Jack and Jill
Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Reluctant, Blackmail, Heterosexual, Cuckold, DomSub, MaleDom, Light Bond, Oral Sex, Petting, Violent,

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Jill's husband Jim has been using his young wife to tease their eighteen year old neighbor Jack ever since they moved in. Now Jack is going to get some of his own back!

All things considered, Jack was not a bad kid. He was good looking, athletic, intelligent and well-mannered. He had been sexually active since he was thirteen and, being your typical hormone-saturated teen-aged boy, never passed up the opportunity for sex. Nor was he above pressing for it. But Jack had never forced himself on anyone. He really didn't have to. As was mentioned earlier, Jack was a good looking kid, with deep blue eyes, a handsome tanned face that hinted at the ruggedly handsome man Jack would become, and a fit body from years of playing football and lifting weights, plus the additional training provided for him by his father, a retired marine major. And Jack always had money, since his father did very, VERY well by the family.

Now, the spending money Jack had in his pocket is the crux of the story. That money was put there by his father's business. Technically, his father ran an import/export business. In reality, his father had another business that involved bookies.

The business arrangement was simple. Bookies give and take bets on all sorts of sporting events. The system was such that, for the most part, the bookies collected more money than they had to pay out. As the saying goes, the house always wins. Invariably, though, certain bettors ran up considerable tabs and then refused to pay. Since bookmaking is an illegal occupation in most states of the U.S., the bookies really didn't have the option of going to a legitimate collection agency. This is where Jack's father came in. The bookies sold these debts to Jack's father for a fraction of their total value. Thereafter, it was Jack's father's business to collect the full debt.

Jack's father was very convincing. As the business got bigger, Jack brought in other individuals he had known in the military. The booming business soon came to the notice of various criminal organizations. No problem. Jack's father gave them a percentage fee for the privilege of operating in their "areas of influence." To most of these organizations, this was a no-brainer. They got cash every three months for letting Jack's father do all the work in peace. For those few that got greedy, the other organizations stepped in quickly. No one wanted to kill the goose that laid the golden egg.

Jack's father lived in a very well-to-do, upper middle class neighborhood. He could have probably lived somewhere more upscale, but Jack's father wanted to stay below the law enforcement radar. And it wasn't as if the family didn't live well. They lived very well indeed. At 18, Jack was driving a Jaguar. Life was good.

And then Jill moved in next door.

More importantly, Jill moved in next door with her considerably older husband, Jim LaRouche. Jill was her husband's trophy wife. Jim was a senior partner in his engineering firm, and as soon as he made senior partner, he dumped his first wife and married Jill, an administrative assistant in his firm. Jim was 54, Jill was 23, and from the start, it was obvious what each wanted from the other. Jill was looking for a husband who could provide her with a very comfortable living style. Jim was looking for a hot young thing that he could ... well, not to mince words, that he could fuck every time the urge hit him.

Jill was indeed hot, though it wasn't the usual combination of things that made her hot. She had a face that seemed to combine the features of Anne Coulter and Celine Dion. It wasn't an unattractive face. It just wasn't the prettiest. And the majority of Jill's feminine curves were a bit muted. They were there, but Jill was built on more slender lines.

No, the two things that made Jill hot were her hair and her breasts. Her breasts weren't overly huge, but they were a nice sized 34D that looked even bigger on her slender frame. And the pale blonde hair that was just long enough to barely cover them promoted her from the realm of hottie to ultra-hottie. When Jack had first met the LaRouches, it took all his will power simply not to stare and salivate at Jill's chest, contained in a tight pink shirt. Jill's husband Jim had confided/bragged to Jack and his father in an all-male bull session that not only were all of Jill's measurements natural, but that she was a natural blonde as well. Jack's father just grunted noncommittally, thinking Jim to be an unsophisticated boob to not only leave his first wife, but to give intimate details of his second wife to near strangers. Jack stored this information for future masturbation sessions.

And masturbation sessions aplenty there were, all of them featuring Jill LaRouche. Even when Jack was with other girls and women, he was fucking Jill LaRouche.

Jack's obsession was not lost on Jill's husband, Jim. As noted earlier, Jim fucked Jill every time he wanted to. Unfortunately, as the saying goes, the spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak. Jim was both old and out of shape, which affected his sexual performance (or lack thereof) greatly. So he took pleasure with his wife in other ways, primarily in showing her off to other men and then denying her to them. It was a game of "I've got what you want but you can't have it. Look all you want, but you can never touch."

Jill, for her part, was miserable when her husband played these games. She had signed a prenuptial when she had married her husband that said if she committed adultery, Jim could divorce her and leave her without a cent. Plus, unlike Jim, Jill held a belief that marriage was sacrosanct. She might have gotten into the marriage with Jim for all the wrong reasons, but once she was in that marriage, she was going to remain committed to it.

So, Jim would ask Jack if Jack wouldn't mind doing some of the outside yard work around the LaRouche house. Jim explained he really was too busy and perhaps a bit too old to do those things himself, and that Jill didn't have the muscle to do it. Jack readily agreed. Jill was instructed by her husband to use those times Jack was there to sunbathe in her bikini. Jill thought this was sick on her husband's part, but had no choice but to agree. By the time Jack was finished with the yard work and spending two hours looking at Jill's scantily clad body, he was so aroused that he immediately went back to his room next door and masturbated. Jill, too, was getting aroused by these sessions, and more than once dashed into the house to "take the edge off." Knowing, though, that her husband was getting off on creating this level of sexual frustration in Jack, and that she was getting aroused at the thought of Jack's cock getting rock hard at the sight of her body, was making her feel doubly guilty.

This might have continued unabated until four months later, when Jack left for college. But then Jill's husband made a mistake. He developed a gambling habit.

It started off small, really. Jim LaRouche had won a couple of betting pools at his firm. He made an offhand remark to a junior partner that he felt so lucky, maybe he should head to Atlantic City for the weekend. The junior partner jokingly replied that if Jim wanted to save money on airfare, he knew the phone number of a bookie. Jim had forgotten the remark until three weeks later, when he won a prize at an online sporting news website for picking the most winners for that weekend's college football games. Jim thought to himself that maybe he ought to get that phone number. The way he that he could pick winners would make betting easy money.

At the beginning, it was just that. Jim put money on a few teams, and won. Then he put more money on more games, and won bigger. To Jim, it was as if he was earning a supplemental income without having to really work at it, and at the same time having a little illicit fun.

Then Jim picked more losers than winners one weekend. No problem, Jim thought, just a fluke. And the next three weekends did indeed seem to prove it was a fluke, as he easily recouped his losses.

Then he lost another weekend. And another. The losses started stacking up. Jim started betting bigger and bigger to make up for his losses, and his debt just got bigger.

And then one day, Jim was in debt for two hundred thousand dollars. His bookie told him no more bets until Jim made good his debt.

Jim was furious. He begged, threatened, cajoled. The bookie said no dice. No more bets, no more credits, no more nothing, until Jim paid his debt off. Jim tried to go to other bookies, but word had gotten around. No one was going to take Jim's action until he made good on his debt.

Then Jim started ducking his bookie's call. The bookie sent people to Jim's office, and even once to Jim's house. After a week, the bookie decided Jim was going to be a deadbeat and took steps. First, he let it be known on the bookie network that Jim was a deadbeat. Then he sold Jim's debt to Jack's Dad for fifteen thousand dollars

Jack had just come home from working the LaRouches' yard and was, as usual, worked up. He was planning to go up to his room and "alleviate the situation" when his father called Jack into his study.

"What's up, Dad?" Jack was hoping whatever his father was going to tell him would be something he could tell Jack fast. It was starting to get painful; Jack was that aroused.

"Jack, it would probably be best if you didn't go over to the LaRouche house anymore."

"Wha--? Why, Dad? I--have the LaRouches complained about something?" That very morning, Jill LaRouche had been sunbathing, lying on her front, in the skimpiest of bikinis as Jack had cleaned their pool. Jill had undone her top so that Jack had a clear view of the sides of her wonderful breasts.

Jack's Dad knew exactly why Jack worked like a dog over at the LaRouche house. Jack's Dad was that rarest of things among wise guys: an absolutely faithful husband. So he considered Jim LaRouche an ungrateful bastard for dumping his first wife to marry his second one. He also thought Jim was a sick fuck for parading his wife around like he did, and considered Jill a cocktease for going along with it. More than once he wanted to sit Jack down and tell him he was being played, but each time he thought about doing so, he refrained. It was a lesson he thought Jack needed to learn on his own. But now Jack's dad had bought the two hundred grand marker that Jim owed, and he was hoping that Jim would prove reluctant in paying off quickly. Jack's Dad had a lot of frustration built up where Jim LaRouche was concerned, and he was hoping for the opportunity to work some of it off.

"Jack, it's like this--Jim LaRouche has become a customer of mine."

"Oh." That one word spoke volumes. Jack's dad had let his son know exactly what kind of business he ran a year ago, including some of the methods he used against particularly recalcitrant customers. Although Jack didn't have the desire to follow in his father's footsteps, he didn't consider what his father was doing as unethical either. His father wasn't selling drugs, robbing banks, extorting honest businessmen or anything like that. His father was collecting gambling debts. True, the methods he used were ... unorthodox, to put it mildly. But then, since gambling in general and bookmaking specifically was illegal, it wasn't like the debts could be collected in a more mundane fashion. And most people who used bookies never had to worry themselves with the consequences of failing to pay a debt.

Now, if Jack's father had told Jack to stay away from the LaRouches say, after dinner, Jack might not have made the proposal he was about to make. But the image of Jill LaRouche, face down and wearing nothing but a bikini bottom, was still fresh in his mind. Still, to Jack, it was like somebody else was talking when he said:

"Dad, could I have Jim LaRouche's marker?"

His dad raised an eyebrow. "Son, if you want money, you just have to ask. I mean, you're going to need a very good reason for me to just give you two hundred thousand dollars. If you want a new car, or something..."

Jack shook his head. "I ... I don't want money. I ... I want Jill LaRouche."

Jack's dad was stunned. He couldn't have been more flabbergasted if Jack had told him that he had not only dug up Jimmy Hoffa's body, but that he had the corpse stretched out on the living room floor.

If it had been anyone asking him beside his son, and if it had been anybody but the wife of Jim LaRouche, Jack's dad would have told the asker in no uncertain terms that the next time he asked such a favor would be the last. But Jim LaRouche had gotten under his skin in a way that Jack's Dad would not have tolerated from a business associate. He had only put up with it because he wanted no trouble with his neighbors. But it had grated on his last nerve how Jim LaRouche and his wife had humiliated his son. And now Jim LaRouche's life was in his hands.

"Jack, I love your mother. I have never used or mistreated her. I don't use women ... ever. My son will not use women ... ever."

"Yes, sir." Jack got up, feeling properly chastised, and was about to leave when his father held up his hand.

"Just this once, Jack. Do you understand me? Just this once. But you will never ask me this again. And after this, you will not even contemplate ever doing anything close to this again. You understand me?"

Jack just nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. His father answered the question that was on Jack's mind.

"And as far as how we do this, you leave that to me. First, I have to soften up that bastard."

Jim LaRouche was leaving late one night and was opening his car when two very large, muscular men grabbed him.

"Wha--?" One of the men hit him in the stomach, doubling him over.

"You owe some people a lot of money, LaRouche. A lot of money. And they're not very happy that you've been slow in paying up."

"Listen, I--Uhhnnn!!"

The other man had grabbed his arm by the wrist, twisting it hard behind his back. "Time for talking is over, LaRouche. This little visit is just to show you what happens to people who don't make good on their debts."

Jim LaRouche made threats, promises and general pleas for his life. None of them did any good. The two men working him over were experts in the field of inflicting pain while ignoring the verbal outbursts that usually accompanied their ministrations. The session ended with one of Jim's hands being slammed in the car door. As Jim laid by his car, whimpering, one of the assailants said, "You're lucky, LaRouche. My employer is going to give you a choice. The money or ... a payment in kind. Normally he isn't this generous."

"What ... what does he want?"

"We'll tell you later. This wasn't a collection visit. This was just our way of letting you know that we're serious about collecting your debt. If this was a collection visit, we wouldn't have been so ... restrained."

Jim lost control of his bladder at the very thought of what an unrestrained visit would have been like.

"Oh, and Mr. LaRouche," added the second man as the two left Jim on the ground, "If I were you, I wouldn't do anything foolish like make a police report over our little discussion. My employer would consider that a bad faith gesture on your part, and would probably become irritated with you. And you would find that a very unpleasant experience indeed."

Jim did file a police report, but the description of the two men who he had said mugged him in the firm's parking garage was the complete opposite of the men who had done this to him. Whoever was the force behind those two men was someone Jim was pretty sure he didn't want to become irritated at him.

The firm put up more security cameras in it's parking garage and added one additional security guard after Jim's mugging, but Jim was fairly sure that wouldn't end his own problem. Jim knew he was in trouble. He was maxed out on his credit, and knew there was simply no way he was going to be able to raise gso hundred thousand dollars unless the man collecting his debt gave him a couple of months to do it in. Maybe he could make some kind of deal. And what was this "in kind" payment that the two goons who had assaulted him were talking about? Somehow, Jim knew that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be a good deal for him.

Within a week, the two men who had assaulted him were able to get Jim, despite his best efforts to the contrary, in a secluded spot again. This time, while they were working him over, they told him that the debt would be due in a week. Jim cried and begged for more time, telling the men that simply wasn't possible. He asked them to give him just two months, and he'd be able pay them double what he owed them. He could even pay them ten thousand dollars now to give him those two months.

No dice, his assailants responded. You have one week to pay up. Or make up the debt with an "in kind" payment. When Jim asked what the "in kind" payment was going to be, they told him their boss would explain that when they came to collect in a week. And as they left the incapacitated Jim on the ground, they asked him to do them a favor.

Try to hide. It made their work more interesting.

Jill was frantic. Her husband had came home twice in almost a week's time after having had to go to the emergency room. The first time was a mugging. The second time was a hit and run. It had left her husband not only broken physically, but emotionally as well. There was a hunted look in his eyes, and at home, he jumped at any noise. Any comment from Jill brought a snappish answer, so that she avoided him as much as possible. Which was easy, as Jim got into the habit of only being home for a few hours, then staying away all night. She might have even suspected Jim of having an affair, except he was way too edgy.

Another event happened that Jill took no notice of. If she hadn't been so consumed with her husband's erratic behavior, she might have taken more notice that Jack had stopped coming over and doing the yard work. But Jack was too busy receiving a crash course on the fine art of gambling debt collection.

The two men who had twice worked over Jim LaRouche were Jack's Dad's most trusted "collection agents," Daryl and Zeke. Daryl and Zeke had served with Jack's Dad in the military, and had been his first employees when he started his collection business. Both were well off now, and usually didn't involve themselves in the field anymore. But Daryl and Zeke had heard their boss's stories of Jim LaRouche's flaunting his wife, and were well aware of their boss's penchant for marital fidelity. Add to that that Daryl and Zeke had known Jack since he was a boy, and had spent time with both father and son on fishing trips and the like, and they had no problem getting a little payback for the perceived humiliation brought upon Jack by Jim LaRouche and his wife.

Jack's Dad explained how it was going to go down to his son. Jack was not to say a word. He would stand there and make simple gestures with his head or hands. Daryl and Zeke would be in charge, though they would give the appearance that Jack was the man to answer to. And under no condition was Jack to give the impression that anything said or done distressed him to the slightest degree.

Jack gulped anxiously but nodded in agreement. He already had fantasies of what he was going to do. His father had given him one final warning that this was a one time deal, never to be repeated. Then he embarrassedly handed Jack silk ropes that he had acquired from a adult novelty store. "Use these. Even if she acquiesces, she's not going to be happy."

As his week started running out, Jim LaRouche was getting desperate. He was sleeping in a different hotel every night, and had even made plans to leave the city. He had booked a flight down to Central America, and had even toyed with the idea of going down there, liquefying all his assets, and remaining there for the rest of his life.

But only minutes after he had booked the trip from his hotel room, he got a call advising him that his trip had been cancelled and please don't do anything that stupid again.

Jack's Dad ran a modern business, which included employees who were well versed in computers and the internet. Normally, Jack's Dad would use these employees to see if his "customers" had the assets to pay off their debts and when they could do so. He knew Jim LaRouche could make good on his offer to pay twice the amount in two months. And if it had been anyone but Jim, Jack's Dad would have accepted the offer in a heartbeat. But now Jack's Dad was committed to the concept of payback. And so his employees kept track of the electronic trail left by Jim LaRouche.

The call canceling his trip spooked Jim, and belatedly Jim realized he was being tracked by his credit card usage. Thereafter, Jim paid in cash and stuck to seedier motels. It didn't matter. Jack's Dad was even more adept at physical reconnaissance than the electronic type, and he was hunting down Jim with vengeance on his mind.

Jim had left his motel room to get a bucket full of ice from the motel's ice machine when he was grabbed from behind. Before he could react, he found himself in one of the motel's other rooms with Daryl and Zeke.

"Got our money, LaRouche?"

"Please, I just need more time!" Jim sobbed.

Zeke turned to Daryl. "I'm taking that as a no." A fist slammed into Jim's stomach, bringing him to his knees. Then a kick to the head sent him sprawling to the floor.

"Please, you said there was another way I could pay," Jim whimpered.

"There is. But we want to make sure you're in a receptive mood to listen," Zeke answered. "Plus, we just like beating the shit out of you."

After ten minutes of working Jim over, Zeke yelled toward the bathroom. "Hey, boss, I think he's ready to listen now."

Through partially swollen eyes, Jim looked up and gasped. It was the last person Jim had ever expected to see in this situation: the kid from next door, Jack.

When Jim had hit the floor, Jack had watched him surreptitiously from the bathroom. Zeke, Daryl and Jim's Dad had taught him how to fight, but even after those lessons, it took all Jack had in him not to look away from the professional beating that Jim was getting at the hands of his father's friends. Jack steeled himself by watching, and remembering the reward at the end.

When Jack stepped out, wearing a black shirt, black jeans, sunglasses and a black duster, Jim immediately yelled out, "Jack, you've got to..."

Jim's plea was interrupted by a kick to the ribs from Zeke. "You don't talk to the boss. You listen. And then you give the answers he wants to hear." Zeke looked back at Jack. Jack gave a simple nod, like he had been coached to do. Zeke gave Jim one more good kick then continued.

"The boss is real disappointed that you don't have his money. He's even more disappointed that you tried to hide from him when he came looking for you. Normally, this was not be a good situation for you. However, the boss is going to overlook these failings on your part, and even give you a chance to work off your debt completely by just doing one little favor for him. Isn't the boss generous?"

By now, Jim had gotten back on his hands and knees. "Jack, please, you've got to--AHHHH!"

Daryl had walked over and stood on one of Jim's hands, crushing the heel of his shoe into it. "We asked, isn't the boss generous?"

"Yes! Yes! Very generous! Ah." Jim was sitting up now, cradling the hand that Daryl had stepped on.

"Now, don't you want know what the favor the boss wants from you?"

"Yes, yes, please, anything..."

Zeke looked back at Jack. Jack nodded.

"The boss wants to spend one night with your wife. And do anything he wants."

"Jill? No, Jack, you can't--Unnnh!"

The last grunt was produced from a knee to the side of Jim's head. Zeke turned back to Jack. "You might want to go wait in the bathroom, boss. This is going to take a little negotiation, and we don't want to bore you with the tedious details."

Jack nodded silently as he returned to the bathroom as Zeke and Daryl continued with their "negotiations."

In the end, it only took ten minutes for Zeke and Daryl to conclude their "negotiations." It only took that long not because Jim had any desire to protect his wife. If it had been anyone else asking, Jim would have sold his wife out in a second to protect his hide and his money. Jim just couldn't believe that the boy next door could be the "power behind the throne" that was directing the two brutes beating him.

But after ten minutes, Jim had made the proper paradigm shift. In his world view, Jack was no longer the boy next door whom he directed his wife to tease. He was a cold-hearted thug who got what he wanted no matter the cost to the people who got in his way.

Jack was glad he was wearing sunglasses. The disgust he felt for himself as Jim LaRouche literally threw himself at Jack's feet and begged him to take his wife was probably visible for all to see in his eyes. But the beaten Jim was only too happy the beating had stopped and was in no shape for nuances.

Zeke and Daryl carried Jim none too gently to their parked van as Jack followed behind them. Without a word, the four drove to the LaRouche house.

It was seven in the evening, and Jill was spending another miserable night, not knowing where her husband was or what was happening to him. There was a knock on the door as Jill sat on the couch, dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and jeans, trying to watch television but unable to give it any serious attention.

Jill looked out the door and saw two rough looking men with her husband between them. His face was swollen and bruised, and she could only guess what other damage had been done to him.

Jill unlocked the door, and as soon as she opened it an inch, one of the men pushed it hard, sending her tumbling back. They threw Jim on the floor, and as soon as Jill knelt on the floor beside him, Jim wrapped his arms around her legs and began sobbing.

Jill looked up at the two men standing just inside the doorway. "What--what do you--why did you--why are you doing this??!!"

One of the men pulled out a gun. Jill cringed and Jim's sobbing took on a high pitched quality. "Tell her what we want, LaRouche."

"Jill, you've got to do what they say. Please. You've got to. Jack. Jack did this. Oh please Jill." Jim's word dissolved into incoherent wailing.

"Jack?" Jill only knew one Jack, and that was the 18 year old boy from next door, the one her husband had directed that she teased. But Jack was far too nice a boy. It was inconceivable--

And then Jack walked in, all in black, looking for all the world like a cross between The Matrix and The Sopranos.

Jack walked in, and looked down at Jill, kneeling down beside her husband. Even wearing that loose sweatshirt with the tight collar, she looked hot. And a part of Jack was even a bit turned on by the violence that had led up to this situation. He didn't plan to hurt Jill, but the fact she was obviously close to panicking did get his heart pumping more.

"Jack, what--"

Daryl close the door behind Jack and locked it. Zeke walked over and kicked Jill's cringing husband in the side. Jim squealed and crawled closer to his wife.

"Please, stop, just stop. What do you want us to do?"

Daryl pointed at Jill. "Not the two of you. Just you." Daryl pointed at Jack with his thumb. "You go upstairs with the boss and do whatever he wants. We'll stay down here and keep your husband company for the duration."

Jill couldn't believe her ears. This couldn't be happening. Jack couldn't be making this happen. Jack was the sweet boy next door.

Zeke turned to Jack. "I don't think she wants to cooperate, boss. Should we kill her husband here, or take him somewhere else to do it?"

Jim gave out a high pitched scream, and Jill could tell by the smell that he had just soiled himself. Even more disturbing, Jack was silently stroking his chin, as if it the decision of where to kill her husband was something akin to what wine to order with dinner.

"Jack?", she asked meekly. He looked back at her, his eyes hidden by the sunglasses.

Jill hung her head in resignation. "Follow me, Jack."

Jack couldn't believe it. It was about to happen. The woman whom he had more than one masturbatory fantasy about was leading him upstairs to do whatever he wanted. Jack followed her upstairs, mesmerized by the movements of her narrow hips. Her sweatshirt, for all its looseness, still revealed the size, if not the shape, of her magnificent breasts.

As they got to the bedroom upstairs, Jack closed and locked the door behind them. Jill turned around and faced him. "What ... what do you want me to do?" Jack took off his sunglasses. If Jill expected to see mercy in his eyes, she was disappointed. All she saw was rampaging lust.

"Go lay down on the bed," Jack instructed. "Face up."

Jill meekly complied.

"Now, spread eagle."


"I said, spread eagle."

Jill again complied, her hands and feet stretched toward the corners of her bed. When Jack produced the silk ropes he had been carrying in his duster's pockets, Jill immediately pulled her arms and legs back in.

"Jack, no way, I'm not going to--where are you going?"

Jack had put the ropes back in his pocked and moved toward the bedroom door. "Downstairs," he replied.

Jill just stared at him blankly, then quietly stretched out again, her hands and feet once again pointed toward the corners of the bed.

Jack couldn't believe Jill hadn't call his bluff. He just stood there momentarily, staring at her, before he moved toward her. He was glad her eyes were tightly shut, so she couldn't see his hands shaking.

Jill couldn't believe this was happening. Sweet Jack from next door had had her husband beaten to the point of whimpering for mercy, and now she was trapped in her own house with him. Tears leaked out from her eyes as she felt silk ropes tied first around her wrists, then her ankles, as she was tied securely to the bed. Jack then tosses sunglasses and duster to the floor.

Jack couldn't believe it. There was the woman of his dreams, stretched out on the bed, there for him to do anything he wanted. His eyes were drawn to her chest. Even with that sweatshirt on, Jill's breasts were magnificent, the material of the shirt draped across them. Jack's hands were drawn to them like magnets, first gently cupping them, then kneading them.

Jill bit back an involuntary moan. As turned on as she had been in days past by exhibiting herself to Jack, she didn't expect to this to be anything but Jack forcing himself on her. But his gentle caressing of her breasts caught her off guard. Her lovemaking sessions with her husband, few and far between as they were, consisted of him grabbing her breasts roughly for a few seconds before pushing himself into her unceremoniously until he came, a process which lasted less than a minute. Jill had not come to her wedding bed a virgin, but her other previous two partners had been equally unsatisfying, and she had come to the conclusion that sex was something to be occasionally endured, in exchange for a comfortable home. But now her body was betraying her, as Jack's caresses were arousing her.

Jack continued to massage Jill's breast, and was reward with the hint of her hardened nipples showing through her bra and sweatshirt. Jack rubbed the cloth covered nubs with his thumbs, and this time he was rewarded with the a faint whimper from Jill. He looked up at Jill's face. Her eyes were closed as she bit softly on her lower lip, her look one of concentration.

Jack kept looking at her face as his hands trailed down to the hem of her shirt, then went under it, his hands pushing the shirt upward as his hands trailed upwards along her sides. Jill's torso instinctively arched, inviting more of Jack's touch. Jill's mind was torn. Jack had forced himself upon her, by threatening her husband to do so. But that part of her was being drowned out by the sensations Jack's hands were producing on her body. Even these mere minutes with Jack were more sensual than anything she had ever experienced in her married life or before. And she was remembering how hot she had gotten just by feeling Jack's eyes on her bikini clad body for all those months. Guilt was warring with sensuality. Guilt lost.

Jack looked at awe at Jill's breasts, now clad by the simplest of white bras. The bra was nothing fancy, but Jill's breasts looked to be begging to be released from their captivity. Jack obliged, undoing the front clasp and pushing the cups of her bra to the side.

The sight of Jill's bare breasts mesmerized Jack. Even laying down,, flattened out and with their size, they still kept their shape. Again he gently, almost reverently cupped them, his thumbs grazing her hardened nipples, which produced another moan of delight from Jill.

Jill watched like a bird in a snake's gaze as Jack first uncovered her breasts, then gazed down upon them. But when he touched her bare flesh with his hands, she arched her back and moaned in ecstasy. His thumbs stroking her nipples were sending jolts of pleasure straight between her legs. Then Jack lowered his mouth and started running his tongue around her nipple. Jill arched her back, trying to push her breast into Jack's mouth. She pulled at the restraints on her wrists, wanting nothing more than to free her hands so she could pull Jack's head against her.

Jack teased her nipples, taking turns drawing his tongue around them, getting her both more aroused and more frustrated. Finally, Jack took her right nipple into his mouth, batting her nipple with his tongue.

"Oh, gawd, Jack, yes, please, like that." Jill was mortified that she had abandoned all pretense at resistance, but Jack's mouth was making her feel better than she had ever felt in her life. Jack continued nursing on her right breast before moving to suckle on her left. Then, Jack abruptly stopped. Jill stared at him, feeling confused.

Jack undid the ropes on her wrist, then told her to sit up. Jill did so, but when she reached for the ropes around her ankle, Jack told her to leave them be. Then he told her to wait, as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Jill didn't know what was going to happen, or how she felt about it. Jack had been forceful, but still gentle with her. Then Jack returned, and Jill's eyes nearly popped out of her head.

Jack had come back completely nude, and Jill saw for the first time just how good a shape Jack was in. The only other men she had ever seen fully nude were at least twenty years older than her, and they had been in fair shape at best. Jack was eighteen and in incredible shape. His cock, though not enormous, looked so to Jill. But then again, her present husband would be considered somewhat under-endowed.

Jack saw Jill staring directly at his cock, and it turned him on instantly. The sense of power he felt with his control over Jill increased proportionately.

"Lose the sweatshirt and the bra."

In Jack's absence, Jill had pulled down her sweatshirt. Without argument, she pulled them both off and tossed them on the floor. She felt tempted to cross her arms over her chest, but knew that wasn't what Jack wanted.

Jack just stared. "Jill, you are so beautiful. Your breasts--they're magnificent." Jill blushed. Jim, if he said anything abut her breasts, would just make a crude remark about their size, and that was it.

Jack sat down on the bed, and handed Jill a bottle that he had carried from the bathroom. It was a bottle of suntan lotion.

"Rub it on your breasts. Like you do outside."

Jill blushed. That was part of the teasing game she had played with Jim. When he was in a position to watch, Jill had rubbed suntan lotion on her bikini clad breasts. She had been tempted more than once to ask Jack to rub lotion on her back, but was too afraid that once Jack started doing so, she would be too worked up to have him stop at a proper place.

Jill laid back on the bed, closed her eyes, and began rubbing a dollop of lotion into each breast. At first, she did so gingerly, touching her breasts as lightly as she could. But the thought of Jack watching while she did this excited her, and soon she was rubbing her breasts harder, occasionally pulling and tweaking her own nipples.


Jill stopped, looking up at Jack while she panted heavily. She noticed that Jack was breathing heavily as well, with pre-cum leaking from the head of his cock.

"Ask me to do that."

Jill swallowed, her heart racing a mile a minute. "Jack, would--would you rub lotion on me?"

Jack shook his head. "Be more specific."

Jill closed her eyes. "Jack, would--would you rub suntan lotion on my breasts?"

The next thing Jill knew, Jack's hands were covering her breasts, massaging them. Jill found her own hands covering Jack's, encouraging them.

Jack had never enjoyed himself so much in his life. Here he was, ordering his dream girl around, and she was enjoying every minute of it. Jack continued kneading her breasts when he decided now was the time to do something he had always wanted to do.

Jack lifted his hands away from Jill, eliciting a moan of disappointment from her. He straddled her waist and told Jill to press her breasts together and begin rubbing them. Confused, Jill just did as ordered; Jack scooted forward, sliding his cock between her breasts.

"Jack, what--"

"Just keep on pressing them in and playing with them."

Jill did as Jack ordered, somewhat confused about what Jack was doing. Jack wasn't confused however. He began sliding his cock back and forth between Jill's breast, s delighting as their soft flesh pressed against his erection.

"That's it, Jill, press them inward. Damn, that feels good. Oh yeah, like that, like that."

It didn't feel as good as when Jack had handled them himself, or suckled on them, but Jack's excitement communicated itself to Jill. No one had ever done this to her before, but it was obvious that Jack was enjoying it, especially when she pressed her breasts together and moved them up and down simultaneously.

Jack's eyes were closed, his head tilted back as he lost himself in the sensation of Jill's flesh pressing against his cock. Before long, Jack was crying out, "Oh, yes, Jill. Yes. Damn Jill, you're so beautiful you're so beautiful you're ... Unnnnhhhh!"

With one last thrust, Jack erupted, sending his cum in wave after wave across Jill's breasts and neck. As he spent himself, he slid down to Jill's waist, looking at his cum spattered all over Jill's upper body.

Jill just stared up at the ceiling, not knowing what to say or do. Finally, as Jack looked down at her, she looked him and the eye and asked very simply,

"You're not finished yet, are you?"

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