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Author's notes: Warning! This is an extramarital non-consent/reluctance sex story, where the couple is seduced into becoming sex slaves to an entire company. This hopefully will be hot enough to be a whack off story for the people who like these themes, as it does have a lot of sex in it. For those who don't like these themes please move along. Constructive comments are appreciated, hate speech will be deleted.]
[Warning: This story has extensive male/male sexual contact, in addition to the wife being turned into a complete slut. It would be more at home in the Fetish -- Cuckold category, except for the clear drugging and extortion.]
[This is loosely based upon the same premise as the "What The...?" series of stories by Castlemania. His ratings were savaged by the Anonymous, because he was in essence writing a "Burn The Bitch" story without the husband ever leaving until he was in too deep. Anonymous don't write stories, or offer constructive criticism, so for their benefit, I'm not gay, I'm not bi, I don't suck cock, this is a work of FICTION. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so here is my imitation story.]
*****
The first memory I have of Debbie is from my freshman year of high school. We had a couple of classes together, plus she was in the band playing flute while I was in orchestra playing violin, but we had joint recitals and we were each other's first kiss (in a band instrument room). She was on the gymnastics team, a real sparkplug, destined to be the next Mary Lou Retton or Nadia Comaneci. But her body had other ideas, as she quickly grew a rack almost as big as her mother, Donna. Yet Donna knew what I was learning in every locker room conversation -- Debbie was being targeted by the big dogs at the school, and pretty soon my beautiful brunette gymnast with the big jugs became the belle of the ball for someone else: the homecoming queen for Tom Watts, Captain of the football team and homecoming king. She looked glorious that night in her sequined gown. I tried to focus on my date and not think of him taking it off of her (although according to locker room gossip they had already done that and much more).
A couple of years later at college, I found Debbie again, walking through the quad, head down, covered up in sweats and hoodie, yet her angular Pat Benatar style face shown like a beacon to me.
"Debbie?" I call out before she completely passes me by.
"Jonny? Is that you? IT IS!" she squeals in glee as she wraps her arms around me in a full bodied hug. I could tell the breasts have grown some more since I last felt them, and yet her tight rear end -- if anything is even tighter. She pulls me down to a kiss of her soft, full lips, and it is like the old makeout sessions -- all we allowed ourselves back in the day -- well every kind of sex except penetration (which meant a lot of oral) - were just a few moments ago, an interruption we conquered. But her lush kisses today have a heat we never shared before.
"Are you and Tom still a thing?" I ask warily, not wanting to give up my prize, but not wanting to get a beating from a quarterback turned college linebacker.
"I don't see him anymore." she says with a sour note in her voice, then happily "I quit dating jocks. Too high maintenance."
"You were gorgeous together at homecoming." I remind her wistfully.
"Yup. Once everybody knows you've popped your cherry, which everybody knew long before homecoming thanks to Tom's big mouth, they all get in line for a piece. Thus the high maintenance." she says with a laugh.
"So -- unattached?" I ask hopefully.
"Yup. How about you? Lilah drag you off to Goth world and make you her pet?" Debbie teases, pointing out that I had gone from cream of the crop to (presumed) slut of the month in order to even have a date for homecoming, but also letting me know that even with the quarterback king of the prom at her side, she'd paid attention to me, which had to be a good thing. Not that Lilah was a bad thing. Lilah had no limits, nothing I could not do with her, nothing she would not do for me. She had a bad reputation at the school, and you did not want to cross her, as many had found out. She was a force to be reckoned with, yet never anything but loyal to me, and I got the sense Debbie is checking out if she would get on Lilah's radar if we started dating.
"Yes, Lilah took me to her dungeon and I cried when she finally let me go. Taught me that loving a slut has its advantages." I said with a smile, remembering fondly the dark witch and her powers of resurrection, (mostly heavy suction applied directly to the tip of my cock). Also she polished my face with her thick dark muff -- a lot -- and then rode me like a pony across her finish line. It was very rare it wasn't woman on top with Lilah, not that I minded.
"Does it now? I'll have to remember that if I ever become one." Debbie said in her voice and eye twitch that told me she'd been some distance down slut road herself, but I didn't want to pry.
"So you going to the Chi Omega party tonight?" I ask hopefully.
"I'm required to at least put in an appearance. Made the squad again this year." Debbie said shyly.
"Bravo! Gymnast turned cheerleader really has worked out for you! Planning on going pro?" I say before I understand the implications of my own question, but I see the hurt look on her face and try to backpedal. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I was thinking Dallas Cowboys, you're that good."
"And not the standard implication? That most cheerleaders who don't make the squad in their later years become common whores? How far down 'Slut Road' do you think I've gone?", Debbie says as she pushes me away, and then says "Don't answer that. I don't need to hear your opinion anymore."
I watch her stomp away from me, her hands balled into fists, and remember that getting too close to her fire has left me burned before (when she left me and started dating Tom). Dynamite comes in small packages and thermonuclear devices in even smaller ones named Debbie.
Lilah and I get back together, as we are both pre-law, forming an intense study and boning group. Well some study and lots of intense boning, Lilah is like a personal trainer for sexual exhaustion, as my Dad sometimes says about women, with a thermostat set on high heat. Her waif like Goth figure from our high school days gets the padding it always deserved, and she ends up more "Xena, Warrior Princess" than "Elvira, Mistress of the Dark". Lilah has a damn nice set of curves, but it is the dark witch mind that flips my switch.
We go to different law schools, even though she offers to get her family to guarantee my student loans, ending that relationship. I've never met her dad in all our years of dating, and her mom is a cocktail waitress in a strip club who only makes a small fraction of what the strippers do, but at least she keeps her clothes on. I'd had to take her things for Lilah at her work, and liked the lingerie she wore.
So I stick around for the local law school I can afford, working as a paralegal for a local law firm to cover my bills. One day some buds and I go to the local "Breastaurant" down the street from the strip club, and are lucky enough to be seated in the right section.
"Holy shit! Look at the cans on that one!" one of my buddies says, as she brings her tray -- and 34E (I know, it says right next to her name on the tag) breasts and practically stuffs them in my face, right under my jaw. Due to her short height, she has to get a leg up on the crossbar of the stool, precariously threatening to tip us both over, so I mind my manners and keep the motion to a minimum.
"Hello, Jonny boy. BTW, for the rest of you who don't and won't get this treatment today, Jonny and I used to be boyfriend/girlfriend. He used to get to rub and lick and suck these puppies every single day and twice on Sundays. He is very, very good at it, and I have recommended him to all the other waitresses. So while I take your orders, let me remind him what he is missing." Debbie says as she whispers "So help me God, Jonny, if you motorboat me right now and get me fired, I will break this serving tray over your head or beat you to death with it, whichever comes first."
I desperately try to suppress a laugh, which still sneaks out as a snicker, so I quickly reply "Yes, Ma'am. Perhaps we could go fishing after you get off work?"