri, our charming, fit 19-year-old daughter, is also an active participant in sports, participating in volleyball as a freshman at the local junior college. At present, she has a limited class schedule and a generally short day, with only the volleyball team as her primary interest.
It was just noon when Hank called Emma on her cell, catching her off-guard and breaking her self-deception of the previous few days that her life was returning to normal. Initially startled to see his name, she understands our arrangement is all-demanding and swiped the phone open.
"Hello Hank," Emma greeted warily.
"Hi hon, how's my girl?" my boss asked, his familiar tone unsettling my wife.
"I'm fine, Hank," Emma replied, pretending the term of endearment was acceptable.
"Hey, I hope you kept that bathing suit from the cruise?" Hank asked eagerly.
My wife felt a lump form in her stomach, terribly scandalized even thinking about the practically non-existent bikini. She wanted to throw it out, along with all the other disgracefully skimpy clothes when we returned but knew better.
"Yes, I still have it," she answered with false cheer.
"Great, I'll be there within 15 minutes. Put it on and meet me at the door," he ordered then hung up.
"Oh, um, okay," Emma groaned, unable to imagine wearing the barely-there strips of cloth in our house, even if no one was home to see it, and opening the front door in the skimpy thing seemed completely out of the question.
Unfortunately, she was in no position to disobey Hank, heading for our bedroom to change out of the comfortable shorts and t-shirt she wore at the moment.
In an odd twist, Emma was relieved she followed Hank's order to shave her pussy every day. She didn't want to do it, as it was a constant reminder of her servitude. It was also inconvenient, but she certainly didn't want to be caught in violation of the rules if Hank pulled a stunt like this morning's surprise visit.
Managing to get the thin white cloth comprising the top over her large areolas granting at least a modicum of support for her bodacious breasts, she then slipped on the thong bottoms and winced. There was simply no protection of her vagina from leering eyes.
Emma's protuberant labia pressed through the fabric even when not aroused. They were obscenely obvious, creating what the less modest called a 'cameltoe.' The thong was so tight there was really nothing to prevent the detection of her overtly visible pink slit
"How did I allow myself to be seen in this thing on the cruise?" my startled wife bemoaned, gawking in the full-length mirror at the over-revealing bikini.
It was a rhetorical question, since Hank was clearly the reason, and she certainly wasn't offered a choice.
Turning to the side, a broad expanse of her pale side boob left the top looking even smaller. Emma turned further, embarrassed by what she thought of as her mammoth ass in the thong -- a mountain of flesh covered by nothing. The fleshy cheeks aren't really that large, just mature, but her insecurities led her to believe so.
"At least it'll just be Hank," she carelessly reassured herself when suddenly the doorbell rang.
Quickly, Emma slipped into the white stiletto heels that came with the bikini, knowing he'd approve. The heels firmed up her calves and thighs making her long legs look awesome, bolstering her self-confidence. Not surprisingly, she pulled her hair into the ubiquitous ponytail she always wore, heading downstairs to let Hank in and deal with his special request before anybody came home.
Opening the door hurriedly and ushering Hank into our house before any of the neighbors could see him, or even worse see her, Emma nearly fell to the floor at the sight greeting her in the doorway. Standing there was Hank, and standing next to him, was our neighbor, Don Stanley.
"Ohhh! Oh no, Hank, please?" Emma squealed her shock and embarrassment, scrambling to cover herself as best she could with her hands and arms, while flailing about the foyer in a panic at the thought of her neighbor seeing her in such an indecent get-up.
To an objective observer, I'm sure it was comical, but to Emma, every shred of her dignity was stripped away in an instant and her body flushed accordingly.
"Hi Emma, look who I just met," Hank said nonchalantly, as if nothing was amiss. "I was getting out of my car when Don introduced himself. I told him I was Ray's boss and needed to stop by to drop off this envelope. He said you've been neighbors for a long time so I figured you wouldn't mind if I asked him to join me."
Emma couldn't say a word, still in a daze from presenting herself at the door to our long-time neighbor wearing practically nothing. My shy wife is a conservative woman by nature, and she'd never knowingly expose herself to Don or anyone else in such a way.
"Don and I were just talking about what great neighbors the Tyler family are," my boss proceeded matter-of-factly. "Always willing to share everything, and always available to help a neighbor in need."
"Do you mind if we come in?" he asked considerately but didn't wait for an answer, breezing past my dumbfounded wife followed by a grinning Don Stanley.
Emma continued to cower, trying desperately to find some way to cover her near nakedness from the bulging eyes of our neighbor, who didn't even bother to politely look away. Her tits, her cameltoe -- everything was available for observation by Don's beaming eyes, and he gratefully took advantage.
"I have this envelope of pictures for you and Ray from our recent yacht trip. I think you'll find them revealing and quite entertaining," Hank explained with typical innuendo. "I bet Don enjoys them too."
My circumspect wife had difficulty comprehending what Hank was saying when it dawned on her just what the pictures likely showed. She was unaware of the hidden cameras on the boat, especially preoccupied as she was with more pressing matters, but imagined the type of photos the envelope contained.
In fact, there was a series of well-placed cameras throughout the yacht, including the staterooms, capturing us all, but particularly our wives, spending most of their time naked, or nearly so, on their backs or prancing about drunkenly fucking Hank and his associates.
Spotting a family portrait on the entryway wall Hank studied it.
"Are those your kids, Emma?" he inquired easily.
"I don't know that I've ever seen a picture of them. What an attractive pair. They must have a tremendous future in front of them," he said, cleverly reminding her of our indenture and the deleterious result of refusal in seeking assurance of Emma's obeisance.
Hank then said something sending a chill up Emma's spine.
