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, oral, 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.
KELLEN TAKES CHARGE
It was well into summer now and the school year was done, leaving plenty of time for our outgoing 18-year-old son and 19-year-old daughter to socialize with friends, but also spend at home with their mother in what should have been normal familial bonding, but wasn't nearly as pure and innocent as it sounds.
Instead, the time was often spent with mother and daughter in a classic sixty-nine laboring between widespread thighs, satisfying Hank's demand they practice their Sapphic talents on the other's ready pussy, or with Kellen strenuously pounding his cock into his athletic sister as Kerri wailed a high-pitched succession of body-rattling orgasms.
Per Hank's instructions, Kellen was taking charge and feeling more confident in his position as man of the house, dominating Emma and Kerri's home routine and increasingly dictating every aspect of their sex lives.
Kellen had always been a polite, respectful son to his mother, and although an annoyance to Kerri as are most little brothers, he actually admired his big sister, and would defend her if necessary against any slur or detractor, not that she had any.
As a result, it was a surprise to see how quickly he was evolving into his new role, but power is a tremendous aphrodisiac and his mature, big-titted mother and svelte, freckle-faced sister possessed the tempting physical traits certain to corrupt even the most upstanding man when offered the opportunity to avail himself of their bodies.
I was reduced to the position of pathetic but highly interested bystander, kept under lock and key in my cage watching as my maturing son insinuated himself into my traditional role of family caretaker, although I maintained my status as financial provider, but little else as the patriarch.
With his father merely a spineless onlooker, Kellen continued expanding his dominion over his mother and older sister, exerting his authority, and apparently, relishing his new power and role in our family dynamic.
Incestuous sex occurred unabated all around me, and in fact, Kerri and Kellen's increased availability only heightened its frequency and intensity. Cowed, caged, and cuckolded, discretion wasn't necessary, with depraved sex everywhere and right in my face while I only watched, no doubt as my boss intended.
At Kellen's instructions, during the warm summer weather Emma grew ever more relaxed and careless about what she wore at home. It wasn't uncommon for my full-bodied wife to traipse casually about the house in a skimpy pair of bikini panties and a loose tank top with no bra, or a cut-off tee barely covering the bottom of her rounded breasts.
"Oh Ray, it's just more comfortable this way," she explained whenever I commented on her suggestive attire.
I understood her mandate and point of view.
Besides, it truly was cooler dressing in practically nothing, not that it mattered anyway, as Emma was now regularly screwing our adult children and they'd adventurously explored the rolling hills and curvaceous valleys of her naked body more times than you can count - up close and very personal.
After debuting her free-spirited, and in their minds trashy new style at her coffee clatch with the girls, Emma's notoriety as a rapacious cougar grew within our rather conservative community as well, undermining her well-earned reputation as the paragon of virtue she proudly portrayed for years.
In our stodgy neighbors' narrow view, my wife's daring attire under Hank's shameful dress code did nothing to dissuade the ladies of the block that she was nothing but a latent harridan shamelessly flaunting her admittedly unbelievable figure, even at the mature age of 38-years-old.
Time of day or location didn't matter, Emma immodestly presented an eyepopping vision of naughty temptation.
Unsurprisingly, none of the husbands in our immediate vicinity appeared to mind nor missed an opportunity to cast a leering glance, although more than a few took an elbow to the ribs from their miffed wives for staring a little too long.
Gardening in the front yard decked out revealingly in a tight mid-drift crop-top and cotton-poly yoga shorts so formfitting the imprint of her thong strap up her butt crack was visible, and the neighborhood men invariably stopped by 'just to chat,' while also surreptitiously catching an eyeful of her billowing curves.
Even casually out at the market, Emma sported white short-shorts and blocked high heels emphasizing the magnificence of her long, toned legs, below a lightweight strapless bustier in a vivid floral print wholly insufficient for constraining the heavy bounce of her loosely-bound DD melons.
Only the light coat over her shoulders and her status as a longtime customer stopped 50-something store manager Kevin Winston from asking her to present herself more decently on future visits. Well, that and the obvious gleam in his eyes as they drifted down to her prodigious cleavage when he was discussing the matter with us.
She was only dressed this way at Kellen's behest, but I know Emma well enough to realize the entire experience was traumatic, as her reputation took another hit.
Passively, my contrite wife stood at the customer service counter with me by her side, her eyes watery with shame acknowledging Kevin's concerns while accepting his blatant stare at her abundant chest without protest, with my presence apparently not enough to prevent his gaze from wandering.
Emma told me later that despite her embarrassment, she was simply happy her ever-present pink vibrator didn't light up at that moment, maintaining the constant low buzz keeping her on edge and squirming, but not to the point where anyone but she would notice.
My once-modest wife's new look didn't stop with just her clothing either, although that alone was enough to send a signal something had dramatically changed in our household.
Emma wore her hair differently too, and while she didn't completely shun her easy favorite on-the-go ponytail, she just as frequently teased her chestnut locks set with hairspray into a wild lion's mane surrounding her pretty face, creating a cat-like appearance searching for prey.
Never one for excessive jewelry, she now favored flashy, dangling earrings, or big hoops drawing more attention to her otherwise wholesome face, along with gold chain necklaces and gawdy, multi-layered bracelets and bangles of all colors.
Perhaps as a concession to her previously restrained fashion choices, Emma kept her make-up tastefully applied unless ordered otherwise, although her eyeshadow selections were more sparkly and vivid, her mascara heavier, and her lipstick a remarkable array of highly glossy options sending a definite message about her prowess as a cocksucker extraordinaire.
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Honestly, I thought she'd balk at the more salacious outfits, but Emma was undeterred, fearing Hank's wrath if found in violation, especially with his acolyte, Kellen, watching her every move. Intoxicated with power and lust, our easily-manipulated son willingly betrayed his mother's confidence to stay in his mentor's good graces as head of the family.
Unfortunately, sometimes she strayed a little too close to the edge, and I actually got a chuckle one morning when she skipped out to quickly turn-off the front lawn sprinklers wearing only a white undershirt barely covering her ass - no bra, no panties, and nothing else either.
It was early at 7:00 a.m., but with untimely bad fortune, Rose and Hal Walker, our late-40's neighbors from a few houses down, were just finishing their morning power walk, stumbling upon Emma in practically nothing.
I'm sure it was a tremendous shock, as the snobby couple undoubtedly viewed my pretty, outgoing, and conservative wife with the same high esteem as everyone else.
"Emma?" Rose gawped at seeing my bare-assed wife bent over the wall spigot to turn off the hose with a hand-held sprinkler head.
As I watched through our front plate glass picture window sipping my coffee before leaving for work, Emma burst into red-faced embarrassment, and from where I stood there little doubt Rose and Hal got a clear crotch-shot of my statuesque wife's precious pink gash peeking between her parted thighs.
"Oh! Rose, you scared me," Emma peeped, turning to find husband and wife staring with wide-eyes at the most unexpected sight.
As she did, my poor spouse lost control of the nozzle, spraying herself at full volume before managing to point it harmlessly in another direction.
"Ohhh! Oh my god!" Emma panicked, her trembling body dripping with the water, effectively turning her lone item of clothing into a wet t-shirt, virtually transparent and hugging every bountiful curve as if a second skin.
Her acute angst sent Emma's huge tits flailing under her shirt, and the drenched fabric revealed her stunning nipples in bold relief against the prominent dusty rose circles of her clenching areolae, most certainly catching Hal's attention.
It only got worse with her kneejerk response of pulling on the hem downward trying to cover her bald pussy, but instead emphasizing the huge, bounding mountains of tit-flesh pressing the taut fabric and embossing her thick, ringed nipples against its thin veneer.
"Turn your head, Hal," Mrs. Walker barked at her dumbfounded husband, "and pull your tongue in your mouth."
"I'm, uh, so sorry. I didn't think, ohhh, I, oh my," Emma apologized profusely, mortified, and instinctively reverting to her modest personality.
I know it was wrong seeing humor in her predicament, but I was in the living room guffawing out loud and breaking into a difficult to control smile I was happy Emma never saw.
Flustered, she ran in the front door with a flush of humiliation, racing to our bedroom uncertain how to respond to the devastating exhibition.
To my amazement and her credit, not much later my chastened wife returned to the kitchen, composed and dressed just as scantily as before, preparing Kellen and Kerri breakfast half-naked and looking every bit the reprobate mother she was gradually training to become by Hank, and now, our son too.
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I was still sleeping in the study, but the bed in our master bedroom was rarely occupied by Emma alone, often with a stranger sent by Hank, but frequently by our son or daughter, or both.
Betsy visited a couple of times a week too, telling her wife Sam she needed to help Emma with some such thing or another. It was nothing suspicious or unusual for her to visit regularly, so her explanation satisfied Sam.
