Go West, Young Man! Pt. 07

Jeff stepped into the shower and into the video. With a hand propped under my chin lifting my teary eyes to his, he guided his rigid organ past my lips and into my throat. With my shallow breaths and guttural moaning, I sputtered and slobbered on his solid erection. Still he thrust his firm tool into me. Tracy had her fingers working in my sponge of a pussy, and she pushed the plastic wedge deeper into my ass. I had all three holes conveniently and forcibly filled and my climax thundered with volcanic force. Jeff's cock unloaded in my cheeks, nearly drowning me in one inch of water. And as I slumped to the soapy ceramic, I could hear the shrieking exaltation of my sister's booming orgasm as she reveled in her power to make me cum. We replayed that video many times in the next few weeks.

Then a seemingly innocuous occurrence popped-up at work that would change the course of our lives forever. About once a year, every department at the studio is required to conduct a physical inventory of assets. This meant that Wardrobe would check costumes, Shipping checked trucks and vans, and the Photography Department counted their cameras and equipment. Lost or missing items needed to be accounted for, and notices were posted informing employees that any property belonging to the company could and should be returned with no questions asked, during a "grace period." So many things that were "borrowed" during the year found their way back into stock. We generally agreed that we would purchase some new, lesser quality cameras of our own sometime soon. The thrill of seeing ourselves cavorting on film was such a rush.

Jeff was compelled to return the miniature "spy cameras" and other equipment that he amassed, and we were all feeling a bit guilty and a little disappointed that a source of easy, titillating entertainment must be turned in. Even theatrical gowns and harem outfits were rounded-up. Whips and cuffs were re-boxed. We hadn't been aware of how much borrowing we all took a part in, until the time came to cart stuff back to the company.

Well, when computers are returned they must be checked for viruses. Gowns, prison fatigues, corsets, and cave-girl outfits must be dry cleaned and folded. So we carefully bundled the cameras and cables, polished the lenses and wrapped cords, stacked the tripods and prepared everything for transport. The receiving dock area was piled with company stock returning home. None of us were aware that these cameras contained some sort of memory chip, that proved to be a big mistake.

Workers and technicians needed to be sure apparently, that the cameras were free from contamination and any past pictures were clear of restricted or trademarked photos. Or something like that, I never thought twice about it.

One Friday, Jeff found an odd envelope in his locker that held a cryptic message, saying that a guy named Larry needed to see him after work about some "playful photos that he may have failed to delete." Jeff was confused because the amnesty period for returning items, did not involve anyone's names. But he also had a sinking idea about the images involved. He called me, and I had just gotten off the phone with Tracy. We both found suspicious envelopes on our desks, hand lettered and stamped that they contained photos.

These envelopes were not exactly the type that I had seen on my desk before, the kind Jeff used to make me do dirty things for his amusement. Or the similar type that he employed to blackmail his mom and I, that actually started this illicit, taboo tryst. But when opened; and the lewd pictures spilled out featuring my family and I in various stages of undress, and performing crude, nasty sex-acts with each other, it was clear that someone had stumbled on to our secret, and the extortion was beginning again.

Our phones lit up and the sweat poured from us all. Apparently this Larry guy, checked the cameras and "downloaded?" the explicit video images to his private collection. He recognized Jeff immediately from the department, and it took only a little more watching to find that we were family. And he knew that Jeff's mother and aunt worked for the studio, with his aunt, (me) being in upper management. For a scheming, twisted pervert this is like hitting the lottery. And for naïve, careless amateurs who fell into a deviant path of incestuous sex, this is probably just what we deserved.

The pictures were clear and unambiguous. Our smiling, highly orgasmic faces were in high-definition, as if we had nametags attached to our bare breasts. In no setting or crowd could these photos ever be considered appropriate and in no way could they be allowed to get out. Plus, as employees at a film studio that produced mostly family movies, private porn filmed on company stock would be devastating and possibly litigious. This was probably going to be very costly. We all shamefully consented to meet Larry tonight, at some out of town bar that he mentioned.

We piled into my car after work and headed for the appointment. We had many questions that were almost unanswerable, but remarkably few accusations or recriminations. It was determined that we were all responsible for our fate, and that we had enjoyed the sex, even the dumb idea of continuing to film our taboo debaucheries.

Larry was in a jubilant mood as he waved us over to the secluded booth, as if he were welcoming old friends, even offering to shake hands. We politely declined the gesture and refused the round of drinks that he ordered. As we crowded around the small table, it was unavoidable not to notice the single manila folder sitting on the cigarette-scorched table like a hissing viper. As he introduced himself and stumbled through a plainly rehearsed speech regarding his proposal, he passed images from the folder. We didn't need to see any more incriminating details, but we did all join Larry in a round of shots. He was celebrating his rather obvious success, we were attempting to wash away the foul taste of bile rising in our throats.

After downing a beer in one gulp, he reached over to my sister and grabbed two big handfuls of her prodigious bust, slobbering a foamy kiss down her abundant cleavage. She jumped, but stoically remained silent and didn't move her hands to deflect him. He smiled and seemed to shake his own hands. Then he leaned over me, pulled the front of my satiny top to look down at my chest, and kissed the top of each heaving globe saying, "I can't wait to get better acquainted with these."

The rest of the one-sided conversation was a blur but the trap was well-set. Tracy and I exchanged sullen glances at how this awful sense of deja-vu struck once more. And again it seemed that money would not be the central issue. Jeff was disconsolate, sitting there like a beaten child fidgeting and waiting for the conclusion. It was his initial spying that ensnared his mother and I the first time, and he took full advantage of our weakness, so he had a difficult time squaring his anger now. (Though I can't say that we were totally innocent, or put up much of an argument.) And now, a very similar maneuver has entangled us in the same muck.

The photographic evidence of our incestuous romps sat before us until I hurriedly stuffed them back in the package. Destroying them was a feeble exercise because they would keep being reborn, and Larry obviously knew about film and film storage. The images captured the three of us in compromising, full-color detail. They were both explicit in their blatant debauchery and starkly revealing in the enthusiasm of the participants. There was no reason or excuse for any possible denial.

Larry was blunt in his assessment and after a jittery start, was adamant in his demands. He chugged another beer and we slugged another shot. We thought on the drive over here that the issue would be cash. But that seemed wrong. He would not have had to involve everyone for that. I was a boss, I was the only one making real money. And this extortion could expose my place in the company, making me the likely target. Maybe he wanted a promotion and a raise, that could probably be handled, but that appeared to be the farthest thing from his mind. And my mind was further unsettled by the way he gripped my thigh as he spoke. And his grubby paw inched it's slimy trail up and down my leg as he made his points of emphasis. He was not just taking inappropriate advances at our dilemma, this crude sex-play was another bold indication of the trump cards he held. That's when he dropped the hammer.

To make it short and sweet, (sarcasm intended,) Larry said that he would be spending time with us this weekend, and that he would be "sleeping" in my bed. In his vile words, "Bosses have been fucking with me all of my life. Now I get to fuck the boss... and her stacked sister." Again he reached for Tracy's ample chest, not quite contained by her filly pink top. She sat silently as he groped at her breasts, staring straight into the eye of her tortured son. She remained still but with an icy glare of resignation. When it looked as if her blouse might rip with his tugging, she unbuttoned the top two buttons, allowing his fingers to range under her bra and squeeze the startled flesh of her double-Ds. He glanced at Jeff with a devilish sneer, "You know, it looks like you have them well-trained." His mom's eyes drooped at the biting remark. "I owe you one. So you can keep fucking them whenever I'm not using one, huh-huh. But make no mistake, I'm in charge now, ain't that right?" He slobbered a beer-smelling, wet tonguing of my cleavage as his meaty hand rode even deeper into my warm crotch. Trapping me in a corner of the disgusting booth, and pressuring me to agree to his demands. We were each forced to look him in the eye and concede that he was now in control. My blouse was becoming soaked through from the effects of his sloppy kisses, and Tracy's was open almost to her ribs, both of our nipples were poking through our bras, and neither of us moved a muscle. And Jeff looking forlorn, showed that he would not prove to be our "White Knight."

There was no use for debate and no need for any further conversation. We were anxious to leave this seedy hole and get showered, Larry was geared-up for action. It was decided that Jeff and Tracy would drive my car to the house and Larry would follow in his, with me riding right beside him. My sister and nephew were puzzled by this travel arrangement and moved to speak, but I quieted them and didn't say a word. I could see plainly that this was logical, Larry still wasn't certain of us, and those two wouldn't try anything foolish while I was in his car. Plus, from the attention that he lavished on my thigh and boobs, I knew that it might be a bumpy ride.

Friday night freeway traffic in LA is never fun, and I have been groped in cars before, since I was a teenager. But this was one uncomfortable drive. When we started into traffic, Larry seemed to be sweating profusely and stuttering. Like in the bar when he seemed initially nervous, but then recovered. I guess extortion can be a risky proposition. I wouldn't know, since I appear to be the one who always has her head in the noose.

On the trip home he first suggested that I remove my blouse. I knew that one was coming so I didn't bother to argue, but as I fiddled with the buttons I glanced at the slow-moving cars to all sides. Just a quick peek in any direction revealed cars with employee window stickers from our company. And though driving topless in Hollywood is a routine affair, it wouldn't be good for anyone if a fellow employee spotted a company exec flashing the greater LA metro area.

We compromised, he settled for me loosening the front of the sheer fabric, though when he spotted that my frilly bra snapped in the front, I was told to release the clasp and let my jiggly tits wobble freely inside my open shirt. We drove the rest of the way with my top open and my boobs dangling loose, bouncing erratically at every stop or bump. I found the situation of being a subservient sex-slave to my nephew, to be an erotic turn-on. This gave me an eerie hostage-like feel. Now I was sweating into my undies and Jeff seemed coolly in command.

I was thankful that he was driving, because even at the pedestrian ten miles per hour, he could only fondle my chest with one hand and needed to keep his eye on traffic. In only minutes though, he grew bored or bold. He upped the ante, placing me at a severe disadvantage. His next demand was that I hike-up my calf-length, cotton skirt and slide my damp panties down my legs. This would mark my crossing of the Rubicon, if I said no at this point he could release those videos tonight, ruining my entire family. If I accede to his debauched demands I will be surrendering not just for me, but Tracy and Jeff too. A weird, sexual euphoria was growing in my brain, I understood that I had a submissive persona, but why was this treacherous situation setting-off such sparks in my vagina? I could readily claim that the fact of my nipples swelling noticeably was due to the effects of brisk A/C on my bare chest, but then why was there such a gush of hot, satisfying fluids roiling in my squirming pussy?

He barked his order again and I slithered my drenched undies to my knees and tucked the skirt like a mummy's wraps around and under my thighs. That wasn't good enough for Larry. He wanted me to lift the skirt to above my waist, and sit bare-bottomed on the plastic seat. And he further instructed me to slip my panties completely from my legs and hand them to him. I grudgingly obliged and could only smirk when he sniffed the crotch, sensing the aroma of Channel and pheromones. He smiled and kissed them lustily, then tucked them in his pocket as a souvenir.

For about the next fifteen miles of a dreadfully slow commute, his chubby calloused hand pawed away at my delicate flesh. First tweaking at my pointy brown nubs, I was told to spread my legs and pull my skirt up, so that he could get his first clear view of my tingling cunt. Then he said that I was to kick off my heels and place my feet about shoulder-width apart on the dash, and then to hold his hand in mine and glide it over my moist clitoris and spread my pink labia for his penetration. It was as if he wanted his own clammy, fuzzy stick-shift for the car. After jabbing at me and patting my soggy snatch for awhile, he commanded that I lick and suck at the dew on his fingers, tasting my own wetness and lubricating his digits for their further teasing.

I stole quick looks at the clock and the mile markers, unsure in my head whether I was playing for time or if this was just some kinky foreplay. I wondered to myself, how long I could stall him until he was fucking me in the back seat to a symphony of blaring, applauding horns. He peppered me with smutty questions. "Are you always this wet, you little slut, or are you just excited to become my slave?" I could only sneer at him as my hand pressed his fingers inside of my yearning hole. But I had to admit atleast to myself, that the normally sparkling feeling brewing in my uterus and the tangy, warm wetness between my thighs was more than I usually experienced.

"Squeeze your tits for me and show me more of your pussy. Pull those cunt lips aside so I can see the pink." My hand dutifully reached inside my shirt, cupping and presenting to his ogling eyes, my firm tits with their perky, brown nipples. Then I leaned back against the side window and swung my left leg over the back of the seat. In this way he could see the glistening pink folds and sense the heated aroma of my lewd passion.

"Does it get you hot knowing that you're about to suck a big cock and get fucked all night?" It was as if he could see through me and his accurate grilling unnerved me. "I've seen you on film fucking your sister and nephew, do you only get off with incest? Or will any large cock cause you to cream?" He saw my wild-eyed expression and could see my nearly-naked body squirming in the seat and coated in a glowing sheen of nervous perspiration. He was enjoying the discomfort that I felt and I saw him trifling with the bulge growing in his pants.

With about ten minutes of driving time left, I noticed my car slowing up ahead and could see my sister adjusting the rear view mirror. They must have already imagined, (if they couldn't actually see,) what was happening in this vehicle. I sat up again and tried outwardly to look like a lady, though he wouldn't permit me to cover my nudity. That was when he lowered the zipper and fished-out six or seven bulky inches of half-limp hose. I thought he was going to masturbate right there infront of me. I was wrong.

He directed me to jerk him off! I was told to slide closer to him, My naked rear left a squeaky, pungent path on the warm bench. His strong arm wrapped around my waist drawing me in so that I could stroke his limpid coil. He rubbed my pussy harder, making squishing noises in my lap and building a filthy desire in my womb, I wanted this and it was difficult to fight the feeling. While he fingered my snatch to a messy soup, he had a birds-eye view down the cleavage of my exposed chest and the wobbling, swaying nipples at their tips. "Rub me, slut," he commanded. I guess "slut" would become my new descriptive. "Jerk my cock, spit on it and get me wet. Lube it up real good. I want to see how much you want it." His hand gripped mine now, as I was made to pump my palm around the thickness of his saliva-wetted column. It grew to amazing, truly daunting dimensions. As it enlarged and inflated, my fingers were being spread wider, they barely touched tips. And when my hand settled to the base of his dark, wiry pubic hairs, there was still half a foot of throbbing, purplish flesh with a thick helmeted cap staring back at me. I had never seen anything so angry looking and yet so captivating to my demented sexual psyche. What i previously thought to be a big cock-Jeff's- couldn't measure in any direction to this elephant cock.

The boiling pressure was building in my loins and the spasms were starting to mount from inside. I felt the hot deep shudders in my belly and the liquid warmth coated my cunt. It was the sight of this rapidly expanding tool and the imagination of what this night would bring, that was triggering this sexual depravity.

Once more I heard his crude commentary. "You like that, don't you bitch? You can't wait to get my tool inside of you, can you?" In my mind, I was doing the sexual gymnastics. As it poked at my nose I wondered, just exactly how wide could I open my mouth, and how deep was my throat? The same thought occurred to me about my pussy. Even soaking wet as it was becoming, he would impale me on this marvelous monster. And the same sudden thought concerning my tiny asshole, flashed before my eyes. Because I took Larry as someone who would not be satisfied, if he didn't fuck my poor ass with that mallet. I shuddered and quickly thought of something else. Then I felt his strong hand at the nape of my neck. He gathered my dark sweaty strands in one large knot of hair and lowered my face, with little resistance, to his lap. My big wobbly tits, moistened with perspiration dripping from the pouty tips, pressed flat against his jeans. "Open-up slut. Kiss the big top and welcome me in." He laughed heartily as I was forced to request pleasantly, that I be allowed to grace his beautiful cock with the dripping hot, longing of my slutty mouth. He forced my gaping lips to hover over this obscene, erotic tower of pulsing sexuality as I uttered my lines. And I did what I was told. It's not entirely because I was being forced, or because I was afraid, that I hesitated. It was the possible embarrassment of not physically being able to open my mouth this wide or to shiver in fear at my frigidity. But i had to try. i wanted this cock.