Installment 8
The third day wearing this same dress that week really
bothered me, and still she did not wear pantyhose, and again she wore white
socks and penny loafers. She put on
more make-up than usual, like she was going out on date. Mascara, and rouge and the candy-red
lipstick she wore to church or when we went out.
When I dropped her off, I told her I really didn't like her
working late so much. She looked
conflicted about it, like she might cry.
I asked whether she was worried about losing her job, if she did not do
this extra work. She nodded.
I said: "I thought Mr. Miller liked you?"
"He does," she admitted, "But. . . ."
I waited
and she added, actually looking toward the shop anxiously, "I just don't
know if I am what he wants. Or if I am really the right girl for what he wants.
I don't know. But don't talk to
him." She turned to me. "Don't
tell him what I said. I don't want him to think that I . . . "
It was such an odd conversation when I think of it now. I still do not really know what she was
thinking. She seemed so conflicted
in her feelings. I think she worried
what they were going to make her do.
But she did not even admit this to herself.
Bob said the next few of days were all about getting her
ready for the "big event" they had begun planning for her for the
weekend, for the days she was supposed to be at the shop doing inventory. Setting
her up. Getting her used to certain
demands that they intended to put on her was the plan; otherwise, what they
demanded might shock her and she might resist too much; she might even breakdown
emotionally, and that could cause some of the men who were going to be brought
to use her to have qualms about what they were doing to her. Her embarrassment and girlish modesty
about getting naked in front of a group of men, and some resistance to the
things they would coax her to do, they expected, perhaps even desired; because
her reluctance and her shame was part of the pleasure they would feel in seeing
her do these things. They wanted
her to succumb to her own humiliating pleasure at her sexual coercion. But they
worried. She was so naive. She was so repressed.
They wanted her to become aroused by the things they made
her do. So they needed to prepare
her to do things like it, to bring her gradually to surrender herself to things
that she might normally balk at doing, that might shock her or disgust her at
the thought of, but which being sexually aroused and being humiliated she should
submit to shamefully but willingly.
They needed to force her mildly to do things more and more humiliating,
more and more sexually intense, so that she would yield to the most extreme and
sexually intense coercions they intended, ones that had gotten more extreme and
sexually intense by their fantasies and plans as the week went on.
Their fantasies had gotten extreme and out of control ever
since the previous week. Every night at the bar Miller would come down and tell
his stories. At the first, when he
had started seducing her and had bragged about how he felt her up and so on, he
only had told Bob. But Bob had told
a few of their mutual friends after Miller swore she had masturbated him. And then Bob freely confided in the
regular crowd how Miller had bragged that this girl he had working for him,
this young wife—"You've seen her," he'd suggest—let him
strip her of all her clothes, right there in the shop, and had given him
a blow job, kneeling naked while he sat his workbench. In the main, no one believed it.
Bob said he'd like to see the truth for himself and had Miller
arrange to coerce her to stripping out in front of the shop after closing so that
he could come by and peek in to see her there—proof of his conquest. That very night then, Bob and Miller
came in triumphantly and Bob gave free drinks to the crowd of regulars and told
them how, yes, indeedy, he had seen Karen stripped
and completely naked himself and had even fucked her. "Fucked her twice,"
he was proud to tell those who listened.
So by the last weekend there was a group of friends, a dozen and more
middle-aged men just like themselves who hung out at the bar rather than go
home to their own wives, who knew all about what was going on and were egging
on Miller to share my wife with them.
One of these men was that customer who had come in and got a
peep at her with her zipper down, had got a glimpse of the side of her dangling
tit as she leaned over in the window, and a bit of her bare butt. And there had been others, Karen had
noticed, who had come in window-shopping and idly ogling her. They made her uncomfortable. She had to wait for them while they
seemed to be there just to give her smirks and stares. Some of them coming in
pairs or threes and making dirty jokes she did not quite hear. After the incident on Monday, they
wanted her to step around so they could see from behind if her zipper was
pulled down. Miller had told
them all that he was making her come to work with nothing on beneath her dress.
So the crowd of them who knew about it or heard about it
grew over the week and they had to make plans for two days, and not just the
Saturday, because Miller worried that having too many at once would frighten
her and he needed to coax her to cooperate or nothing would happen. And he told them they must pay. He was going to get a hundred from each,
Bob told me, and after all he was going to lose bar business for it. He gave Karen twenty of each hundred,
which is actually what led me to find out about all this, finding several
hundred dollars in her purse in a bundle of twenty dollar bills, and
confronting her. That,
and the one other really strange discovery
that I happened to make that Sunday morning when she got out of bed.
Their fantasies and plans got more and more pornographic in
what they wanted to see her do. And
Miller and Bob got swept up in it; the whole group of them like a bunch of dogs
after a bitch in heat, like I said before, excited each other with the ideas
that came out, nasty ideas, ideas that they might have been too inhibited to
express, except that they fueled one another feverishly. This was in any case the fantasy of fantasies:
the blackmailed young housewife, coerced to sexual surrender.
This was a time of strange ferment in America. Penthouse
magazine was publishing "letters" from men about submitting their
wives to the sexual humiliation of other men's pleasure. Vile pornography had gotten
easy to find and it showed things these men had only heard rumored and nobody
had ever seen such things live. It
showed young girls, girls my wife's age, submitting to things they could not
even tell their wives about, let alone ask them to do. In these days of the early 1970's, all
sorts of taboos were being broken in America. And men who were Mr. Miller's age and
Bob's age, men in their late fifties, vets of the War, angry about dirty
hippies, and yet envious of them, and frightened of the way things were going,
yet also wishing they could get a piece of it before they were too old to get
it up, who felt their own virility slipping, who sensed that girls my wife's
age no longer wanted men as old as them, whose half-hard penises (if they could
get erections at all) waggled like a cooked sausage under pot bellies, who
lived with fat wives bored with sex and cold to them and whom they no longer
wanted anyway, thinking about vulnerable young girls while they saw their own daughters
grew up and got perky little titties and their daughter's girl friends traipsing
about in their skimpy clothes, they dreamt of a chance like this one, of getting
some promiscuous college girl, or like this case—the best fantasy of all—a
blackmailed young wife like mine, coerced by her shame to submit and surrender to
their lewd fantasies and be abused and humiliated as she was going to be.
That was what this was going to be. Karen would be blackmailed. She had to do what they wanted or they
would tell me all about it. They would
threaten to send me the pictures. They would see
that her father found out. They
would threaten to send him pictures maybe.
She would have to do it.
Mr. Miller and Bob were not monsters. They did not intend anything but satisfaction
of lush sexual feelings which they believed she shared and which they saw in
her response to them, even if by coercion. And it was coercion. They would make it plain to her that if
she did not do what they told her to do, her husband would find out and they had
photos to show him. The coercion
aggravated the lust they felt and in this rare case it met and aroused her own sexual
feelings, which relished her coerced submission, and made her especially vulnerable
to the things they would want her to do.
It was a coincidence of her exploited repressed sexual feelings and
their pent-up lechery; all these men caught up in their lurid fantasies and she
also. They did things to her they might never have imagined doing to a girl
against her will. Compulsion got hold of them—and her too—and they
fed on her response—her arousal, humiliation, surrender— these all fed their
fantasies; and her arousal, humiliation and surrender fed on their fantasies. They all were consumed in this
compulsive sexual intensity.
This day then, Wednesday, Miller had arranged for Bob to
come after work and had reminded Karen even when she came in and started
setting up for the day. He watched
her putting out the trays, putting the displays in the windows, setting up the
till and so on and told her how he'd talked to Bob and said he should come by later
on, sometime after lunch and before he went to the bar, and he had not told him
what to expect but he told her now that he wanted her take off her clothes for him
and masturbate in front of him. He said: "You can stop when he sees you cum." She blushed furiously at this and that
amused Miller.
When she was done with the chores, he had her open the door
and told her to watch the shop, that he had work in the back to do, but before
he left her, he turned her about to face the shop front and unzipped her dress
to the bottom, revealing her underpants.
And as instructed she wore nothing else underneath. He put a hand inside her dress and
reached around to the front of her to fiddle with her nipples, causing them to
show pointy under the front of her dress.
Satisfied, he told her she was to leave her zipper down all
day long. She said nothing to this.
It was not a busy day.
If customers came in, Miller stepped to the door to see and
watch her handle them. Most of the
time they were helped behind the counter and she had no occasion to step out
where they might see. But
twice—once a young couple and once a middle-aged man—wanted to see
an item from the display window so she was obliged to step out and reach into
the window and undoubtedly they saw how she was revealed in back. The young lady nudged her young man and suppressed
her giggles. The middle-aged man seemed
pleasantly surprised and smiled at Mr. Miller who winked at him. He had her go to the window three times
and bought nothing in the end.
Having found her submissive and obedient, he called her into
the office where he sat at his workbench and told her they would not close for
lunch that day and she could eat in the back later on. As he dismissed her he told to turn
about and he lifted her dress to look at her underpants and drew them out to
peer at her buttock, and put his hand in to feel her pussy—"let's
just see how wet you are."
He said: "Yeah. I thought so." And let the elastic
snap back, and then tucked the back of her skirt into the back of her
underpants, telling her she was to leave it just as it as until he told her
otherwise.
He had her take off her shoes
and he put them away in a drawer in his workbench.
Once again he sent her to the front of the store and as
before if he heard the bell he came out to see who it was, but this time if the
customer was a woman or a couple he assisted so that she should not be
embarrassed in front of them. He told her after helping a woman choose earrings,
that he would let her serve the men who were his age.
I doubt that the man who came in a little after noon was one
of those who had heard the tales at the bar. The way things happened it does not seem
like it and she said she never saw him again.
Karen told me little about the things that happened in the
store this week. She admitted to
not wearing underwear and to sucking Mr. Miller's cock and she confided this
and the other incident in which some male customer got a peep show. Bob told me everything else.
Bob came in the shop just after this incident and so he knew
about it and added details. His
version was a little different than hers. I'll explain.
She told me that when he came in Mr. Miller told her to help him
and she walked to the other side of the store to greet him at the counter and
felt as she did that he must have seen how her skirt was hiked behind her,
being askew at the front of her, and showing her underpants. She knew she blushed and she felt
ashamed of herself because he grinned and seemed wordless for a moment then
pointed to the item he wanted to see.
She brought out its tray for him.
Mr. Miller offered that he had others like it in back if
wanted to see them. He was not
responsive, and seemed uncertain, but Mr. Miller said: "Karen, go back and
get the gentlemen the tray of opal rings." Then, if he had not seen her
underpants showing, he certainly did now, and Karen said she felt so ashamed
that she did not want to return and told me: "I didn't know what I should
do."
I thought to myself what I thought she should do, but she
did not do it. She did what Mr.
Miller told her and returned with the tray just as he had told her and did not
fix her dress.
Mr. Miller closed the sale as Karen stood beside him and
then asked: "You would like it gift wrapped, surely." And before he
could reply, he put the ring box in Karen's hand and said: "Do you know
where the wrapping paper is? I will show you. Excuse us a minute."
He guided Karen into the office. Of course she knew where the wrapping
paper was. It was a common task.
But here is where the stories diverge. Karen does not tell as Bob told me how
once she was in the office Mr. Miller watched over her as she wrapped the ring
box and then before she finished he explained what he expected of her. She said nothing to object, so Bob
said. She faced him placidly as he
explained and looked sarcastically at her discomfort and explained to her he
wanted her to get used to doing this and drew her dress forward off her
shoulders and let it fall to the floor so she that stood before him now wearing
nothing but her underpants and socks.
He put his hands on her breasts and felt her nipples, though he need not
do it to stimulate them; she was already affected by
the anticipation.
He leaned and licked her nipples so that they shone wet with
his saliva and said: "I will call you when I am ready "
He went back to the front to complete the transaction of the
sale, apologizing for being away, saying that Karen is nice young lady but
easily distracted: "She just
got married . . . you
know how it is," winking at the man.
The man looked at him in such a way that Mr. Miller responded
with a laugh: "O, no, not me. Wish it were. But no."
The man and Mr. Miller waited for her. Finally, Mr. Miller said: "Young
lady, are you ready yet?"
That was her cue and she came out as she was in her
underpants and socks. The man
surprised but obviously pleased by the surprise, to
find my wife hold the present for him with her breasts exposed to him, jiggling
as she approached, her fine long legs, her underpants showing the shape and
shade of the dark triangle of pussy hair. And the look on her
face. She held it for
him and of course he did not immediately take it, ogling her tits, eyes
riveting to those swollen spit-licked wine-red nipples, and stammering his thank
you. She held it out for him but he
did not take it. He stared at her obscene
tits. She put it on the counter and
turned back to the workroom and sat on a stool to wait for Mr. Miller. She did not attempt to dress.
Karen herself did tell me this much. But she was too ashamed
to tell what else happened. How after a few minutes Mr. Miller came in with the
gentleman and she stood up, covering her breasts with her hands reflexively.
Bob tells this part. And he tells it with keen details Mr.
Miller must have given him.
Standing with the man at the door of the workroom, both of
them edging more and more into the room, Mr. Miller coaxed her: "Karen? The
gentleman thanks you very much for your showing him your lovely tits," and
nodded toward her hands, which she submissively dropped to let him see again,
thinking this is what he wanted.
"Yes, dear, thank you, but might he . . . he wants to know . . . might you show him
the rest of you?"
They were both full in the room. He continued: "Would
you drop your underpants for him? He'd like to see your pussy too. Will you do that, sweetie? Hell," he winked at the customer. "Just
take them off altogether"
Karen was flustered and blushed. It should have been obvious to the
customer that she was uncomfortable and Mr. Miller explained her reluctance: "She
does not want her husband to know what she does."
The man replied: "I should imagine."
"She is very pretty, isn't she?" The man nodded enthusiastically.
Karen put her hands to her tummy and felt along the waistband
and then ran her hands smoothly on the sides of her underpants. She hesitated. "Mr. Miller."
"Yes, dear?"
"I don't . . . "
The customer
stared at her breasts and still she hesitated, running her fingertips back and
forth along the waistline of her underpants.
Mr. Miller said: "Tell you what? Will you give her five
dollars to take off her underpants?"
Bob tells that the man reached into his pockets and found
money and gave it to Mr. Miller who put it in his pocket and nodded at her and that
she looked at him worriedly but put her fingers into the waistband of her
underpants, turned her head aside so that she did not have to see his gaze (although
she peeked to see) and pushed her underpants to the floor, stepped out of them,
stepped to the side and straightened up, obviously embarrassed or ashamed, but wiped
the hair from her face, glanced at him intensely, if sadly, and then when his eyes
engaged hers, she turned away from his gaze. So naturally his gaze fell to her
body. Naked, but for
her socks. And of course her wedding ring. Which she brought to his attention now,
because she had not known what to do with her hands as she stood naked for him
and had brought clasped hands to the front of her, on her tummy near her navel,
and she was nervously turning the wedding ring about her ring finger with the
fingers of her other hand, as she glanced at him furtively. And this struck him poignantly because
he was buying a gift for his own wife.
He wondered what she was thinking—undressing herself for a
stranger, a young wife, just married. Why?
Was she thinking of her husband?
Was he the reason she was doing this? She looked like she was in trouble. He felt sorry for her. But he also enjoyed seeing her naked, and
she did not protest. She did not
cry or resist. She must want to do this, he thought.
Mr. Miller said: "Give us a little turn, honey. Show
him everything."
She bit her upper lip, showing the edge of her teeth. She does this when she is worried. Like when she is driving in rush hour
traffic.
She turned and Mr. Miller bid her turn more slowly. So she slowly turned and she paused so the man could see her naked from the side and from behind, as Mr. Miller directed, then she turned slowly to face him again when she was told.
She diverted her gaze from his in her embarrassment. She paused now at length for him to be fully
satisfied in seeing her naked; it seemed a very long time, while the man grinned and
expressed his amazement and asked her full name (which Mr. Miller made her say
himself) and her circumstance and her age (which again she was required to say
for herself). He studied her more,
then asked Miller if she did this all the time, to which Mr. Miller honestly
replied he was her first customer, and so at length he sighed and thanked Mr. Miller
for the "good service," saying he would certainly like to come again. Then he looked at Karen once more, as
she stood naked, arms limply at her side, hands flat on her thighs.
Her gaze now rose plaintively to his avid
staring, following his eyes as they moved over the sexual portions of her body,
and he sighed again and shook his head ironically and said: "And thank you, young lady."
Karen looked down and slowly turned away and as they watched she leaned and picked up her underpants, held them open and stepped into them and drew them up her legs, aware of their gaze even as they made small talk and again studied how her tits hung when she leaned and took up her dress from the floor and held it open and stepped into it and drew it up her body. She turned and zipped it as she saw them turn and leave the room.
Mr. Miller got her shoes out of the drawer and set them on the counter for her.
As she came out Mr. Miller was
just escorting the customer out of the door.
He turned and waved goodbye to her, smiling as he
left.
I have often thought of this encounter and how I would have
felt about it if I were that customer.
I guess I would have treated it the same, but I am guessing that having
Karen pull down her underpants was Mr. Miller's idea and not his. I would not have thought of it if I had
been him, but then again I would not have refused to participate if the jeweler
suggested that the young lady would drop her underpants if I wanted. I am sure I would have wanted to see her
naked, just as he did. But now here
was another man—the third—whom my wife had stripped for, and just
two weeks previous I was the only man who had ever seen her naked or touched
her naked or kissed her as they did or fucked her, and as I say she had sucked
their cocks even before she ever did mine. Something was happening to her. She was changing. She did not know it or understand
it. I knew it. I saw it. But I did not understand it either.
Mr. Miller embraced her and turned her about and unzipped
her dress again, all the way to the bottom, and slipped both his hands under
the elastic of her underpants, slipping his fingers over her cool buttock, and
feeling with his fingers to pry and test her for the slush of her vagina, and
said: "Yes . . . See?"
"I wonder," he said withdrawing his hands and holding
her before him by her shoulders. He
looked at her wryly: "I have a nephew. He is twelve, or eleven. And he's never
seen a woman without her clothes on. Maybe? " She looked horrified, I am told. He kissed her seriously and seriously
said. "I think you would like
it. He won't do anything . . . well . . . maybe touch
you some, you know."
He laughed to recall her expression, as he told Bob about it later. "I don't even have a nephew," he admitted to him.
"Nerves," as Bob would call it.
Mr. Miller soothed her: "Okay, not now. Later. There . . . there . . . don't get so
upset. I really love you. I am thinking. I want you to be my partner. I have no daughter, no son. You and your
husband you can inherit my business. I can retire and you can run it. There . . . there." And he kissed
her warmly, kissed her tears and she smiled, nodding.
He said: "Go get something to eat," and patted her
bottom as she turned.