Installment Six
On Monday I drove her to work rather than having her take
the bus. I don't know why. She wore the same dress that she had
worn on Friday, the same dress that she had hand-washed and hung in the
bathroom, and I saw that she had not worn pantyhose and I almost asked her
about it. She wore white socks and penny loafers. It seemed so
incongruous. She seemed nervous,
edgy.
I parked in front and went into the store with her. I don't know why but I sensed she wanted
me to do it. When we entered the store Mr. Miller beamed at her and she smiled
girlishly and even seemed to blush. It was endearing I thought, how tenderly
she felt toward him. She had told
me how lonely he was. Miller seemed
also glad to see me and while Karen put the display out in the windows and took
the jewelry trays out of the safe and set them in the counter, we talked. He
encouraged me about my career and seemed genuinely interested. I kissed Karen goodbye and went off to
work. As I was going out the door,
Mr. Miller said: "O, you know Karen has to work late again tonight and all
week I am afraid and probably Saturday too. It's time for the inventory and I have so
many things for her to do."
"Okay," I called
back.
"But of course I will pay her for all those extra things
she does. I am sure you can appreciate that. And she is so good at what she does...."
He grinned, taking Karen's hand and kissing it. Karen blushed shyly. I nodded and thanked him and did not see
her until late that night.
What I know about what happened after I left her at work,
and for that matter most of everything that follows, comes mostly from what Bob
told me. When Karen confessed she
put the emphasis on the first events, when Mr. Miller seduced her, as she saw
it. How she succumbed and changed
after that or because of things he made her do, how she surrendered to what he
wanted, she could not admit to; she preserved in this way her own strange sense
of innocent shame, although in fact she seemed to relish the emotion of her shame
as much as the degrading perversions that she permitted them to do to her. The emotions she felt in either her
sexual humiliation or embarrassment or her sexual abandonment were all
indistinguishable to her, or rather they were all the same compulsion. I am convinced that it was her own sexual
compulsions that they adroitly exploited, seeing them so abjectly revealed in
her sexual surrender. They were
drawn to her like a pack of slavering dogs to a wanton bitch in heat, her
swollen cunt dripping with her rut.
I do not mean any of this bitterly. She did not know what she was doing,
really. I think something broke
inside her. Her sexual repression
simply burst and she was overwhelmed by her feelings. And she insisted in the end upon the
simple naivete that she only wanted some one to love her, and that is why she
did what they wanted. You can
believe what you want.
Mr. Miller tended to business. He went in and out on errands and worked
on things in the back, and Karen tended the shop. It seemed again just a normal day.
As she worked, Karen felt self-conscious about being naked
under her dress. Her
nipples were tickled by the raw cloth. When she squated
down to take things out of low drawers, she felt self-conscious about not
wearing underpants. The coolness between her legs and the sense of
vulnerability were always near her thoughts.
Mr. Miller came out of the workroom at about 11:30 and told
her that Mrs. Miller was going to come and they were going out for lunch. Karen facing him, nodded. She saw him looking at her chest. He said: "Are you naked?"
She nodded.
"Turn around." He directed her with a hand on her
shoulder. He could be bossy like
this sometimes, even though often he was so gentle with her.
He drew the zipper of her dress down to the bottom of the
seam, just above the small of her back and he saw she had not put on a slip, a
bra, or underpants. She had not put on pantyhose. He put his hand inside the back of her
dress and felt her bare waist and reached around to the front of her and cupped
her right breast and fingered her nipple and said: "I like this. You
should always dress like this. I
want you to come to work like this always."
He drew his hand out and stepped out to the front of the counter and looked at her face. He had not zipped up her dress. She did not know if she should do it or not. She waited for him to say something. He simply stared at her.
She had no choice and tried to pretend a nonchalance and
went into the backroom, certain that when she did the customer and Mr. Miller
would see her dress unzipped in the back, gaping and showing her back to the
top of her buttock.
When she returned they were
laughing and she blushed as she put the tray down.
Mr. Miller said: "O, I am sorry. That is the wrong
tray. Bring the one on the third
shelf of the safe."
They watched her walk back into the workroom and easily saw
she wore nothing under the dress. When
she came back with the tray they were waiting for her and were not
talking. They watched her put the
tray down and Mr. Miller put his hand on hers and said: "Listen, sweetie,
will you get the emerald ring out of the display case. The gentleman wishes to
see it."
Mr. Miller and the gentlemen followed her as she went to the
display case. Getting the ring
meant she must open the doors of the alcove and use a foot stool to step up and
lean out and across the display.
She risked exposing herself.
Mr. Miller deliberately got in her way and the businessman
looked down the back of her dress and saw she had no underpants on.
Then as she got on the stool and reached out, aware that her
dress rose in back as she did, and worrying that he saw up her legs, Mr. Miller
deliberately interrupted her, pressed against her, putting his hand on her
dress, so that drew it "inadvertently" up and fell away from her left
shoulder and the businessman ogled a portion of exposed buttock, and glimpsed a
bit of her dangling left tit as she leaned for the emerald. He stepped closer to see her tit better
and said: "Yes . . . no, not that one . . . that one..." and made her lean
further to the side so her dress slipped almost to her left forearm and he
could fully see her exposed tit—its fleshy wine-colored nipple at the pointy tip of it —he could see it all very well
now. She got the ring and
rearranged her clothing quickly as she stepped out.
He did not buy anything, but he talked to Mr. Miller at
length while Karen escaped to the back room and zipped up her dress. She did not come out until she heard him
leave. Mr. Miller came in to the
workroom and said: "Where did you go?"
She looked hurt. She said: "Why?" He
shrugged. He kissed her warmly and
told her he loved her. He would
never do anything that she did not want her to do, that he was sorry it upset
her. She cuddled with him like
that, soothed by what he said. He
unzipped her dress and slipped his hand inside, drawing it away, so that it
fell along her right shoulder and felt her breast, stimulating her nipple,
while he kissed her.
At that moment Mrs. Miller came in for lunch and they
nervously straightened their clothes.
Mr. Miller zipped her up, just as Mrs. Miller came in to greet her. Standing in front of Mrs. Miller,
flushed, aroused, naked underneath her dress, made her feel naughty and
embarrassed. Mrs. Miller must have
noticed how she looked.
They went to lunch.
Karen locked the door and went to the back room and she sat and cried a
bit. She said she almost called
me. But she did not. She ate her sandwich in the silence of
the shop and waited for Mr. Miller to return.
When Mr. Miller returned he banged on the locked door and
said loudly: "Come to the door, Karen. Where are you? You got a man in there?"
It was his joke. He always told her to lock up when he was gone "in case some
strange man were to come in and ravish her when I was not here to protect you."
Mrs. Miller stayed in the office for a while after lunch,
looking over stock, and talking to Mr. Miller while Karen tended the shop,
waiting on customers. She could not
hear what they talked about but Mr. Miller seemed very upset. She did not leave until almost closing
time. When she did Mr. Miller
closed the door behind her and locked it and told Karen to come back to the
workroom after she cleared the displays and locked up the trays. He was drinking as she did. He watched her as she went in and out. He was very unhappy. He never said anything to her about
it.
When she had finished, she sat at her stool beside his and
slipped off her shoes to be comfortable and waited for him to give her a drink
but he did not. He looked at her
drunkenly and lecherously. He said:
"Go stand over there," gesturing with a nod to a bare corner of the
room.
She stood, smoothed
her dress, her hair, did as she was told, and facing him tried smiling at him
to make him happy. He looked very unhappy, already very drunk. She said: "Is there anything else?"
He leaned back, looked her up and down, sighed, put his teacup
of brandy out to the workbench, missed the tabletop, and the teacup fell as he
tried awkwardly to catch it. Karen
did not move. She felt sorry for him.
He looked at the spilled drink morosely, then up to her, and
leaning forward, clasping his hands, slurred his thoughts:
"Yes. Yes, you got to. I want you to." He leaned back again and he was not
smiling. He stood up. He almost
looked angry. He said it like it
was an order: "Take off your dress."
While Karen looked sadly at him, she reached behind herself
and unzipped the dress and watched as he undressed as well. She was done before he was, simply
drawing the dress forward and letting it fall to floor at her feet and she was
of course quite naked. She stepped out of her loafers. All she wore was those white
socks. That is an image still
sexually poignant for me. Facing him shyly, naked, but for her socks.
She waited as he stared her body and undressed. He took off all his clothes, even his
undershirt. He stood in his dark
socks, his pink chubby middle-aged body, his tumid uncircumcised prick never
rising up hard, but waggling out in front of him like a sausage, and the
cherry-red glans peaking at the tip of it.
They both just stood naked
looking at each other for a while.
At length he said: "I want
to fuck you again."
"Yes," she said softly, but she did not know what
he wanted and waited until he explained and she got on her hands and knees and
he said he liked how her tits looked that way. It was the first time he had called her breasts
tits. "I like the way your
tits hang," he slurred.
He told her to crawl on the floor over to him and she did
and looked up at him and waited for his next instruction and told her to turn
and show him her butt.
He drank looking down at her and then grunting and sighing
knelt behind her and guiding his prick with his hand slipped it into her.
Being drunk, he had hard time getting off, and both of them
got a bit sweaty and in the end she had to do most of the fucking until he drew
out and spanked her a few times. He
spanked her smartly and she said: "Ow" and he asked her: "Do you
like that? Huh? You like that?"
And she said honestly: "Please . . . no . . ." But he kept slapping her buttock and fucking her hard so to make tits wobble under her; and she was breathless; and then spanking her again and asking her again his question, then fucking her when she replied. He kept up like this and she felt his prick was stiffening and going deeper and so she said when he seemed like would finally cum, she said: "Yes . . . yes . . ."
And she burst into tears and sobbed with he came inside her, groaning and leaning heavily onto her, so that they both collapsed with his penis still inside her, spending itself.
She turned her face on the floor, and he, laying on the top of her, fucked her a little more where she lay and kissed her salty tears and told her she was beautiful and how much he loved her and how he wished he had met her when he was young, and how pathetic and fat he was and how old, and how she should deserve something more than this, but that he would see that she had anything she wanted.
When he withdrew and stood, he looked
down at her, naked, facedown, on the carpeted floor, her buttocks a rosy glow
on both cheeks where he had spanked her.
She would not know, he
thought. Her husband might see, he
thought. He laughed.
She heard his laugher and she thought it was meant for her and she felt sheepish and ashamed of herself.
He dressed and she turned over and sat
up and said to him: "Do you like me?"
He laughed and went over to draw her to stand and embrace
her and said: "Didn't you hear what I was saying to you?" And he
said, "Here," and put a raw diamond into her hand. She shook her head and he insisted.
He made them drinks. She sat on her stool naked for him and
let him play with her "titties" as he called them now and finger her,
watching her face for reaction, and encouraging her to say she liked it. But "nothing really happened,"
as Karen would say. Somehow her
being naked and finger-fucked was not something that should matter to me.
She put her dress on after they sat drinking for a
while. She came home, showered,
rinsed her dress, and again fucking her that night, this time at her urging, I felt she was already used, though I did not know that at
the time. I saw the rosy color on
her bottom, I wondered, but I did not say anything to her about it.