The Theft of Our Lives

The Theft of Our Lives 01

By Tug Coxwell

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.

CAUGHT

It was theft, pure and simple.

Finally, I carried out the plan — frustrated, self-assured, and filled with a sense of false bravado and righteous indignation for perceived slights and past injustices, I honestly believed my retribution against Allenby Consolidation was the only way to secure the future of my family.

I had no way of knowing it would turn into the theft of our lives.

In my position at the company, I had unique access to the finances, and quite simply started moving money into a company account I created over which I had sole control. It was embezzlement, to be certain, but it was very sophisticated the way I moved the money, or so I thought.

I was highly confident no one would find out until the plan was concluded and my family was long gone and safe.

Very carefully over a six-month period I amassed a fortune in varying increments. I kept everything in the legal possession of the company account until I was ready. My goal was a cool $5 million. I was now well over $4.75 million and nearly ready to make my move.

Admittedly, I was operating at an aggressive pace over a short period of time, but I wanted to expedite the process and get out quickly. I was smart enough to know the longer you’re at a nefarious criminal activity, the more likely it is you’ll get caught.

With the tremendous amount of revenue the company generated, I believed even such large numbers would go unnoticed in the short term, at least until the mandatory independent company audit three months away, and I didn’t plan on being around for that.

To test my methodology, I made one small transaction from the company account into a secret personal account my wife Emma opened on our behalf. I’d kept her in the dark for her own protection, but as the good wife she faithfully did my bidding without knowing the account’s true purpose.

Ultimately, she learned of the plan when I told her the details and the reason for the new bank account the day after my company’s annual family picnic. It was getting near the date for me to pull the money and disappear, so I had to let her in on the scheme.

Truthfully, I subconsciously wanted to give my wife a chance to talk me out of it before I took the irreparable step of transferring the funds to our personal account.

My timing was perfect for gaining Emma’s assent, as unsurprisingly she didn’t object after the boorish manner of my boss Henry ‘Hank’ Allenby, president and majority owner of Allenby Consolidation, aggressively ogling and sexually harassing her at the picnic.

“Do you know he actually hit on me?” she told me in disgust. “That filthy pig was undressing me with his eyes all day. He actually asked if my breasts are real.”

“Shit, seriously?” I replied with feigned surprise, knowing Hank’s reputation as a cretin and degenerate while hoping to sound sympathetic.

“The jerk said I should visit him at a little bungalow he keeps downtown to find out for himself,” my disbelieving wife scoffed with genuine disgust. “He flat out propositioned me, Ray. I mean, like that’s gonna happen!”

Emma knew of my troubles at work.

As a couple, we talked openly about everything in our 20-plus year marriage. It was one of the many things I loved about my beautiful, compassionate wife. She knew I was passed over for promotions in favor of sycophants using my work and denied promised bonuses I’d earned on the strength of mere technicalities.

Emma isn’t perfect, possessing the same character flaws and foibles as any other human, but they’re mostly petty issues and nothing casting her in a poor light in other people’s opinion.

Her social standing is very important to her and to the outside world she’s a pillar of the community — volunteering for civic groups, active in school parent groups, and frequently cheering on our two grown children at their various athletic competitions.

Conservative and a conscientious rule follower by nature, it startled me a little how quickly Emma adopted my illicit design to embezzle, apparently viewing the plan as well-deserved restitution for us and punishment for everything Hank put me through in the past few years, now bolstered by his offensive behavior towards her at the picnic.

“He is a bastard,” I agreed, shaking my head and smiling at Emma with assurance the scheme I’d concocted was foolproof and would teach the sonofabitch a lesson.

Secretly though, I understood Hank’s attraction to my 39-year-old wife as a beautiful and appealing woman.

Emma is tall at 5’10”, statuesque, and delightfully full-bodied, but remains fit and nicely toned over the years, even after the birth of our two children — 19-year-old Kerri, and her 18-year-old brother, Kellen.

My curvaceous wife wears her silky chestnut brown shoulder-length hair draped loosely on her broad shoulders, or often in a girlish ponytail held by a pretty ribbon giving her a young, vibrant appearance. She excelled in athletics in college, and still works out when time permits, with her impressive frame possessing well-toned arms, broad child-bearing hips, and gloriously long, muscular legs reaching all the way to the ground.

As Hank’s interest implied, Emma also has big breasts — really big and all natural. That’s the only way to describe them.

When I met her in college she was a good-sized D-cup, and they’ve only gotten bigger with age and childbirth. Full and round, they maintain a nice shape, while holding firm without the excessive droopy sag common to a woman of her age and maternity.

Topping all this perfection is a lovely, smiling face and pleasant demeanor with an authentic beauty featuring a finely chiseled nose and cheek bones above a pointed but not overly prominent chin. She wears little make-up, just some lipstick and a touch of color on her eyelids, while her skin is a clear alabaster befitting her Swiss-German ethnic heritage.

Clinching the deal are Emma’s piercing emerald-green eyes boring right through you when sparked with anger, or playful with inquisitiveness when mischievous, making her a true beauty.

I understood other men wanting my desirable wife, but to the best of my knowledge she’d never strayed, remaining devoted and true to me throughout the years, and I felt fortunate she was mine.

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

It was a pleasant late March morning when my boss called me into his office.

Hank’s mood appeared good, with his usual business-like tone greeting me and then speaking briefly about the first quarter revenue performance. I was surprised Nicole Westridge, Allenby’s CFO, wasn’t present for a conversation involving sales, but I soon found out why when his attention turned to other matters.

“Ray, I have something I want to speak to you about,” he informed me seriously, but politely. “To be right up front, it involves Emma too.”

“Emma?” I inquired with puzzled surprise.

“Yes. I think you’d best call and have her come down to the office this afternoon after lunch,” he insisted. “I really do think you’ll both want to hear what I have to say.”

“Alright, I’ll call,” I agreed, then asserted with a light tone so as not to offend, “but unless you plan on apologizing to her for the way you treated her at last week’s company picnic, I’m not sure there’s much for her to talk about.”

“She was pretty offended,” I added.

“Apologize? Ray, whatever do you mean?” Hank asked, appearing hurt and taken aback. “Emma and I had a simple conversation. It was harmless, playful banter and don’t kid yourself, she liked the attention. Why apologize?”

“Yes, Hank, but what you so blithely bantered about was Emma’s chest,” I countered, stupidly feeling my oats with the prospect of our soon to be gained independence. “I mean, come on, you basically hit on my wife. She was humiliated and embarrassed, not to mention angry.”

“Well, Ray, when you want something, you shouldn’t be bashful about saying it. I was just trying to strike a deal,” he calmly replied, not mincing words or showing any concern about offending me as her husband.

“Deal?” I questioned, perturbed but holding my tongue from more pointed barbs.

“Look, Ray, every party to a deal should put forward their best assets to get what they want, and without a doubt, I’d say Emma’s chest is her best asset,” he opined straightforwardly.

‘What an uncouth lout,’ I thought, but decided it was best to leave the insult alone and instead call my wife.

Needless to say, Emma wasn’t thrilled with the suggestion to meet Hank at his office. She hadn’t seen him since the picnic but agreed for my sake, perhaps feeling the same sense of security my plan had given me.

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

It was 1:00 p.m. when Emma and I entered Hank’s office.

Emma was dressed in her usual weekday attire — tan slacks, sky blue cotton blouse and sensible black pumps with her lustrous chestnut brown hair pulled into her signature ponytail with a red ribbon. Her brilliant green eyes peered through black-rimmed glasses, just as she preferred when trying to look detached and professional.

I probably should have known something was up when I saw that Rick Littleton, the SVP Accounting and my direct supervisor was present. I tried not to think more of it, foolishly hoping whatever Hank planned on addressing involved my future with the company and recompense for past wrongs.

I naïvely assumed maybe that’s why he wanted Emma there too, so she could hear the good news.

“Emma, it’s so nice to see you. You look spectacular, as always,” Hank said graciously, as if the events at the picnic never happened while at the same time extending his hand.

Always accommodating in social situations and unable to offend through years of conditioning growing up in a genteel Southern family, my unhappy wife accepted the handshake with a distinctly reserved politeness.

“You remember Rick, right?” Hank asked, knowing she’d met him at past company events.

“Hello, Emma, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Rick offered with a smarmy grin.

“Hello, Rick,” Emma returned with a nod of acknowledgement.

“Okay, go ahead and have a seat everybody. I’ll get right to the point,” my employer stated matter-of-factly.

“Rick has brought very disconcerting information to my attention dramatically impacting the company, and Ray, I believe you’re responsible!” Hank forcefully impugned. “You’ve stolen roughly $4,750,000 of the company’s money, isn’t that right?”

“What! What are you saying, Hank?” I yelped, feigning shock and surprise, but choking audibly while nearly falling out of my chair.

Hank and Rick stayed silent to my rant.

“What are you talking about? How can you make such a wild accusation?” I retorted disbelievingly, doing my best to act the falsely accused innocent.

Hank wasn’t buying.

“Cut the act, Ray. You know what you’ve been doing, and I do too!” he raised his voice in a legitimate sign of anger. “Since her signature is on your new bank account, I’m more than certain your pretty wife knows as well.”

I looked at Emma sitting white as a sheet and trembling uncontrollably, and then at Hank and Rick again.

Hank was clearly pissed off, while Rick just smiled.

“Hank, wait, there must be some mistake,” I implored.

“There sure as hell is Ray, and you and your pretty wife made it!” he bellowed, removing all civility in addressing Emma and me harshly.

“Rick has everything detailed and documented. The proof is clear, and don’t think the clever idea of keeping the money in a company account, that you control I might add, is going to save your sorry ass,” he continued angrily. “That one transaction into your own account is the only proof we need of your intent to steal every penny.”

I was devastated, slumping in my chair while Emma sat speechless and trembling — a look of pure horror on her face with mouth quivering and tears in the corners of her eyes.

“I protect this company with the same devotion you protect your family, Ray,” my boss fumed vehemently. “This company is my baby. My heritage, my legacy, and damn it, my son’s future. I don’t take kindly to people fucking with it, because when you do, you fuck with my family. That’s exactly what you and Emma tried to do!”

Emma cringed in her chair palpably as I felt nausea creeping into my gut with thoughts of jail, scandal, and the damage to my family’s reputation racing through my mind.

‘What was I thinking?’ I bemoaned inside as he berated me, my arrogance, and my ignorance.

“When people do that, I take action and I get justice, at least, my version of justice,” he ranted, unsettling both me and my shaken wife.

Tension filled the room, but Hank didn’t let up.

“The money has been returned to the general account and you’ve been shut out of all the company accounts,” he advised as he pushed onward. “I see prison in your future, Ray. In your future too, Emma.”

“Nooooo!” Emma sobbed, bursting into tears.

‘How could this be happening?’ I wondered woefully. ‘I was so careful. How could they know?’

“Without parents, your family will fall apart,” Hank suggested ominously, driving home the unfortunate truth.

“Your kids may be adults, but they’re totally reliant on you,” he stated truthfully. “You know how dependent today’s generation are on their parents. They’ll be out on the streets in no time. No mom, no dad, no college, and no future.”

“Hank, please! Okay, I admit it. I’ll go to prison if necessary, but Emma didn’t know. She didn’t do anything wrong,” I pleaded desperately, regretting the whole plan while mustering enough wherewithal to speak.

“You’re smarter than that, Ray,” Hank scoffed derisively. “It doesn’t matter whether she knew or not, although I’ll bet she did. Her signature on that account is damning and you know it. Besides, I’ll make her look complicit regardless of what she knew or didn’t know.”

Hank paused letting that awful reality sink in, then continued reinforcing his point.

“I have good lawyers, Ray, the best,” he explained with no small amount of pleasure, purposefully painting a dire picture of our future. “The evidence they’ll feed the D.A., a buddy of mine I might add, will take you both down and put you in the hole for the next 10 years.”

I buried my face in my hands, while Emma was beside herself with grief.

“I’ll make sure those kids don’t see you or even each other for a long time to come,” he added with apparent glee. “I’ll ruin your family just as you tried to ruin mine!”

“HANK, NOOO! PLEASE DON’T! DON’T BREAK UP OUR FAMILY!!” my distraught wife cried aloud, with the thought of prison scaring her to death, but worse than anything was losing our kids and family.

“Isn’t there something we can do?” Emma asked under her breath in defeat.

My boss shot a quick look to Rick but said nothing, letting a heavy pall hang in the air. We didn’t know it at the time, but Hank’s anger was a ruse. Apparently, he knew about my embezzlement scheme since I made the withdrawal two months earlier, letting me dig an inescapable hole while building up his case against me and developing his own plan.

Hank knew exactly what he was doing, and Emma’s words were the signal he needed to spring his trap.

Certainly, there was no doubt the company president was serious about getting retribution for my sin, but he had his own sense of justice, and didn’t see much benefit to him or the company with Emma and me in prison, especially since he had retrieved his money.

Hank paused for a moment, and then a bit longer, allowing us to stew in our despair at our predicament and the impending destruction of our lives, happily letting the unimaginable realization sink into the core.

“It’s really a shame, Ray. You are a good employee, at least before you fucked up. I’d prefer to keep you with Allenby,” Hank’s tone softened, becoming almost conciliatory. “You know, Emma has so much to offer as well.”

I lifted my head from my hands.

“You can leave now, Rick,” my conniving boss turned to the man who had detected my thievery and brought us down. “Your service is duly-noted and appreciated. A reward is well-deserved, and you’ll be certain to reap a memorable benefit in the near future.”

Rick nodded and smiled a knowing grin, casting a leering eye at Emma while walking out the door.

I sat sullen in a world of misery of my own making. Hank’s words about me had no real impact, but when he mentioned Emma a chill ran down my spine. The devious bastard got Emma’s attention too and she tried vainly to stifle her tears looking at him with a mix of fear, suspicion, and doubt.

“Maybe we can find another way for you to pay for your misdeeds,” he suggested, moving forward with a renewed scorn in his voice. “One teaching you both a lesson that when you fuck with me, my company, or my family, I fuck back, and I fuck back hard.”

I had no idea how prescient his comment was to become, and I thought maybe it was just for effect, but it sounded real enough to me. Emma and I just sat silently listening to Hank, hoping against hope for a way out, but knowing deep down the price would be steep.

Emma bawled openly now, and I shuddered so hard I was glad I was sitting, or my knees might buckle from under me.

“Maybe we can make a deal. One keeping you out of prison and your family intact,” my boss suggested magnanimously.

My ears pricked up at the words, curious and concerned at what he had in mind, especially since I knew my employer pretty damn well after a dozen years, especially Hank’s reputation as a lecherous womanizer and amoral cad.

“I sure wish you had accepted my offer at the picnic, Emma,” he said, turning to my wife with clear intent. “Of course, that offer no longer stands, but I have a new offer. An offer on new terms. My terms.”

A disconcerted look crossed Emma’s brow knowing perfectly well the lewd offer at the picnic he referred to, suspecting whatever new terms he proposed would be even less palatable and more indecent.

“This time, however, there won’t be any negotiating,” Hank continued confidently. “Since I hold all the cards for the future of your family, it will be ‘take it or leave it.'”

Emma’s heart sank and tears flowed down her cheeks again while I bowed my head in revulsion and shame. We both knew where he was going and that my bold act to gain our independence was having the completely opposite result.

“Here’s the deal,” he began firmly, setting out his proposal with a stark, business-like efficiency honed over years of sharp bargaining. “The statute of limitations on embezzling in this state is three years. After that, it’s too late to prosecute you and Emma. So, for the next three years the Tyler’s are beholden to me. That means you do as I say — everything I say. Then, I cut you loose and you’re free to go.”

I sat on my hands with nothing to say. Hank had clearly thought this through, and I didn’t expect to find any loopholes to wiggle through and save us from our dire plight. In addition to prison, the scandal and reprobation surrounding our family would follow our kids for the rest of their lives.

“Ray, you can keep your job, albeit, with a few changes in responsibility,” he stated plainly. “Of course, you’ll no longer have any responsibility for the accounts, but I don’t think that’s unreasonable, all things considered.”

The veteran businessman holding our lives in his hands paused, letting the graciousness of his concession wash over himself with gloating generosity.

“As for you Emma, you too can assume your own ‘position’ under me, and the company as well,” Hank indiscreetly suggested, employing the benign euphemism but making it quite clear what he meant.

“I know you are, how shall I say, ‘highly coveted’ by the executive team, at least the men, but possibly a few of the women too,” Hank complimented, with his forthcoming double-entendre not lost on my staggered wife. “I’m sure the entire senior staff would enjoy having you.”

Neither Emma nor I spoke, simply listening as we saw ourselves reeled into Hank’s lair, victims of my stupidity and prey to his vindictive nature. Then, he threw down the hammer breaking our will and sending us off the deep end of despair.

“Of course, the alternative is prison and a shattered family,” he rejoined with hollow pity.

“Oh, dear god,” Emma sighed involuntarily at that awful prospect, inadvertently providing her answer.

I knew it, and apparently Hank knew it too, because the next words out of his mouth confirmed his certainty of our decision and intention to seal the deal.

“So, Emma, about my offer at the picnic, there’s no need to go to my bungalow. You can demonstrate right here and right now,” my wicked boss revisited the torrid subject that so insulted my proud wife only a week ago.

“Huh,” she gasped, knowing instantly what he wanted and fearful of taking such a dishonorable step, while in his office, of all places.

“Stand up, Emma, I want to get a good look at my newest acquisition,” he ordered imperatively with the confidence borne of his victory.

“Ray?” my distressed wife said weakly, looking in my direction for some sign of resistance that wasn’t coming.

“Don’t even think about it, Ray,” Hank admonished firmly, nipping any futile act of rebellion in the bud.

I stayed seated, afraid to move to the love of my life’s aid and instead looking into her frightened green eyes with a silent message of resignation telling her all she needed to know.

“Good boy,” my boss sneered in a most condescending tone.

Knowing she’d get no help from her spineless husband Emma slowly rose to stand shaking at her full magnificent height. Hank looked her up and down, admiring every glorious inch and openly lingering on the swell of her ample bosom more obviously than ever, before returning to her anxious emerald eyes.

“Now, undo the buttons, dear. Take off your blouse and show me those great big tits, just as I asked at the picnic,” Hank instructed, taking pleasure in speaking the words.

“Ohhh, please?” Emma implored helplessly, even as her hands unwittingly rose to the neck of her pretty blouse in following his directive.

Hank said nothing, simply staring expectantly, with her acquiescence the signal of acceptance of our servitude to my daunting boss, rather than suffer the destruction of our family.

With trembling hands, the buttons agonizingly came undone one after another revealing the white cotton of her functional bra. Pulling the hem from her tan pants, Emma reluctantly slipped the blouse from her shoulders. Oddly, in the manner typical of a mother earned over the years, she neatly folded the garment and placed it on the sofa end table.

“Nice, take of the bra too,” Hank remarked, his leering grin making clear it was an okay start but to keep going to the good part.

I stupidly gazed at Emma’s disrobing with dismay and anger, mostly at myself, while also disturbingly noticing a subtle tensing of my average prick that I could never mention to my mortified spouse. It was a sensation I can’t explain or justify, and frankly, I struggled to admit it to myself, but there’s an illicit eroticism watching my cherished wife stripping at the behest of my boss in his office with me as impotent witness.

Emma glanced at me for just a second, whether for strength or comfort, I don’t know. Not finding whatever it was she needed and knowing Hank’s patience was thin, she forlornly slipped a strap of her bra from first the right shoulder and then the left.

Lowering her head in shame and unable to look her tormentor in the eye, she then reached behind her back to undo the triple-hook catch on the sturdy undergarment, releasing the tension on the fabric allowing it to fall from her prodigious breasts granting Hank a glorious view of his long sought-after prize.

“Whew,” Hank drew in a deep breath at the sight he’d dreamed about since meeting Emma at a get-together years ago when I first joined Allenby Consolidation.

I swallowed hard at my beloved’s exposure, sorry for her humiliation and embarrassment, but strangely proud to be married to such a desirable woman, so committed to her family she’d submit to the terrible conditions of this warped arrangement with our awful new master.

Emma’s breasts are truly spectacular — large pale globes staying dense and firm over the years despite childbirth and age. Her marvelous jugs project prominently forward with a gentle slope bearing their impressive size and weight, topped with poker chip-sized dusky rose areolae, currently set flaccid and centered by thick eraser tip nipples.

Perhaps in a sign of gathering strength, she nobly resisted the urge to cover herself with her arms, instead raising her stately frame and standing proudly upright, with shoulders squared thrusting her magnificent tits outward in an act of resistance designed to tell Hank he could take from her body what he pleased, but he’d never conquer her spirit.

Emma looked breathtaking — gorgeous and powerful, but Hank wanted more, and most certainly that included breaking her defiant soul.

“Those are truly unbelievable, Emma. Honestly, simply a remarkable set of tits. You really are the total package,” the deviant asshole extolled sincerely, reducing her to only a desirable bag of bones without other intrinsic worth.

My dignified wife supremely placed her hands on her broad hips at the affronting comment, but I knew within she was emotionally traumatized suborning to his control and arrogance. Philosophically, she’s a feminist and an egalitarian, so found such treatment degrading, diminishing, and extremely offensive.

As is common in strident people, beneath their core beliefs is often a sense of vulnerability and weakness. It’s as if they overcompensate in addressing whatever feelings of inadequacy or sensitivity they possess. Unfortunately for Emma, that attitude only spurred the competitive juices in my Alpha-male employer, with Hank growing more determined than ever to break her to his service.

“Toss the bra to me,” he directed, holding out his hand expectantly from his place at his desk.

Distressed and angry, my athletic wife chucked the garment at his head like a fastball, beaning him but also sending a smile across his face — perhaps for her display of contempt, but as likely for the delightful exhibition supplied by her huge jugs bounding actively on her chest with the action.

“What’s it say?” Hank asked plainly, reading the label but intending to force my spiteful wife into speaking the words out loud in further attempting to reduce her resolve.

“Made in the U.S.A.,” Emma spat the country of manufacture, understanding his demand but her sense of indignation not willing to play along.

“Cute, you’re funny. I like a sense of humor,” he guffawed good-naturedly, then turned extremely serious again. “What does it say?”

“Umm, 37 double-D,” she answered more contritely, embarrassed to say aloud the measurement of her tremendous bust even though I was the only other person in the room and already knew the answer quite well.

“Again,” Hank prodded for fun, but also to teach her a lesson about smart backtalk.

“37DD, Hank. I have big tits, alright? Is that what you want to hear?” Emma snarled dangerously, refusing his reprisal and coming perilously close to upsetting the man holding our future in his hands.

“Something like that, but watch the attitude,” my boss snapped, before resuming a cheerful tone.

“That was my guess, by the way. At least the DD part, and I’m rarely wrong,” he acknowledged with a certain pride, then continued his humiliating instructions for my recalcitrant wife.

“Give ’em a shake,” he ordered, adding an imperative to his directive. “Now!”

Uncomfortably, Emma did as she was told, faltering a little in hesitantly shifting her torso left and right sending her impressive melons jostling aimlessly in a display causing my wife a chagrined gulp at her subservience, while Hank only smiled and shamefully, my cock twitched in my slacks once again.

I’ve learned during our 20-plus year marriage that Emma’s outward self-confidence and strong presentment are a mask for an inner submissiveness only a dominant personality can tap. As the child of a 1980’s feminist upbringing, I was never that man.

Born to an earlier generation, Hank was of a different mold, and boldly pierced my susceptible wife’s veneer of strength and assurance with each demeaning task he demanded.

“Emma, my new pet, I’m going to ask you to assume a specific position,” Hank announced with growing impudence, extending his reach with every word in bending my unsettled wife to his desires.

“I say ‘ask’ because you must always understand you do this by choice, not command,” he explained undoubtedly. “Admittedly, your options aren’t good, but you must always remember everything you do is by choice.”

I saw the deflated look in Emma’s eyes immediately, sensing her attempt at controlling our situation slipping away and crestfallen at losing the psychological cover of pretending she had no choice, although as a practical matter she didn’t other than go to jail and destroy our family.

“Stand upright with feet at shoulder width, clasp your hands behind your neck, extend your elbows to either side, and push those big, beautiful tits squarely front and center on unfettered display,” Hank explained with a grin, waiting expectantly for her to obey.

My stunned wife did nothing, perhaps contemplating his intent or more likely, balking momentarily at the lewd exhibition.

Emma understood that the position, while similar to the proud pose she assumed of her own accord upon removing her bra, was designed for precisely the opposite purpose. Hank’s sole intent was to focus undeniably on the size of her immense breasts, emphasizing them as her primary asset in defining her merely as the owner of a big set of knockers and nothing else.

She didn’t quite know what to do, desperately wanting to rebel is my guess, but instead simply hesitating.

“Your choice,” my awaiting boss reiterated.

‘I’m doing this to save my family,’ Emma chanted internally in a newly realized mantra.

Then, in a slow symbol of defeat she did as requested, grudgingly raising her arms in assuming the position as suggested, setting her magnificent jugs conspicuously on view jutting forward in their undisputed glory.

“This is your presentation pose,” Hank informed her with a knowing triumph. “You’ll assume it whenever I say the word, ‘Present.'”

I saw the desolation in Emma’s pretty green eyes at her submission and it was clear to Hank no verbal acknowledgment was required as she unhappily complied.

“Very good, my pet. Now, shake them again,” he congratulated, arrogantly using the belittling label.

Coerced into another step down her road to servitude, my unresisting wife again did as she was told, turning unsurely from side-to-side forcing her fleshy globes to collide into each other gloriously, providing a show that even I had to confess was eye-catching.

“Okay, now that we have an understanding, drop the pants too. I need to see the rest of the package I own,” Hank ordered summarily, growing stronger with each unalterable dictate in commandeering my abating wife and slowly reducing her to purely an alluring sexual commodity.

Relinquishing the humiliating ‘presentation’ pose, Emma faltered in dropping her hands to the snap of her slacks and nervously undoing the zipper and lower them to her ankles, kicking off her pumps, then stepping out, folding and neatly placing them on her growing pile of clothing.

Clearly not expecting the afternoon’s extraordinary events, Emma wore a simple, modestly cut pair of white cotton bikini panties. Functional and not designed to entice, they nonetheless looked wonderfully erotic on my wife.

I’m not sure why the image of my sweet wife uncomfortably standing nearly naked in my employer’s office turned me on so much, but the curly wisps of chestnut brown hair escaping the sides of the front panel were mesmerizing, indicating she didn’t even so much as trim her abundant, natural bush, creating a rise of her curved mound inviting to my discerning eye.

“Present!” Hank snapped, testing his new instructions in gauging her responsiveness and unwilling cooperation.

I was learning Hank liked power as much as sex, and compelling Emma to do his bidding was as thrilling to him as her forthcoming supplication to his desires, of which I now had little doubt.

It was like telling a dog to rollover, as caught by surprise, she immediately returned to the humiliating position as requested, spreading her legs to shoulder-width and setting her arms in place with shame filling her eyes but understanding the cost of refusal.

“Well done, Emma. You learn quickly. I like that. I like it a lot,” my boss praised, heartily approving her obeisance.

Indignity flushed Emma’s body at the unwanted plaudit, but Emma maintained her posture until the next order was issued by the increasingly pleased company president.

“May as well jettison the panties too,” Hank advised a moment later. “No sense in hiding what we all know you’ll ultimately show me anyway.”

It was a dismissive statement my august wife would normally defy, but instead, perhaps recognizing her powerlessness and the unacceptable alternative, Emma grasped her underwear by the waistband, summarily lowering it in a halting move over her generous hips, then sleekly down her sinewy thighs and off her feet.

Emma Tyler, my beloved 39-year-old wife and mother of our two adult children was now apprehensively standing stark naked in my boss’ office. Worse, it was done at his direction against her deeply-held principles, propriety, and moral upbringing.

I knew then, if not before, we were lost. Emma probably knew it too, but we simply had no choice. We were trapped and our family was ensnared with us.

“Present,” Hank said one more time, confident of her obedience without need for further intimidation.

My heart dropped but my prick rose as Emma took the pose again, presenting her nude body in all its splendid beauty and desirability. Breathing deeply with anxiousness and shame, the involuntary response unfortunately sent her huge tits rising and falling spectacularly.

Hank’s focus, however, was now on the dense growth of willowy chestnut hairs at the center of her pelvis, as Emma maintains a naturally thick bush that’s well-kempt and not unattractive, with lush curls covering the curve of her mound, although currently somewhat matted by the impression of her panties.

Sadly for my wife, with her legs indecently parted, the nest isn’t quite enough to completely obscure the ragged petals of her slack labia, peeking discreetly and neatly framing her womanhood in defense of her female core.

“Well, look at you now, Mrs. Tyler,” our captor chided with reprehensible cruelty. “So respectable and sure of yourself in denying me the pleasure of viewing your luscious body only a week ago, but not so haughty now, it appears.”

Emma dropped her shoulders perceptively at the denigrating comment, inadvertently waggling her massive boobs in unintentional recognition of his dominance.

Authoritatively assuming his position as our master and the wielder of our family’s destiny, Hank waltzed confidently to stand before my taller wife scrutinizing her head to toe. The two made quite a contrast, with Emma’s 5’10” frame towering over my 5’7″ boss, but the power dynamic flowed in exactly the opposite direction.

It was clear Hank was pleased, but also quite excited.

“You really are charming, I have to say,” he complimented, quickly descending into the crudity of his base persona. “Those big tits and your overall body, I mean, wow, seriously, you are highly fuckable.”

Struggling to not break into tears while bravely holding her presentation pose, Emma still slumped momentarily at the comment, with her knees buckling slightly knowing that fucking the bastard was likely her future.

“Truly, these are a tremendous set of yabos,” he applauded immaturely, presumptuously placing his wretched palms beneath the sumptuous outcropping of her lovely breasts, flagrantly lifting them in appreciation of their substantial size and heft.

Emma flinched involuntarily at his touch, and I knew she desperately wanted to back away and give the sonofabitch a piece of her mind, not to mention a knee to the crotch. She’s proud as a woman without flaunting them, but also sensitive about the size of her breasts. Allowing him to paw her precious bosom was against every impulse in her being.

“Jeez, I love big tits, and these are the best,” Hank exclaimed with juvenile enthusiasm, squeezing her meaty mounds zealously in revealing his weakness for female flesh.

Emma blushed with the compliment but stoically endured his groping, with her greater objective of saving our family in mind. Still, I saw her anguish at the insult and distress at his familiarity with her ripe body.

“I’m not so sure about that bush, however,” he objected while considering briefly what to do about it. “I like ’em in all styles, sometimes full, sometimes trimmed, or sometimes even shaved completely.”

“We’ll see,” the man followed contemplatively.

My conservative wife gulped at that prospect, always keeping her mound in its pristine, hirsute state. Losing her dense growth of vaginal hair wasn’t an appealing idea, but she’d deal with that if or when it happened.

“Eyahhh,” she squeaked when Hank’s hand found her sealed pussy slit, audaciously drawing along the ridge of her fleshy petals probing for an entrance into the dry seam.

I wasn’t sure if her response to his move was from shock or disgust at his boldness in exploring her so personally.

“Hmmm, I hope you lube up easier than this, but I suppose that will come with use,” my analytical boss critiqued with dehumanizing disregard, once again portending her distasteful future.

Emma visibly faltered under the exploitive barrage of Hank’s dominating commands, shuddering involuntarily in a manner I’m sure he enjoyed.

I saw it too, and honestly, I don’t know how well she’ll hold up under the increasingly intimate scrutinization of her most private places by a man she actively loathes.

“Over to the desk, pet,” Hank said firmly in what was certainly an order rather than a request. “Bend over the top at the end and grip the edges on each side.”

“Huhh, seriously?” Emma exhaled and questioned sadly while obediently walking to the big walnut executive desk, mentally and emotionally preparing herself to assume another disgraceful position displaying her feminine wares.

“No, no, not right up against it. Back away a couple of feet. Back off, stretch out that long frame and bend over while gripping the edges — forty-five degrees,” my purposeful boss corrected when Emma braced herself solidly against the end of the desk.

Emma isn’t overly fond of doggy-style sex, doing it occasionally for my benefit. I suspect she’s self-conscious and uncomfortable about the way her huge pendulous breasts sway beneath her prostrate chest in the position.

Unfortunately, it’s the position she now found herself in, but made more extreme as Hank’s desk is wide, spreading her long, toned arms forward and far apart leaving her giant melons even more exposed and unimaginably appealing in profile, no doubt just as my incorrigible boss intended.

As if to emphasize that design, he paused momentarily to the side, admiring her voluptuous form and low-hanging tits drooping prominently from her tremoring torso.

“Wow, what a sight! Honestly, pretty as a picture,” he exclaimed, unabashed in prying at her sensitivities by commending her humiliating pose.

“Next time I’ll need a camera, you know, to capture the view for posterity, or maybe show a few of the staff,” my boss added offhandedly. “I know several of Ray’s co-workers have wanted to see Emma Tyler’s big tits for a long time.”

Emma’s eyes popped wide at the last remark, with the mere thought of Hank photographing her in such an undignified position humiliating and thinking of him showing them to his gawking inner circle was nearly intolerable.

Shifting to approach from behind, Hank took charge in a business-like manner, evaluating my blushing wife’s splendid body. He was still not satisfied though, perhaps simply trying to embarrass her further or maybe due to a perfectionist streak common to successful people.

“Spread those lovely long stems wide, pet, as wide as your arms,” he directed after some consideration.

Unhappily, Emma complied, leaving her in what had become a disturbingly obscene inspection posture I’m certain she found absolutely degrading, with her legs spread wide and ready for my vindictive boss to peruse her assailable pussy at his leisure in the most intimate detail.

Reflecting her rage, unease, and awkward circumstance, Emma’s white knuckles gripped the desk tightly, with her wedding ring flashing briefly off the artificial office lights.

I was now sadly hard as a rock witnessing my winsome bride’s utter debasement. I didn’t want to be. I wanted to be supportive and strong for Emma, but instead I was turned on, fascinated by Hank’s exercise of unadulterated power in manipulating her into the most ignominious pose.

“Lovely, Emma, such an adorable furry kitty,” Hank remarked reverently, truly appreciative of Emma’s openly presented pink gash split clearly for his viewing, surrounded by a bevy of fluffy brown hair.

“Huhhh,” she exhaled deeply at the observation, exposed in a manner she’d never even tolerate by her gynecologist.

Sliding to her side, Hank set his hand on her lower back above the cute dimples marking the top of her glorious round ass, then slipped his palm under her tummy and running it lightly up to her chest, letting her giant fleshy left globe overflow his widespread fingers in testing its weight and density.

“Heavy. These gotta be ten pounders each,” he chortled crudely, maliciously squeezing her big tit between his fingers and finishing with a playful but not overly painful pinch of her meaty eraser tip nipple.

“Ahhh,” Emma peeped at the offense and his coarse description of her mammoth breasts, closing her eyes momentarily in shame.

As embarrassing as that was for my sensitive wife, it got worse when his other hand drifted over her protruding rump, led by his index finger gliding intrusively along her vulnerable ass crack, luckily bypassing her clenching sphincter, but unfortunately continuing across her perineum until reaching the sealed entrance guarded by her fleshy labia.

“Awwhhh,” she gasped in her distress at the meddlesome personal probe.

“Still dry here,” he determined with some disappointment. “Don’t be so uptight, Emma. You really need to get juicy easier and ready for action.”

‘This is it,’ I thought as the words left his mouth, with my modest cock raging hard. ‘My asshole boss is going to fuck my wife right in front of me and I can’t do a thing about it.

I’m pretty certain Emma feared the same thing, but dutifully stayed in place ready to accept her punishment, and more importantly, protect our family from separation and destruction.

‘Wap,’ a mild slap of her meaty ass came suddenly and unexpectedly.

“Okay, that’s enough for now,” Hank surprisingly declared, returning to his executive desk chair. “I have a meeting in twenty minutes, and I need to review a few spreadsheets.”

We were both shocked, fully expecting the deviant bastard to take the next step and force my wife into sex right there in the office.

“You can get dressed now, Emma, we’ll consummate this deal later,” he advised without looking up from his laptop as Emma thanked the stars for her reprieve and scurried to put on her clothes.

“Stop by Mrs. Ogawa’s desk and give her your vitals — measurements, height and weight, you know the drill,” my boss instructed, sealing our unfortunate plight as indentured servants to his desires. “She’ll give you an address. Meet me there at six tonight, both of you.”

“Make arrangements to be out late, and Emma, dress to please and don’t be late,” he warned portentously, sending a chill of the unknown through us both.

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

“Dress to please? What the hell does that mean?” Emma queried uncertainly, rummaging through her closet that evening. “I mean, it’s not like we go clubbing every weekend at our age. I don’t know that I have anything designed to ‘please’ as Hank wants.”

“I’m sure you’ll look good in anything you wear,” I flattered with husbandly affection, unfortunately suspecting it was unlikely anything she picked was staying on her wonderful body for any length of time anyway.

I quickly dressed in casual khaki’s and a polo shirt, waiting in the kitchen as she put together her outfit.

“Mom and I are going out for an evening at my boss’ house. We may be late so you’re on your own,” I explained to our two adult children.

“Okay, dad, but why so late on a weekday?” our scrutinizing 19-year-old daughter asked.

Kerri is always the more curious of the two, with her 18-year-old brother Kellen letting her take the lead and simply following blithely along with whatever came up.

“Client thing. Mr. Allenby said it could even be an all-nighter,” I answered with a fib, not really certain what to expect.

Hank hadn’t actually said that, but I wanted the kids to be prepared in the event we didn’t come stumbling home until morning, while peremptorily stifling any prying questions if we did.

“So how come mom has to go?” Kerri pressed innocently, not suspecting anything was awry.

“Oh, you know, sometimes a spouse has to provide the right appearance for propriety’s sake,” I answered vaguely, recognizing she was too young to really understand without experience in the corporate working world.

“Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?” Emma announced, breezing into the kitchen doing her best at hiding her trepidation about the coming evening and sparing me further questions from our inquisitive daughter.

“Awesome, mom,” Kerri chirped with an approving nod.

“Wow, great mom,” Kellen piped in immediately with a concurring remark.

Emma chose a stylish black sleeveless button-down silk blouse and a pleated burgundy skirt to just above the knee, topping sheer black thigh-high stockings and the only high heels she owned, a modest 3-inch black pair with a decorative black buckle.

Fashionable but certainly not flashy by a younger woman’s standards, Emma’s relatively conservative look contrasted the very form-fitting nature of the top, cut to adhere to her ample curves with emphasis on her eye-catching bust.

“I don’t really like this blouse. I didn’t realize it hugs so closely when I bought it,” she confessed on the one prior occasion she wore it.

Interesting, my naturally attractive wife wore a hint more make-up than usual, although still tastefully applied — a natural tone base, mauve eye shadow, black eyeliner, and mauve lipstick matching her eye shadow. She looked truly lovely, and I expected Hank to think so too, even if it wasn’t the sexiest ensemble.

“You look fantastic, babe,” I whispered in her ear as we headed out the door after a parental admonition for the kids to do their homework and not stay up too late.

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

There’s no question in my mind tonight’s meeting is for the sole purpose of Hank fucking my wife in his first foray into retribution for my theft.

I’d be hard pressed to imagine Emma didn’t think she’d be taken sexually too and pulling up to the address provided by Mrs. Ogawa removed any doubt, as it was the bungalow Hank invited her to visit during the company picnic.

I don’t have any idea as to Hank’s current matrimonial status. He keeps his private life so secretive I’d need to hire a private investigator to find out and I didn’t care enough to incur such an expense.

With that in mind, I’m not really certain why he keeps the downtown bungalow when I know he owns an expansive estate outside of town. It might be for carrying on his sexual dalliances outside the knowledge of his wife, if he has one, but it could just as easily be for convenience and proximity to our office on nights when he worked late and didn’t want to make the drive home.

Probably a little of both, if I had to guess, but regardless, it’s an ideal location to secure his claim on my wife and neither Emma nor I assumed it was anything other. Private, anonymous, and comfortable, we didn’t know how the night would unfold, but I’m certain Hank Allenby fucking Emma was more than likely on the agenda.

Ringing the bell right at 6:00 p.m., an ebullient Hank greeted us at the door, all smiles and pleasantries as if we were truly there for just a friendly visit.

“Ray and Emma Tyler, I’m so glad you could make it, and right on time. You know I like that,” Hank effused graciously while inviting us into the small foyer.

The bungalow isn’t big, maybe 1,000 s.f. or so, but is nicely appointed with modern-style furnishings, expensive art, and lush flowering plants. I assume he has a service decorate and maintain it, since he has neither the time nor likely the inclination to do so.

The place has a small living room to the left as you enter with a passthrough to the kitchen and then a hallway leading to a dining room, den, and the two bedrooms. It’s well-lit with plenty of windows providing natural light and has an overall welcoming feel.

“Let’s have a nice meal, shall we?” Hank suggested, ushering us into the comfortable dining room with a table already set with food prepared and ready to serve from a fancy catering service I’m sure.

“I hope you enjoy filet mignon, but I have some vegetarian items if you prefer,” he informed us, seating us on opposite sides of the table with himself at the head.

“I love a filet,” I answered, a bit flummoxed at the hospitality and on edge waiting for the other shoe to drop with Hank ruthlessly pouncing on my wife, looking equally uncertain and worried about what came next.

“Yes, that would be fine,” Emma agreed politely as Hank poured her a glass of fine French Bordeaux.

Dinner was remarkably uneventful and although Hank did make some flirty remarks and probing eye contact with my increasingly comfortable wife, he made no untoward moves under the table or anything more aggressive than a friendly pat on her shoulder.

It was all very disarming, with a lot of conversation about business, our kids, and Emma’s philanthropic work ensuing. I realized later it was deceitfully designed to learn more about us and our family, with my cunning boss thinking it might prove useful in furthering our servitude.

After two hours, we adjourned to the living room, where Hank turned on some classic standards as background music and the night’s festivities finally began.

“Let’s dance, Emma,” he requested in a tone sounding more like a command. “Ray, run to the kitchen and fix us each a Manhattan. You’ll find everything you need in the cabinets.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I replied to the sudden change in direction as to who was host and who was husband.

As I left my boss scooped up Emma, grasping her closely and beginning a slow dance. It was humorous in an odd way, seeing the two together, with Emma towering over Hank’s slim frame by a good three inches.

Less funny was the height difference placing his head about chest level and seeing his hand swiftly drop to Emma’s skirt-covered bottom in an expression of his growing comfort with taking whatever liberties he chose in front of her husband’s eyes.

“Ohhh, umm,” I heard Emma peep while I was in the kitchen finishing up the cocktails, with the sound giving me pause but then not hearing anything else except the catchy music.

“Uh-hum,” I uttered upon entering the room with a tray full of drinks, caught off-guard by the vision I beheld.

Hank and Emma were still embraced in a close slow dance, but my wife’s fashionable pleated skirt had dropped to the floor and was kicked aside. I’m sure that’s when she made her squeaking protest, suddenly left standing in a sexy pair of lace black bikini panties, with her long shapely legs swaying to the music clad in the sheer thigh-high stockings.

My boss had both hands firmly clamped on Emma’s marvelously broad ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh lightly as they moved in one place on the hardwood floor, their bodies pressed together with no light filtering between them.

I caught a look of apprehension in Emma’s flitting eyes but one of pure bliss in Hank’s, burying his face into her deep cleavage, now partially exposed with the top two buttons of her blouse undone so the black bra and ivory tops of her large breasts overflowed the lacy cups.

“Cocktails,” I called when no one responded, disrupting the discomfiting mood, while pretending to ignore that my assertive employer had half-stripped my beloved wife in my brief absence and was feeling her up like a college frat brother at a sorority mixer.

“Nice and well-proportioned,” Hank commented after breaking away, accepting his drink and taking a sip.

I nodded but wasn’t sure if he was speaking about my curvaceous wife or complimenting me on my skills as a mixologist.

Flustered and a touch unnerved, Emma hatched her beverage in one long gulp looking for fortification in a glass against whatever the coming night held now that she was partially disrobed. Her dazed green eyes cast in my direction showing rage, sadness, and ultimately resignation, with all three concurrent emotions directed at me.

“Enough of that. Sit here, dear, and take off the blouse,” Hank announced abruptly, focusing on Emma while taking a seat on the sofa as I remained standing nearby.

Emma’s shoulders slumped with the request but then complied without much hesitation. The blouse was only half-on anyway, so it was just a few simple flicks of the bottom buttons before she shucked it off to join her skirt, leaving her in just her skimpy lingerie.

“She knows how to hatch a drink. Another round, Ray,” Hank ordered.

Just as had Emma, I obeyed without argument, fearful of what I’d find upon my return, and hurrying with the drinks not wanting too much time to lapse, or shamefully miss too much of the action.

This time no sound came from the room except the background music, turned down for ambience and no longer for dancing. Rounding the corner from the kitchen, I was presented with another vision no husband wants to see — my self-assured boss and reluctant wife now engaged in a body-contact, full-mouthed French kiss on the sofa.

Hank’s tongue probed between Emma’s plush lips deep into the wet cavity while grappling with Emma’s athletic body, their arms and legs entangled and his right palm grazing along the long, supple stretch of her left thigh from the knee all the way to her round ass cheek.

‘Smup, mumph, sluf,’ smacking and snuffling sounds emanated from lips pressed together leaving me afraid to interrupt with the drinks, so instead I simply stared as my loyal wife unhappily made out with another man.

Knowing how sacred Emma holds such personal acts as a romantic kiss, elevating them to an expression of love and caring far above the act of sex itself, I realized for her to be so thoroughly and intimately involved with my boss was as traumatizing as stripping naked in his office earlier this afternoon.

With eyes closed to her mate and the world, she nonetheless appeared to be doing her best in going through the motions, slipping her own tongue into Hank’s mouth as he caressed her soft skin with this roving hands and doing nothing to fight him off.

Judging by appearances, Emma wasn’t exactly enthusiastic but did her best to fake it, not outwardly struggling or resisting the aggressive pawing for fear of incurring his disapproval and blowing our deal. I can only guess how she was faring emotionally, but in my selfishness I hoped she was distraught at the violation of our sacred vows and fealty to our loving marriage.

‘If I don’t do something, he’s gonna fuck Emma right in front of me,’ I decided, thinking that was the logical next step in his progression at undermining her dignity and wounding me.

I also sadly realized that if that’s what he wants to do, he’ll do it anyway, and I’ll do nothing about it but watch, no doubt to his great pleasure.

Truthfully, based on the sordid exhibition in his office, Emma and I both assumed Hank fucking her in my presence was almost certainly on the docket tonight, but it was still a harsh reality to accept when the time for it to happen appeared imminent.

“Uh-hummm,” I cleared my throat again just when Hank’s hand moved from her thigh upward, grasping Emma’s big left tit over her bra and threatening to bulge out the top when pressed against his body.

“Oh, Ray, back so soon?” Hank asked in breaking the kiss, unaffected by the fact he was caught copping a feel of my wife and even irritated by the interruption.

With her face flushed pink and her silky chestnut hair disheveled, Emma’s emerald eyes followed me contritely, but she made no move to hide what she was doing, recognizing we both understood the arrangement and our miserable situation in capitulating to Hank’s demands.

“Looks like a little more privacy may be necessary. C’mon, pet, the sofa is too uncomfortable anyway,” my thwarted boss observed, taking his drink and extending his hand to Emma.

Awkwardly standing to her full 5’10” height, my statuesque wife warily accepted him pulling her towards the hallway and presumptively, a bedroom. She looked so forlorn, defeated and resigned to this debasing fate to save our family. Still, she also looked sexy as hell — a respectable suburban wife and mother unwillingly broken to sexual servitude at the hands of a degenerate lecher.

Willowy and graceful, but with generous curves, Emma has a natural refinement about her bearing. Between her broad shoulders, hourglass torso and hips, and long, sinewy legs drawn to carved calves and slender ankles, my incredible wife is the embodiment of feminine poise and symmetry.

Now, exposed in only a bra, panties, and stockings, her lovely face revealed a subservient weakness and betrayal, rather than her usual strength and conviction.

“Stay here and entertain yourself, Ray. If you get tired, you can sleep on the sofa,” Hank instructed ominously.

Shamefully, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Emma’s ripe panty-clad ass swaying invitingly, inadequately balancing on her high heels reluctantly following him, and my cock twitched seeing her sheepishly slink to the hallway preparing to commit adultery with my boss.

I quickly reverted my distracted eyes just in time to avoid getting busted checking out her bottom when she turned to me with watery eyes looking every bit the wounded animal — forsaken by her loving husband and begging for salvation, while understanding none was forthcoming before disappearing into the bedroom next to the living room.

To my dismay, the door didn’t close behind them in what had to be a purposeful move by Hank, and that sent a chill up my spine. As much as anything we’d suffered so far, I feared hearing every intolerable sound emanating from the room perhaps more than anything else.

I suspect that’s exactly how he wanted me to feel, knowing it was impossible for a husband to simply sit alone doing nothing while listening to his revered wife getting laid by another man. Ironically, I was more concerned about how I’d handle hearing Emma screwing my boss than I was seeing it, or about the fact it was happening at all.

Fear of the unknown, I suppose, and of what you can’t see. If I were present, at least I’d see everything, painful as that may be. Removed to another room and hearing every sound — every sigh and moan, every groan or grunt, left too much to the imagination, with my mind indecently filling in every blank.

‘What’s Emma’s facial expression? Is Hank smiling as he fucks my wife? What position are they in? Is she secretly enjoying it? What else are they doing? Is she sucking his cock, or is she taking him in the ass?’

Right or wrong, it was all fair game. Hank leaving the door open was an invitation to watch, I suppose, but I wasn’t ready for that.

Either way, I knew I was in for a rough night. Sleep was likely to be illusive, so I sat and sipped my drink, studying the room and trying to amuse myself looking at the few books on the shelf, essentially trying to distract myself from what was happening in the bedroom.

“Take that off,” Hank’s voice came faintly out the door and into my ears.

“Ummm, o-okay,” Emma followed with equal clarity, loud enough to recognize the words and pick up her tone of submissiveness and acceptance.

Another moment passed with the ruffling of clothing. I’m not sure what, but she didn’t have much left to remove, and then nothing.

“These really are spectacular,” Hank intoned.

“Ahhh,” her gentle peep wafting in the air let me to assume the item was Emma’s bra and Hank was playing with her big tits, maybe tweaking a sensitive nipple eliciting the gasp.

“On your knees, pet.”

Nothing.

‘Zzzzzip’

“Take it out. That’s right.”

“Ohhh, oh my.”

[Chuckle] “Yeah, I figured you’d think so.”

Nothing.

“Don’t just look at it, Emma. Touch it. It’s really big when it’s hard.”

“Ummm, please?”

“Please, my ass. Get me hard or we can call the whole thing off and you can go to prison.”

“Uh, o-okay.”

Nothing.

“That’s it, now lick the head.”

Nothing.

“More, Emma, take it in your mouth, and no more hands.”

Nothing.

“Hell, Emma, have you never given a blowjob before? C’mon, you can take more than that. I almost feel bad for Ray.”

‘Smup, slurp, muummph,’ the low-key audible sounds of slurping and suctioning filled my ears.

“There you go, babe, nice and easy. Relax and just get into a good, easy rhythm.”

‘Slup, mupph, smep,’ more suckling sounds.

“Better, but more tongue, and look into my eyes.”

I was aghast by the sounds.

‘My devoted wife is obviously on her knees sucking Hank’s cock, and it must be a good-sized one too,’ I realized.

As he unknowingly alluded, Emma doesn’t really enjoy giving head. She will do it for me on special occasions such as my birthday or our anniversary, but honestly, she’s only so-so at it. Still, she tries, and frankly, usually just the vision of my cock filling her mouth is enough to get me off.

Tonight, Emma was giving head to my asshole boss, and it was his cock filling her mouth while I sat alone in the living room hearing it all and unable to do a thing about it.

Minutes passed.

“Alright, that’s enough for now,” Hank’s gruff voice carried, followed by a warning. “You’re gonna need to work on that, my pet, if you want to keep me happy, and believe me, you want to keep me happy.”

“I, um, I’m sorry. I don’t do that often. I, uh, don’t care for it much,” Emma stammered apologetically.

“Yeah, well, I don’t really give a damn whether you like it or not, but we’ll take care of that too,” my boss countered perilously. “Now, take those off and get on the bed. Keep on the stockings and heels. It’s kind of kinky that way.”

The rustle of sheets and the ensuing creak of someone getting onto a bed send a pulse of panic to my head.

“Huhhh,” I inhaled deeply thinking about the scene taking place in the next room.

‘This is it. Hank’s gonna do it. My boss is gonna fuck my wonderful Emma,’ I thought, sitting on the sofa in my agitated state and doing nothing to stop the coming ravishment of my cherished wife.

Incontrovertibly, that first twitch in my cock of earlier was now a raging hard-on. I can’t understand why the awful image of my naked wife on her back with her huge melons sloping across her chest and her gloriously long stocking-clad legs spread wide taking another man’s cock is so exciting, but it made me terribly aroused.

The conflict of emotions in my head vexed me, but even then, I felt strangely compelled to take out my stiff prick and gently stroke it as I listened. I was nearly hyperventilating with the tension and needed release.

It’s shameful and disturbing, especially coming at the expense of Emma’s virtue, but her own husband needed to jerk off to the sounds of her grudgingly fucking his callous boss. I simply couldn’t stop myself as an excruciating cover of silence came over the bungalow broken only by the sound of my harsh breathing, and then I heard it.

“Ahhh, ohh, go slow, Mr. Allenby, you’re bigger than I’m used to,” Emma’s hushed voice rose to my ears signaling the act had begun and Hank was no doubt on top of her recumbent form inserting his cock into her waiting pussy.

In a weird way it was humorous that my respectful wife referred to the debauched man about to unceremoniously fuck her in such a deferential manner by using his surname.

“Bigger than Ray, you mean?” Hank prodded with a mirthful tone and in my mind’s eye I saw that gloating smirk so frequently covering his face in ridicule.

“Umm, yes, bigger than, uh, Ray. Please, just take it easy at first,” she confessed eventually, asking for consideration again in accepting his apparently large cock.

“Sure but say it again. I want to hear the whole thing,” he pressed, either to satisfy his own ego, or possibly to drive her shame further.

“Oh dear, yes, your cock is bigger than, um, Ray, uh, my husband,” Emma repeated haltingly, perhaps fearing I might hear knowing the door remained open.

Of course, Hank was certain I was listening. He’d planned it that way, after all, and I suspect his demand for her vocal admission was as much for my benefit as his own.

“Well, you’re plenty wet now, so I’m guessing you like this better than you let on,” he chided cruelly, but Emma said nothing at the disparaging dig, instead simply inhaling deeply, presumptively adjusting to the size of his invading lance.

“Uh, uh, ohhhhh,” she sighed breathlessly, and I sensed from her exhale his long cock was fully inside her pussy, yielding to her fate and the power of his embedded shaft.

Silence.

‘Cre-crik, Cre-crik, Cre-crik,’ the bed creaking overtook the stillness of the room.

Now, I knew for certain Hank was actively fucking the love of my life, with the regularity of the movement continuing for several minutes at a remarkably constant rate, accompanied by the occasion huff or gasp.

“Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh,” the low sighs issued whenever Emma has sex emerged from under her breath loud enough to drive my curiosity.

‘Will she break to his fucking?’ I wondered. ‘Will she cum on Hank’s cock?’

My wife is very conservative and restrained in most aspects of her life, but in bed she’s highly responsive and terribly susceptible to sexual stimulation. She’s also quite vocal in expressing her arousal.

I’ve heard Emma’s reflexive moans with me throughout our marriage, always considering it a compliment of my sexual prowess, but now I was hearing it in a different context — under the driving cock of another man, my wicked boss, depressingly making me feel less special.

I doubt Emma wanted to orgasm, especially with Hank and in violation of her self-respect and honor, but I wasn’t sure she had the fortitude to resist the need generated by his constantly sawing shaft.

‘She’s just going through the act by letting him take her body. She won’t surrender her dignity too,’ I tried convincing myself.

I knew, or at least hoped, that a climax under the driving force of Hank Allenby’s apparently impressive cock and sexual abilities was too mortifying for her to achieve. I expected she was desperately working to resist the rising need building within, but I also got a growing sense she was failing in the attempt.

To my shame, I soon found myself stroking my own rigid pole in sync with her sighs and the creaking of the bed, my mind conflicted with doubt, but my own body’s urges too strong to forego.

“Ohhh, ahhh, ummm,” my faltering wife’s response to Hank’s continuous thrusts growing in volume and intensity over the course of the next minute.

“Huff, unh, yes,” he mumbled, her signs of capitulating to her need and his cock galvanizing his effort to break my beautiful bride.

I know well the frenzied look overtaking Emma’s lovely emerald eyes whenever she cums during our lovemaking. I tried hopelessly not to picture that look occurring when my boss took her over the top, now appearing more and more likely with each deep groan accompanied by the telltale squishy sound of her audibly soaking pussy.

‘That look is for me alone,’ I bemoaned, sensing that was no longer true.

The thought of their sweaty bodies pressed together with Hank wheezing and grunting over her voluptuous form, with her knees bent, toes pointed to the ceiling, and giant tits crashing wildly on her chest was devastating, but also sexually intoxicating, and my fist on my cock became a rapid-firing piston to the tune of their earnest fucking.

“Ohhh, nuh, nooo, I c-can’t. Please, don’t, uh, make me, huh, cum,” Emma pleaded, her voice raising a pitch as her ardor grew more intense, fighting the sensations coursing her body as my zealous boss drilled her sloppy cunt with powerful strokes of his big cock.

“Unnh, ughh, grrrh,” he grunted, ramping up his efforts in response to her pleas.

“Ohhh, oh god, oh my god! It’s too much. Ohhhhh, you’re sooo big,” my vanquished wife moaned, and I knew she was lost, surrendering completely to the power of Hank’s plundering tool and ready to orgasm mightily.

“Unngh, aggh,” his wheezy breaths filled my ears, persevering with surprising endurance for his age.

“Awwhhh, ohhh gawwd! Oh, my gawwwd! I, uhh, oh I’m, uh, cummming!” Emma’s shrill voice gained another octave shrieking a high-pitched yelp of release.

I always like the way Emma moans and groans at the height of passion. It’s deep, throaty, and resonant expressing her rapture in consummation of our bond as husband and wife.

This time was different — girlish, squeaky, and unrestrained.

Now, I wasn’t so happy hearing her climax, especially on the cock of another man and with an uncontrollable ecstasy I’d never experienced and of which I didn’t know she was capable. Even then, it didn’t stop me from suddenly bucking my hips and shooting a rope of viscid cum landing on my stomach and soiling my polo shirt.

“Yes, ohhh, fuck yesssss!” Hank exclaimed gratefully, and I knew he had cum too.

Realizing as I recovered my evil boss was pouring a river of warm jism into my sainted wife’s saturated pussy, I wept inside knowing he was mixing his foul seed with her copious juices forming an unholy bond previously reserved exclusively for Emma and myself.

With a flush of crushing and confusing emotions swirling in my head, I somehow fell asleep on the sofa to the sound of their heavy post-sex breathing.

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

“Ohhh, please, don’t make me, ahhh,” Emma sighed, her voice ringing from the bedroom waking me from my sleep.

“Unnh, yeah, you love it, don’t you, pet? You love my big cock,” Hank charged, prodding my wife for an acknowledgment of the power of his tireless staff and sexual prowess, pressing for her total surrender.

Emma’s voice had a different tone now than earlier, still girlish and doubtful, but less adamant and clearly weakening in resolve under the deliberate thrusts of Hank’s relentless pounding in pursuit of her sexual downfall.

I blinked my eyes a few times, sitting up to get my bearings. It was dawn with just a hint of light streaming through the windows and I remembered I was in the living room of my boss’ bungalow.

“Unnh, ohh, not again. So deep, ahh, you’re so deep. Ohhh, yes, like that,” Emma’s needful reply was genuine and truly shocked me with its urgency.

A repetitive smacking sound reverberated from the room, and I wasn’t sure of its source at first, but then it dawned on me, and I needed to know for certain. I’d steered clear of peeking in the bedroom when Hank fucked my wife last night, unable to bring myself to watch despite how incredibly it turned me on.

Now, I needed to see for myself if my suspicion was correct.

“Uhhh, uhhh, uhhh,” Emma’s breathless gasps repeated over and over in time to the slapping sounds, and I sensed she was getting close to launching into another loud orgasm.

“Yeah, tell me you love it, Emma. Tell me you love my cock,” Hank prompted again, determined for her to speak her acquiesence to his rhythmic skewering of her drenched pussy.

Creeping to the doorway, I poked my head around the corner just enough to peer in but hopefully not get caught.

“Oh my,” I groaned at seeing my suspicion confirmed and sensing my prick stiffen again at the sight.

Hank had my enslaved wife on hands and knees, his grip on her meaty hips rigorously driving his pelvis into her plump backside generating the loud slaps of skin-on-skin contact while taking her doggy-style.

True to form, Emma’s huge jugs jiggled and jerked beneath her outstretched torso in a mesmerizing dance that I loved but usually caused her distress, with the sheer size of her gyrating tits always the focal point of attention.

My self-conscious wife never likes screwing doggy-style, and we almost never do it that way as a result. She isn’t a prude or anything. Missionary, cowgirl, and even reverse cowgirl — we did those positions and variations thereof to spice up our sex life, but not doggy-style.

Emma is simply too sensitive about her big swinging tits to permit it, at least with me, because she and Hank were clearly going at extremely hard, and her lily-white melons were careening out-of-control in exactly the manner she feared.

“Ohhh, Hank, oh please, don’t, uh, make me, um, say that. Please, just fuck me. Just keep fucking me!” Emma urged, but I saw she was losing the battle. “O-okay, just keep, um, fucking me hard and, o-ohhh, sooo deep.”

It’s difficult hearing your supplicating wife of over 20 years beg to be fucked by another man, but I understood her fervent need, feeling my cock go rigid in a heartbeat at the remarkable scene of my laboring boss boning her doggy-style in just her sheer black stockings and heels.

“Say it,” Hank growled, slamming his cock rapid-fire into her defenseless cunt and insisting she comply.

“Ohhh, yes, I love it! I love your cock!” Emma finally cried aloud, clearly unconcerned who heard, even knowing I was in the next room. “Awwhhh, it’s so, uhh, big and so, ohhh, deep in my pussy.”

‘WAP!’ Hank smacked her fleshy ass cheek really hard with his open palm.

“Ahhhhhhh!” the strike drew only an appreciative yelp from Emma, so far into her sexual ardor that the effect was notably exquisite, rather than truly painful.

The duo went at it vigorously for another minute as I stared frozen in the doorway, with Hank powering what must be a substantial cock into her resilient snatch, although I still really hadn’t seen it in the dim light. Finally, they erupted almost simultaneously when he buried his solid staff one last time, holding it in place pumping another scurrilous load of filthy cum into her spastic cunt.

“AWWWWWHHH, YESSS, I’M CUMMMMMING AGAIN!” Emma caterwauled her climax, triggered by his explosion of heated spunk into her tender cock sheath and rattling off the rafters.

I watched Hank’s sweaty body collapse on top of my panting wife with his own exhaustion, his softening cock still twitching inside her sullied fuck sheath as he used her comforting body as a cushion.

“Ohhh, so deeeeep. Sooooo fuuucking deep,” she murmured repeatedly with throaty obsession, employing rarely uttered curse words she never used with me and apparently for good reason.

I quickly decided to disappear back to the sofa, not letting them know I’d witnessed the tragic conquest of my faithful wife’s marital chastity.

Twenty minutes later, Emma was dressed but looking like she’d been ridden all night, which I later learned wasn’t far from the truth. Apparently, I’d slept through a midnight session of carnal grappling, meaning my boss had fucked my beautiful wife three times that night.

Frankly, although a decade and a half younger than Hank, I didn’t think I possessed that kind of stamina and was inappropriately impressed.

“Let’s go, Ray, I need to get home and shower,” Emma said penitently and without anger, clearly embarrassed at her performance and emotionally distraught.

“You’d better get to the office, Ray,” Hank added matter-of-factly as we headed for the door as if he hadn’t spent the night between Emma’s spread legs with his cock buried deep in her pussy. “I need to get cleaned up, then I’ll be in later this morning.”

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

It was now clear where we stood as a couple, at least for the next three years.

We discussed everything that happened after I got home from the office over a glass of wine, including the idea of cutting and running, but it was quickly evident Emma wouldn’t betray our family and was beholden to Hank Allenby from this day forward, especially now that she’d sacrificed her valued matrimonial fidelity.

Apparently, so was I, but on different terms.

I think Emma was a little surprised when I pressed for intimate details of her experience in bed with my boss, learning that most of my assumptions based on what I’d heard from the living room were correct.

“Yes, I gave him a blowjob,” she answered sheepishly.

“No, he didn’t do me two times, Ray, he did me three times,” Emma corrected remorsefully.

“Well, yes, he came in me, all three times,” my hardened wife explained dispassionately, for the moment keeping the language clean before cooperatively including descriptions of the different positions at my request.

“If you must know, Ray, he took me missionary the first time, then we fell asleep before he had me ride him cowgirl a couple of hours later,” she offered reluctantly, perhaps upset by Hank’s rationale for doing so more than anything.

“He said he liked the way my breasts bounced in that position, although I don’t know why because he didn’t keep his hands off them the entire time,” my wife scoffed in disgust.

I stared with an expression of concern and sympathy, but inside I was barely suppressing my arousal at the images she painted and the bold honesty of her responses.

“After more sleep, early this morning he fucked me doggy-style,” Emma elaborated coarsely now, unaware I’d witnessed that last inglorious scene. “Ray, you know that’s not my favorite position. It’s so impersonal and degrading, like I’m just a warm hole for his cock.”

“I understand. Emma, dear, did you, uh, cum, I mean, orgasm?” I concurred, doing my best providing comfort and apprehensively asking the most intimate question with an affected expression of sorrow.

Emma frowned at my intrusive question with a roll of her green eyes indicating a hint of dismay.

“Yes, Ray, if you must know, I came all three times, sometimes more than once, and if it satisfies your male curiosity, Hank has a big cock,” she answered resentfully, rubbing in Hank’s superiority in a rare display of reprisal. “Real big, in fact, and he knows how to use it.”