Installment 12

 

 

The next day she woke up very cheerful as well.  Once more she wore the blue dress, and again only her bobby socks and penny loafers because she did not wear pantyhose.  She has lovely legs.  She almost does not need to shave them, so her legs look nice without pantyhose; it just didn't seem right for a business office.  And I thought she wasn't wearing her brassiere.  I had thought that before, but now while I embraced her to kiss her goodbye, I felt her back and I knew for certain that she was not wearing it.

 

She got out of the car.  I held her hand to stop her and to tell her I would meet her at Bob's bar.  I knew that Mr. Miller often went there after work, so I told her to go with him and we would meet there.  

 

I did not want her to go to work, and I told her

 

She smiled and said she would me see later that night, and seeing that I looked worried, she blushed for no reason that I understood, and said: "It's alright."

 

What did she mean by that? I have since wondered.  That she thought what she was doing was "alright"? Or that she was not unhappy anyway? Or that she expected that none of this would ever affect me? That I would not find out? That somehow it would end like an episode on a TV show with some settling conclusion that left her and everyone happy?  I can't say.  Even as we divorced, though she wept, and felt ashamed, she did not understand why it ended as it had.  She thought she had not wanted anything but to please others.

 

Bob only knew about this day from second-hand, but he told me what he could.  Karen did not admit to it until after I had learned the gist of it.  She never did tell me the full details.  She only said to me how nice Mr. Miller had been to her that day.  She did not tell me what she meant by that.  Bob told me.

 

When she got to work, Mr. Miller was very glad to see her and kissed her warmly almost before she got into the door. They exchanged open mouth kisses.  He immediately unzipped her dress, even though it was eight in the morning; the front door was unlocked and she stood in the middle of the shop and he drew off her dress even as she stood placidly and submissively for him.  It fell to the floor.   Naked, she did not resist him.  He unzipped his trousers and immediately entered her as she stood facing him, while she, succumbing to his embrace, his arms enfolding hers squeezing them against sides of her breast, her hands tenderly at his face and neck, yielded to his kisses and kissed him warmly in return.  They were like young lovers whose sexual desires for each other were so hot and new as to be compulsive.

 

This was not an act of lust; to her mind, it was the act of passion and love.  He made love to her passionately, and she felt happy that she pleased him.

 

When he withdrew, having taken her standing where she was, he kissed her mouth and whispered an endearment and put his penis back into his pants and zipped them up.  She looked down at the wetness between her legs, put her hand to her vagina, wiping up the semen that had flowed from it between her thighs, wiping the semen across her bare thigh, and pulled up her dress with a sigh and sweetly smiling at him.  He went to the door and locked it. If anyone saw, they did not stay to ogle the two fucking in the store.

 

No words were exchanged.  She thought this must mean they were in love, and the rest of the day seemed to confirm her feelings, despite how it ended and what portended for the weekend by his intimations.

 

The shop was opened and traffic was light all day.   He often kissed the back of her neck and spoke to her with affectionate compliments and courtesies. He told her he had something special planned for that day.  It gave her a momentary pang, to think that it may another group of men to visit, to fuck her openly, severally again.  But the way he said it did not seem to suggest that obscenity.

 

At noon Mr. Miller closed the shop.  Karen had gone to the back of the shop to prepare for the inventory.  He invited her to lunch.  He took her to an expensive restaurant, which was housed in the downtown Sheraton Hotel within walking distance.  They shared a bottle of wine.  They shared a French pastry for desert.  They took more than an hour for lunch and he seemed so happy that she felt very happy.  When they left the restaurant, he held her hand and took her into the lobby of the hotel.  She had never seen such an opulent hotel.  She felt out of place.  Mr. Miller left her to stand in the middle of its elegant extravagance while he spoke to a desk clerk.  He returned and nodding toward the elevator and they went alone into it and when the door shut he embraced her, kissing her, feeling her breasts through her dress.  The door opened to the twenty-first floor and he lead her by the hand, teasing her as she questioned him, to the door of a room and unlocked it and held the door for her.  It was an ordinary Sheraton hotel room, but to Karen it seemed a place of wealth and privilege.

 

Mr. Miller undressed her immediately, leaving her dress on the floor where it had fallen, and as he kissed and fondled her, he guided her backwards toward the bed. As she stood beside him, he drew down its coverlet and blanket and the top sheet and turned her to lie on it.  As she looked up at him, he undressed himself completely, and once naked he knelt next to her on the bed and leaning to kiss her fondled her as he affectionately examined her naked body.  She lay quietly for him. She obeyed his encouragements without shame, to raise her knees and let her legs fall open, so that he might look closely and feel wantonly the flesh and the opening of her vagina and she closed her eyes as he teased her sexually.  Looking down between her legs she saw that she still wore her bobby socks. He had not taken those off.  Neither had she.

 

So splayed and sexually vulnerable, without her eyes opening, he lay over her body, between her legs and his erection entered her, slipping easily and completely in one motion, and so he began to fuck her, gently, and lovingly, or so she felt.  This was like the first time we had made love, she told me naively. 

 

They made love in this way, leisurely, for more than an hour.  When he finally erupted inside of her, there was but a little ejaculate, so much had been spent in the morning, or at any rate she felt little, but she was pleasured well and skillfully by him and felt sexually sated and so, as he lay on his back, she cuddled about him affectionately, her head on his chest, looking at and idly feeling his still half-tumid penis, wet with his and her seminal fluids.  They talked small talk and tender feelings, I suppose, as lovers do.  Her fondling aroused him again and on her own motion she slipped her head along his belly, closer to the tip of it and took the end of it in her mouth, feeling it with her tongue, tasting him and herself when she did.  He put his hand on her head to let her know what he wanted and without instruction she savored his penis in her mouth, rolling her tongue about, and suckling until by her stimulations he ejaculated lightly into her mouth.  Gladly and lingeringly tasting and enjoying it, she felt very happy as she curled with her mouth on his spent penis, semen leaking into her mouth as it remained, and she nearly fell asleep, but Mr. Miller stroking her hair told her gently that she should get up and take a shower before they returned to work. 

 

When she came out of the bathroom toweling her refreshed naked body, her hair a bit damp a the edges, although she had avoided wetting it, she found he had dressed and had laid her dress on the unmade bed.  She sat to put her socks back on, and then stood to pull on her dress.

 

It was nearly 4 o'clock when they returned to the shop.  She assumed that they would have little time to work that evening and asked when she might leave, explained that I had told her to met me at Bob's bar.  He said he would go with me.  That they will just do some tidying up and tomorrow they would work in earnest on the inventory.

 

She felt pleasantly tired from the lovemaking and she wished she could just go home.  She almost did not want to meet me at the bar, and she hoped they would not work very long.  Mr. Miller seemed to be inclined to quit early.  He was only readying books and things for the inventory process. 

 

He told her that they would be working on inventory all day Saturday until late into the evening and that she should tell her husband this so he does not worry.  And she might have to do the same Sunday.

 

He said he wanted her to come to work in casual clothes.  He joked that he would be on his good behavior and would not be undressing her as he usually did, so she should wear underpants and bra and so on and not expect to be molested. 

 

When she did not say anything, he pretended that she had offended him for not objecting to being sexually neglected.  He grinned at her when she fell for his trick.  They kissed.

 

A mantle clock chimed gaily in the shop, sounding the hour. It was 6 o'clock, closing time. "Can we go now?"  She asked.

 

He shook his head:  "Not yet.  Remember? I said I had a surprise for you." 

 

She was confused.  She thought the lunch and the lovemaking were her surprise, and they had surprised, and pleased her.

 

While Karen took down the display windows and put trays of items into the safe, Mr. Miller turned off the shop lights and poured brandy in teacups for them.  He waited for her to finish. 

 

She came to the workroom when she was done and asked him: "I thought that lunch . . . and you know . . . was my surprise. It was so nice."

 

He said nothing.  He was not smiling.  She felt uncomfortable about this.  He required her to drink her cup of brandy and another.  This is usually more than enough for her to feel drunk.

 

He looked at the clock.  He said to her without addressing her: "They're late."  She said nothing to this.  She felt immediately that same sick anxiety she had felt the day before.  She anticipated.  He meant her to take off her clothes for more men.   He meant her to be used by them. 

 

The front door opened, a man called from the darkness of the front toward the light showing through the doorway to the workroom where they sat on their stools.   Mr. Miller got up and went to greet him.  Karen stood up.  She did not know: should she go stand in the corner?  She heard voices, asking about her.  How many were there this time? She realized she had been set up for this.  She had been instructed again to dress this way, naked beneath her blue dress, and he had seen that she was showered and fresh and cleaned up for them.  She felt suddenly unhappy, doubting Mr. Miller's true feelings for her.

 

She never saw their faces.  She guessed that there had been maybe three or even five of them.  She doubted Mr. Miller had done it to her, doubted that he could because of the lovemaking all that day.  And of course some of them might have gone twice.  She did not recognize the voices but then again she was crying and very distressed.  She had difficulty reciting the details, although she remembered the incident vividly.  Again, it was Bob who gave me much that she did not remember or did not know, although he himself was not one of these unseen men.

 

Because she told me nothing herself, I cannot describe her feelings.  I can guess.  I can imagine.  This was not most humiliating event of the period, but it was the first of the things that she could not admit to me.  I never confronted her with it either.

 

Bob had no pictures to show to me, but he had graphic descriptions, taken, he said, from first-hand accounts; I will try to relate it just as he told me.

 

The topic came up when I was telling him how I had become more suspicious that Friday and I reminded him that I had come into the bar that night.  He remembered that.  He had served me himself. And I remembered how friendly he seemed, impressed that he remembered my name, and my wife's name; he asked after her.

 

Of course he knew that even as we were speaking she was being prepared by them and coaxed to submit and told to quit her crying about what, they insisted, would not hurt her anyway; that she would enjoy it, if she just relaxed.

 

What they did to her shocked me, as I think it shocked her, and when Bob told me I think he relished the look on my face, my own sense of humiliation for her sake.  I guess I was almost as naive as my wife in some ways.  Certainly I knew that men did such things to (or with) women, but it seemed cruel to do it to her.  She was not just so young and innocent of such things, but she was so tender in that way.  Perhaps it did not physically hurt her, but it emotionally wounded her; she was utterly debased, or so she felt.

 

After this she felt herself more slut than woman for them.  And perhaps also because she revealed a perverse pleasure for it, in spite of herself, she believed she was a slut, that they could and would make her do anything the wanted to do, for as many men as wanted her, and she would submit abjectly, wantonly aroused even by her debasement, with or without her pathetic tears.

 

Bob said to me: "Didn't you notice how she was walking when she came in?  Didn't that seem funny?  Didn't you notice it when you went to bed with her that night? That is fucking hard to believe 'cause as much as they fucked her like that, it must still have been swollen.  Her shitter must have been full of cum. You noticed none of that?"

 

He shook his head, but I guess I noticed she seemed to walk a little strangely, the lube of it between her legs, the crack of her butt still gummy with what oozed out of her used anus.  And of course she had no underpants on, so this added to her self-consciousness. 

 

She was very subdued as well. Mr. Miller took her around introducing her to men at various booths in the bar and she was flushed or blushing, I could not tell which.  I thought they must be teasing her but she did not look like she was unhappy about it, she smiled awkwardly.   She seemed dreamy, she did not seem to get a lot that was being said to her.  Like she was stoned.  Although we never smoked pot.  I don't think she ever did.  But that is how she acted.

 

Bob said: "Al had set it up.  He had even gone out and bought some Vaseline at the drug store the night before.  The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.  He called down at the bar that morning and gave me the go ahead, so I got the boys together.  They were ready and randy as sailors on shore leave.  You know the ones: Hank, Henry, Harry.  Anyway, Al told them to keep quiet in front while he went back in the workroom and got her ready.  So she knew something was up, she had stripped for other men when he asked her, so she had some idea.  Al said she was not happy about it, but like usual she did not say no.  He just told her and she got down on her knees and leaned over, doggy-style, on her hands and knees. That's the way we liked to fuck her, you know, cause you can spank your wife's nice butt and watch your wifeÕs titties dangle and swing about while you bump her butt with your dick up her buttery cunt, or some other guy can get under her and suck on 'em, or get up in front of her and fuck your wife's pretty mouth while the first guy is fucking her from behind.  In fact this way three or four guys can have some fun with your wife at the same time."

 

Bob winked and grinned; he liked to see my discomfort at saying things like this, especially not using her name but referring to her as "your naked wife," "your pretty wife," "your pretty naked wife," and so on.

 

He continued: " So anyway, I don't know what Al says to your wife but he's got her down on her hands and knees and he's saying sweet nothings and I 'spose her legs are trembling, but what's she gonna do?  And he unzips her dress---slooowly--- you know and he tells her---he's getting her dress unzipped and its falling down her arms and he tells her straight out what he wants, what theyÕre gonna do: these guys are gonna fuck you in your 'rectum' and that is the word he uses. He's not crude.  He explains some men like fucking women in the 'rectum' cause it feels good; he tells her it feel good to her too, but he's got to get her ready and she should not worry and so he tells her he's going to cover her face so they won't know who she is, because Ôthey know your husband.'  Now that is cold.  That is wicked, telling her that.  She is afraid they will recognize her.  She starts to cry.  They aren't even fucking her yet, but she's crying because she thinks it's some of her husband's buddies, guys his age, whom she must know too.  This is really mean. Al didnÕt know she thought this.  It wasnÕt what he meant, but hey, it really worked. Al don't mind she's crying.  He takes hold of her loose dress about her hips and pulls it up and over her shoulders, and turns the dress so it's inside out, hanging from the back of her neck to the floor in front of her, her arms and head inside of it like a bag, making her naked from the back of her neck to her toesÉ Ôcause she's completely naked underneath, man.  Shit, man, your wife ain't been wearing any underpants or a bra all week long."  [I nodded at this.] "You knew that?  Shit!  Well anyway, here she is on her hands and knees naked, her head and arms trussed up in dress, she's crying like a little girl, and legs trembling and Al gets up to motion the guys in and they like this a lot.  I am sure she heard them come in.  I'm sure she's thinking about them seeing her naked, that they know who she is even if her head is covered up.  It really is the most shameful thing so far for her, but its gonna get worse, because she feels someone's hands on her bare butt feeling it and nudging her legs to spread wider and show her wet cunt and her tight asshole to them.  She feels the hands roaming all over the butt cheeks and fingers going into and working on her cunt. Then she feels a finger feeling at her anus.  A little push.  Al is down between her legs—but she don't know it's him, you know; she thinks its one of her husband's college friends—and he starts pushing his finger into her asshole and then takes some Vaseline on the end of his finger and pushed that in and pushes more of his finger in.  He's lubing her up.  She is trying not to cry out loud but can't help a sob or two when he's really got his finger all the way in; he pokes Vaseline in her asshole until it starts melting and running out into her gash.  Then he gives the Vaseline jar to Hank and nods and Hanks' already naked, well they all are, and he goops up his dick and squats over her.  Al holds her trembling shoulders and Hank starts to work his dick in.  She moos like a cow.  That's what they tell me.  They laughed to hear it.  She makes this "mmmmm.ooooooooooooooo" sound, they said, like a cow, as Hank works it in two inches, three, five, seven  whatever it is he's got.  Henry has the ten incher.  That really sent her off.  And the other boys got down and milked her cute cow titties just for the joke of it, as she moo'ed like a cow, moaning and shivering on the dick stuck up her butt.  Anyway to make a long story short each of them takes a turn. Some taking more time fucking her asshole than others.  And she is really got hot, pink all over and perspiring with effort of it—they all are.  Hank got it in her twice. Looked to have a stroke but came inside her twice. And even Al got to poke her in the butt.  Much as he could.  Everybody got to blow cum up her rectum and see it burp and run out when he pulls his dick out and looks down at the hole he made."

 

Then Bob vividly described it all in obscene details: how her rectum, distended deeply by thick dicks or long dicks that have pumped it, gapes, showing a raw hole; how her rectum slowly closes up, recovering like a suffering thing, shutting and going back to normal; how as it shuts, like a reluctant thing, still wanting more dick, it oozes the cum shot into her and it drools, to run out in warm creamy trickles and gooey globs, to dribble down into her slit and down between and inside her thighs.

 

"Man, O, man.  I wish I had been there," he rubbed his hands and licked his lips, like she was something to eat.

 

Bob was certain that she liked it. They left her still trussed up in her dress.  She never knew who it was.  She did not ask.  She did not want to know. 

 

"Al said he wiped the cum out of her ass with Kleenex the best he could," Bob finished, "but it kept leaking for a long time, even while she came to the bar when you were here.  When she walked in with Al, you can bet she had a gooey butt crack and it was gooey all night, I'll bet."

 

That night Karen seemed very subdued.  She talked little as we drove home. She said she was tired but she took a shower before she went to bed.  She and I did not make love.  Actually, we never made love again.  The weekend swept her away, and my jealousy and hurt made it impossible.