The Theft Of Our Lives 17 Pt 02

The Theft of Our Lives 17, Pt. 02

By Tug Coxwell

Disclaimer: This story contains various sex acts between adults, including but not limited to, non-consensual sex 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'S MERCENARY TURN

Cheetah wasn't shy when my three frat buddies left the next morning, scooping Emma into his arms by the waist and planting a very affectionate kiss on her lips right in front of me and our two compatriots on the front stoop of our house in the bright morning light.

Dressed in the only the striped apron, fortunately pulled up around her chest, in view of anyone in the neighborhood up that early for church on a sunny Sunday morning, my sleepy wife didn't object, and even exchanged a quick parry with Cheetah's tongue when it dipped presumptuously into her mouth.

Pulling her tight, my impertinent friend's large hands dropped to Emma's bare ass cheeks, giving each ripe half-globe a firm squeeze while whispering something in her ear causing her droopy eyes to pop and her jaw to drop with surprise.

"Next time, Em, you'll need to visit our house," he then suggested aloud, casting a wry smile in my direction followed by a disparaging snicker. "Hell, Rat can come too. It'll be fun."

"Enjoyed the hospitality, folks," Toad stated appreciatively, his meaning clear without being stated while giving Emma an innocent peck on the cheek.

I still wore my team jersey draped to mid-thigh discreetly covering my nudity to the world as Toad actually shook my hand goodbye - either as a symbol of friendship, or possibility, conveying his gratitude for hosting the party, and all that came with it.

"Sure did," Raven agreed, also giving Emma a kiss on the cheek, but with his left palm applying a gentle pat to her fleshy bottom as a parting gesture acknowledging the truly groundbreaking events of last night.

"What happens between frat brothers, stays between frat brothers, Rat," Cheetah recited with a wink as they waved and climbed into their rental car.

For whatever it was worth, it assured me the credo held to the outside world but unfortunately that all our other frat brothers were very likely to hear the sordid details of their visit, including banging Emma Tyler after years as every member's fantasy, and worse, how I stood meekly by as caged voyeur and cuckold watching it all happen.

"Are you okay?" I asked my shaken wife the moment the door closed, and we were safely inside.

Emma was silent for a moment, perhaps considering the question, or instead reliving the new reality that she'd fucked my frat buddies - her best girlfriends' husbands, and that family get-togethers would never be the same.

"That was awful, Ray," she sobbed, her eyes cast downward and moist thinking about what she'd done.

"It just that, well, it was so embarrassing with friends," my stricken wife volunteered. "I kept thinking of Paulina, or Jolie, or Pam, even when the guys were, um, inside me. I mean, screwing me."

I said nothing, because there was nothing to say, so I just listened.

"I've fucked a lot of men, Ray. I've cum with other men. Hell, you've watched me. It even gets you off," she elaborated, stating the obvious but adding the slight dig in subconscious retribution. "Last night was different. It was so demeaning. I mean, posing and then, well, giving myself to them.

I ignored a kneejerk desire to retort about her sudden chumminess with Cheetah after he'd not only fucked her, but made her cum enthusiastically and quite loudly, while also initiating the act of making her 'airtight.'

"Don't let my orgasms fool you, Ray. I was humiliated," Emma whined bitterly, pouring out feelings I hadn't heard since the first months of our servitude. "I know they've always checked out my chest. A lot of guys do, but I thought we were all good friends. Instead, given the chance, I was just a big-titted piece of fuck meat to them."

Now, I went silent, and the air hung heavy in the room for a full minute.

"I can't believe Kellen made me do that. What's happened to our son?" she asked plaintively, tears of distress about the corruption of our good-hearted son running down her cheeks.

"Hank's got him, Emma, and all we can do is obey, while letting Kel know we love him hoping that someday we'll get him back as our son and not our master," I answered honestly, since there was nothing else to say.

Another minute passed, and I was tempted to hug my wife giving her some comfort, but instead I asked a question I knew I shouldn't.

"What did Cheetah say to you on the porch?" I inquired, curiosity gnawing at my brain.

"H-he said, uh, I was worth, well, waiting 20 years to fuck," Emma admitted, sadly looking me in the face, then bowing her head expressing the more unnerving follow-up with difficulty.

"He said, um, that Paulina will think so too, the next time we visit," she added despairingly, her illusions shattered by the shocking revelation about her long-standing friendship with Cheetah's charming wife and that Paulina wanted her too.

Up all night and sexually drained, it had been an emotionally torturous and very humiliating night.

Turning towards the bedroom, Emma was clearly defeated and tired, but her slumped shoulders and sorrowful expression suggested shame and disappointment as well, rather than merely physical exhaustion, knowing her relationship with Paulina could never be the same.

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

It got worse for Emma's trashed and tattered dignity.

Unsurprisingly, as a product of the social media age, Kellen's concept of privacy and matters best left behind closed doors differed greatly from his traditionally raised mother, and he didn't limit her exposure to live performances on the limited stage of the showroom floor at department stores.

As luck had it, for his 18

th

birthday and before our family's indenture, we unwittingly bought Kellen the latest smartphone, thinking he'd innocently take videos of his friends and sports activities, or text benign messages of teen gossip - all of which was likely before Hank's meddling, introducing him to more unsavory uses for the gadget.

We never imagined our once guileless son mercilessly exploiting his beloved mother with the high-tech device while lining his pockets with a healthy amount of walking around money as he did.

I was both amazed and appalled by Kellen's complete lack of conscience or concern for Emma's feelings or dignity, and saddened by the realization he was now so corrupted he'd do so without an ounce of remorse.

Unfortunately, I learned about his treachery towards my besmirched wife in the worst conceivable way, at work.

"Hey, Ray, I saw Emma at her new 'job' yesterday. I didn't realize you were hurting for money," my co-worker Ed Bigelow remarked one afternoon when casually passing me in the hallway, winking devilishly.

"What? That's not a job, Emma just volunteers a few days a week," I answered unsuspectingly, assuming he was referring to her charity work with no idea what else he could mean.

"Volunteer? Not at those prices," Ed scoffed, raising his eyebrows doubtfully and shaking his head.

A sinking feeling suddenly came over me, thinking about Kerri, only recently turned prostitute and fearing our demented son might whore out his beleaguered mother too. I'd witnessed Kellen's growing control of Emma, fearing he'd stolen a page from Nate Wagnell's book and expecting her to supplement his allowance by turning tricks on his behalf.

"Huh?" I questioned dubiously, considering as more likely the possibility Ed frequented a strip club in town and recognized Emma working the pole - an event that would also be a revelation, but somehow not as disconcerting as actual prostitution.

"Photos, Ray. Videos too. 'Amateur Wives Go Pro,'" my co-worker replied, perhaps just now realizing I truly didn't know what he was talking about and enlightening me to this unexpected news.

"Oh, um, you must be mistaken. That couldn't be Emma," I countered defensively, hoping to maintain the pretense of my spouse as a respectable woman of untarnished character, although by now many in my office knew better.

"No mistake, Ray," Ed corrected frankly. "She uses her real name. Kind of surprising since most women on those sites use pseudonyms."

"Oh," I said morosely, dropping my head acknowledging a new affront to Emma's reputation and our family's pride.

"It's a site for women needing extra funds. I assumed you knew," he consoled disingenuously, unable to resist a wicked jab at my expense. "Killer body, though. I'll bet she's making a stack of cash with that rack. Coaxed $50 outta me."

I couldn't confirm his contemptible information on my work laptop since the company monitors the servers, but as soon as I got home I brought up the adults-only website and quickly found Emma's page, easily identifiable under the suggestive heading:

"Emma Tyler, DD Mom Needs A Good Buck."

Emma was in the kitchen, so I toured the page and, sure enough, found she'd posted a video along with some still photos. The first video was free and introductory, but the other folders were behind a paywall.

Still, the sample pictures were enough to boost my fears, but also my interest, so I clicked open the video.

"Hi, thank you for visiting my private webpage. My name is Emma Tyler, and yes, that's my real name and this is my real home," she said uncomfortably, shockingly holding up her driver's license to the camera lens as frightening verification with only the license number and street address blacked out, but not the city or state.

Height, weight, birthdate, photo - everything else was on full display, including her full name: Emma Jane Tyler.

Emma was standing in full figure, looking at a camera probably perched on a tripod I didn't know we owned, lightly made-up and dressed in a remarkably conservative black pencil skirt above modest black heels and a light magenta blouse hugging her body.

Appealingly, she showed a healthy amount of cleavage as a taste of what lay beneath but without otherwise exposing a serious amount of flesh.

"I'm sorry if I'm nervous, but I'm new to this sort of thing, and well, I honestly never thought I'd do anything this, um, wild," she explained, the sincerity in her voice undeniable as she teased her tag line. "I just need a good buck, or several, and thought an audience might help me out in exchange."

'Let's be honest,' I thought watching the presentation. 'My wonderful wife of 20-plus years has been fucked five ways to Sunday by any number of men over the past year.'

Emma has walked through our local grocery store with an actively humming vibrator driving her to an embarrassingly public orgasm. She's even had her slinky dress fall off unexpectedly in the middle of a busy restaurant, writhing on the floor completely naked vocally climaxing on that very same vibrator in full view of every diner in the establishment.

Still, the idea of broadcasting her voluptuous body, and likely performing other indignities I feared but hadn't yet seen, on the internet for money was terribly distressing to my august wife and a radical departure from anything she'd ever considered, even throughout our servitude.

To me, however, that's what made watching her introduction video so incredibly compelling.

Of course, Emma's degenerate audience didn't know any of that, and I sat as enraptured as they probably were as she explained her dire circumstances as a suburban wife and mother, worried about overspending her credit card limits and dearly needing to pay them off before her tyrannical husband found out.

It was a total lie, but served its purpose, and besides, it gave credence to the homespun image she sought to cultivate.

In the world of online porn, that wholesome persona was a lamb to a wolf, certain to convince any salivating man to pay for access in a way he wouldn't for the skanky bimbos often found on such sites.

As she walked through her story, appearing desperate in a manner I later learned was orchestrated by Kellen operating the camera and controlling her every move, Emma emphasized her chest in a way she had shunned all her adult life, propping it forward and nonchalantly undoing the blouse's top two buttons as she talked.

Ultimately, my wife reluctantly revealed the edge of a white lacy bra, salaciously urging men to subscribe, and by the way, feel free to tip her efforts if they were so inclined and wanted to see more in a private showing.

Although I'm intimately familiar with every one of Emma's abundant curves, albeit not so much recently, I took the bait, curious about how far her online exploits progressed. Signing up under a fake identity, I hoped she'd never check the name on the credit card listing the holder as "Raymond Tyler."

"Oh fuck," I groaned as her page opened and I was granted full access to the voluminous contents featuring multiple folders dating back about a month.

Methodical as always, I started from the beginning, curious as Emma exposed herself gradually over several 'performances,' slowly surrendering her modesty to thousands of unknown men by giving them an erotic show and filling their bereft lives with the promise of witnessing a truly respectable woman lower herself daily in exchange for a few bucks.

One episode it was her blouse, the next she lost the skirt, leaving her dressed in a sexy but rather formulaic black bra and panty with matching garters and stockings.

Any porn aficionado had seen similar lingerie on a million different professional models, but on Emma it was special, partly because her spectacular body did the slinky lingerie justice, but also because her presentation as an otherwise modest suburban wife and mother came across as unquestioningly genuine, enhancing her striptease immensely.

I watched her subscriber count climb with each new offering, especially on the day she lost the bra, jaw-droppingly revealing her giant DD wonders of nature to the appreciative audience and garnering multiple double-digit tips in doing so.

Day after day the content came as photos and videos, and I was dumbfounded realizing this new occupation had gone on right under my nose for a month without me catching on, but apparently Kellen and Emma were both clever and discreet, leaving me none the wiser.

That's not to say I wasn't mentioned, and there was even a portrait of Emma and I together on our wedding day in the background - the proud groom in my tuxedo and my smiling bride in her white gown with a tremendous swell at the conservative bodice, lovingly holding each other in much happier days.

"My husband doesn't know about my performances, and he's far too stupid to figure it out," Emma proclaimed one day about two weeks in, posing in a scandalously sheer white bodystocking that hid nothing from the camera.

"Of course, his cock is no bigger than his brain and I'm constantly left unsatisfied," she added immodestly, a longing in her tone designed to elicit the desired response from horny men in the form of more money. "Sometimes I think I'll just go out of my damn mind if I don't get a real man's cock."

Shamefully revealing daily outfits graduated to spread legged displays of her laser smooth pussy.

Even masturbation sessions, her gold wedding ring clearly visible while leisurely stroking her swollen clit with her red nail-polished middle finger, staring lustfully into the camera beckoning the audience to watch as she worked herself to orgasm for their entertainment, and their dollars.

"Oh, oh gawwd! I'm cumming! G-guys, watch me c-ummm for y-y-you," my wife huffed between panting breaths so convincing I doubt she was faking it.

Emma next introduced sex toys and vibrators, even dragging out Bruiser, her huge dildo, and fucking herself stupid while openly maligning my small penis as the subscriber number climbed and the tips rang up.

I was about three weeks into the archive when my telegenic spouse introduced the real thing into the mix, kneeling in simple white bikini panties suggesting purity even as she aggressively pulled and tugged her turgid, dusky rose nipples.

"I've got a, oooooh, special reward today for my wonderful cameraman," she announced intriguingly, as from the side a young man's body came into frame with the image from the shoulders down.

I'm not sure who was operating the camera, probably Kellen, because I immediately recognized the youth in the picture as Tim, with his bare, six-pack abdomen unmistakable as Emma loosened his belt and dropped his jeans, releasing a long, slack cock to the audience's view.

I was startled to see he'd shaved his own pubic hair, but unsurprisingly, the result made Tim's healthy young cock look that much bigger, and it already looked plenty big enough.

I'm guessing the salivating subscribers simply loved the idea of the respectable housewife introducing a virile lover into the mix, sparking interest in her show and envy from the viewers as she assumed a subservient position below, then took his drooping cockhead between her plump red lips and zealously consumed every inch of the impressive meat column.

Over the course of the next 10 minutes, I joined the other paying customers watching Emma artfully and erotically suck off her 'cameraman' without the use of her hands until finally he aggressively grasped her huge spongy tits, groaned deeply, jerked spasmodically, and poured a full deposit of youthful spunk down her throat to her waiting stomach.

"Ah, ahh, ahhh y-yesss, Mrs. Tyler," Tim praised, using her surname as if he was just the lucky kid down the street co-opted into the role of cameraman, which he was, and receiving his reward while simultaneously fulfilling the sinful needs of a horny and bored housewife with his thick cock.

"Ray, come to dinner," Emma's lyrical voice suddenly broke my attention to the image on the monitor, forcing me to close her webpage.

"Coming, dear," I replied cooperatively, but not leaving before catching the unsettling end to the video.

"I hope you enjoyed watching me suck off my cameraman," Emma said coquettishly, a dribble of Tim's cum at the corner of her mouth.. "He's a good guy and the son of a friend down the street. He does an excellent job too, so I thought he deserved a reward."

Gazing directly into the camera, Emma posed a moment, her giant melons rising and falling as an enticement for her audience's continued viewing, and tipping. Smiling seductively, she licked her lips erotically drawing in the small fleck of pearly semen as if a delectable treat.

"Would you like to be the special guest cameraman for a session?" she asked precociously, following the question with a beguiling promise. "Just be the highest bidder and you can take his place for a day, and all that comes with it."

"Of course, you'll need to pay for the privilege, and your own transportation and lodging," my business-minded wife added as the video ended, topless in her white panties looking very much the role of the suburban mother every man wants to fuck.

I shut off the monitor to head for dinner, ignorant of the identity of the ultimate winner or if the illicit performance had yet taken place. I felt certain whoever won would be in our house to receive an exceptional blowjob by Emma, or possibly even a fuck session for the lucky subscriber.

All for the right price, of course.

It was only the next day that I got the opportunity to view the next video to learn who'd won the prize, watching disconsolately as Ed Bigelow waved to the camera, probably suspecting I was watching after spilling the beans of Emma's disreputable business enterprise, with my fallen wife's succulent lips wrapped around his stiff cock.