Installment 11:

 

I do not recall this Thursday very well myself—just bits and pieces—and Bob was not a live witness to its events.  What I know about it is largely from Karen's point of view, her own shameful tearful confessions, confirming and elaborating upon what I learned from Bob, based on what others told him had happened.  But, by her account and his, this day would be her crisis—the critical turning point for my wife's biddable submission to all this indecency and sex—after today she would do anything Al asked of her.  He had built her submission so cleverly; relying on her natural inclination toward men to submit to their wishes so to make them happy—and so to make herself loved—he would deliberately bait her sexually and coax her sexually, bringing her by small embarrassing submissions to gross humiliating surrender—and so she would be swept up sexually, drunk on feelings she discovered in herself, teased by repeated naked exhibition to so many men and excited by the license Al freely gave these voyeurs to do anything sexually to her that they wished, so that in the end she was so numb to her shame yet so sexually aroused, so yearning and responsive to the teasing sexual titillations and her overwhelming orgasms—orgasms such as she had never felt before, never with me—that she would not refuse anything that they would ask her to do.  Miller counted on this development; he knew she would give in to them; he foresaw how, after playing out some silly pretense of shy reluctance, she would stand up there Saturday in front of all those lecherous old men at the bar looking on and do the "show" they wanted, and then she would submit herself to any sexual degradation they might urge on her without thinking of the humiliation she might feel afterwards when she was sober.

 

Up to this point she had really just been Miller's adulterous lover; but there was a gradual seduction to the sexual experiments he put to her, gradually more and more illicit sexual acts, then lewd nakedness and sex games, sodomy and worse. She had performed fellatio on him after work every night for weeks now.  Sometimes twice in the night before she came home.  She had allowed him to undress her at will.  In the backroom.  In the front room.  In daylight as well as under the lights of the workroom.  She let him provoke her sexually, embarrassing her by half undressing her for other men. Then at last by her lover's contrivance she had been given completely naked to Bob. The day after she herself took off all her clothes for a customer who had come shopping for a gift for his wife, because Al had coaxed her to do it; and she did not tell Al but she had felt that she would given herself sexually to him, if Al had asked it, just as she had let Bob do what he wanted.

 

To her mind what had happened with Bob had been her own fault really, not Al's dishonest pretext, because Bob had just shown up accidently in the first place—Al said he had not known he was coming to the store—and after all she had willingly followed Miller out to the front of the store, had willingly stripped naked in the light, put her fingers onto herself to masturbate—something she never did, but would do for him because she loved him—and when she was seen by Bob, she ran to hide but rather than dressing, she crouched in back naked, fully expecting them to come find her, and then, rather than refusing his instruction, she willingly parted her legs for them, to show herself randy for them.  She thought the word "cunt" when he commanded her to open her legs for them. 

 

She had expected him to touch her.  She had not expected him to fuck her, naive as she was. For not even Al had done that until that night.  But once it had happened it electrified her.  She had never had another man inside her but me.  Now in one night two men—neither of them her husband—had fucked her—fucked her twice each. And she had enjoyed it. She could not tell me this but I could see it in her face.  I think, she had never felt more a sexually keen, more completely desirably woman.  She would not say no to them.

 

So when the next day Miller had connived to have her take off her clothes for the customer, she had not done so innocently.  She had wanted him to see her without her clothes, she confessed to me, though she still did not understand these feelings and she felt ashamed of herself. 

 

Stripping for the Polaroid camera had been the second act in the same play.  She had felt sexually aroused, doing it, she admitted.  But when I asked her why she did it, once again she said it was to make Al happy because he had wanted her to do it.  She still hid her feelings from herself.  

 

Her fellatio of Al in front of that camera had been, it seemed to her, an act of her affection for Al.  If Al wanted a picture of her taking him in her mouth, she would give that to him, as a act of love.  Funny, after all she went through, she never condemned Al for any of it, and after all she stayed working for him even after I left her.  Although, come to think of it: what choice did she really have?  She was obliged in more ways than one, not least because she needed the money. And too she was deeply hurt by my leaving her.  I suppose she found some solace in his attentions, although she would be more and more misused by his sexual appetites.

 

But really up to this point—apart from the mean way Bob treated her and the disgusting taste of Bob's cum—she had fallen into a sort of happy enchantment sexually.  She loved Al.  He loved her.  He gave her gifts of jewelry.  It had nothing to do with me.  She loved me.  She wanted to be married to me.  She did not think of where this was going or how it would end.  She felt more a woman than ever.  And the sexual feelings that she discovered, her own wet climaxes, and the pleasure of fellatio with Al which she more and more enjoyed, even anticipating the taste of his cum, these made her feel beautiful and loved.  She could not stop thinking of them.

 

Because of that when she came home that previous night, she was not regretful and she did not feel guilty, but she kissed me warmly with that mouth that had readily swallowed the ejaculations of two men earlier (although of course I did not know it); and to my surprise she seduced me in the living room, wanting to make love with all the lights on, and riding my cock on top of me, looking more randy than I had ever seen her, she trembled and mewled when I ejaculated.  She fell asleep almost immediately on my chest where we lay, with my cock still full up inside her.  I helped her to bed where she slept curled and naked; utterly exhausted, it seemed. 

 

In the morning I watched from the bed as she got dressed as I usually did.  She seemed happy.  Still wearing that blue sheath but it was still clean.  And she wore fresh underwear, a clean bra, pantyhose and a nylon slip.  I had not seen her dress in the bedroom before me for the whole week.  All other days—including the following Friday morning—she had dressed in the bathroom, where she had hung her blue sheath dress after she had rinsed it the night before.  I did not think it odd, but of course now I know she had not wanted me to see that she had gone naked underneath her dress. 

 

She went to the bathroom to put on make-up.  She came out as I sat at the kitchen table with my coffee and kissed me with her lipsticked mouth; I could taste the lipstick for a while after she left.  She had looked so pretty.  And I think I remember this only because of how passionately she had made love the night before after having been so remote and sullen for a week or so before.  I did not guess why she had been so remote or sullen, or why she had suddenly changed.  But that night when she came home she went straight to bed as she had so often before and seemed once again remote and sullen, thinking about something she did not want to talk about.  I dismissed it as mood. 

 

When she got to work I wonder if Al had expected her to be so happy.  He was probably glad that she was, given his plans for her, and perhaps because she was so cheerful he would push the thing further than he had first planned.  He called Bob in fact to say that he thought she would be ready for a show on Saturday after all and he should go ahead and make all the plans; he added that he had a good idea for the show and would take care of those arrangements himself.  They agreed on who would attend.

 

She worked out in the shop alone all morning.  Al worked in the back.  He was trying to get ready for inventory.  He told her that she would probably have to work on Saturday.  "I'll make it worth your while," he winked.  And she understood he meant it in more ways than one and felt flattered and wanted.  She felt very happy all morning, thinking of this.  Because Al had let her get dressed normally she did not anticipate that Bob would come that night.  Al told her that he would not. 

 

She waited on customers.  She had some good sales.  They drank tea together at the counter, ate cookies, and chatted.  He kissed her romantically.  He caressed her neck tenderly. He told her she was beautiful.  He told her that he loved her.  She kissed him when he said it and said she loved him too, and she meant it.

 

At lunchtime he announced they would stay in and he locked the door and hung up the "CLOSED" sign.  He had brought sandwiches and they ate together, knee to knee, sharing sandwiches with each other, sipping tea and making small talk.  Karen told me he seemed especially interested in me and asked her a lot of questions, including about our sex life.  That is when he learned, as she confided blushing to his insistence, that no, she had never sucked my cock, she had never tasted cum until he had cum in her mouth, and yes, she liked it.

 

She said he dallied after lunch, did not open the store, spoke to her again about all the work needed to be done for the inventory, and made both of them brandy and waters.  Then about a quarter to one, some one knocked at the door.  She made to get up to answer, but he stayed her with a gesture, saying he will tell them they're closed.  She sipped her drink. She heard him open the door, talk, then close the door.  She heard murmuring voices.   Al came in smiling, he motioned to the visitor.  There were two, two men.  She recognized them immediately.  They had been to her wedding.  She did not know their names.  She knew that they had been friends of my father, she remembered my telling her that.  She did not remember them from the bar, though she had seen them there occasionally, but they were so nondescript and spoke little; they had watched her, but had said nothing to her ever.

 

Now in the threshold of the workroom, though Miller invited them enthusiastically to step in, they seemed just as shy or unsure of themselves as she had always seen them to be, again speaking little and only entering the room with Al's insistence, pointing to where he wanted them to stand.  They ventured only a few feet away from the doorframe.  They looked at Karen with glances.  She said she found it all very confusing.  She could not guess what Al wanted them to come into the backroom for; she presumed they were his friends and meant to do some favor for them, show them something special.  She got up from the stool, smoothed her skirt, smiled.  Al gestured for Karen to stand in the center of the room.  She saw, but she did not understand; she hesitated.   Al seemed exasperated and stepped over to draw her by the hand, and pivoted her by the shoulders to face them.  He went back to the men as she stood in her confusion.  She heard him say, something to them and one of them responding, and Miller laughing, shaking his head.  "No, not now," he said audibly as he turned, smiling at Karen and then nodding said: "Yes, I think so too," to something that one of the Arthurs had said.

 

Seeing Karen's discomfort and quizzical look, he explained: "They think you're pretty."

 

"So do I," he approached her as though he would kiss her.  It made her anxious, she shook her head at him. "Don't," she warned him.  She did not want them to discover their secret relationship. 

 

Miller stopped in front of her, smiling indulgently at her warning.  "It's okay," he said carelessly, "They don't care."

 

Miller stepped behind her, continuing to talk, ".... besides they won't tell anyone."

 

She felt him doing it. It surprised her.  It confused her. But she said nothing.  He slowly unzipped the dress in back, down completely to the base of her spine, all the while talking over her shoulder to the two Arthurs, asking them if they wanted anything to drink.

 

For his part Al seemed nonchalant and at ease.  But Karen was flooded with sudden feelings: bewilderment and surprise and then a wash of hot embarrassment; a twinge of sexual giddiness in her belly; a thought for her husband's shame should he find out these men had seen her undressed for them; but also disbelief, sheer oblivious stunned disbelief at the same time.  The whole thing was like a dream, she said. 

 

Al kept talking, and she could not remember anything that he said—she was so confused with her feelings; what she heard him say was like ordinary everyday conversation about the weather or sports or past friends, and all the while he was proceeding, slipping his cool fingers up her back and along both shoulder and edging them underneath her dress, to part it, to draw it away and off her bare shoulders so that it would fall limply and liquidly to the floor and spill at her feet.  The two Arthurs watched with rapt attention and she looked at them for response but they did not look at her face, they looked at her body, dressed now in her slip, her blue dress pooled about her feet.

 

Miller, still talking, slipped his fingers under the straps of her slip and drew them sideways off her shoulders, and hooking them, drew her slip off her brassiere and to her waist; then tugging in short even stokes he pulled it off her hips and let it glide also to the floor, to fall overtop of her dress.

 

The two Arthurs stared at her white underpants showing through her pantyhose, her legs, her bra.  Their complexion darkened, livid.  The short Arthur looked blotchy with red and grinned; the tall one inexpressive but his eyes glittered.

 

"You want to see her tits? Or her pussy," Al's hands on her shoulders, smiled at her flushing face, looking down the front of her.  Karen said the expression shocked her.  No one had talked about her body so.  Al had never used such words.  He had always been so gentle.  Now, she was to be stripped against her will for men who did not care about her feelings.  It felt worse even than the abuse she took from Bob.

 

The Arthurs said nothing.  Al repeated it: "Tits or pussy?"  He paused, then sighed and explained: "You'll see both, but which one first?"

 

The short one almost spoke but Al preempted him impatiently.  He reached from behind Karen under her bra cups, and taking hold of both in both hands pulled up her bra and out popped her breasts, looking the more obscene for the way her bra, folded above them, crammed them down and shoved them out.  The Arthurs eyes drilled on her wine-colored nipples. 

 

Then Al took hold of the waistband of her pantyhose firmly with both hands at her hips, slipping his fingers into the elastic, spreading the transparent fabric with his spread fingers to stretch it, to draw it off her bottom, and hooking the waistline of her underpants as he drew down her pantyhose, he drew both down together, turning them both inside out, then tugged them in two quick jerks to bunch up mid-thigh, dangling from the crotch of them, entangled, and exposed her bare belly, the top of her thighs and her hairy "pussy" to the two Arthurs.

 

Stepping back, he left her like that, awkwardly undressed.  Clothes removed just enough to show her tits and pussy as he said. Not undressed for sex.  Just enough so they could tell the men at the bar that they had seen her naked.  She felt more humiliation and embarrassment at this treatment than the other times. 

 

It felt like when she was a little girl.  A time she recalled.  She had been with her cousins.  She was eight.  They were twelve and fourteen.  They had taken her to the basement of an old house and pointed flashlights at her and told her to take off her clothes.  She had not said anything in reply, but she had not done anything either.  Exasperated, the older boy came over to her and lifted up her t-shirt, pulled it up inside-out over the top her head, like a bag, exposing her bare chest with chubby pink-tipped titties and then as they laughed she felt him yank down her shorts to her feet and then flip her underpants inside out, to hang upside down about the tops of her thighs.  She had stood like that with her head bagged in her t-shirt, seeing nothing but the bobbing of the flashlight through the cloth of the shirt over her face, though mostly they aimed the spotlights at her naked belly and the little plump mound there with the slit that ran down in between her legs where she peed.   She heard them giggle.  She felt them touch her there.  That is all she remembers.

 

But this is what she suddenly remembered at this moment and told me later; she said she felt like crying.  She may have looked like it.  But the two Arthurs were not looking at her face. 

 

Karen said she said nothing.  She stood patiently displayed for them.  Like she had for her cousins.  Al asked if they wanted to touch her.  He did not look at her when he said it, though he knew she had looked at him, beseeching him.  He ignored her feelings, or rather, he knew the secrets she had.  Because when the short grinning Arthur approached and reached out for her breasts and touched her nipples with his fingertips, she felt a sexual thrill in her groin like she had the day before, that same sharp feeling, a quick orgasm probably.  She was too innocent yet to comprehend her own sexual feelings, it was true.

 

She wanted him to touch her between her legs.  And his fingers did feel about the outside of vulva, along the outline of its plump shape, feeling the silk of her tousled pussy hair, his forefinger found and slipped up and down the slit of her vulva, but did not press between those lips, did not feel the warm wetness that she longed for him to feel.  He stepped back, close to her, looking down at her nakedness, but did no more. 

 

She felt intensely, foolishly embarrassed.  She felt herself trembling suddenly from a chill; she folded her arms about her, embracing herself, and shivered, and shivered so much that she crouched and then squatted, clutching herself tightly.  

 

"You cold, honey?" Asked Al. 

 

Karen shook her head, still shivering, but in a moment felt the chill passing and looking up, saying meekly that she was sorry, she stood up for them again, so they could see her naked again, but she kept arms folded under her breasts, feeling the chill again; her breasts pinched together, heaved up, pointed her lurid nipples at the men's lewd fixed stares.

 

Al looked at his watch and said: "I really got to open the store guys. If you're done here, then..."

 

The two looked at each other, then back at my half-naked wife longingly.  The tall one said to Al: "See you tonight."  He turned and walked out of the room like he was getting off an elevator. The short one lingered and turned back to give Karen one last lookover.  Al went out with them to open the door.

 

Karen pulled her bra cups back over her breasts and was fussing to fix the tangle of her underpants and pantyhose when Al came back.  He watched her, arms folded, leaning against the doorjamb.  She drew up her underpants; she drew up and smoothed her pantyhose.  She stepped out of the heap of her slip and dress.  She did not put her slip on, but picked up her dress and stepped into it.  Al came up behind her and zipped it up.  He lingered behind her caressing her neck, feeling the damp hair on her neck.  He kissed the nape of her neck.  He said simply: "You enjoy that?" 

 

He said nothing more about it.  She did not know what to say.  At one level it had been a psychological jolt. At another it had happened so fast, it had been so bizarre, and the men had behaved so politely that it was like nothing had happened.  Perhaps no one would ever know. They would just forget it.  The way no one ever knew about her cousins.  She never told anyone.  They always acted like nothing had happened.  When she sees either of her cousins now that all of them are adults, it is like it never happened.

 

Al picked up her slip from the floor and opened a drawer and dropped it inside: "Someday you will have to wait on customers wearing that."

 

She heard a customer in the store call out and Al nodded toward the voice: "You going to take that?" 

 

They did not speak of it for the rest of the day.  The store got busy enough that Al had to come out to help too.

 

Meanwhile the two Arthurs had returned to the bar and Bob brought over a complimentary pitcher of beer as they joined Henry, Hank and Harry at the usual booth.  Henry waited for them to settle.  He could see that the short one was giddy and eager to talk, unusual for him.  The tall one uncharacteristically smiled.

 

"Well?" said Henry somberly, arching his eyebrows: "Did she do it?"

 

Bob said Henry still felt the whole thing was wrong.  He had seen the pictures but he could not believe what he had seen, somehow.  He wanted to believe that Al had tricked them or tricked her.  Somehow.  But when he heard that the two Arthurs had gone in and Al had locked the place up and she had let Al strip her for them, well, then...

 

"Okay," he said, "She is what she is."

 

They paced their drinking after that.  They wanted nothing to deaden their senses or soften their intentions.  Hank watched the clock.  Henry played solitaire with a deck of cards that had nudie pin-ups on them.  Harry watched his play, leaning over him and helping his moves from time to time.

 

When it got near time to leave, they all went in to use the restroom together.  Washed their hands. Combed hair. Tidied up.

 

Hank asked Henry, looking at his face in the mirror, "Soooo . . ." he drawled, "What you think?"

 

Henry considered, looking back at him. "Welllll. . ." he drawled in return, "I think she's gonna suck cock... I don't give a shit what Miller says.  She's a slut, and she can suck our cocks." He turned off the faucet.

 

Henry shook the water off his hands.  He went to the wall to take some paper towel out of the dispenser.  Hank and Harry waited at the door.  Henry dropped the used towel in the trash. "And then we're gonna fuck her," he added. 

 

Hank nodded appreciatively, "Right."

 

Henry had concluded that my wife had gone wrong, Bob said, and she ought to be taught a lesson.  "That," Bob winked, "And I suppose he'd always had same thoughts about her that the rest of us had."

 

After the Arthurs came back and confirmed it all, Henry told the group he was not really surprised it was true, just disappointed. "You know, she's a church-going girl too," he told them, shaking his head.  

 

After they closed, Al kissed Karen in the front room in the dark, telling her again how he loved her.  The earlier event was out of mind, at least for him.  They took the displays out of the windows, he slipping his hand up her leg as she leaned in for them.  She smiled and told him playfully not to do that, but she did not mean it.  As they were putting the jewelry into the safe, Al took a set of silver earrings off a tray and gave them to her, telling her to put them on.  When she had, he told her she was beautiful and held her.

 

They settled in to the normal routine. They sat at the workbench side by side on the pair of stools.  Al brought out his brandy.  They drank from teacups as they always did and Al updated his records, while Karen polished some rings.  Al had slipped his hand up under her skirt, caressing her thigh, rubbing his fingers on the smooth panty guard between her legs.  About 6:30 or so there was another knock at the front door.  It was repeated insistently.  It rattled the door.  Al sighed and withdrew his hand from Karen's skirt.

 

For her part, hearing the knock had given her an anxious start, she had looked at Al searchingly but he seemed so composed that she felt reassured.  She almost said something about her feelings, but he patted her knee and said he'd go see what it was.

 

Karen told me afterwards that she had not suspected what Al was doing—until she heard the voices of men.  She heard by the noises that Al had let them in and locked the door.  She had stood up and she had gone to the center of the workroom.  She must have known what was expected, although she swore to me that did not: but why else did she stand up and go stand where she did?

 

Henry came in first. Hank following.  Then Harry.  She was shocked, she said, to see who it was—and this I do believe; she had always treated these men like they were my uncles; they had come to Easter dinner; she had sent them Christmas cards.

 

Al standing behind them could not be seen. The three gathered to stand in a line before her, Henry in the center.  Hank smiled at her and nodded.  Harry looked at the workbench.  Henry, who is taller than the rest, looked down at her from his height with a severe expression.  He looked at her like he did not like her.  It hurt her feelings; she guessed with a sudden guilty blush that the two Arthurs had told them what had happened.

 

They did not speak and Al said nothing.  He finally stepped from behind them and sat at his stool.  He smiled at Karen, then looked up at Henry who was not smiling, still studying my wife, considering her soberly.  Everyone was waiting for him.

 

Henry finally spoke: "Al showed us pictures of what you done for him and Bob."

 

She nodded.

 

She waited.  He stared her up and down contemptuously.

 

He said:"I thought when you married my god son. She's a good church-going girl. She'll be good for him." ." 

 

Karen said she felt again a sick anticipation.  She did not want to do this.   She looked at Al pleadingly.  He would not look at her. She looked back at Henry. She shook her head.

 

Henry seeing this confusion and her hesitation sighed and said: "We came here to see for ourselves." And he stepped out of the line and Karen looked up at him sadly and blushing speaks inaudibly, shaking her head, holding a hand up as if to stop him. He looked at her severely, then up and down slowly: "We came to see for ourselves. See what you look like.?" He looked her hard in the eyes, his breath on her face, looking down at her body. "See what you look like in person. Without no clothes on."

 

Henry stopped in front of her: "What's the matter? You ain't embarrassed? You don't look embarrassed in the pictures."

 

He stared at her hard.  She did not know what to say.  She shook her head.  She looked like she might cry.  Henry turned her roughly about.  "Well, if you won't do it, then I'll just help myself, I guess."

 

He unzipped her dress in one sudden jerk and drew the dress off her shoulders roughly and pulled it completely to her feet and held it, nudging her to step out of it.  Free from her, he tossed her dress back to Hank, who grinned.  She stood in bra, and underpants showing through her pantyhose. Arms at her side. She was not resisting. Henry grabbed her bare shoulders and turned her roughly to face them. she faced the other men sheepishly, alarmed. Her hands raised to her throat, she shook her head. Henry touched her throat, and told her to put her hands down. He glided hand down to her bra, he squeezed a breast through the bra. Karen closed her eyes. His hand touched her bare skin above her bra, slipped within the fabric, fingers reaching inside; then he stopped. He said: "Like a told you guys." He fondled the necklace, a crucifix, around her neck. He mugged back over his shoulders at his friends, "A good church-going girl. I'll leave your crucifix on, Mrs. H*****. adds a kind of ginger to her standing her without nothing on. Don't you think, guys?" He was addressing the men. Not her.

 

He said: "Okay, lets do the rest." Looking fiercely into her eyes.  She said nothing. 

 

He said: "I didn't think so...."

 

She almost spoke but he leaned and he was swift and determined. Like a man used to getting his business down. He quickly and roughly drew her pantyhose down, peeling it inside out and taking them off with her shoes, she steadied herself by a hand on his shoulder. Quickly she was barelegged and bare foot. Pantyhose wadded, entangled with her shoes he kicked them away.

 

She did cry then.  By all accounts she shed real tears now and Henry laughed had no pity for her.

 

"Okay,"he sighed, "Lets get you naked for Christ." He turned her about again roughly and she stiffened as he deftly unfastened her bra and drew it off her shoulders. She put her hands up to cover her face, emotionally confused, sobbing. He tossed the bra back to Hank. His hand felt her back. His hand glided over the fabric of her underpants. He squeezed a buttock. 

 

Then, turning her roughly, he spun her around to face the others and he arms spread out and her breasts wobbled and she looked up, flushed, ashamed, to see them grin at her, eyes on her bare breasts. Henry paused to study her tits, and mugged his appreciation to Al. "She's got nice tits," he told him.

 

And he leaned and stripped her underpants in one motion to her feet and the men dropped their gaze to her pussy and she covered her face with her hands again. But Henry laughed at her said, "You ain't kidding nobody..." He nudged: "Lift your foot. . ." and he stripped her underpants away from her feet.  He tossed her underpants to Hank. She ashamed, still covered her face. She heard the remarks. She sensed Henry looking up and down her naked body. He said nothing.   She felt his fingers touch her between her legs. A finger between the lips of her vulva. He rubbed her there. He hooked a finger in and probed. She held her breath a moment. He said: "You're so easy."

 

Henry left her and walked back to the line of men, staring at my naked wife. My "uncles." As I called them. And my wife before them. Stripped of all her clothes for them. Her hands to her face, her arms together covered her breasts. She was hunched over. Ashamed for herself, as she later admitted and as Bob said they all reported; even Henry acknowledged it to me a letter he wrote to me later in a kind of half apology.  

 

Henry said sarcastically: "She got over it . . ." He sent me a photo too. All of them had photos.

 

Henry pointed for Al to step aside now. And Al sat down on a stool away from them now.

 

Henry told her after a moment: "Put your behind your back so we can get a good look."

 

She did as she was told. But she looked away. She faced them naked then for several minutes while they examined her and commented on her body. Henry finally demanded she look at him.  She looked at him tearfully.  Awkwardly, she tried to smile.  He nodded at that cynically. He said: "How 'bout you spread your legs and show us your cunt?" She flustered and shook her head.

 

She shook her head but not vigorously; she asked weakly: "Why are you doing this?" 

 

But he said: "You know what we want."

 

He observed with a sneer: "Your nipples are hard."  She bit her lip, she looked away, she almost started to cry again.

 

"How 'bout you sit down here and spread open your legs for us."

 

Hank took the cue and dragged a chair from a desk and put in the corner.  He paused to leer at Karen where she stood. 

 

Henry nodded at her.  She sat.

 

Henry said: "Show us . . ."

 

She spread apart her legs.  "Wider" he instructed.  Holding the chair seat, she moved her legs wide apart, opening her vulva, showing the randy hole. She looked at the floor. 

 

"See?" Henry said to the men, "Like I said"

 

Then speaking to Karen he taunted her:  "You look like you want to us fuck you. You like showing us your cunt." 

 

She said nothing.

 

Hank and Harry then left Henry and came to stand over Karen.  She looked up at Henry quizzically.  Harry and Hank felt her breasts.  She sat up, stiffening.  Hank leaned to suck up her nipple and once it was wet toyed with the erect nub he had made of it.  Hank felt her bare back, leaning to look behind her.

 

Henry continued his questions and comments.  Al was left out of the whole action.  It was none of what he had expected or planned.  Henry despised him.  He knew that.  Henry asked Karen: "So, who else you fucking besides your boss here?"

 

She looked anxious and confused but she blushed at the accusation.  She did not respond.  Henry stepped closer: "What other guys are you fucking?  You fucking that Mike fella, ain't you?"

 

Mike was the young bartender at Bob's bar, the friend of mine whom Henry had seen her with, whom Henry saw putting moves on Karen when she came to the bar with Al sometimes, whom he saw back in a dark corner near the storeroom and ladies restroom, out of the light, pushing her up against the wall, kissing her, a hand up inside her blouse, fumbling on her tits.  He'd unsnapped her jeans, her underpants showed.  He'd work his hand down in front. Henry saw.

 

Karen did not remember any of this; she'd been too drunk and she swore nothing had happened.  When Henry accused her of this, she was mystified and hurt, which was ironic since here she sitting naked in front of my god father and the best man from our wedding—legs spread wide for him and his buddies—her wedding ring on her finger and a crucifix around her neck.

 

"How long you been fucking Mike?"

 

She shook her head.

 

"You're lying," Henry claimed.

 

Henry closed in on her.  He stood over her, looking down, looking at her teary eyes, her flushing cheek revealing her feelings as the men caressing her aroused her sexually.  Hank had slipped his hand onto her smooth bare thigh, caressing it and as Henry watched his fingers went to feel inside her vulva, feeling the plump lips with the fingertips, then pushing three fingers sideways he slipped them into her wet vagina.  Harry, leaning close to see his work, was fumbling the nipple of her left tit while he massaged her other tit with his other hand.

 

Henry smiled sarcastically at her obvious sexual arousal.  She shook her head.

 

Henry said: "Al says you suck cock."

 

She shook her head.

 

"That so? You like sucking cock?"

 

She shook her head.  Hanks fingers now slipped about and probed her soupy vagina, obviously slippery with her excitement, and Harry mouthed her tits, wetting both her nipples with spit.

 

Henry said: "You're lying again."

 

She shook her head.

 

Henry slapped her face.  Karen gasped.  Deeply hurt emotionally, she said, it was not that he hurt her with his hand, though her cheek stung and showed the mark, but he had found her out, and he did not like her.  He did not like her and yet would use her sexually.  His intimacy meant nothing.  Her sexual use was indifferent to him.

 

He said: "You are a cock-sucking slut."

 

Her hand on her warm cheek, she nodded tearfully.

 

"Tell Hank here... You gonna suck his cock."

 

She looked at Hank who kneeling now was kissing her belly and rubbing her clitoris. He looked up, grinning.   She said it abjectly: "No."

 

"Tell Harry."  He had risen from his slathering of her breasts and stood feeling the one near him idly.  His erection bulged in his trousers.

 

She saw it, looked up at his face: "Please.. no."

 

"And then you gonna suck my cock."

 

She shook her head.  She put her hand down.  Hank stood up and began to take off his pants.  She saw his penis half-hard slipping its thick head out under his jockey shorts.

 

Henry said: "And Al says you let him cum in your mouth.  That so?"

 

She looked back at him.  He repeated it: "You take the cum in your mouth?"

 

She looked up pathetically, still shaking her head. 

 

"And you swallow it."

 

She hesitated, then shook her head and defied him:  "No."

 

"You like the taste?"

 

She seemed confused.  Hank was naked beneath his overhanging shirt.  He was feeling his penis beside her.  She had been distracted by it: "What?"

 

"You like the taste of cum," Henry asserted.

 

She did not reply.

 

Harry was naked now too beneath his overhanging shirt and Karen saw his dick was different.  It intrigued her how differently looking were men's penises when aroused—or limp for that matter—not just circumcised or uncircumcised (like Al's) but in size, shape, color how different. And how changed when swollen for sex, some hard and curved up like a horn, some straight-out like stiff sausage, some swinging like a rubber hose.  This one, Harry's, was arched and hard as wood, it's glans like a bulb at the head, its slit glistening with clear dew, beading pre-ejaculate; he brushed her bare arm with it, leaving a trace; he leaned and pressed it against her.

 

And then she saw that Henry had also taken off his pants, and drawn his erection from his undershorts, a long and skinny thing, like a length of hose, that he stroked up and squeezing held at the base and poised for her, presented to her face.  Drawn back to dangle, exposing his moist glans from his drawn foreskin.  Put out for her mouth.  She glanced up at him; he grinned; she understood. She put her mouth on the glans and looked up at his eyes.  And he began to masturbate, staring into her eyes.  While she sucked his cock this way, the other men watched and masturbated also, masturbating in anticipation of their turn.

 

Bob told me the whole litany of this cynical and abusive set up to fuck her face, calling her a cock-sucker, taunting her to confess it, and so on.  Karen did not deny the details.  I believe it was what really happened, because I heard how Henry later doodled an illustration onto the door of men's room toilet stall at Bob's bar and scrawled underneath it my wife's full name and our actual phone number, calling her a "cum-sucking slut" who gives blow-jobs for a buck and will take it up the ass for five.   I never saw the graffiti myself, but some of my friends did.  I wondered whether, after I left her, how many phone calls she got from her advertisement.

 

Henry came in her mouth.  Hank came in her mouth.  Harry came in her mouth.  One after the other.  She swallowed Henry's cum.  She swallowed Hank's cum.  She swallowed Harry's cum. One after the other.

 

After she had quietly meekly swallowed Harry's cum, Harry stepped back from her face and she looked up to see Henry had taken off his undershorts and stood in front of her again.  She looked at his penis, wondering if he meant her to take it in her mouth again.  When she leaned forward to do it, he laughed at her and she looked up in bewilderment. 

 

He shook his head at her and smirked: "That's why you're called a cock-sucking cum-eating slut, Mrs. H." 

 

She felt ashamed again, humiliated again. She saw Mr. Miller looking at her from his work stool.  He was leaning over, his elbows on his knees, observing her feelings sharply, having watched her impassive wide-eyed cock-sucking wryly, commenting on her swallowing cum with an demeaning remark.  She worried what he thought about her, but he smiled at her and nodded affectionately.  She smiled back at him sheepishly.

 

Henry took her by both hands and pulled her up to her feet.  He embraced her, his hands on her buttock and looked into her uplifted eyes with a cruel grin: "Now we're going to fuck you."

 

His long skinny dick was pressed to her belly.  He said: "I'd kiss you but your mouth is full of spunk and that's just too nasty."

 

He turned her about and slapped her buttock, commanding her to bend over and grab and the chair seat. 

 

"I don't know how you can eat it."

 

He positioned his penis between her spread legs and easily guided it deeply into her ready cunt.  "And besides," he said, "I don't kiss whores."

 

She felt his penis slip into her like it was a broomstick, poking in so deeply she thought it went in as deeply as it felt—up to her belly button.  She gestured to where she told me she felt it.  The feeling was so memorable to her she did not see my dismay—she was reliving it—and she did not think how telling me this so unguardedly was painfully shameful for me.  This man who was like an uncle to me, fucking my naked wife like a dog, giving her pleasure with his prick that I had never given her. She looked at me absently as she spoke of it, remembering the feeling acutely. 

 

And Bob for his part told the tale that the men told when they returned to the bar that night, saying he got most of the story from Hank, who was especially effusive and enthusiastic about it all and wanted to tell everybody everything.  Henry, by contrast, had nothing to say and seemed grim, even sullen. Hank was the better storyteller of all of them anyway.  Harry just nodded to agree with what was said.

 

It was a group of some of the same men who would come for the show.  In fact, said Bob, Hank's story that night was the preview that sold them on the show.  Otherwise, some thought fifty bucks was too steep a price to pay.  But here was a young wife who was unwitting and good-looking, had great tits and was game to suck all the cocks they put to her mouth and ready to fuck a whole crowd.  Hell, claimed Bob, you name it, she'll do it for you.

 

Henry fucked her hard for a good ten minutes. Her cunt worked up a lather.  She was hot, sweaty.  And the two other men stood beside her fondling her bobbling tits, or stepping up in front of her face to feed her a cock to suck on.  When Henry shot up inside her, he grabbed her hips and thrust hard and held her and she whimpered and weakened and her legs trembled.  He stabbed her with his cock a couple more times to complete himself in her and her knees buckled and he let go of her so that she breathlessly knelt, catching her breath. 

 

Hank stepped up next.  Taking his cue from Henry, he spanked her buttock smartly twice to make her get up on her legs and he pulled her hips back and spread her wider because he was shorter and needed to enter her from the best advantage of his height.  Karen described his cock like a fist.  She could not take much into her mouth but the mashed head of it, and in her cunt it felt like he was poking her with a fat end of a bottle.   He came more quickly than Henry and she did not orgasm with him but his prick so rubbed her clit as it punched its way in with his thrusts that she was well worked-up when Harry stepped up behind her with his arching wooden prick.  Not as long as Henry's.  Not as thick as Hanks.  But it was slippery and quick and touched her in a way that the other's did not and she bucked herself wildly on his cock, making noises that astonished them.  And when he came inside her, she came.  She made a sound matching his own—girlish—but also indecently loud and expressive. 

 

Henry had dressed even while Hank was fucking her.  Hank stood half-naked watching intently.  When Harry finished, and my wife sank to her hands and knees, Hank took her by the hair and twisted her about to sit facing Al and looking at Al savagely he pulled her sideways to face to his cock and made her suck him off one more time.  My wife raised her hands as if to fend him but she did not resist; she held her hands in the air, sitting sideways on the floor, while he fucked her mouth.  When he was ready to come, he announced it and though it was not much he relished the look on her face, her blinking eyes, her noisy slurps on his last ejaculation.  When he let go of her hair, she fell forward to her outstretched arms, gasping for breath, and drooling a goo of saliva and cum onto the carpet.

 

Harry had dressed and Hank was dressing, while Henry said he thought she would be ready for Saturday but they needed to do one more thing.  "Every pig needs to be porked," he said.  Al nodded.  She heard everything said, but she understood none of it.

 

After Hank dressed, Henry took out his wallet and took out a couple dollars and put them down on the work counter.  Looking sideways at my wife, who looked up sadly, "For cock sucking, Mrs. H," Henry explained, "Buy your husband a pack of cigarettes."  

 

Hanks's story ends there. 

 

Karen told me during her confessions how they left her naked on the floor and after they left Al comforted her, sitting beside her nakedness on the floor, giving her drinks of brandy and water, stroking her and speaking reassurances.  He thanked her. He kissed her forehead.  He kissed her hands.  He told her she had done everything he had hoped she would do.  She sobbed in confusion, expressing how ashamed she was, and how she worried about what Henry thought of her, but Al told her Henry was just anxious that no one tells her husband.  Al made her say she never would tell me herself.  And of course she agreed. 

 

Then Al coaxed her to fellate him and she did it for him with affection and tenderness, but inevitably she compared his penis to the other men's penises she had had in her mouth—the feel, the size, and the taste and texture and quantity of his ejaculate—and she found him wanting and to her shame—to my own, as she told me—she confessed she had liked the taste of Henry's cum, tasting like seawater, she said.

 

She did not get home until well after nine o'clock; exhausted, she went right to bed.