Disclaimer: This is a side-story providing the detail of what occurred at home between Emma and Kellen while Ray was out-of-town. It has the same underlying thread of blackmail and coercion, but has a strong incest theme, so be warned. It contains various sex acts between adults, including incest and non-consent. 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.
THE TEASE
"You'd better get upstairs and get ready," Emma suggested before I left to catch my flight to Duluth, looking displeased and returning to her glass of wine with her little sister, Betsy, taking another large gulp.
I went up to my room, passing Kellen's on the way and finding his door ajar. Looking in, he was peeking out his window into the backyard using the mini-binoculars he brings to ball games. I didn't know if he was checking out his mother or his aunt in their striking bikinis, but I didn't interrupt fearing I'd embarrass our 18-year-old son expressing his natural and abundant sexual curiosity.
'I'm not so sure this is going to be as difficult as Emma thinks,' I thought, shaking my head, and moving on to our room, packing up and heading out the door after giving my wife a kiss and a hug in sympathetic bonding for our travails.
Emma and I agreed to minimal contact while I was gone. It broke our usual 'openness' rule but under the circumstances I understood her reticence to speak candidly about what occurred during the week. Instead, she promised to send me texts each night keeping me updated so I didn't drive myself crazy wondering.
I hoped she was straightforward, and perhaps more went on than I knew, but Emma is honest and usually tells me everything, so I was sure she'd mention anything significant if it had occurred. As I found out, she was true to her word, and the story she told on my return was stark, if difficult to hear, confirmation of that truth.
As one might expect of a mother confronting a dreadfully opprobrious task, Emma took it slow, planning to ramp up the naughtiness as the week progressed -- in essence, building his interest in her as more than just 'mom,' but also as an object of sexual appeal.
It was perverted and wrong, but she had no choice. Knowing her cautious nature, as well as her strong fear of failing her assignment, I expect her initial efforts were so artfully subtle our oblivious son didn't even notice.
Generally, at home or out in the world, Emma is a fashionable but conservative dresser. It's true, Hank required her to don highly scandalous attire when she was 'entertaining,' as it were -- such as the slutty outfits on the cruise, the visits to his office as the 'gold-digging' wife, or the sexy schoolteacher get-up at the poker party.
More often, however, and most definitely at home, my unpretentious wife wore neatly tailored, respectable clothing -- jeans with a sweater or a blouse buttoned modestly to the neck, or possibly a breezy summer dress extending to her knees with a closed bodice on a warm day.
Prior to our capture and descent into sexual servitude, Emma would never dream of wearing anything remotely revealing or provocative around our kids, even now that they're adults.
Self-consciously, she's also extremely aware of the effect of her generous breasts on people, accustomed to the lingering stares of men and women alike throughout her adult life, and so protectively does her best minimizing her huge rack with functional, sturdy bras and opaque tops without a hint of cleavage whatsoever.
As she conveyed it to me, over the initial days after my departure, the telltale signs of her efforts began to show -- a skirt a few inches shorter than usual, for example, or a button-down blouse with one or two more buttons undone at the top during dinner.
It was so discreet I doubt Kerri even noticed, although apparently Kellen's flitting eyes drifted briefly to his mother's chest when she leaned over the table to serve him the mashed potatoes that first night, spying a deep valley of cleavage between her well-supported tits.
Emma forced a nervous smile while slowly dishing out the food, making certain to give our startled son a moment to linger on the mountains of pale flesh before catching himself and respectfully averting his eyes to his meal. She was very likely embarrassed by her act but also content for the night that step one in a long descent into depravity was taken.
After that tentative foray, the displays increased in frequency and flesh, although as Emma told it she kept her most brazen acts of licentiousness for when Kerri was absent, and she was alone with our unsuspecting son. Conveniently, Kerri spent a lot of time with friends or in her room, perhaps pondering the unimaginable events overtaking her life and that of our family and unaware of her mother's dubious assignment.
Emma's flagrantly buttoned-down blouses soon lost another button, such that her bras revealed an abundance of cleavage when Kellen returned home from school. She went lingerie shopping too, purchasing nude bras lighter in construction, colorful, and even frilly, replacing the substantial white support garments usually containing her giant tits.
These new bras were sexy and uplifting, emphasizing her impressive endowment rather than hiding it. They also weren't padded, allowing her responsive nipples to protrude against the fabric.
That minor adjustment wasn't so noticeable when wearing a loose top granting Kellen a sneak peek down the front but was readily apparent when wearing form-fitting pullovers, which she rarely did out of inhibition.
That afternoon, a tight, lightweight shirt made an appearance in Emma's wardrobe. Clearly, she was aware what she was doing, with the snug top hugging her mountainous chest, and even though warm and unaroused, prominently displaying the poking tips of her flaccid nipples to even a casual observer.
I'm sure our reverential son noticed the conspicuous and unexpected change in his respectable mother's dress code but was too well-raised and courteous to stare, undoubtedly trying to do the right thing, and failing miserably.
Big tits and hormone-driven males go together like peanut butter and chocolate, and there was simply no way Kellen could resist checking out his beguiling mother's immense rack, and Emma knew it.
"Kel, sweetie, be my big strong son and help me reach that suitcase way up there in the garage?" she cooed adoringly that day upon his return from school as he lounged in a tank top and poly-mesh athletic shorts.
Emma wore a short sundress -- much shorter than she'd ever worn before and showing a lot of leg.
My wife is tall with long, shapely legs to go with her height. For that reason, she generally didn't wear anything much above the knee, but this loose-fitting yellow number dropped only to mid-thigh. Snug at the bodice, it slung low in a squared cut, exposing a healthy amount of her eye-catching breasts supported only by the flimsy lace of a white bra.
"Sure, mom," Kellen obliged, stepping into the garage finding his beckoning mother standing on the top rung of the ladder reaching ineffectively towards the upper rafters.
"Just hold the ladder steady and I think I can reach it myself if I go up another rung," she suggested helpfully, looking down at our son's vivid green eyes transfixed momentarily on her thighs.
As my crafty wife arranged, the hem of her cotton dress was an inch or two above eye level, understanding exactly the view he'd get when she rose another step, and stretching on tiptoes to retrieve the suitcase.
