Installment 11

Again the next day she wore the blue dress. Again the bobby sock and penny loafers. I commented that I thought the dress ought to be dry-cleaned. And she looked worried and asked if I had seen anything spilled on it. I said I had not but that she had worn everyday to work for more than a week. She fidgeted when we got the jewelry shop. She did not seem to want to get out of the car. I asked again if she had to work late. She said: "Maybe a little." She did not want me to pick her up.

She got out of the car. Mr. Miller at the front door, unlocking it for her, smiled and waved at me and I went off to work.

Karen's own story about the day is the best that I have. Bob was not involved, or he didn't think it was important, or Miller didn't tell him. She was anxious most of the day. She did not know when things would happen or how. She only vaguely knew that some friends of Mr. Miller would show up and that she must take off her clothes for them. She was nervous about every middle-aged man who came into the shop. It was an unusually busy day. Mr. Miller stayed in the shop with her all morning. She began to hope that he had changed his mind, or had not meant it.

The shop was still busy at noon when Mr. Miller usually closed up. She had a customer. Mr. Miller had a customer. There were two young girls, browsing and waiting to be served. That is when the two Arthurs came in. She saw Mr. Miller nod at them and they stared at her. She felt a sick pang, a strange twinge in her groin, like a fear of falling. The customer, a middle-aged woman with more make-up and money than was decent, was obviously annoyed by her inattention. Mr. Miller finished with his customer and interceded to help Karen, excusing her, apologizing to the customer: "The young lady has some work to do in the back."

Karen went to the workroom. She did not know what she should do. The stool was in the corner where Bob had put it the day before. She sat on it. The two Arthurs came in. They looked at her, but seemed just as nervous as she was. No one said anything. They stayed by the door, waiting for Mr. Miller to finish with his customer. She sat without speaking, looking at the floor. If she did not look up, they stared at her. She did not look up, feeling embarrassed and anxious.

Mr. Miller was several more minutes while the three of them waited in awkward silence—these two "friends" whom she could not look at without embarrassment, old as her father, one of whom looked like a man she knew from church, who had come to see her take off her clothes; and my poor nervous blushing wife who was about to deliberately and willingly strip naked for them.

"You Mrs.____________?" One of them spoke to her. She did not look up.

They waited for her reply. "You that girl who works for Al?" The other asked.

She replied softy: "Yes."

"You __________ 's wife?" Using my first name like they knew me. When she told me this Karen had asked me: "Do you really know them?" I said I may have met them. Then I remembered: I had seen them and talked to them the next night. The night after she had stripped in front of them. I remembered the strange conversation.

They said no more. Karen did not look up until Mr. Miller came into the room. He had locked the front door but he also closed the workroom door. The two men hardly moved. He had to suggest they step into the room, so that he could close the door.

They remained then at the distance of some twenty feet from where Karen sat in the corner, her hands in her lap.

Mr. Miller understood what he must do. He looked at his two friends and nodded: "You ready?"

They nodded.

He looked at Karen and asked: "You ready?"

She nodded. "Okay." Miller sat on his stool against the workbench; he leaned against it. He poured brandy into his teacup and looked up at Karen. "This is Arthur. And he's named Arthur too. They know your husband." They nodded.

He drank more of his brandy. He said again: "Okay. Stand up."

Karen stepped forward as she stood. She put her arms down. She looked quizzically at Mr. Miller with her head leaning; she could not look at these men. She did not want to do this. She did not understand why Mr. Miller wanted her to do this. It seemed especially bad that her husband knew them; it was like undressing for her cousins.

"Okay." He looked at Arthur and Arthur and said: "Okay, boys. This is Karen, __________'s wife. You can get closer to see her better, you know." They did not move.

He looked at Karen and said with some deliberation: "You can stay standing right where you are, but once you've got all your clothes off, I want you to come over here closer to these guys."

He turned back to look at the two men, who seemed as stunned as Karen felt: ""Once she's got her clothes off, give her a feel. That's okay. But no fucking."

She said nothing, she told me. She was surprised by the invitation he had made to them. She had not expected it. Miller had told her she had only had to take off her clothes for them. Miller repeated himself, looking back at Karen: "Okay, honey. Take off your clothes. Shoes and socks too. They want to see you with all your clothes off . . . Right? "

Miller glanced over at the Arthurs. They nodded solemnly.

Karen looked up at him and nodded as she averted her eyes and they waited for her to begin. Clocks in the room ticked. Some electric motor hummed. She lifted one foot, removing her shoe and sock. She repeated it with the other. She reached behind herself and unhooked her dress, unzipped it, drew the left sleeve off and then the right, her dress falling forward, revealing her bare breasts and her florid nipples. The two men stirred and one moved closer to Miller, to also lean against the workbench. She pushed the waist of the dress off her hips. It fell to the floor. She stepped out of it. She looked up, found them staring at her breasts, at her underpants. Leaning to pick up her dress, she was aware of their eyes on her dangling breasts. She turned about as she folded her dress and laid it on the top of the stool. Turned away from them, she felt them looking at her from behind, she looked down at her underpants, her bare legs. She felt along the waistband of her underpants thoughtfully, and sighed deeply. She took her underpants to her feet in one motion, turning them inside out as she did, and stepping out of them, offering them her nakedness from behind.

For a moment, after she straightened she stood as she was turned away from them. Then, slowly, feeling flushed, probably blushing as she is some of the photographs, she turned to face them and only briefly looked into their gaze, before averting her eyes to the floor.

So she stood for them—completely naked—for what seemed several minutes, until Mr. Miller told her to come over where they were.

She stepped closer, hesitantly, and only closer still by the repetitive encouragement of Mr. Miller, until finally she stood within the reach of the first Arthur, the one leaning against the workbench, next to Mr. Miller, whose darting gaze kept shifting between her nakedness and her face, and which fixed on her breasts when she was near enough to touch her and he did touch her.

In the end she stood with arms at her sides as the two Arthurs took turns gently feeling her breasts, toying with her nipples, running hands over and around the shapes of her buttock, her thighs, her belly. They even felt the slit of vagina and the texture of her pubic hair, but neither man put his finger inside of her. They both had erections. They neither of them asked her to relieve them. Mr. Miller watched with avidity and satisfaction.

They were given a half-hour to fondle and study her naked. They spoke little. They did not ask to fuck her or ask for her to suck them off. They generally did not like to look her in the face anymore than she liked looking them in the face. They seemed almost as embarrassed for her nakedness as she was, but they were glad to have the chance to see it.

Miller stood up from his stool, looking at his wristwatch, and said he needed to open the store. They apologized and made to leave. One of them, the taller Arthur, she said, spoke to Karen before he left: "We told Al we wouldn't tell your husband. So it's okay."

Karen sat on the stool Miller has left, her hands between her clenched legs, looking at the floor, apparently ashamed. I asked her and she confessed that she did feel ashamed. And she admitted that the fondling had left her giddy and unhappy.

Miller showed them out. When he came back, he found my wife still naked on the stool, and said: "Unless you want to serve the customers that way, you should get dressed. I am going out for lunch."

She dressed, finishing as a customer came in, a middle-aged man. She wondered if she was supposed to undress for him. She said nothing to him about it, but she worried. His inadvertent flirtations confused her. But this was not one of Miller's friends. Miller laughed at her when she asked about him, after he returned from lunch.

When closing came and passed and Miller locked the front door, Karen believed that the day was over. She wondered if Miller wanted her to lick or suck his cock, like he usually did, but she was happy that there had been only the two friends. Of course this is when Henry, Hank and Harry showed up.

These three were neither shy nor reluctant in their sexual appetites. They did not require Miller to assist them. They teased Karen. They mocked her embarrassment. They told her frankly what to do.

Hank started it simply: "Take off your clothes." And they stood around her and watched her closely as she took off her clothes. They picked her clothes up as she took them off and tossed them to the corner of the room.

While one held her, another took his turn feeling her and unlike the Arthurs they vigorously finger-fucked her and took pleasure in sensing and seeing her sexual response.

She was made to squat, and while one held her arms behind her, the other traded feeling her breasts and feeling her gaping, and now sopping cunt.

They had her sit back on buttock and holding spread her legs at the knees, and crouching to watch, they urged her to use her fingers to splay her labia and reveal her gaping vagina, its hole gasping for sexual satisfaction, and made her to draw back the sleeve of flesh which hid her small candy pink clitoris, which, popping out, looked like sticky pointy bud. She herself had never so closely examined it nor touched it so nakedly exposed as they did, making her flinch and shiver.

She trembled with sexual excitement for these men and they openly felt their erections in their pants, and complained to Miller about his restrictions. They begged that at least she should suck their cocks. Miller shook his head. They continued begging him, while one or the other or two of them at once, continued fondling my wife, squatting naked, finger-fucking her, sucking on her nipples, feeling her buttock.

Seeing Karen's sexually stricken look, Miller at last relented. Karen was shocked but incapable of refusing. She was beyond humiliation about it. But she saw that all of them, each of them would demand she fellate them, and this seemed impossibly gross and obscene. This was not love.

She felt cheapened and she saw that Miller saw her that way too. He drank his brandy and leered, as still squatting, they joked and teased her and began undressing. Quickly, before she said anything, the three were before her without pants or underpants, standing in their shirts and socks, unbuttoned or not, their penises already fully erect (or as erect as they get) randy and ready to go.

If men may find that all women naked look very different from one another, the same is true for how women find men. But if perhaps the splayed genitals of women might seem much the same from one to the next in appearance—a more or less variation on the theme of fleshy florid folds about a wet hole, this is not true for the way penises look, and Karen was intrigued to see how different they looked, unabashedly staring at them---this one long and skinny and limply waggling, this other one curving like a horn, the third one short and podgy but also angularly erect. All of these were circumcised.

She looked at them with deep blushing that amused them and excited them and finally spoke softly and meekly: "You won't tell my husband?"

She admitted that she did not intend to resist. She was only worried that I might find out. This, I have to admit, was the thing that hurt me most but also aroused me, and I am guessing it had the same effect on them, for they were serious in reply. There was no hilarity or good humor about the business but earnest and eager lust for her mouth.

They did not need to but one held her, bent over her, holding her shoulders while the first one crouched and poked his prick into her mouth. In that same manner, expecting her to resist, they took their turns being sucked off. She was encouraged to eat the ejaculations that each of them put into her mouth but she had no expectation not to do this for them. It was what she had been taught that she was supposed to do. It was what pleased them, and she wanted to please them.

Her own sexual exhilaration must have obvious to them, for in the end they still begged to also fuck her and she looked at Mr. Miller so sheepishly that they easily moved her to kneel and two of them took her from behind, although she thinks only one ejaculated. She said she felt exhausted then and just curled up on the floor and closed her eyes, listening to them talk about her.

Someone—she thinks it was Henry—was kneeling beside her, where he had been after he had fucked her; she felt his warm legs against her buttock; she felt his lank wet penis—the long skinny one—laying over her waist, seeping cum on her belly, as he talked and idly played with the nipple of the near breast, while she lay on the floor. If he had had been the one to fuck her last, he had shot up inside her. She had felt it flood warmly and felt it trickle between her legs, wet, cold.

He talked with the others as they looked at her, curled naked on the floor, talking quietly as if she were a little girl sleeping. But she and they were aware that she heard what they said.

Henry wanted to know if Mr. Miller had fucked her in the ass. She did not know what he meant, but Mr. Miller said he had not. Henry said that he'd like to come back tomorrow night and fuck her in the ass. So did the others. Mr. Miller said: "No. I don't think she's ready." Then Henry moved away from her and she was lying alone on the floor, still pretending to sleep. They were quiet for a while. Looking at her, she supposed.

Henry said: "She's ready."

Karen said she had no idea what this all meant. It had never occurred to her that a woman ever had intercourse in her rectum, although she would admit that her cousins had put a pencil into her anus when she was doing her little "show" for them. She assumed they meant to do to her again what they just had done to her—a little ordinary dorsal fucking—and while this made her feel ashamed, she admitted she had enjoyed it, and she did not feel bad about letting them do that to her again, if Mr. Miller wanted them to do it.

Miller said: "We'll see "

She heard the men dressing and make small talk about wives, weather, and something about a "party" on Saturday. She heard them go out the door, going quietly so as not to wake her. She did in fact nod off. Mr. Miller woke her gently from where she lay on the floor and helped her to wash her vagina and thighs of semen, to rinse the semen out her mouth with a glass of water, and then to get dressed. She thought it odd that he did not want to fuck her or have her suck him off. He was instead solicitous and kind to her. They drank brandy in their teacups. He spoke to her about the inventory that they needed to do on Saturday. They never discussed what had just happened.

As she left to go home that night, he told her wanted her to wear her blue dress again.
"But," he added: "No underpants, honey." He winked at her.

She went home still feeling stunned by all that had happened to her.

That night Karen seemed very cheerful when she got home. She and I made love. And again she was very expressive, and squirmed and whimpered on my erection, she wanted to straddle me as she fucked me, wanted me to do it to her a second time, but I was not up to it.

She was very vocal and expressive and squirmed herself on my erection in ways I had not known her to ever do. Formerly she had been placid, pleasing and pleased but placid. She seemed to think it was her duty to lie quietly while I fucked her, but now she seemed to want her own sexual pleasure eagerly and eagerly she worked herself to it.