Jennifer Marie Stephenson was apprehensive, but tried not to show it. She had tried not to think about her husband's business, but it was getting very hard to ignore. It seemed so promising at first. Her nerdy husband had spent years of his spare time working on his hobby. He had been a professor of chemistry at the local university. In his spare time, he had dabbled in the belief that he could develop a new formula and process for coloring plastics that would cut out some of the costly steps most manufacturers were using.
His obsession had begun to take more and more of his spare time, to where he was getting graduate students to help him during school hours. He finally made a mistake during one of his lectures and showed some of his private work in a power point presentation that should have been secret. One of the better students passed it on to another; and soon it was public knowledge that the head of the department had found out about.
By then, Joe, her husband had spent quite a bit on the patent and some crude material for processing. They had borrowed against their house and her parent's estate which she had inherited. Now they owed for a mortgage on the cropland which had been debt free. Jenn had planned on having the crop rental fees paying for her daughter's college education. Now that was out of the question.
Jenn checked the oven. The Chinese recipe for fatty pork was about done, so she set the huge black cast iron kettle on simmer. They would be here soon. She debated on whether to go up and change now, or go to the basement to get out the wine. Her husband could do that when they came.
Joe was about on his last option, now. Several Nigerian businessmen had been in town over the last eighteen months to visit Joe about investments. Supposedly, they had made lots of money through oil contracts from their country. It was probably some shady scam her husband secretly suspected. Most of those middle men were greasing the hands of politicians from several countries to get this oil shipped out. Most of the warlords were on the take, and if a person was in the right position, money came in avalanches.
Joe didn't really care. All he cared about was getting some investors so he could buy more time. He had patents pending, and needed to get more equipment. Jenn's thoughts about the business were interrupted when the bell rang.
They were almost destitute, and taking them out to dinner was almost out of the question. Joe had suggested inviting them over for dinner because it would save money, and he had papers and rough mock-ups of his equipment to show them.
"Get the door, honey." Jenn said as she turned to go upstairs. "Go get the wine too." She said over her shoulder. She wasn't that eager to meet them again. She had seen them before, and was uneasy talking to them. Jen went into her bedroom and looked at the clothes she had laid out. She didn't like the selection, but didn't want another confrontation with her husband about it. He was always prodding her to wear the most eye-catching clothes he could find.
The current styles were fine on the eighteen to twenty four-year old girls, but she was forty now and had a fifteen year old daughter. Single girls who wanted to be noticed seemed outrageous. She preferred a more refined look.
She had already combed out her long reddish brown hair. She took small clumps of the long strands at her temples and pulled them around behind her and tied them together with a rubber band. That kept her waist length hair back away from her face. She took off her blue oxford men's button down dress shirt and jeans. She tried not to look at herself in the mirror as she put on the horrible quarter-cup bra her husband had picked out. It was outrageous.
Her breasts were mellon-sized; not huge, but still gravity-defying for their size. Secretly she was thankful that she did not have any sag; like many of the women she knew. She tried not to focus on her long pink coral colored nipples that peeked over the top of the top of her bra. She didn't really need the garment except, perhaps for propriety.
She sat down on the bed and kicked off her boots; peeled the Levi's down over her legs. She tried not to look at herself as she took off her granny panties. "What the fuck difference does it make what underwear I use?" her mind screamed. Never-the-less, Joe would not be content with her wearing the grannies. Although nobody would ever know, Joe was always more aroused, knowing what was under that dress.
Jenn put on the grey thong as she sat. She couldn't bear to do it standing and see such a wanton image in the mirror. She picked up the grey-green western shirt and put it on. It was a dark color with green embroidery and sequins embellishing the design. She had usually rebelled when her husband had asked her to put on this pair of stockings. They were a grey silk with an embroidered elastic band at the top. When she put them on, they came to the edge of her crotch. She hated the whorish image they gave her. She picked up the grey silk pants and slid them on. They hugged her waist and butt tightly, but flared about halfway below mid-thigh. She crossed her legs and slipped on her high heeled boots and zipped them up the side. The look had been a sort of middle ground between her and her husband. When she stood, her high heeled boots felt like stilts. Again, she felt whorish, but the pants covered them and just barely brushed the ground. The only thing that gave her heels away was the almost metallic click-clack when she walked.
Her incredibly trim athletic build was almost cartoonish exaggerated with the heels.
She had worn the salacious undergarments to appease her husband. He had gone along with her more conservative outerwear, knowing that she was erotic underneath. It seemed an ironic compromise. It was arousing to him, just knowing how she looked underneath. It was enough to contain him, envisioning her as a wanton whore underneath.
She could hear the muffled conversation wafting down the hallway and into her partly closed door. When Jenn came down the stairs, the click-clack of the steel covered heels might have been the horns at the Kentucky Derby signaling the start of that race. The men stopped speaking and everybody looked in her direction. Jenn started to panic as she came into view. She forced a smile as she cleared the last step.
"Hello, everybody." She almost whispered nervously. She panicked. They were not looking her in the eye. She was pretty sure why. The quarter cup bra may have concealed her nipples in the mirror, but not when she walked. Each step caused a delayed half bounce of her breasts. The shirts was thin enough and snug enough to plainly outline the magnificent long pink nipples as they strained to escape like two curious small children peeking through the balusters where they had been banned from the party. She had stood, nonchalantly after dressing and refused to look at herself in the mirror before she came downstairs. She could see it in their eyes; the hungry stares. "Oh, fuck." Her mind screamed. "My whorish look is going to ruin my husband's business chances." She thought in panic.
"Jenn, honey, this is Marcel Okanda and his partner, Emil; Emil Okoye. I think you have all met before. We picked them up at the airport last month and took them to their hotel; remember?"
"Yes, yes" Jenn said nervously as she took several steps towards the men and extended her hand. Her words were not a whisper. They were not a loud enthusiastic exclamation of greeting. Her breath and words were more like Jackie Kennedy's voice giving a tour of the white house.
Marcel reached out; extended his hand, took hers and kissed it. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Stephenson." He turned to his partner and held his hand out in a grand gesture. Jenn moved the one step to her side to greet the second man. There was that look again.
The two Nigerians could hardly contain themselves. Jenny was an unusual woman. She was extremely trim and fit looking for a woman they knew to be middle aged. They tried not to stare when she moved the two steps to one side. Her quarter-cup bra seemed to amplify her movements. When she took the step, her breasts bounced. Once they took the miniscule downward movement, the quarter cups seemed to flip them up like a trampoline; magnifying the movement. The blouse fit like a glove; no horizontal wrinkles from being too tight. On the other hand, if you were looking and knew what you wanted to see, there they were. The men tried not to drool as they watched the long-stemmed pink peals jiggle against the snug fabric.
They saw her blink. She blinked trying to convince herself they might not have noticed. She blinked, believing that, as gentlemen, they would ignore what she knew to be happening. She blinked, perhaps, not wanting to see that glint of recognition in their eyes.
"I hope you men have had a pleasant trip." She said as she glanced nervously over at her husband, wondering what he might have seen or how he was reacting.
"It was hot when we left, but compared to Nigeria, it is pleasant here." Marcel smiled.
"Joe, hon; why don't you pour the wine while I set this food in the serving bowls?" Jenn turned, nervously trying to extricate herself from the room. She was struggling with trying to adjust to the clothes she had on. The men started chatting again; about the long flight, the American attendants and the pleasant weather.
.... There is more of this story ...