Installment 4

She called in sick for work on that Monday, and again on that Tuesday. On Wednesday morning I made her go to work because we needed the money.

Mr. Miller left her alone that night, and in fact he let her go home on time every night that week.

And somehow my wife thought it was over and felt more warmly toward Mr. Miller again.

But then on the following Monday he told her he wanted her to stay late again and she tried not to think what it meant.

As usual they had their brandied tea and as usual he kissed her and drew his hand to his penis, but nothing more.

Tuesday again she stayed late and the same things happened, more or less. This time he wanted her to take off her dress and her slip but let her sit in her bra and underpants as he took off all his clothes in front of her and then he guided her to masturbate him, and for the first time she saw a man ejaculate. He coaxed her to put her small hand on his erection and to squeeze it tightly, the glans popping out, and just this pressure (and the kissing and fondling foreplay which had aroused him) caused him to suddenly climax, and she saw the creamy ejaculate spit up, and then flow down the shaft and onto her hand. There were two quick spasms like that. It was not that much but it ran onto the back of her hand.

Then he told her: "Eat it." And he watched her with amusement as she leaned and delicately and uncertainly lifted the thick sperm with her tongue into her mouth and ate it.

She did not cry. She wanted to, but she did not. She licked all of it off her hand and then he told her to suck out the rest from his penis and she was surprised but there was quite a lot left that leaked out and she sucked like he told her to do, really sucked, like she wanted to get it all.

After she had done this nicely for a several minutes, he got up, his prick still waggling half turgid, but his glans back hiding in the tube of it and went and got another bracelet for her. She said her thank you politely and she laughed at her and said she was good girl and told her she could get dressed and leave.

On that Wednesday night she stayed late and that night he just had her sit with her dress down to waist and her slip pulled down and her bra pulled down to her waist so he could play with her tits and he gave twenty dollars.

And on that Thursday night she stayed late and they had drinks and he unzipped her dress and had her step out of it and again drew her slip down her waist and pulled her bra down and then once more as before he took off all his clothes, except for his undershirt, and then sitting on the stool in front him told her to feel her breasts for him and masturbated while he watched her feeling her own breasts. But before he ejaculated---as she still felt her breasts for him feeling them with her fingertips to arouse herself, pinching her nipples and tugging on them as he told her to do---he stood up and demanded she must now tell him how much she wanted him to cum in her mouth, or she should have to leave.

She did what he said with hesitation, and furiously blushing and with feelings that confused her, for in a way, as she admitted to me, she did want him to cum in her mouth. It gave her pleasure to give him pleasure. So then telling him that she wanted him to cum in her mouth, as he was standing in front of her and stroking and getting ready to ejaculate, he stepped closer to her and she opened her mouth and he pushed it into her mouth and as she sat, still feeling her breasts, he ejaculated and she swallowed the lot of it, three and maybe four shots of the stuff, more than usual, she said. He told her again she was good girl and gave her twenty dollars and sent her home without her brassiere. It worried her that I would notice, but if I saw, I don't remember.

The Friday night again she told me she must stay late. Actually she told me in the morning even before she went in and even before he had asked her. She went to the workroom at the end of day when he closed the shop. He called his wife to tell her he would be late. She heard it. She poured their drinks but did not drink until he came in the room. She drank with him. He looked at her without speaking. He stood and leaned and kissed her and said to her go into the shop.

The lights were off but he turned them on. He brought his stool from the workshop.

The jewelry store has a glass door front. The two windows are alcoves with folding doors where the jewelry displays are laid out, and you cannot see into the shop through these windows unless those doors are open. But you can see into the shop through the front door, which is all glass. Being winter, it was dark out this time of night. It was not late, only a little before seven, but being near the downtown business district, other shops were closed by then and businessmen and shoppers had gone home for the weekend. There is hardly ever auto traffic on this street after normal business hours; and no walking traffic to speak of, unless someone is passing to go Bob's bar.

Mr. Miller said: "Do you love me, Karen?" She nodded.

"I want you to show me."

She nodded.

He went to the workroom and returned with the brandy bottle and stiffened both of their drinks. He told her to drink hers all up. "Drink it all up right now." She did what she was told and then he handed her his own drink and told her drink that one too. He poured more in her glass and then took his cup back put some in it. He handed hers back to her also refilled with straight brandy and she sipped it. She felt light-headed. Three normal drinks could put her under. She had had more than that.

He saw how she sipped and he said: "What I want, Karen, first of all " He paused and looked out at the street through glass door. "Come here," he said and got up off his stool and took Karen bodily and positioned her the middle of the between the counters which surrounding it, he turned her so that she was facing the door. He sat back on the stool. She could see him by the reflection in the glass door. She could see herself.

He said: "Okay. That's good. Now, I want you pretend that there are men out there, standing right outside the door, right in the doorway, three or four of them and they are looking in; they can see you but they can't get in. They can see you here standing with all the lights on. And I want you take your clothes off. I want to take off all your clothes so they can see you naked. Will you do that for me?"

"Here?" She asked.

"Yes," Mr. Miller said.

"But what if somebody walks by." She turned to see his response.

"Then you they will see you naked."

"Yes, but . . . " she said.

"The door is locked. See?" And he got up and went to the door and jostled it to show her. "See?" She nodded.

He returned and sat on the school. She looked at the door, at her reflection. "Nothing will happen. You can run away if someone comes. I just want to see you do it. Take off your clothes, honey. Take them off and then . . . The shoes, first, sweetie. Give me your shoes." She leaned and lifted her shoes off her feet, leaning on him for support. He took them from her and returned to his stool and put the shoes on the glass counter and sipped his brandy. She looked at him as sipped his glass.

He put it down. "Okay," he said. "Now the rest. Take off your clothes."

I need to tell about the dress she wore because it becomes important. Her famous blue dress.

Her mother had bought it for her. She wore to work often. It was a store-bought business dress, a straight-line shift in type with short sleeves, about mid-knee in length, made of some synthetic fabric or another, early polyester, I think, a dense weave, not soft, and dark blue, quite staid and unadorned. It had a jewel neckline, fit modestly to the base of her throat, very formal looking. She might wear it to a funeral. It had a long hidden nylon zipper down the back, which went all the way to the base of her spine from the nape of her neck and a little hook there to hold the dress shut neatly at the top. She sometimes asked me help her zip it up. It hung rather straight on her rather waistless body, slightly tight at her hips, and fitted to her bust, which was always smoothed by the nylon slip she always wore beneath it.

This was the famous blue dress. She wore that blue dress to work that day and that evening, standing in the middle of shop floor in the flood of its lights, facing her reflection in the glass door, she took off that famous blue dress for Mr. Miller and for someone she pretended to be looking through the door.

She recounted nervously how she undressed with the same nervousness with which she undressed, I think. Her hands actually trembled as she told me, and so I imagine they trembled then as she unhooked the dress at her neck and reached behind herself and drew down its zipper, then tugged off the sleeves, letting it fall forward and pushed it with a squirm off her hips to fall to the floor. She stepped out of her dress and looked back at him, folding her arms like she was cold, across her abdomen. Shivering like she was cold. Miller got up and picked up her dress and laid it on the counter.

He said: "Okay. Go on. Take it off." And he watched as she glanced at the door and darkness beyond and leaned to reach for the hem of her slip; taking it up she drew her whole slip up her body and over her head. He studied her as she paused in her bra, panties and pantyhose and hesitated. She started when a car went by, she crouched, clutching her brassiere to cover herself, but she did not run and hide.

She straightened hesitantly and expressed her worry. "Go on," he encourage her, "No one is really there " She put his fingers into the waist of her pantyhose and worked them down. They were tight fitting and it was awkward to remove them with someone watching.

Once she had peeled them down her legs she held them so that she stepped out of them and laid them aside on top of her fallen slip. Looking in the reflection on the glass she saw herself standing only her bra and underpants, both J. C. Penney's white cotton standards that she always wore. Mr. Miller, whom she saw in the reflection behind her, looked on seriously; he was not smiling. Again she folded her arms on her now bare abdomen, shivering.

"Nerves," Bob would tell me.

He spoke to her again, telling her she should pretend now that the men are looking at her and that she wants them to see her naked. She wants them to see her naked and once she is naked she wants to masturbate and she will masturbate for them until she has pleasured herself.

"Do you understand?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"Okay," he paused, sipping his brandy. "Take off your bra and panties, Karen. They want to see you."

She hesitated. He added: " I promise they won't tell your husband. I won't either unless, well . . ."

She still hesitated, looking at herself in the reflection on the glass, worried about passersby.

"Do it, honey." He said. "The sooner you cum, the sooner it will be over."

She did not move. He got up and stepping behind her he pulled her underpants down to the middle of her thighs, and left to cling there in a bunch, and standing behind her unfastened her bra which loosened in front of her. She saw the darkness of her pubic hair in the reflection, and he behind her grinning.

"Go on," he said.

He sat back and she pushed her underpants to the floor and as she leaned to step out of them her bra slipped forward, sliding on her arms, and showing her naked breasts. She let the bra fall to the floor, as she stepped out her underpants, and now she was completely naked in her reflection and in fact.

"Masturbate," he told her, and returning to his stool, sipped brandy, studying her reflection in the mirror and her nakedness from behind.

She was tentative and she was upset. She did not want to do this. She did not tell him. She wanted to please him but it worried her that someone might see her. It was an irrational fear, because it was only trangers who might, but she imagined it might be me. She put her left hand to her lap and began to feel for the sensitive spot at the top of, in between, inside of her labia. Mr. Miller said: "Cum for me, honey. And then you can get dressed."

She closed her eyes as she rubbed but it was no use. She was too worried and looked up when Mr. Miller put his teacup down. And he laughed and said: "Okay, look at me . . . I want to see your face when you do it."

She turned even as she kept her hand on herself, and looking at him, seeing him looking where she had her hand, she felt herself responding sexually.

She admitted to me later that masturbation was for her the most shameful thing she could do. Watching a man masturbate or helping him did not seem wrong. But her own masturbation had always been hidden and something she knew from her upbringing that a woman should never do, just as having or admitting to any sexual feelings was not something a woman should do. So when she was teenage girl, she always masturbated with the lights off and the covers pulled over her head and tried to move as little as possible and make no noises; she was always afraid of being discovered. So here now, standing completely naked with all the lights on and exposed to the street and Mr. Miller, who was like her father, watching her, this made her giddy with anxiety. Yet somehow it made her more sexually excited and she bit her lip when she put her fingers more deeply into the slit between her legs, feeling how wet she had become, and now added her other hand to work on her clitoris, and in an awkward position, thrusting her hips, her knees bent, she peered at her exposed gash. Her mouth opened; she could feel herself wanting release.

That is when she heard the loud rap on the glass door behind her. She looked back and made a girlish squeal to see a man standing at the glass door, grinning at her, and motioning to Mr. Miller to come unlock the door.

Karen ran to the workroom. The man at the door was Bob. He had seen her naked from behind, and had got a glimpse of a bouncing tit as she looked back at him in shock and bounded off, but he wanted to see all of her.

Actually, Miller had been telling Bob about his progress with Karen since the beginning and Bob had not really believed him. So it had been Bob's idea to set up this scene, to have Karen strip in the shop with all the lights on after closing time and face the door so that he could walk over from his bar and see for himself. This was the busy time for his bar so he was late getting there, but he had not believed Miller anyway. But when he looked in and saw this girl, naked, standing in the middle of his shop, turned away from him, but facing Miller and obviously masturbating for him, he was astonished. Seeing Bob, Miller had given him a discrete nod and had hoped Karen would continue masturbating; she was so close to cumming. But Bob really did want to see the front of her, and that is when he knocked, hoping she'd turn and face him.

Miller laughed as Karen ran out of the room; he went to the door to let Bob in.

Bob told me that Miller had always tried to seduce the girls he hired and had some limited luck but nothing like this. Bob told him as got inside the door: "What the hell?" He saw Karen's slip, bra, underpants, pantyhose in center on the floor where she had taken them off, and slowly shook his head, and said: "I don't believe it."

Miller winked at him and told him: "I promised not to tell her husband."

Bob grinned and nodded and asked: "Where'd she go?"

Miller told him she'd gone to the backroom: "She won't get far without clothes," seeing where Bob looked, at her underclothes on the floor, and nodding toward the dress, which he had draped over the counter. Bob said: "I want to see."

They found Karen crouched against the wall at the end of the workbench, squatting with her hand covering her breasts, hunched over so that they could not see her nakedness. Bob saw how red-faced she was. She was crying too, but Bob said it did not bother him. And he and Miller stood admiring her. She closing her eyes and silently crying. Bob said: "God damn."

Miller offered Bob a stool and went back to get his. As Karen looked up, she saw Miller pouring brandy for his friend and watched as Bob and he drank and listened as they talked. Bob said she was pretty. Miller agreed.

Miller added: "She's got nice tits." It was coarseness she had never heard from him. Bob laughed. He drank some more and then got up and stepped over so that he could see her sitting against the wall. "I see," he said. But he could not. Her nakedness well hid by her, but the side, the curve of the breast, her haunches naked, and glimpse where her feet could not hide her buttock and what was between her legs.

"Stand up, honey." Bob said. Karen looked at Miller. Miller nodded.

She said: "Please . . . I want to go home."

Miller lied coldly: "Bob knows your husband."

He waited while she reacted. She looked like she might burst out crying. Miller added: "But he promised not to tell him."

Karen looked at Bob, and Bob took his cue: "He never needs to know." The two men smiled at Karen.

"Stand up, honey," Mr. Miller repeated, holding out his hand for her, "Show Bob your goodies."

Karen believed them of course. And too, as I have said, she had found herself in a sexual coercion, which was her private and unspoken craving. Not anything that she understood at all, she felt confused, and anxious. But it felt to her like what she deserved. And feeling ashamed, not only ashamed to be naked, but ashamed of her own sexual feelings, which she had let show as she masturbated, and ashamed that her husband would find out—all of this combined and both aroused her and defeated her.

"What should I have done?" she asked me, meaning everything, how each and every instance of her humiliation and coercion she had felt powerless to refuse.