The Theft Of Our Lives 12

The Theft of Our Lives 12

By Tug Coxwell

Disclaimer: This multi-chapter story is a fantasy. While not occurring in every chapter, the overall story contains various sex acts between adults including, but not limited to incest, cuckolding, interracial, anal, oral, pegging, humiliation, and non-consent in the form of blackmail and coercion. The story, all names, and all characters are fictional. Any resemblance to entities 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.

NATE'S PROMISE KEPT

Nathan Wagnell was a man never failing to take advantage of an offer, especially one made reluctantly by a captured father increasingly willing to do or say anything to escape his wrath in his abdicated position as protector of his family.

"Ray, glad I caught you," the wealthy 60-something philanthropist called me at my office on a quiet Friday afternoon just after 1:00 p.m. "Take the afternoon off and go pick-up Kerri from campus."

"Um, Mr. Wagnell, I have work to do. I can't just pick-up and leave," I replied doubtfully, but with undo deference considering the man essentially claimed my beloved bride before my eyes not long ago, fucking Emma into submission and usurping my role as husband at the same time.

"No worries, I cleared it with Hank," Nate answered calmly, anticipating my hesitance with a prepared response I couldn't counter.

"But, Kerri's probably in class," I asserted as a last-ditch effort to avoid the new assault on my family's dignity I suspected was coming.

"Nonsense, Ray. You've been to college and so have I. No smart kid schedules classes for Friday afternoon, except the geeks, and Kerri certainly doesn't qualify as one of them," he scoffed at my feeble attempt.

"Yes, I suppose that's true," I conceded, noting an underlying excitement one might expect from a gray-haired man anticipating an afternoon of debauchery with an adorable, 19-year-old coed, and likely her mother too.

"You want Emma to have this key I'm holding, don't you? Time to make good on your offer," the distinguished charity director suggested with a level of glee I found off-putting, even for a jaded bastard such as himself.

'Zappp' the electrodes in my cage suddenly lit up as soon as the words left his mouth, still possessing access to the phone app controlling the devilish device and sending a certain reminder of that fact.

"Awwucchhh," I groaned under my breath at the pain, although it was a thankfully mild and brief shock to my gonads.

I did what I could to stifle my response despite only a few other workers in the office, but even then, I nearly wet my pants and was immediately observant of his request.

"Yes, um, Mr. Wagnell, I'll go get her," I stammered while gritting my teeth as I recovered, unhappy remaining locked up in my cage without recourse and thinking I'd be much better off if my wife held the key to my occasional freedom.

I hated the idea of surrendering our vibrant, long-limbed, and well-built daughter into the clutches of such a degenerate old man, despite the inappropriate arousal rising within me considering the deleterious act.

Younger and more vulnerable than her more experienced mother but every bit as desirable, I feared Nate bending our precious teen and then breaking her to his dominating cock much as he had Emma that night in our marital bed when I regretfully offered up Kerri after the torturous treatment of my tender balls.

"Good boy. Nice to know you stick to a deal, Ray, and be certain Emma is present. I wouldn't want either of you to miss the fun," he advised ominously, confirming my fear that her mother was to be an active participant herself.

"Um, Emma mentioned something about shopping and coffee with a few of her girlfriends this afternoon. She's been rather occupied lately and hasn't seen them for a while," I informed contritely, uncertain of his reaction if he expected her participation in his sordid plans.

"Hmm, well okay, it is spur of the moment. We can start without her, and it'll be a long night so I'm sure she'll show up before we're done," the depraved aristocrat allowed, giving his final instruction. "Meet me at your house by 2:00 p.m."

"Uh, Mr. Wagnell, what about Kellen?" I asked before he hung up, afraid of the answer but understanding our 18-year-old son was now part of the arrangement and trying to preempt the question of his attendance at his sister's defilement.

"Well, I'm sure as hell not interested in him, so he doesn't need to be there. At least, not this time," Nate said with a chuckle, but I could almost hear the wheels spinning in his head with his deflection to another day.

"O-kay, that's good. The baseball team's got a road game today, so I don't expect him home until late. He'll probably go out with teammates anyway," I deferred, happy for the reprieve, even if I didn't believe it was a permanent situation.

I felt certain at some point he'd want to watch a little brother bang his big sister, if only for the deviancy of the act.

'Click' the phone rang-off.

I sat pondering the command and how to tell Kerri, foolishly expecting her to be confused and unhappy when in reality I knew she'd be subservient and accommodating, just as the submissive sex servant Hank was training her to be.

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

My late-model sedan pulled up to the college gymnasium just after 1:30 p.m. as the ladies volleyball team exited practice, showering and dressing before going their separate ways. I was grateful the session was short, expecting Kerri likely needed as much energy as possible knowing what Nate had in store for our athletic coed.

Usually, Kerri rode with her friend and teammate Gretchen Ragsdale, who had her own car and lived close enough to our house that it wasn't an imposition. Often, they'd go out with a group or have dinner with friends in a typical evening for active college girls, perhaps looking for guys or even going on a double-date if it worked out that way.

"Dad's my ride today," Kerri explained when Gretch headed in the direction of her car without our daughter joining her as always.

"What? Look at you, girlfriend, your own personal chauffeur," her pretty friend inquired, perhaps a little jealous by the denial of Kerri's company.

"Little daddy's girl, Ker?" Tera Withrow teased a mocking inquisition.

"Too good for us mere peons, huh, Kerri?" Callie Simpson opined, joining the other's in playfully taunting our contrite young lady.

"Cut it out. Dad texted me and said I was needed at home," Kerri feigned dismissal of the jabs, smart enough after recent events to guess it was for something objectionable, but unsure exactly what was in store.

All our curious daughter knew for sure was that whenever she was called home abruptly of late, it was for a sexual performance so perverted she didn't dare tell anyone, even her best friends or teammates.

Dressed in a modest ruffled gauzy chartreuse skirt and complementary yellow button-down blouse, Kerri took her place on the passenger side, looking very much the typical college coed with her lithe legs uncovered halfway down her muscular thighs and her feet clad only in laced sneakers.

Unadorned by make-up, the healthy glow from her exercise flushed our daughter's freckled face, surrounded by short auburn hair bound in twin braids affixed to her scalp by a green headband in a style worn frequently during matches, keeping her straight locks back with her cute bangs clipped above her forehead, topping her bewitching emerald eyes.

"What's up, dad?" she asked forthrightly, stretching in the spacious interior easily accommodating her 5'10 frame and relaxing her tired body on the fine leather cushion as we sped off for the fifteen-minute drive home.

"Hi Kerri, I'll just be upfront about it. Nathan Wagnell called me. You remember him from the poker party?" I asked benignly about the debauched evening at Hank Allenby's when our unsophisticated youngster was exposed to so much depravity in a single night.

"Yeah, I remember him. He runs the charity where mom volunteers," she replied in a remarkably understated manner.

"Runs the whole damn organization actually," I elaborated, emphasizing what she already knew. "He's a powerful man and a good friend of Mr. Allenby."

"Yeah, I know," Kerri acknowledged, remembering with daunting appreciation the substantial size of the older philanthropist's cock and the way he commandeered her susceptible mother as an enamored fuck doll at the poker party.

Gradually immersed in a culture of submissiveness since her introduction to the despicable arrangement keeping our family together, Kerri astutely assumed Mr. Wagnell's interest in meeting her at the house and that she was in for a raucous afternoon of demanding sex, and probably night too.

"Is mom there?" she asked apprehensively, no doubt wondering if she was performing alone, or if Emma might share the burden, although that likely included some perverted lezzie play between mother and daughter.

"Not right away. She's out with a few of her friends, but I'm sure she'll be along shortly," I answered as truthfully as possible, glad for Kerri's nod of acceptance after pondering her duty to entertain the old man until help arrived.

Pulling into our driveway, we had 10 minutes until Nate arrived, giving me a brief opportunity to confirm her assumption that sex was on the menu, and she'd be expected to surrender her body to the man, praying she understood.

"I've been down this road, dad. I get it. Should I change into something 'more comfortable,' I think they say in the movies?" she said with surprising maturity, adding the lighthearted quip with a roll of her playful green eyes, removing some of the tension of my guilt for her situation.

"You look lovely, dear. The picture of a beautiful young woman," I replied truthfully, admiring her strength, and recognizing it was that very innocence and beauty making her so appealing to perverted old men.

Well, that and a killer body balanced on toned legs, narrow hips, and a spectacular set of D-cup tits supported by squared shoulders I shouldn't notice as her father but was unable to avoid.

"Kerri, it's probably going to be a stressful day, would you like me to make you a drink?" I asked as we waited in the living room.

Prior to our service, our sports-minded daughter wasn't much of a drinker, but due to the growing number of shameful interludes foisted upon her by Hank, she'd developed a taste for a good strong belt lubricating her for whatever form of debauchery she encountered.

"Sure, can you make it strong?" our tense coed replied with a nervous grin and an irrepressibly adorable tilt of her cherubic face, belying her soon-to-be starring role at the center of a wanton sex romp.

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

"Well, Margie, it is spring, and I just felt a little free-spirited, that's all," Emma defended her choice of outfit over coffee with three of her longtime girlfriends.

"I get it, Em, but there's free-spirited and then there's vampish, if you know what I mean," Margie rejoined, scrutinizing my wife's attire with a critical eye, and searching for anything positive to say and finding herself wanting.

"Oh, get with it, Margie, it's just a bra, for goodness sakes. Do you mean to tell me you've never gone out without one?" my wife scoffed dismissively for show but inside was deeply mortified about the tight feel of the formfitting red pullover knit shirt she wore over her unbound DD tits and certain she was creating a spectacle.

"Don't get us wrong," Joan chimed in snidely. "I mean, lord knows you got the chest for it with those ridiculously big boobs, but it is a little suggestive, don't you think?"

"Um, I didn't until now, but maybe it is a bit much," Emma conceded, crossing her arms protectively over the swell of her tremendous bosom with the unfortunate effect of pushing her deep cleavage up into the severe vee of the bodice.

"I'm just glad my husband isn't here because I'd say that skirt looks to be more Kerri's length too. A lot of flesh, Emma," Carolina chided unfavorably, noting the snug tan mid-thigh canvas skirt with a nod of disapproval.

Humbly, Emma sank into her seat at the remark, crossing her legs hiding her overly-exposed thighs beneath the table, and growing self-conscious about her make-up too, with the gaudy application featuring shimmering emerald eye shadow popping above her matching green eyes encircled by thickly coated black mascara on her lashes.

Worse, she knew her glossy fire-engine red lipstick boldly screamed to the world, 'I SUCK COCK!'

Finished off by matching red 5-inch spiked heels enhancing her already tall stature, along with a pair of sparkly dangle earrings more commonly adorning flamboyant streetwalkers, my reserved wife projected the appearance of a middle-aged cougar on the prowl rather than the respectable, understated dresser they'd all known for years.

Ashamed, Emma's face blushed a pink complementary of her red outfit, wanting dearly to protest that she didn't want to dress this way, but simply had no option.

Her only normal fashion choices were the ever-present ponytail held by a red ribbon and her black-rimmed glasses, and somehow, even those looked especially sexy when partnered with the rest of her ensemble.

Of course, Emma was merely responding to Hank's directive to add some provocative flair to her wardrobe -- a euphemism for dressing tastefully but seductively in public. She was decked out classier than a hooker, but the 'I'm available for a good time' message was clear as day.

More discomforting was the remote-controlled pink vibrator filling her pussy, topped perilously by the unconscionable oscillating prod pressed to her easily agitated clitoris and wrapping around her perineum into a modest butt plug holding the entire unit in place, as merely another stress-inducing accessory insisted upon by Hank whenever she left the house.

As required, she'd texted my boss before she left, and as a result was on constant edge that the damnable buzzing might trigger at any moment sending her into a squirming fit of sexual stimulus difficult to explain and terribly humiliating before her judgmental friends.

It was a clever psychological ploy by Hank, with the possibility of the vibe sparking at the most inopportune time an ongoing prospect never far from her mind. The ever-present threat was almost as bad as her certain disgraceful response should it actually hum to life.

Nervous and distracted, Emma was so convinced of her mischievous tormenter striking at any time, driving her into a paroxysm of grinding twitches desperately seeking to hold off a devastatingly embarrassing public orgasm, that she wore a panty liner in her underwear to prevent the humiliating prospect of wetting her seat.

Doing so was a definite violation of Hank's demented rules, but she decided to take the chance, and mercifully, the protective liner was never needed. She was eternally thankful when after an hour of chit-chat and continuous critiques of her appearance the coffee clatch broke up and she said her goodbyes to gratefully go home.

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

Prompt in a manner rare for people of importance, the esteemed international director of the charitable organization Emma has volunteered with for years, Nate Wagnell, pulled up in front of our house in a limo at two o'clock straight-up.

To my surprise, both he and Hank Allenby exited, and I knew for certain we were in for a long afternoon.

"Hank, what a surprise," I deadpanned upon opening the front door. "I wasn't expecting you."

"You kidding me, Ray? Wouldn't miss it for the world, and besides, it's been too long since I enjoyed the, um, hospitality of the Tyler household," Hank answered without skipping a beat.

Entering uninvited, my intrusive boss was immediately followed by the distinguished gentlemen orchestrating today's program of licentiousness starring our comely daughter and, most likely, my curvaceous wife as well.

"Emma's not home yet, but I expect her soon," I offered, answering a question that was certainly on their minds.

"Not to worry, Ray, so long as this little lady is available as a good hostess in her stead," Nate replied enthusiastically, casting a leering eye at Kerri standing near me sipping the stiff Manhattan I'd fixed to brace us for the coming bacchanal.

"Get us one of those drinks, will you," Hank ordered me, commandingly taking a seat in the living room without so much as an invitation.

I returned a few minutes later with three cocktails, since Kerri was already done with her first and I assumed she appreciated the additional fortification.

Nate had sidled her way in the brief period I was gone, and the look on her face told me he was uncomfortably close, asking her benign questions about school and volleyball, but with his steely eyes mostly studying her pretty face with occasional lingering glances downward to her prominent D-cup tits.

"I played volleyball myself in my youth, among other indoor sports," he charmed with smarmy innuendo, keeping less than a foot between them and almost eye-to-eye with our tall daughter.

"We just finished practice a little while ago," she answered awkwardly, uncertain what to say but with her naturally squeaky tone providing a sense of her girlishness in contradiction to her very womanly body.

"Well, let's just hope you're not too worn out. We wouldn't want you fading early," Nate retorted abstrusely, hinting she had a long afternoon ahead and hopeful her youthful energy stayed abundant.

"So, enough small talk," the officious director said, cutting the conversation short and anxious to get down to business. "Ray, I think you need to strip off and stand over in that corner where you can see everything but won't be in the way."

"Everything?" I questioned, more out of habit than alarm, reverting to the time when standing naked in front of my maturing daughter was unthinkable.

Nate and Hank looked at me as an imbecile, and I quickly realized my mistake, immediately disrobing by removing my business suit and finally, my boxer shorts leaving me uncomfortably naked in a room of clothed people, although I knew that wouldn't last long.

"Hands behind your back, Ray. Display that little guy proudly," Hank mandated, directing Kerri's attention to my captured manhood, shrunken in its unyielding cage as evidence of my total emasculation and uselessness as her father and protector.

"Good boy. Now, tell your daughter why she's here," Nate pressed with a grin as evil as his intent.

"Um, I think she already has a pretty good idea, Mr. Wagnell," I answered respectfully, bowing my head voluntarily in a subconscious symbol of my submission.

"That's not what I want, Ray," Nate snarled, hitting the button on his phone app sending a jolt to my sensitive testicles.

"YYYIKES!" I yelped, my knees buckling but not hitting the floor since it was only a quick burst of electricity.

"I'm sorry, Kerri, but I promised Mr. Wagnell he could, um, spend some time with you. You know, get to know you better," I stammered, still catching my breath, and phrasing the lecherous act he really wanted as delicately as possible.

"Damn it, Ray, you can do better than that. Tell her why I'm here!" he snapped, making clear that a direct approach with frank language was required to satisfy his prurient demand.

"Okay, okay, I will," I apologized profusely, ready to say whatever he wanted to hear in the manner he wanted to hear it.

"Mr. Wagnell is here because I offered, well, to let him fuck you if he gives your mother the key to my cage," I confessed, nearly breaking at the thought of what I was telling my only daughter and how it diminished me even further in her bewildered eyes.