CAUTION:

This is a story based on experience, and honestly told; some details and names are fictionalized to obscure identities of real persons and events. The ages of most of the persons told in the story were technically legal ages of consent in the state of Minnesota (for that matter in almost all states at the time). While the sexual activities described here involve "teenagers," these boys were not preyed upon by anyone, or coerced in anyway.  If anything, these " boys" were predators to my wife.

Installment 7 - The Fourth Week - Sunday Afternoon - The Other Boys Come Home

Karen knew.  Frenchy had told her.  She had withdrawn to the bedroom and laid down on the bed. 

I found her in the dark.  Dressed.  Shorts and the same blouse.  Socks.  The bed was an awful mess.  The coverlet spilled onto the floor at the end of the bed.  The sheets were tangled; the mattress exposed on one corner.  The room smelled like a locker room from the boy's sweat and all the fucking and the smell of her too.  I could smell her too.

I wanted to say something but what was there to say.  I said: "I'm sorry."

She did not respond at first and then quietly replied, not lifting her head, or turning to face me: "No, you're not."

She was right of course but it gave me a pang that she knew it. 

"Are you okay?"  Another stupid thing to say.

She shook her head.

"Is there anything I can do?" Another stupid thing to say.

"You've already done it."

I was going to argue with her.  It was her fault too.  She knew it was.  She could have said no.  She had stripped in the living room.  I should not have argued but I asked: "Why did take off your clothes in the living room?"

She rolled over and looked at me, she had been crying, but now she had a sarcastic smile.  "What choice did I have?"

I explained: "No, not in the window.  I mean, before that, when I came into the room and you were taking off your blouse, your skirt... you were stripping for Jon before I came in."

She looked at me angrily, but still sarcastically smiling.  "What choice did I have?"

"What do you mean? Why? What happened?"

"You don't get it.  Frenchy told me.  He told me they would tell the P.O.  He told me if I didn't do it, they would tell everything.  They would make up things.  I didn't know." She began to cry again.  She sniffled and wiped tears with her fingers.  "What could I do?  What choice did I have? Frenchy said if I did it for them, if I took off my clothes for Jon and him and let them, you know he said they just wanted to see me . . . without my clothes. . . and then. . .  then. . . he said they would let me go.  I didn't think. . .  ."

"But what did you think would happen?"

"What did you think would happen?  You asked for this." She looked at me with accusing eyes: "You wanted this."

She was right, but I could not admit it.  "No. Not this.  I didn't know."

That much was true.  But she shook her head: "I don't want to talk about it." She turned her face away and laid back again. She was cried out. 

I put my hand on her hip and she did not respond.  I wanted to hold her but I felt a hypocrite.  I also wanted to ask her about how she felt about the sex.  I wanted to know: did she like it?  It was sick and wrong but I wanted to know, to hear it in her own words.  Because she had looked like she liked it.  I had seen her sexual arousal.  I had heard her guttural responses to being fucked.  I had seen her submissively swallowing cum all red-faced and eager.  I wanted to hear her admit it.  But I could not ask.  Not yet.  And yet, it seemed to me that the questions were in the air.  She knew what I wanted to know.  She knew what I was thinking.  She knew that I had relished seeing her completely naked in front of that row of boys.  She knew I had masturbated about it, she probably saw me.  I am sure.  I wondered if Frenchy had told her about me.  Had he told her how I had got naked in front of them, aroused like her? How I had sucked on Jon's penis just like her?  How Jon came in my mouth too?  How I had swallowed his cum just like her?  How I had stood on that chair too, displayed naked in the window like her? I dreaded to think she knew it all.  Frenchy had not told me he had said anything about it.  He must not have.  He was saving it.  It was another tool he had.

I left Karen to sleep in the dark.  She had had little sleep the night before, I knew.  I wondered if I she could keep count.  How many boys had she sucked off?  Three.  How many had fucked her? Two. So far.  How many times had she been fucked by them?  I don't know.  Five times.  Eight.  Ten.  More?  How many times had Jon and Frenchy cum in her mouth?  I had seen her do it four times . . . no, it was five. Then there had been the first boy too.  Slider.  That was incredible.  She had never done it for me.  Jesus.  And how many times had she sucked them off in the bedroom, times I did not see? Jesus.  How could she not think of it?  I only did it once and now it was constantly in my mind.  Repeated over and over.  The warmth, taste, texture of his penis. The jolt of his quick ejaculation into my mouth. That sharp taste of it. I wanted to do it again.  And then again, I felt sickened at the thought.  I am not queer, but I want to know how she feels doing it.   She does it repeatedly.  She does it with submissive servile surrender and utter humiliation she shows them how she wants to do it; she wants them to cum in her mouth. I could see that.  Did I look like that?

When I went back to the living room, I saw that no one had cleaned up.  The other boys would be home soon and Karen's underpants and bra were still on the floor.  Her blouse and skirt beside the coffee table.  The chair against the window.  And the splat of cum on the glass, dried out now, opaque.

I went to pick up her underclothes, but Frenchy who had been sitting on the sofa next to Jon watching TV looked up and said: "No, dad. . . Leave them there."

"But Larry and Steve. . .  They will be home soon."

"I know.  Leave it there."

"But. . ."

"Leave it. . ."

I understood.  What choice did I have, I thought.  Like my wife said.  I dropped Karen's underpants and Frenchy told me to set the table for dinner.  All the roles were upside down.  He was in charge now. 

What choice do I have, I thought.  And I did as I was told. Passing Jon, the boy looked up at me and cracked: "You wanna suck some dick. . ."  I think I looked sickened.  But perhaps he saw something else.  They both laughed at me.

I set the table for dinner.

I got a beer.  I sat on the far end of the sofa away from them and watched TV with them.  I was supposed to go to school tomorrow, but I knew then I would not.  My life had gone upside down.  I did not know what would happen now.

Steve came home first.  Frenchy and Jon were excited and talked to themselves.  Something was planned.  I heard him trudging up the floor.  The boys sat back on the sofa with nonchalance.  Steve walked into the living room with his usual serious air.  He was basically a good kid, not a thief, not a sociopath like these other two.  They watched as he glanced down and saw the underpants and the bra.  Jon smirked.  Frenchy was going to say something, but Steve looking confused just turned and walked down the hall to the boy's bedroom.  Jon and Frenchy burst into laughter.  I expect he heard it.  But I suppose he thought they were just playing another joke on him.  They often did.  They thought Steve a bit of a goody goody. And it's true. In my imagination I would never have thought to involve Steve in all this, whereas the depravity of Jon and the animal lust of Frenchy made them a natural to my sick mind.  Steve always treated Karen and I with respect and courtesy.  Of all the kids he insisted on calling my wife Mrs. H------- even though she was barely four years older than him.

Larry came home a little later.  Again the boys feigning disinterest, watching TV, waiting to see what Larry would do when he discovered the underpants and bra on the floor.  

Larry, like I said, he's just a kid.  He looks younger than he is.  Red-haired, pale, freckled.  His face is that of a boy.  But he is chubby, big and clumsy.  His body is a man's body, though almost hairless, as it turned out.  He gets erections easily.  It even happened a couple times involuntarily when Karen was in the room.  Sitting on the sofa.  Probably fantasizing about her.  She in her shorts and blouse, sitting up beside Frenchy, who had his arm behind her on the sofa. 

I wonder that I had not thought of this before.  How friendly Frenchy was to her. What else happened?  Had I not seen that she lingered in the living room with him alone after I went in to the bedroom to study or sleep?  Had I not seen Frenchy kissing her goodnight in the hallway, in the dark?  Had I not suspected he had a hand up her blouse, down the front of her shorts?  Had I not seen him smelling his fingers, smirking with Jon?

At any rate I had seen Larry many times, fantasizing about my wife, looking at my wife's bare legs.  Poor Larry sometimes got a hard-on, sitting on the sofa, lost in his sexual fantasies.  The boys teased him then, and he was ashamed about it, blushing, denying.  Even my wife smiled knowingly.  

The boys also teased him because he chronically masturbates.  It is the joke almost every morning at breakfast.  He has never dated.  He has seen pictures of naked women from Playboy.  But he has no clue about sex or how to talk to girls.  He just looks at pictures and masturbates all the time.

The point is the that Larry obsesses about sex, even as much as I do, I think.  But naively, not so sickly.  He just thinks a lot about naked girls.  That is one of the reasons he got in trouble, something to do with his ten-year old cousin and the woods.  So when Larry saw the bra and underpants, he snatched it up right away, he knew what they were.  He did not ignore it and try to be cool like Steve.  He hoped right away that it might mean there was a naked girl in the house.  You could see his imagination run away.  He saw Karen's blouse and skirt and jumped on them.  Looking up at Frenchy, holding these clothes, turning the bra over for the cups to show, he looked comically pleased.  He did not need to say it.  He looked toward the kitchen.  Jon laughed.  Frenchy said: "She ain't in there."

He wanted to know but did not have words to ask.  Now while Steve might have wanted to know, he would have been too embarrassed to ask in front of me.  But Larry, half-wit that he was, and naive as he was, just blurted it out: "Where is she?"

"Long gone," said Jon.  Larry looked comically crestfallen.

Frenchy punched Jon in the shoulder: "No, she ain't."  Larry turned comically hopeful and eager.

Steve came back to room.  He had changed clothes.  He stood at the archway to the dining room, looking at Larry holding the clothes.  Larry held up the bra, grinning: "She's here somewhere . . . naked!"

Frenchy burst out laughing.  Jon rolled on the floor laughing.  "Shit," said Steve, "Can't you see their fucking with you?"

Larry looked comically crestfallen again. 

"No, no. . ." Frenchy said.  "She's here."

Steve looked at him with contemptuous disbelief.  Larry turned comically hopeful again. 

"Really," said Frenchy.

"Who?" asked Steve smugly.

"Mom," said Frenchy.  Steve rolled his eyes.  He figured they had planted these underclothes to play a joke on them.  Larry looked confused. 

"No, really," said Frenchy standing up. "It's her clothes.  She took them off. Right here.  In front of Jon and me." 

Steve said: "Bullshit." Larry looked confused and hopeful.

"No, really," Frenchy turned to Jon.  "Didn't she?"

"Yup," said Jon nodding. 

Steve said again: "Bullshit."

"No, really," Frenchy turned to me.  "Didn't she, dad?"

Steve looked at me anxiously.  I did not reply.  He looked hurt.  Larry looked confused and astonished.

"Jon," said Frenchy, "Go get mom."

I think Larry was disappointed when she returned with Jon because she was fully dressed. Shorts, blouse, socks, as before.  But now shoes.  She looked unhappy.  Her hair unbrushed, she had a crease of sleep on her cheek, blinking from sleep.  She saw Larry holding her clothes, her bra and she blushed.  Steve looked at her with worry. Larry looked at her bare legs, fantasizing.

"Tell 'em, mom," commanded Frenchy, "These are your clothes."

She nodded meekly, looking at Steve apologetically.  Steve looked hurt.  Larry looked randy.

Steve said: "Bullshit."  Frenchy laughed.  Jon said: "I'm starving, man.  Where's dinner, lady?"

Steve hated the way Jon treated my wife.  He glared at him.  Karen turned to go to the kitchen.  Larry looked after her, leering at her bare legs.  I got up and took the clothes from Larry who looked at me in confusion and I said nothing but took them to put them in our bedroom. 

When I came back Jon was sitting next to Steve on the sofa, telling him things.  Steve looked at me blushing and looked away.  Frenchy carried in the beef stew casserole with potholders.  Karen brought the bread.  Larry brought the milk carton. Frenchy called out: "Let's eat."

It was well after eight before we started dinner, although dinner had been ready for hours, because Frenchy had insisted that we wait until Steve and Larry was home.  The sun setting, the living room darkening, Jon turned on the floor lamps in the living room and I turned on the candelabra over the dining room table.

Everyone sat at their usual places except that Frenchy took my seat at the head of the table.  Karen sat the opposite end.  I had to go get the chair from the living room to make a place for myself.  Jon said something quietly to Steve who stared at me when I returned.

I felt like a worm.  No one said much at first.  The same thing on everybody's mind.  Larry leered at Karen.  Jon whispered things to Steve.  Steve finally moved his chair away from him; he did not believe it; he would not believe it.  Jon shrugged and worked on his plate of stew.

It was really too hot for hot food.  Everybody sweating as they ate.  Even Karen.  Frenchy took off his T-shirt, to be bare chested at the table.  Jon took the cue and did the same.  Frenchy laughing, called across table: "You look hot too, mom" 

She knew what he meant.  She looked at him with remoteness. The same sad look.  She knew what was coming. 

"Take your shirt off," Frenchy said.  Steve glanced at her, shocked, then looked keenly at me.  To see what I would say.  To see if I would stop it.

"Take it off, mom," Frenchy looked at her from across the table, grinning.  Jon grinned.  Larry looked confused but hopeful.  Steve looked at her sympathetically.  Karen looked back at Frenchy sadly.  Resignedly, still looking into Frenchy's eyes, aware of the boys staring at her, at her fingers as she did it, she unbuttoned her blouse slowly.  As it parted, she showed that she had put on a bra.  I sighed.  Steve looked away as she took it off.  Larry leered.  Frenchy went back to eating. She let her blouse fall to floor and picked up her fork, blushing and conscious of Larry's leer, picking at her food without appetite.

Jon wanted to say something to Steve but he shook his head and tried to stay focused on his food. 

Karen stopped eating.  She let her wrists rest on the table edge.  Sitting in her bra.  She looked down at her plate.  Larry stared at her bra, fantasizing. 

I avoided Steve's hard glances at me.  He could not help himself either, however; he glanced at Karen more than once as he ate.  I could see, just as they could see, the swell of rising and falling breasts within the bra cups, the pinch of her bra on the flesh beneath her breasts and on the side, her tummy rolls, the glow of perspiration, the tension she felt. 

For Larry it was completely enthralling.  For Steve it was completely worrisome.  He did not want to believe what Jon said.  Frenchy frowned at me.

"You look hot too, dad."  I felt sickened and ashamed.  I knew what he wanted.  I saw Steve stare in contempt.  Karen did not look up from her plate.  I took off my shirt.

"You still look hot," he commanded.  Jon smirked.  Steve blushing tried to ignore it.  Larry was oblivious, staring at my wife's bra.

I knew what he wanted.  Why I did it I do not know.  Sharing my wife's humiliation.  Thinking of being her.  I stood up to take off my pants.  My penis thickening in my underpants.  I knew they saw.  Karen looked at me too.  She was breathing more rapidly.  I could see this affecting her too.  I sat down again and tried to eat.  But the food seemed dry.  I could not swallow.  I felt giddy.  I was getting an erection in anticipation.  I could not help it.  I felt ashamed but I could not stop thinking sexual thoughts.

Steve looked dismayed by my humiliation.  I felt anxious and randy. 

Frenchy stared across the table and spoke to Karen seriously.  The fun was gone: "You too, mom. . ."

Karen looked up, blushing, or flushed sexually how can you tell the difference?  She pushed her chair out as she rose.  She paused looking at Frenchy with a pathetic sad resignation.  She did not act until Frenchy now grinning, now winking at Steve who looked shocked but also flushed commanded her matter of factly: "Take your shorts off."

Her shorts snapped in front above a zipper.  She did not look down as she did it.  She looked at Frenchy's face blankly, but warmly, color rising to her cheeks, and aware of the eyes that watched her.  The eyes watched her hands opening the front of her shorts, showing her underpants, and slipping the shorts down of her hips, till they fell loosely to the floor and her feet.  She stood with her arms at her sides as in an interrogation.  Fingers on her bare thighs.  Her shorts about her feet.  She paused a moment for them to stare.

Did she expect him to command her to take off all her clothes now?  She would do it if commanded.  I could see that.  Larry could see that.  Steve could see that.  They could also see the dark patch of her pussy at the crotch of her panties, the hint of genitalia. And so they fantasized, both Steve and Larry.  Larry was not alone now. 

The round tops of her bare thighs pinched by her underpants.  The pale skin of her thighs, her tummy.  Where the sun never touches her.  Her naked navel.  They had not seen her this way before.  Almost naked.  And the look of sad submission, the submissive sexual longing that she imparted with her sad evasive eyes, her parted wet lips. God, it made me ache.

Finally, sighing, she leaned and stepped out of her shorts, looking up at Frenchy as she did and asked: "Can I eat now?" Sarcastically.

Frenchy said: "What's for desert, mom?"

She said she had not made one.  "Too bad," Frenchy said, and looking at me, "Put away the dishes, dad." 

He waited for me to get up.  I was reluctant.  I was embarrassed.  My erection was so obvious.  They all saw it. Karen saw it too.  I hurried to finish.  

"What's on TV?" I heard Frenchy ask.  I came and went clearing dishes.  Larry was the only one who did not look at my erection.  And Frenchy told Karen to go into the living room.  Larry's eyes followed her. Steve looked at me with disgust.

I did not want to miss anything.  Like I had before.  I hurried.  I was not going to wash anything.  I put the pot with the stew into the refrigerator as is.

When I came back for the last dishes I saw that Frenchy had guided Karen to stand behind the coffee table in the middle of the room, just as she had stood yesterday for them.  Steve and Larry were standing in front of the sofa on the other side of the coffee table.  Jon sprawled on the easy chair. In his underpants.  No shirt.  He had already taken off his pants too. 

Frenchy caressed the side of Karen's bra, circling it with a forefinger, the left side of the bra cup.  He slipped the strap of the bra off her left shoulder.  His finger hooked into the strap, tugging. Was he going to pull it down?  Expose her? 

He was talking.  His patter.  His routine.  He saw me out of the corner of his eye and stopped.  He turned toward me.  I put the last of the dishes back onto the table.  He said: "Come on in, dad.  You wanna see this. . ."

Before I got out of the room, he said: "Bring a chair."

What? Was she going to exhibit herself to the street again?

I did what I was told.

Karen looked at the floor.  Steve and Larry sat down. Larry looked at Karen. Steve looked at.

Jon watched me, grinning. 

I brought the chair to Frenchy.  Jon's stare on my underpants embarrassed me.  It was obvious I had an erection. He did not need to stare.

Frenchy pointed to where he wanted the chair.  Behind Karen.  In the middle of the floor.

Frenchy went on addressing Steve and Larry.  "You stilll don't believe it, do you?"  Steve shook his head.

He turned to me.  "Dad?"

I could not look at them as their eyes turned on me.  Again feeling sick and anxious.  But not the less sexually excited.  My erection was complete.  They would see.  They did see.  

"See," said Frenchy, nodded,  "Dad's got a hard-on too. He ain't mad. He likes it." Nodding back a Karen where she stood helplessly pathetically cravenly in her underpants, socks and bra.  Ready for stripping.  Frenchy animated gestures toward her and then me: "Shit, he wants you see his wife without no clothes . . .  Really. Seriously.  I mean it, man. He really does."

He looked at my erection and then at Karen.  The boys looked back and forth.  I looked at the floor.  Karen looked at the floor. 

"Right, dad?" Frenchy taunted, "That's what you want.  Ain't it?  Tell 'em. Tell 'em, dad."

I cannot say why I did it. It was that compulsion. I wanted it so much, I gave in to to all of it.  I said it then, my own voice seeming humiliating to me: "Yes."  Frenchy frowned. 

He looked at me and stepped back.  "Okay. Okay.  See?" He said to the boys triumphantly. They looked at him incredulously, but it was obvious this was going to happen.  For real.  My wife stood there in her underpants and bra submissively.  "Go ahead, dad. . . Go on . . ." Frenchy gestured, stepping aside for me.  Impresario. Grinning.  Gesturing.  "How 'bout you, dad? You can do it, dad... Strip your wife.... Strip her for the boys here.... Show your wife naked to the boys.... Okay? You know, like you done for me and Jon..."

I could not. I felt so giddy I felt I might not be able to move.  I shook my head.  I tried to speak. I could not. 

Frenchy smirked at me and shook his head.  "Okay," he sighed, "Okay. . . I'll do it. Okay?"   He stepped up behind Karen.  He looked back at me: "You want me to do it?"  He put his hands to back of her bra, he had his fingers on the clasp; he knew how to do it.  He must have done it before.  I wondered: had it done to her before? Before last night, I mean?  Had he stripped her before?

Steve and Larry looked they could not believe it, but they got earnest and eager to see if he would, if I would let him, if she would let him. They leaned forward on the edge of sofa, as much to hide their erections in embarrassment I think.

I remember this moment like it is photographed in my mind. I looked over her shoulder from behind. The boys fixated on her body.

Frenchy unfastened her bra easily, winking at the boys over her shoulder. Popping, it sprang apart in back and slouched in front, slipping, letting show the plump slope of the top of her breasts.

I stepped to the side. I wanted to see her face as it happened. I wanted to see the boys expression.

Karen glanced up at the boys faces but then quickly looked away as her bra loosened and slid sideways off her breasts in front, revealing nipples to them.

Frenchy flicked her bra away from her, tossing it toward the window. Her tits jarred, jiggled. Larry made a happy gasp.  Steve was speechless.  Both goggled. Her nipples slowly puckered up.  The pink pinch where her bra had creased her skin gave her a vulnerable look. She looked ashamed. She looked aroused too.

I goggled too. Frenchy looked over at me as he leaned and slipped his fingers into the tops of her underpants.

Frenchy took hold of her underpants at the waistband and inched them down a little and asked me: "Underpants too? Right, dad?"

She looked up a moment of shameful anxiety on her face. I myself was ready to cum in my pants.

But then, stopping, grinning, mugging at the boys who watched his hands he let go off the elastic of her underpants that he had poised to pull down; they snapped audibly; he stepped back and then walked around to the front of her. Her eyes followed his. She raised her hands and covered her breasts, cupping them. She looked so vulnerable that way.

Cocking his head, grinning, lookin up at her sideways: "What's the matter, Mom. You embarassed?" He winked at me and then to the boys looking at her. Then back at her and said sternly: "Put you hands down."

She looked at him sadly. She wanted to say something. But she did not. She lifted her hands away from her breasts, holding them out to the side.

"Okay, Mom, you do it. Drop your panties for the boys."

She looked at him pathetically. She glanced at me with sadness. Then, dropping her gaze to the floor, she bit her lip, and and at length, turning her head away to avoid looking into their eyes, she put her fingers to the waist band of her underpants. Then, hesitantly, and looking down at the front of herself as she did, she pushed her underpants down, bunching it, until it slackened at at her thighs, went limp, and she let go and her underpants slipped out of her hands and fell to the top of her feet. She looked over at Frenchy as she let go her underpants. He smiled at her, nodding.

All the boys at once dropped their eyes immediately to the front of her, between her legs. She glanced up to see this also, but seeing how they stared at her, she turned her face quickly away in embarrassment. 

Still, she did not cover herself again like she had done before. Did not even try. And she said nothing.

She hesitated in this awkward posture, stooped over, then lifting her face, boldly addressing the attentive faces of the boys, she straightened up, leaving her underpants splashed about her ankles.

Brushing back the hair that that had fallen over her shoulder, she looked around at the boys on the sofa looking back at her nakedness; she looked back at them as frankly as they looked at her. Arms at her sides. She faced them naked. She had given them what they wanted. She looked uncertain, like she worried if they thought she was pretty or too fat (as she thought of herself).

But for his part Frenchy was very very pleased and clapped his hands so that she was startled and said loudly: "Thanks, Mom. You look good naked..." and he stepped up closer to admire her nakedness even more intimately, looking down at her florid nipples haughtily.  Ignoring her pathietic upturned face.

Frenchy stepped around behind her and playfully slapped her bare buttock. She flinched, gasped, surprised. Frenchy slapped her buttock again. She blinked away some sudden trickling tears of shame. The sexual tension had finally burst in her. I myself ejaculated in my pants. This was, afterall, what I had always wanted to see, what I had fantasized.

He said: "There you go, boys.  What you think of Mom naked? Not too bad, huh?"

They drank her all in, seeing her totally naked, from her blushing face to her stocking feet, her underpants about her ankles, but then returned to fixed feeling gazes on her tits, loving her ruddy nipples, leering at her hairy pussy and what was hinted hidden there.  Larry stared there a long time.  Steve looked away from her nakedness at first, but then soon turned back to stare like the rest of them and did not care if I knew it, his eyes just as large and eager as the rest of them; he had the same satisfied smirk on his face that they all had.  Excited to see my wife completely naked, who herself looked awkward and ashamed, looking down at the floor and not at them, biting her lip, arms at her sides limply; but they also saw how she did not try to cover herself, how she gave them the free show that they had all wanted and had talked about. O, I was sure of it: lying in their bunk beds in the dark, talking trash about us, playing one-up-against the other with dirty notions about how cruelly they would command her to make her strip in front of him.

This was it. This was the epitome of my obsessive fantasy.  I had been thinking about it ever since we moved in. I had imagined it so many ways.  And I had hoped for it, wanted it just like this.  Her humiliation.  Coerced by them.  Undressed for them.  Presented completely naked in front of them.  Ashamed but aroused for them.  She wanted this too, I could see that in her face.  She wanted them to see her naked, I was sure of it. Could they see it too?  I was sure they could. 

Still she played her part as I hoped she would; she would not look up into their eyes. Ashamed. And they could not take their eyes off her body.  I openly felt my erection watching this; it was the poignancy of her shame and her reluctant sexual arousal, the arousal which she could not hide, shown in color to her cheek, the points coming to her swelling nipples, the obvious trembling like she was cold -- but it was so hot that all of us were sweaty --and how her eyes furtively glanced to meet theirs, then avoided them in shame, because those boy's naughty eyes were mostly fixed on those popping nipples, fleshy breasts, her bare belly and the triangle of pubic hair and the unseen secrets between her legs, then rose up curiously to her flushed face to see eagerly how her feelings were piqued by their indecent molesting stare, how ashamed and how aroused she was being naked for them.

Frenchy watched me, watching this sexual show, seeing the pleasure I took from her humiliation.  "You too, dad.  You gotta be naked too."

Again I cannot say why I did it. It was the same compulsion. But not what I had imagined.  But I felt the same pang I had felt seeing Karen stripped for them. I gave into to all of it, anything.  I did it, exposing myself to them, my erection arching, tensing and bobbing in their eyes.  I felt my nakedness felt like hers, somehow.  Like I was a girl, naked in front of them. Their eyes on my penis arousing me as she must feel aroused by their eyes. 

And so my wife, naked, her underpants at her feet, and I, naked, stood facing them. My erection fidgeted. She saw. She looked away.

"Get on your knees," he said to both of us.  Karen stumbled awkwardly as she did, her tits wobbled and all eyes went to her pathetic desirable nakedness, to the underpants twisting at her ankles and to her lush nipples.  I knelt next, my prick presented hard and arched. Larry remained fixated on my naked wife; but Jon enjoyed my humiliation every bit as much as hers. Steve's eyes flit between us; my hot cock, her lurid tits and pussy.  Frenchy stood back behind us, the lordly ring-master.

Jon got up.  It was his queue.  Frenchy would make me do this in front of my wife.  Jon pulled down his undershorts and stepped out of them and his dick sprang out.  Steve was astonished.  Larry was excited; he began masturbating.  Karen looked at Larry worriedly. 

Then Frenchy surprised me.  He told Karen to suck my cock.  She was surprised as well.  She did not do it until he said it a second time. Larry got up to step closer to see her do it.  Karen crouched and getting on all fours, crawled awkwardly (underpants still tangling her ankles) -- all eyes on her bobbling tits -- and positioning, kneeling, put her mouth onto my upright erection without ever looking up at me.  Larry shoved his pants and underpants down, masturbating openly now. 

Frenchy said: "Okay, dad.  You know what to do.  Suck his cock."  Karen peered up, her mouth poised on my penis head.  She watched.  Again Jon sarcastically grinning, again stepping forward to present his penis to my mouth.  I saw Steve looking at me with disgust.   I saw Karen's shock.  But I wanted this.  I put my mouth onto his penis and this time I moved my tongue on it to please him and this time I let him fuck my mouth.  And as he fucked my mouth noisily Karen sucked me eagerly; as she watched him fucking my mouth she sucked me; I saw her warm fascination; did it excite her as much as it excited me? And I felt myself ready to cum.  I hoped, I wanted, I craved for Jon to cum in my mouth at the same time I came.  And when I came in Karen's mouth she closed her eyes and whimpered and swallowed and I closed my eyes and almost immediately Jon came in my mouth.  More than before.  Like my own in Karen's mouth, several generous repeated ejaculations.  Filling her mouth once, twice, and a little more.  Jon squirting into my mouth, then again, then a third time and then more.  She saw it.  The more he came in my mouth, the more I came in hers.  She swallowed all I gave her.  I swallowed all that he gave me.  She saw that too.

Jon pulled away.  I watched his erection bobble as he pulled away with a satisfied sigh, drawing a trailing slime of his cum from my mouth and lips, dangling from the head of wet penis and dripping onto my thigh.  I saw Steve look at me.  I did not care what he thought.  Karen had looked up.  She had seen Jon's penis pulled wet out of my mouth.  Her mouth, like mine, was wet, abused, slimy with cum.  Had she cum when we came?

Almost immediately, although I felt still ashamed and self-conscious of my own humiliation and nakedness, Karen and her nakedness became the center of their attention.  We'd had the Hoochie Coochie on the Midway.  And now the Freak Show was over, so the crowd turned to the main event of the evening.  The boys went under the big tent and the hot lamps for the center ring circus of her real live sex show.  The carnival of my naked wife, the circus of continuous sex acts humiliations and coarse sexual teasing, pitiless cock-sucking and servile cum-swallowing, rounds and rounds of these boys pretty pricks poking and popping in my naked wife's tender mouth, with comic intervals of silly spankings, and serious fucking, serious serial fucking, relentless serious fucking. She would sweat like a horse in her exertion.  She would moan and whimper.  She would cry like little girl.  She would collapse, be picked up, and get used again. The smell of all the randy animals was raunchy and intoxicating under the tent.  Frenchy cracked his whip. She danced.

During the Freak Show Frenchy had taken off his pants and now stood behind me in his underpants.  Larry was also now completely naked. I saw him rubbing his small stiff pecker.  Almost hairless at the scrotum.  Blond down around his balls.  Steve had taken off his shirt and his jeans popped open to ease his hard-on, but he was the last to strip.  Jon stayed naked, sitting back onto the easy chair, wiping his cum and my saliva from his slack penis, smearing it across a thigh.  All eyes on Karen who stayed crouched on her hands and knees, her head dropped, hair hanging hiding her face.  Underpants still tangled her ankles.  Dirty bobby socks.  Otherwise completely naked.  Her tits hanging beneath her looked like ripe fruit, randy lurid points drawn down obscenely. Her hair obscured her face.  Did she have her eyes open?  She was listening. She was waiting.

Frenchy put a hand on my shoulder: "Go away, dad."   My prick had not flagged.  Karen did not move.  I saw the sweat on her back, the glow of it on her bare buttocks.

I stood. Leaned.  Picked up my underpants.  Went to the dining room for the rest of my clothes.  Turning I watched.  Frenchy looking down at my naked wife.  The rest of them looking at my naked wife. I turned off the dining room light and dressed, watching from the darkness. 

Frenchy leaned over behind her and roughly stripped her underpants off her feet, tossing them backwards toward the window and the place where her bra laid on the floor, then one by one he stripped her socks quickly off her feet, tossing these all away toward her underpants. She did not resist. 

"Good girl, Mom. . ."

He slapped her buttock.  She was surprised, hurt more by humiliation than the spanking itself, still it was a sharp smack, she looked up and over at the boys, tears in her eyes.  Frenchy spanked her again.  She said: "Please, Frenchy. . ." Plaintively.  Frenchy said: "Again?"  She looked at him pleadingly.  He spanked her again.  The boys, even Steve, tittered.  Spanked her again.  She said: "Ow. . ."  He laughed. "Nice ass," Frenchy commented, mugging at them.

He reached down and took hold of her under her chest, grabbing both her tits with his hands, and drew her up to stand manfully sheer strength I had not noticed before how small she is beside him and how muscular he is, stringy and tall, but his body is sculpted with muscles.  He turned her roughly to face the boys.  Dropped his hands from her tits.  He brushed the hair from her face.  She was flushed.  She had been crying.  Tears on her face. He stepped around in front of her and put his arms about her waist, groped her buttock, grabbing up each cheek, and pressed himself hard against her, looking into her eyes hotly, she returning the look, leaning her head back. 

He rubbed his erection against her belly, against her mons.  Then he kissed her deeply, and she returned the kiss warmly.  This was not pretended.  At least not by her.  She felt passion for him, I could see that.  The boys could see that. I think it made Steve jealous.  I think it hurt his feelings.

Larry thought it all a game, however, and said "Yeah, Frenchy, Yeah!" Congratulating him. 

Jon hooted.  I felt sick at heart.  The shame of it beginning to overtake me, as my sexual excitement lessened.  Suddenly seeing my naked wife held in this boy's embrace as he forcibly kissed her and squeezed her buttock, fingered her, I felt how violated she was. 

Frenchy stopped kissing, put his hands on her hips, looking at her, saying something to her quietly.  Standing in the dark, the scene was remote to me.  Now again my own obsessions came back.  Standing in the dark the scene was like an enactment of my imagination.  And my penis thickened again, the sexual longing returned.  Her face looking up at Frenchy, her moist eyes, her nodding to what he said, gave me a pang of sexual craving.  I drew out a dining room chair and sat to watch.

When Frenchy turned aside, presenting my wife naked to boys again, holding out her arm by her hand, gesturing with his other hand toward her nakedness, talking about her, it felt unreal.  Like watching a movie.  But it was real.  It was real.  He let go her arm which she let fall slowly to her side as she looked down at the floor. She played her part perfectly.  Shame and sexual arousal mixed in her face.   Frenchy looked down at her, leering, commenting, lifted her left breast and jiggled it, describing it to them.  He flicked at the erect nipple with his finger.  Teasing her.  Making her nipple snap like rubber, her tit wiggling.  He laughed at it.  They laughed. He repeated it teasing her. Doing it with both.

He spoke to Larry.  He invited him to come and "feel her up."  She looked up at Frenchy and shook her head.  Larry was too young.  This was wrong.  "He seen it," argued Frenchy, "He should feel it."  She tried to get away.  Frenchy grabbed her arms, turned her, he held her by the arms.  Larry was uncertain as he approached.  Naked himself.  She looked down involuntarily at his nakedness, as his short stiff red-capped prick, which he was compulsively feeling, danced in his fingers, seeping fluids for fucking her.

Frenchy held her tightly, drawing her elbows back and together so that her tits thrust out for Larry.  Seeing Larry's expression almost made me cum in my pants.  The eager amazement at seeing my wife, this woman, his group home mom, completely naked in front of him, right in front of home.   Having never seen a real woman naked before. 

"Feel her tits, Larry." Karen squirmed and pleaded: "Please, Frenchy . . ." Larry looked uncertain, worried.  Frenchy said firmly: "Go on . . ."

She watched as Larry got closer, looking down at her body, and reached up to feel her breasts.  First one hand.  Then both.  Pinching, feeling, pulling on her nipples with his fingertips.  He laughed delightedly, almost giggling.  Jon laughed at his laugh.  Frenchy said: "You like her tits?"

Larry nodded engrossed, his eyes on what he was doing.   Steve sat forward.  To hide his erection, I was guessing.  He glanced at me in the darkness.  I ignored his stare. 

When Frenchy said to Larry, "You wanna feel her cunt?", Steve looked attentively there.  Larry looking down, then back at Karen's face; she was crying.  Frenchy said: "She's ready to cum, man.  Feel her. . ."

Larry stood back to look at her belly her, pussy.  He used his right hand, three fingers, feeling about the edges, the crease beneath, the fleshy folds, and dipping his fingers found and felt the warm slit of her, found and felt that it opened, found and felt that it was curiously wet and featured, folds of flesh, smooth, and when he tried to put his three fingers in as far as he could, she stiffened and drew her breath.  He liked that.

He took out his hand.  He looked at it.  Glossy with her wetness.  "Did she come on me?" wondered Larry.  He looked at her face but her eyes were closed, her head turned away.

Frenchy shook his head, smiling from behind her, letting go of her arms now.  "No," he explained, "She gets wet like that when she's ready to fuck you."

"Can I fuck her?" Larry asked with amazement.

"Sure, but don't you want her to suck your cock?"

"O, yeah. . . "  Enthusiastic. Karen clenched.

Karen was still crying tears when Frenchy turned her around toward himself to comfort her; he kissed her, stroked her hair, and cooed at her, saying that first she should suck Larry's cock and then she should suck Steve's cock too so that everybody has been treated the same: "It's only fair.  You want to be fair, don't you?"  Talking to her like she was a little girl.  He made this sound like a game of spin-bottle or post office, games that kids play for kisses.  Only she was not going to give kisses.  She was going to suck cock.  She was still crying quietly, her head on his shoulder, he feeling, caressing her buttock and along the length back.   I did not hear her reply, but I saw her nodding at last. 

So when Frenchy let her go, she sniffled and I heard her say a soft "yes" to something he said and Frenchy pulled the chair up from behind himself, and said for her to sit and she looked back over her shoulder and incredulously said: "Thank you. . ."

"Your welcome," he replied, winking at me.

"Get closer," he told Larry who took baby steps closer to where Karen sat and Frenchy said: "Feel it, mom."  She had been looking at his prick as he stepped closer.  She touched it carefully and it danced.  Her fingers were tender and tiny.  Feeling the slippery seeping head of his penis with curiosity and craving, I could see it in her face.  Larry saw it.  Strange to have a girl touching you like that.  Strange and electrifying that it is a woman, and a naked woman.

Larry looked down, astounded and delighted at my naked wife, at the top of her head, the part in her hair, her moist eyes fixed on his penis, her parted moist lips ready to taste him, the twin swells of tits with twin cones of lurid nipples, the dark nest of her mysterious pussy in her lap.  Full hips. Thighs. The warm aroma of her nakedness.

Her teasing touching caused him to ejaculate unexpectedly.  His ejaculate shot suddenly and enormously to her chin and between her breasts, a spout of creamy cum, some falling onto her lips, a second thick loop onto her belly, and a third near her navel.  Three, four spurts that bathed her.  .  I was astonished.  Jon laughed loudly.  Frenchy chuckled. Steve, amazed and embarrassed, looked worriedly and sympathetically at Karen, who also looked amazed and embarrassed.

Frenchy reassured Larry, "That's okay.  It's okay. . ."  Then he commanded: "Suck him till he comes again, mom." The back of Karen's hand was wet with cum that had run down the shaft onto it.  She could smell it.  She did as she was told, closing her eyes, she liked it off her hand and then holding his penis lighlty between the fingers of one hand, she put her mouth over the wet head, tasting his cum, circling her tongue about the cap of it, then sucking deeply on the last of his ejaculation seeping from shaft of the penis. 

Larry got quickly firm and got larger in her mouth and very soon he was squirming and delightedly giggling, like it tickled.  Her lashing tongue, the warmth of her mouth, her tenderness, the fingers feeling him, now pumping his slippery prick quickly, urged him: he soon came in her mouth, as much as before, if not more and she made a small mew, a sympathetic pleasure; she herself flooded with sexual release, I think.  Frenchy would later show them her gooey creamy cunt. 

Larry was pleased with himself and eager to do it again.  He asked: "Can I fuck her now?"

Frenchy said: "Not yet.  Steve's turn."   Steve was reluctant.  "Come on, Steve."  He shook his head. 

"Shit," said Jon, "Then I'm gonna. . ."  He swung out the easy chair and bounced up and his hardened prick waggled under Karen's eyes.  He stepped up, straddling her legs, pressing his belly up so close, Karen leaned back.  And she turned her head away to refuse him but he grabbed her by the hair and turned her head and pushed her head down and she opened her mouth to take his cock.  He used his grip on her hair to bob her head on his prick.  He talked to her: "Suck it, fatty. . . Suck me . . . Suck. Suck. Suck."

I watched with rapt sympathy.  I watched knowing how both felt. How his penis felt in her mouth, in my mouth the taste, the seepage, the texture of the skin, the plunging bulbous head bumping the back of my throat.  Almost gagging. Then feeling it with my tongue.  How her mouth felt on my penis, on his penis the wet warmth of it, her feeling tongue, her shameful readiness to swallow my cum, his cum.  My shameful readiness to swallow his cum.

Frenchy had moved to sofa to talk to Steve, private conversation, making comments as they watched.  Larry stood to the side masturbating while he gawked at my wife's mouth and Jon's cock pumping in and out.  I sat in the dark watching from my side.  Karen was crying again, but this just excited Jon.  "I don't give a fuck, fatty .  .  .  Go ahead and cry, you pig . . . Suck me.  Suck it."

He grabbed her head by both hands and lifted his own head and holding her head firmly on his erection he ejaculated into her mouth.  He shouted: "Yeah. Yeah.  Eat it, piggy.  Eat my cum, you fat slut."  He held her head tightly. As she breathed loudly through her nose, whimpering, obviously gulping and noisily sucking.  Red-faced.  And when he let go of her head she gasped and leaned forward with her hands on her knees, catching her breath, as he strutted away.

Frenchy now had stood and Steve stood.  Still talking to him, looking at Karen.  Steve pushed his jeans down and stepped out of them.  Embarrassed.  Jon came up to stand beside me. 

"She likes sucking cock," Jon said to me, looking back and watching as Steve and Frenchy advanced to where Karen sat, who seeing them approached looked up sadly.  And Frenchy spoke softly to her.  "One more, mom," he said, touching her lips.  She looked like she would cry again. Steve looked uncomfortable.  Frenchy said: "Close your eyes, mom." She did what she was told.  "Don't fucking cry, or I will spank you some more."  Her blind face upturned nodded. 

"Open your mouth."  

She did.  She held it open. 

"Hold up your tits for Steve."  She did.  Holding her breasts, cupping them, her big nipples lifted toward them.

Frenchy nodded at Steve, gesturing toward Karen.  He did not say anything.  Steve, aware of me, did not look my way.  He had the same attitude of contempt for me now that all of them had, except maybe Larry who just sex crazy.

Steve paused to look down at my naked wife, who held her tits up for him, eyes closed. She wanted this, he could tell. He simultaneously touched both her offered nipples with fingertips of both hands, circling, teasing them, pulling lightly on them.Ê Her mouth parted. She seemed to anticipate.

Steve did not lower his underpants but pulled out his prick much bigger than mine or Jon's or Larry's, longer and thicker, though not as long as Frenchy's, but stiffer than his it pointed out at her mouth, straight as table leg. He guided it, touched her cheek with it, she turned her face and it went easily into her open mouth. She made a sound of some surprise. Also pleasure, I thought. His uncircumcised glans occupied her mouth, like it was meant to fit.  He pushed a little in.  She felt how large it was.  She made a worried sound but Steve was tentative and gentle and Frenchy said: "Do it, mom.  Suck his cock.  Suck nice." 

My wife held her tits for him, eyes closed, and she willingly, wantonly did what she was told.  She bobbed her mouth on it.  She felt it intently with her tongue.  She knew what would happen and soon it did.  And again she started with the first sudden gush of it, some flowing out of her mouth, spilling off her lips to her lap, but she immediately swallowed and did not take her mouth from it.  Steve for his part reflexively took hold of her head to keep her mouth on his ejaculation, and saw how her eyes opened wide at it and glittered at his face.   She looked like she enjoyed this.  He felt pleasure at this but also distaste.  He had liked her.  Now he thought she was a slut.  Like Jon said she was.  She deserved this.  They'd fuck her. He'd fuck her too.

When he stepped away he pulled up his shorts and Frenchy slapped his back:  "Good, yeah?" 

He called out to where Jon stood beside me:  "Bring me a beer . . . And a beer for mom."  But Karen, blinking, drooling cum, her hands trembling on her knees, shook her head.  "No?" he asked her.  She said something I didn't hear and called back: "Bring her a glass of water."  Jon did as he was told.  Frenchy made Larry sat, still feeling his cock.  Steve walked by me without a word. 

He returned with a beer too.  He'd never done that.  He was lost to me now too.

They sat drinking beers and looking at my wife as she sipped her glass of water, wiping cum off her lips, her cheek, her chin. Cum also glistened on her belly, between her tits, where Larry had prematurely ejaculated. 

She did not look at them. They looked at her.  Frenchy teased her: "You like that, mom?"  She did not answer.

"Get up, mom. Put the glass down."  She sipped again.  She stood and leaned toward them as she put the glass on the coffee table, aware that they stared at her dangling tits.  She brushed her hair back as she straightened, facing them naked.

"Did you cum to?"  She shook her head. 

"Sure you did," he teased.

"Sit on the floor, mom." She looked behind herself.

"No, over here," Frenchy pointed to the place before Jon and the easy chair, under the floor lamp, in the pool of its light.

She did what she was told and while I could not see, seeing her from behind, I could how she moved her feet apart and let drop open her legs as Frenchy told her, and I heard him laugh and saw him point and say: "See that cream in her cunt . . . "

She sat that way for him as long as Frenchy taunted her about liking to suck cock.  And I heard her meek and soft replies and I know he had made her admit she liked them to cum in her mouth.  Steve stared at her gaping cunt with the same mocking leer as the rest of them.

And in the end they took turns fucking my wife in front of me too. Enthusiastically. Sarcastically. Mocking her. Mocking me. They delighted in the rudest comments. They liked to tell me about the details of her anatomy that pleased them. They liked embarrassing her about her sexual responsiveness. They liked bragging abot putting their pricks into her and how it felt, what they were doing to her, how much she loved it being done to her.

First, they gave her to Larry.  Making her bend over and hold the coffee table, her butt to the sofa, making her drop to her elbows, crouch with trembling legs as Larry got up behind her and fucked her.  Quick to cum.  Then Jon slapping his thighs noisely against hers, fucking her hard.  She moaned outloud and they loved that. 

He pulled out for Steve before he came. Steve's turn now--he had been holding back, but both Karen and I had seen him stroking himself, had seen how much bigger and longer his cock was than the others--not as big as Frenchy but he as limp and Steves was upright, hard as wood. She looked at it with animal fascination.  And being bigger and longer and randy red, her lewd curiousity showed on her face as he pushed it all the way in in an easy entry to the hilt, his balls against her cunt, and she gasped and again her unashamed vocal response to his long deep strokes encouraged them (they laughed at her) and now he fucked her with vigor and abandon. He grinned.

Jon got in front of her and put his cock up to her mouth and she took it in her hand and held it and put her mouth on it without command and then sucked it eagerly like she wanted it. She obviously did want it in her mouth. Jon finally could not hold himself and shot his sperm into her mouth and she mewled and swallowed, slurping noisily, and at the peak of her abject degradation, Steve began to ejaculate at the same moment, grabbing and holding her hips tightly to him in a hard thrust, to spill himself deeply inside her and he obviously massively and repeatedly ejaculated, it seemed, as Karen unashamedly moaned and trembling nearly collapsed, held up by Jon who insisted she keep sucking his spending cock; then she obviously orgasmed as Steve climaxed inside of her.  Uncontrolably. She had held back for so long. All three of them made the most pathetic noises of sexual release. Yes, my wife shamelessly with them. Frenchy winked at me. I myself ejaculated without touching myself.

Jon let go with a smug comment. meant to demean her, then stood up, and she wobbled but she held herself on shaky arms and remained docile against Steve's thrusting prick. She glanced furtively out at the room. Unseeing. An animal look as Steve kept fucking her. Steve finally withdrew his long cum-slathered cock, slipping it out of her slowly, with prolonged teasing pleasure, smiling at himself, and Karen, flushed and exhausted, out her forehead head down onto the coffee table, her mouth open, drooling. Spent cum on her wet lips. Cum glistening inside the folds of her chafed cunt. Catching her breath. Her ass still raised up in the air, poised to be fucked again, as if she wanted them to fuck her some more.

And in fact they were not done, and simpering as she was forced to get up and go lay flat, face down on the floor, once more, one after the other---Larry, Jon, Steve, then Larry again---would fuck her. Each again laying down on top of her and fucking her and fucking her and fucking her more.  She had put her fist to her mouth, like a child, sucking her knuckles in her open mouth, flushed, emoting to their pleasure and her own.

It was well after midnight when the last one, Steve, got up wearily from her sweaty body, after one more climax, including her own shameless moan in concert with his last thrusts and groan.  The only one who had not fucked her besides me was Frenchy.  Instead, he had pimped her to all the boys. He stood back and watched her with satisfaction, almost pride.

After it all stopped, she lay exhausted.  She had been fucked What? Eight times? Ten times? 

They left her at last to lie naked on the floor like the sprawled victim of a gang rape. Wet with her sweat and their sweat. Her cunt splayed and swollen and clogged with loads and loads of cum, oozing out onto the rug.  Jon turned on the TV and turned up the volume indifferent to her feelings, while Larry sat on the floor staring between her spread legs, his slight erection in his hand.  From the sofa Steve stared at me. 

Frenchy had got his fourth beer by then and announced that mom would sleep with him that night.  Dad could have the sofa.  He looked down at my wife and said: "Get up, mom." 

She was weary but she did what he said obediently, if abject and exhausted.  And she went from the room, passing beside me in the dark, Frenchy pulling her along by the hand, she looked at me sadly with such a strange resignation.  She was lost to me now.