don_jetman
Moderator
Paying in Full
By Don Jetman
A beautiful wife pays with her body for her husband's mistake.
~1~
"You have both agreed that cooperating is preferable to prison, no?"
Barbara and Peter stood before him in room 720. He had written the
instructions inside a greeting card, delivered only yesterday. "Friends
like you make my world a better place," it had said on the outside.
Inside, the message was more sobering. "Room 720. Lexington Hyatt. 7:00
PM. Attendance not optional."
They nodded in unison, both knowing his price would be exorbitant.
He opened a small pillbox. The left compartment held a blue pill, the
right, a pink one.
"Please. Ladies first," he said, grinning at Barbara. "No, the blue one,"
he told her, when she reached for the pink one. Peter was to retrieve the
pink capsule.
"Barbara, put it on your husband's tongue, then tell him to swallow."
She raised it to his mouth, he opened, felt the bitter taste of it on his
tongue, and swallowed.
"And of course, that one's for your wife," he told Peter.
Barbara opened and took hers as well, swallowing it with some difficulty.
"Your wife will become my property for a year," he explained. "Barbara, I
know how you despise the treatment of women as sex objects, so I've
decided to make you one."
Barbara cringed, but was determined not to let him see her weaken.
"For the next month, each weekend you will attend a series of crash
courses, custom tailored to your most personal traits. In the end, you
will find your role as a sex object not only acceptable, but desirable."
"I won't," Barbara answered, seething at the thought.
"Oh, but you will," he told her. "The pills you have given each other are
only a start, but one you'll soon appreciate. You can probably feel yours
already - a slight trembling in your arms and legs, the increased heart
rate, a hint of euphoria as your breath becomes quicker and deeper."
Barbara stared at him, her mouth now open in disbelief, her breasts
rising and falling with each deep breath as beads of sweat formed on her
forehead. "Oh God," she whimpered.
He smiled at her, then turned to Peter as she struggled to keep from
shaking. "Yours is somewhat more innocuous, but yet more sinister at the
same time," he explained. "Although the effects can't be felt outwardly,
the little blue pill your wife has so cooperatively placed in your mouth
will render you helplessly impotent for thirty days. When Barbara returns
from her training, she'll give you one on the first of every month, for
the entire year. I'll be sure to be present, just to make sure neither of
you decide to cheat. I like my women to be faithful, you see. So, while
Barbara must do most of the work, or have most of the fun as she'll soon
see it, you must stand by her like a eunuch while your wife satisfies her
sexual needs elsewhere. And her sexual needs will be most astonishing, I
assure you."
With that, he approached Barbara and began to unbutton her blouse. When
she took a sudden step back away from him, his look hardened, and after a
stern warning about what prison might be like for her, she let him open
her blouse to the waist and slide it down over her shoulders. In a single
swift motion, he pulled her bra up roughly, letting her breasts fall free
beneath it. Her bare shoulders and firm breasts were creamy white, her
nipples embarrassingly puckered and hard. He cupped each of her breasts
lightly in his hands, lifting them gently, testing their weight. Her
breathing became heavier, her eyes fluttered, then closed.
"Your husband can't believe what he's seeing, Barbara," he told her
softly. "His faithful wife submitting to a stranger as he fondles her
bare breasts. How breathtaking his humiliation must be as he stands by
helplessly, knowing he can't intervene, knowing just as well that for the
next year he'll be useless in bed, useless to satisfy you."
Grinning at Peter, he released Barbara's breasts, covered them once again
with her bra, then raised her blouse, smoothing it over her slender
shoulders. He stepped away from her, leaving her standing there, her
jutting nipples mocking her shaken husband. He walked to a mahogany desk
a few feet away and sat, eyeing the couple with perverted amusement.
"Peter, you may now remove your wife's clothes."
Peter stared across the desk at the large man. Now a new horror caused
his hands to shake and bile to rise into his throat. Before him stood his
wife of five years, first curious, then alarmed, now uncontrollably
aroused in spite of the circumstances that brought them here on a Sunday
afternoon. The man had pawed the yielding skin of her firm, round
breasts, and she was panting, her face flushed, her body trembling, her
smooth, flay belly pulled taught as she fought the effects of the small
pink pill.
The large man was his boss, a demanding sort who by nature found it far
easier to humiliate than to praise his employees. Peter never considered
Jack Farmer beyond using blackmail, or any of a hundred shady methods to
get what he wanted - but this, this was more that he could have imagined.
OK, so he did send a portion of the schematics to the Chinese. But they
were worthless without the rest of the set, and the money - $750,000 -
enough to afford a home that he knew Barbara wanted, a home more like her
wealthy father could have provided, if she would have let him. Each time
"Daddy" offered his help, she refused, but the look of disappointment was
always there to haunt Peter later, the look that said, "Why can't you give
me what Daddy gave me?"
When Farmer intercepted the transfer, he threatened to contact
Washington. As a defense contractor, Farmer knew the consequences, and
threatened to involve Barbara's father, a twice-elected Senator from
their state. Peter would have agreed to anything to stay out of prison,
and to preserve the good name of his wife's family. Barbara was
incredulous when Peter confessed, then furious when she learned of the
threat to involve her father. Now she stood before him in a perversely
lavish hotel suite, pale and unflinching as they faced the consequences
of Peter's imprudent greed.
"Your wife's clothes, Peter. I'm waiting," repeated Farmer.
To everyone's surprise, Barbara moved slowly to the center of the room
with a look of bitter surrender on her face. "Do it, Peter," she said
coolly. He rose and approached her, knowing full well that her concern was
for her father and not for him or herself. When he reached for her blouse,
Farmer stopped him.
"Turn her to face me, Peter. Do it from behind. I want to see. I want to
see what you can't see - your lovely wife, stripped naked, ever so slowly
in front of me."
He shot Farmer a look of pure hatred, then retreated to a position behind
his wife. Reaching around her, he followed the open edges of her crisp
white blouse up to the collar, then slowly pulled it back over her
shoulders and down along each arm. He could feel her breathing as he held
her in the strange embrace, breathing that caused her firm breasts to
swell suddenly as his fingers brushed over them.
"Take it off, Peter," Farmer instructed as he watched from behind the
desk. "Drop it on the floor beside her."
He freed the blouse from under the waistband of her skirt, pulled it over
her shoulders, and dropped it as Farmer had commanded. He could feel her
shiver in the cool air-conditioned room.
"Now the bra. And stay behind her Peter. Don't block my view."
Slowly, fingers shaking, he opened the hooks one by one, feeling the
material give and then go loose when the second hook came undone. He
could feel her heavy breasts fall partially free, still encased in the
lacy cups, but now hanging naturally inside them. He eased the first
narrow strap over her shoulder, then the second, feeling the heat from
her body rise to meet his clammy fingers. Once again, he reached around
her and, resting his hands over the upper slopes of her breasts, peeled
the bra from her and dropped it to the floor.
"Ahh, Peter, if you could only see what I see. Such ample breasts for her
size, hanging ever so slightly, like ripe, succulent fruit. She's my
type, Peter - large, pink nipples, now puckering so urgently like tiny
fingers set free in the cool air. You don't mind if I have a closer look,
do you Peter?"
He eyed Farmer with resentment, but did not dare give him a reason to go
forward with the alternative.
"Well, Peter, do you?"
"No. No sir," he spat back sharply, bitter resentment accentuating each
word.
Farmer rose and came closer, a step in front of Barbara. As he reached
out to touch her, she took a step backward, crying out, "No! Please
don't!" Farmer scowled at her, then suddenly and roughly took her by the
shoulders.
"Listen to me, bitch. You don't have a voice here. You're property now,
so shut up, and do what you're told, or your father's picture will be on
the front page of every paper in the country."
She began to shake in his grasp, then went limp, surrendering to him. As
Peter stood behind her, Farmer took her breasts in both hands, kneading
the firm pillows of flesh and pulling at her tender nipples until they
jutted and throbbed between his fingertips. He stared at them as he
worked.
"Yes - these are perfect," he muttered as he studied her full, creamy
breasts. "Her nipples harden so quickly, Peter. A woman so responsive may
prove to be quite an enjoyable source of entertainment. Tell me, Peter -
is she, 'enjoyable', to put it as delicately as I'm able at this moment?"
He could hear his wife sobbing as Farmer fondled her. When Farmer looked
up at him for an answer, it took everything he had to force a strained
"yes" from his throat. He could see that Farmer not only enjoyed physical
torture, but their humiliation as well.
"Well, you've only wetted my appetite, Peter. Please continue," Farmer
replied as he took a step back and waited.
Peter looked down at the short zipper at the back of her skirt. Once
lowered, it would allow the skirt to fall to the floor. His stomach
churned as he imagined his beautiful wife standing before Farmer in her
underwear, allowing him to examine her body as only Peter had done when
she undressed at their bedside. Farmer's expression was one of sober
expectation, and Peter knew he had to do as he was told. He took the
zipper in his fingers, tugged until it lowered to its limit, and watched
the sheath of grey cotton creep over her hips and slide down her thighs to
the floor.
But Farmer wasn't satisfied.
"Her slip, Peter. From behind, as before. Do the panties as well. This is
taking much too long."
Peter went to his knees and placed his fingers inside the elastic of her
slip. Then, sliding it lower, he snagged the sides of the white cotton
panties as well and, agonizing over every inch, slowly pulled them both
down along her bare thighs. Now just inches from the firm, round globes
of her perfect ass, he could see the goose bumps rise over her skin, and
caught a brief glimpse of silky black pubic hair nested between her
thighs.
Farmer stepped closer to her once again and reached out to stroke her
silky belly.
"Peter, Peter, Peter. This is more than I could have ever hoped for.
Slim, long-waisted girls like this are one of my few weaknesses. Even
rarer to find one with such generous breasts and nipples."
Barbara gasped as he lowered his hand between her legs. Her legs
trembled, then parted slightly, forced open by his large invading hand.
"Would you believe me if I told you she's wet? Absolutely dripping."
It was more than she could take. "Bastard!" she hissed.
He shoved two fingers inside her, making her cry out in shock and
embarrassment. She felt the warmth and growing wetness between her legs
and hoped Peter hadn't noticed. Farmer pushed harder, burying them to the
hilt, satisfaction burning in his eyes.
"Since you seem to have something to say, despite my warnings, tell me
you like this, or I'll give a reporter friend a quick call with news
about Daddy."
Squirming as he explored the depths of her belly with probing fingers, it
took only seconds for her to reconsider. "OK," she relented, sobbing
uncontrollably. "I like it."
"Now tell Peter. Look at him. He needs to see the lust in your eyes as
you confess."
She turned to look at him. He was pale and sweating, and looked very ill.
Then, hoping he could see the misery in her eyes, she obeyed. "I-I like
it, Peter."
By Don Jetman
A beautiful wife pays with her body for her husband's mistake.
~1~
"You have both agreed that cooperating is preferable to prison, no?"
Barbara and Peter stood before him in room 720. He had written the
instructions inside a greeting card, delivered only yesterday. "Friends
like you make my world a better place," it had said on the outside.
Inside, the message was more sobering. "Room 720. Lexington Hyatt. 7:00
PM. Attendance not optional."
They nodded in unison, both knowing his price would be exorbitant.
He opened a small pillbox. The left compartment held a blue pill, the
right, a pink one.
"Please. Ladies first," he said, grinning at Barbara. "No, the blue one,"
he told her, when she reached for the pink one. Peter was to retrieve the
pink capsule.
"Barbara, put it on your husband's tongue, then tell him to swallow."
She raised it to his mouth, he opened, felt the bitter taste of it on his
tongue, and swallowed.
"And of course, that one's for your wife," he told Peter.
Barbara opened and took hers as well, swallowing it with some difficulty.
"Your wife will become my property for a year," he explained. "Barbara, I
know how you despise the treatment of women as sex objects, so I've
decided to make you one."
Barbara cringed, but was determined not to let him see her weaken.
"For the next month, each weekend you will attend a series of crash
courses, custom tailored to your most personal traits. In the end, you
will find your role as a sex object not only acceptable, but desirable."
"I won't," Barbara answered, seething at the thought.
"Oh, but you will," he told her. "The pills you have given each other are
only a start, but one you'll soon appreciate. You can probably feel yours
already - a slight trembling in your arms and legs, the increased heart
rate, a hint of euphoria as your breath becomes quicker and deeper."
Barbara stared at him, her mouth now open in disbelief, her breasts
rising and falling with each deep breath as beads of sweat formed on her
forehead. "Oh God," she whimpered.
He smiled at her, then turned to Peter as she struggled to keep from
shaking. "Yours is somewhat more innocuous, but yet more sinister at the
same time," he explained. "Although the effects can't be felt outwardly,
the little blue pill your wife has so cooperatively placed in your mouth
will render you helplessly impotent for thirty days. When Barbara returns
from her training, she'll give you one on the first of every month, for
the entire year. I'll be sure to be present, just to make sure neither of
you decide to cheat. I like my women to be faithful, you see. So, while
Barbara must do most of the work, or have most of the fun as she'll soon
see it, you must stand by her like a eunuch while your wife satisfies her
sexual needs elsewhere. And her sexual needs will be most astonishing, I
assure you."
With that, he approached Barbara and began to unbutton her blouse. When
she took a sudden step back away from him, his look hardened, and after a
stern warning about what prison might be like for her, she let him open
her blouse to the waist and slide it down over her shoulders. In a single
swift motion, he pulled her bra up roughly, letting her breasts fall free
beneath it. Her bare shoulders and firm breasts were creamy white, her
nipples embarrassingly puckered and hard. He cupped each of her breasts
lightly in his hands, lifting them gently, testing their weight. Her
breathing became heavier, her eyes fluttered, then closed.
"Your husband can't believe what he's seeing, Barbara," he told her
softly. "His faithful wife submitting to a stranger as he fondles her
bare breasts. How breathtaking his humiliation must be as he stands by
helplessly, knowing he can't intervene, knowing just as well that for the
next year he'll be useless in bed, useless to satisfy you."
Grinning at Peter, he released Barbara's breasts, covered them once again
with her bra, then raised her blouse, smoothing it over her slender
shoulders. He stepped away from her, leaving her standing there, her
jutting nipples mocking her shaken husband. He walked to a mahogany desk
a few feet away and sat, eyeing the couple with perverted amusement.
"Peter, you may now remove your wife's clothes."
Peter stared across the desk at the large man. Now a new horror caused
his hands to shake and bile to rise into his throat. Before him stood his
wife of five years, first curious, then alarmed, now uncontrollably
aroused in spite of the circumstances that brought them here on a Sunday
afternoon. The man had pawed the yielding skin of her firm, round
breasts, and she was panting, her face flushed, her body trembling, her
smooth, flay belly pulled taught as she fought the effects of the small
pink pill.
The large man was his boss, a demanding sort who by nature found it far
easier to humiliate than to praise his employees. Peter never considered
Jack Farmer beyond using blackmail, or any of a hundred shady methods to
get what he wanted - but this, this was more that he could have imagined.
OK, so he did send a portion of the schematics to the Chinese. But they
were worthless without the rest of the set, and the money - $750,000 -
enough to afford a home that he knew Barbara wanted, a home more like her
wealthy father could have provided, if she would have let him. Each time
"Daddy" offered his help, she refused, but the look of disappointment was
always there to haunt Peter later, the look that said, "Why can't you give
me what Daddy gave me?"
When Farmer intercepted the transfer, he threatened to contact
Washington. As a defense contractor, Farmer knew the consequences, and
threatened to involve Barbara's father, a twice-elected Senator from
their state. Peter would have agreed to anything to stay out of prison,
and to preserve the good name of his wife's family. Barbara was
incredulous when Peter confessed, then furious when she learned of the
threat to involve her father. Now she stood before him in a perversely
lavish hotel suite, pale and unflinching as they faced the consequences
of Peter's imprudent greed.
"Your wife's clothes, Peter. I'm waiting," repeated Farmer.
To everyone's surprise, Barbara moved slowly to the center of the room
with a look of bitter surrender on her face. "Do it, Peter," she said
coolly. He rose and approached her, knowing full well that her concern was
for her father and not for him or herself. When he reached for her blouse,
Farmer stopped him.
"Turn her to face me, Peter. Do it from behind. I want to see. I want to
see what you can't see - your lovely wife, stripped naked, ever so slowly
in front of me."
He shot Farmer a look of pure hatred, then retreated to a position behind
his wife. Reaching around her, he followed the open edges of her crisp
white blouse up to the collar, then slowly pulled it back over her
shoulders and down along each arm. He could feel her breathing as he held
her in the strange embrace, breathing that caused her firm breasts to
swell suddenly as his fingers brushed over them.
"Take it off, Peter," Farmer instructed as he watched from behind the
desk. "Drop it on the floor beside her."
He freed the blouse from under the waistband of her skirt, pulled it over
her shoulders, and dropped it as Farmer had commanded. He could feel her
shiver in the cool air-conditioned room.
"Now the bra. And stay behind her Peter. Don't block my view."
Slowly, fingers shaking, he opened the hooks one by one, feeling the
material give and then go loose when the second hook came undone. He
could feel her heavy breasts fall partially free, still encased in the
lacy cups, but now hanging naturally inside them. He eased the first
narrow strap over her shoulder, then the second, feeling the heat from
her body rise to meet his clammy fingers. Once again, he reached around
her and, resting his hands over the upper slopes of her breasts, peeled
the bra from her and dropped it to the floor.
"Ahh, Peter, if you could only see what I see. Such ample breasts for her
size, hanging ever so slightly, like ripe, succulent fruit. She's my
type, Peter - large, pink nipples, now puckering so urgently like tiny
fingers set free in the cool air. You don't mind if I have a closer look,
do you Peter?"
He eyed Farmer with resentment, but did not dare give him a reason to go
forward with the alternative.
"Well, Peter, do you?"
"No. No sir," he spat back sharply, bitter resentment accentuating each
word.
Farmer rose and came closer, a step in front of Barbara. As he reached
out to touch her, she took a step backward, crying out, "No! Please
don't!" Farmer scowled at her, then suddenly and roughly took her by the
shoulders.
"Listen to me, bitch. You don't have a voice here. You're property now,
so shut up, and do what you're told, or your father's picture will be on
the front page of every paper in the country."
She began to shake in his grasp, then went limp, surrendering to him. As
Peter stood behind her, Farmer took her breasts in both hands, kneading
the firm pillows of flesh and pulling at her tender nipples until they
jutted and throbbed between his fingertips. He stared at them as he
worked.
"Yes - these are perfect," he muttered as he studied her full, creamy
breasts. "Her nipples harden so quickly, Peter. A woman so responsive may
prove to be quite an enjoyable source of entertainment. Tell me, Peter -
is she, 'enjoyable', to put it as delicately as I'm able at this moment?"
He could hear his wife sobbing as Farmer fondled her. When Farmer looked
up at him for an answer, it took everything he had to force a strained
"yes" from his throat. He could see that Farmer not only enjoyed physical
torture, but their humiliation as well.
"Well, you've only wetted my appetite, Peter. Please continue," Farmer
replied as he took a step back and waited.
Peter looked down at the short zipper at the back of her skirt. Once
lowered, it would allow the skirt to fall to the floor. His stomach
churned as he imagined his beautiful wife standing before Farmer in her
underwear, allowing him to examine her body as only Peter had done when
she undressed at their bedside. Farmer's expression was one of sober
expectation, and Peter knew he had to do as he was told. He took the
zipper in his fingers, tugged until it lowered to its limit, and watched
the sheath of grey cotton creep over her hips and slide down her thighs to
the floor.
But Farmer wasn't satisfied.
"Her slip, Peter. From behind, as before. Do the panties as well. This is
taking much too long."
Peter went to his knees and placed his fingers inside the elastic of her
slip. Then, sliding it lower, he snagged the sides of the white cotton
panties as well and, agonizing over every inch, slowly pulled them both
down along her bare thighs. Now just inches from the firm, round globes
of her perfect ass, he could see the goose bumps rise over her skin, and
caught a brief glimpse of silky black pubic hair nested between her
thighs.
Farmer stepped closer to her once again and reached out to stroke her
silky belly.
"Peter, Peter, Peter. This is more than I could have ever hoped for.
Slim, long-waisted girls like this are one of my few weaknesses. Even
rarer to find one with such generous breasts and nipples."
Barbara gasped as he lowered his hand between her legs. Her legs
trembled, then parted slightly, forced open by his large invading hand.
"Would you believe me if I told you she's wet? Absolutely dripping."
It was more than she could take. "Bastard!" she hissed.
He shoved two fingers inside her, making her cry out in shock and
embarrassment. She felt the warmth and growing wetness between her legs
and hoped Peter hadn't noticed. Farmer pushed harder, burying them to the
hilt, satisfaction burning in his eyes.
"Since you seem to have something to say, despite my warnings, tell me
you like this, or I'll give a reporter friend a quick call with news
about Daddy."
Squirming as he explored the depths of her belly with probing fingers, it
took only seconds for her to reconsider. "OK," she relented, sobbing
uncontrollably. "I like it."
"Now tell Peter. Look at him. He needs to see the lust in your eyes as
you confess."
She turned to look at him. He was pale and sweating, and looked very ill.
Then, hoping he could see the misery in her eyes, she obeyed. "I-I like
it, Peter."
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