Jenny Marie Stephenson could hardly move. She tried as much as she could to just turn her mind off as she got out of the shower. She wrapped a beach towel around her and tucked it in to hold it up. She took another terrycloth towel and wrapped it around her hair. She tried not to think about the noise downstairs. She tried to shut her mind off to the doorbell that she had heard. She tried to pretend she could not hear the muffled conversation that was taking place.
She knew that her husband had gone over to open the door and let that monster in. She tried to ignore the civil exchange that was taking place; the cold, cordial repartee between her husband and the creature that had come to see her.
Jenny sat down in front of her make-up vanity and looked at herself. "How had her life come to this?" she wondered as she looked at herself. Sitting in front of her reflection her actions became automatic. She applied some moisturizer to her face. She was not going to put on any eyeliner, fake eyeliner or rouge.
"Fuck him." She thought. "I don't give a fuck what he thinks of me." She thought as she mindlessly prepared herself for what she had agreed to. The application of a slight color of lipstick was more of an automatic reflex to sitting at the vanity than a conscious effort to beautify herself. It was something that came automatically to the forty-year-old woman as she struggled with other thoughts.
Jenny walked over to the open box on the edge of the bed and turned it over. She examined the contents again, as she had done a dozen times before in the last few days after it arrived. Mindlessly, she removed the terrycloth beach towel and laid it across the foot of the bed. She sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the gray, silk nylons. She rolled them up her legs; first one then the other. The silk nylons had an elastic lace band at the top that stopped just below her naked, shaved cleft.
Jenny pulled out the "$400.00 Miz Mooz Siri Knee-High Suede Boots." Under normal circumstances, she would have never considered wearing something like these. They were a cross between the look of Ashley Dupre, was the $10,000 / night escort for Elliott Spitzer, and a $20.00/hour street corner whore.
Jenny tried not to think about how she looked. As she lifted the gray, silk button front dress. She didn't really need to unbutton the front to get it on. The buttons were more "ceremonial" than functional. It was a backless dress that could easily be slipped over her head. Thankfully, the short sleeves were an elastic lace that helped to hold the whole thing together and kept the thing from falling open or off of her shoulders. She had never tried it on before, but knew it could not be worn with either panties or a bra.
When she stood, the open back showed the top half of her butt crack and the middle half of her back. The hem of her dark silk dress barely brushed the floor. With her high-heel boots hidden, she looked exponentially taller and slender than she already was.
Her tanned and toned back shimmered because of the lotion she had put on. Her skin shimmered in the light like she had been oiled for the sacrificial offering her husband had intended.
The front of her dress was scooped so the tips of her nipples were barely concealed if she stood straight up. If Jenny bent her head, she could easily see the long-stem coral pink tips straining out against the thin fabric that did nothing to conceal their shape.
Jenny took the long strand of pearls and put them around her neck in a double loop. They looped down to the middle of her abdomen. She tried not to look at herself in the mirror as she put the pearl earrings on.
She had tried most of her adult life to go out of her way not to attract attention. She had dressed in high heels, but covered herself in slacks, long sleeved shirts, a vest and shawl-collared blazers. If she was at work, they would be wool; if casual, they might be leather or denim. But mostly, she dressed conservatively; covered up.
Jenny tried to focus on her hair as she sat in front of her mirrored vanity to comb her long red hair. She had had it permed, but it still hung almost to her waist. She had colored her dark red hair so that it had blond and brown streaks in it. The coloring just tended to accent the rich red coloring that few women her age had. Her perm only tended to enrich the thickness and weight of hair that was more unique and seen rarely outside of a Breck commercial.
She tried not to notice that as she reached up and behind her that her nipples had a tendency to pop out over the top of her low cut front. She was determined to take extra care when she went downstairs not to lean over or raise her arms. "What a ridiculous observation." She thought to herself; knowing the whole evening was orchestrated by her husband and this evil guest to humiliate and degrade her beyond her wildest fears.
"Jenny, honey, our guest is here." She heard her husband's voice from the bottom of the stairs.
Jenny gritted her teeth as she forced herself to stand. There was no need for a purse. They weren't going anywhere. Numbly, she forced on foot in front of the other.
The two men were sitting in the living room. Jenny's 6" stiletto heels beat the announcement of her arrival coming down the stairs. The shoes sounded like the drumbeat ahead of the firing squat as the soldier tied the blindfold over the prisoner's eyes. Every clip clop of her heels brought a new wave of Goosebumps over her as she descended the stairs.
She clung desperately to the handrail; even when she was at the bottom. Her mind was racing; waiting for some kind of command about what to do next.
"Have a seat, honey, her husband, Mark said as he stood and gestured to the Mies Van Der Rohe chair opposite him. The living room was arranged in a "U" pattern, with the long leather couch facing the fireplace. There was a long glass coffee table in front of it, and two Mies chares facing each other; one on each end of the leather couches.
Jenny sat; crossed her legs nervously and crossed her arms in a feeble self-conscious effort to conceal her breasts. It didn't work. Folding or crossing her arms only tended to tighten the already snug fabric around her breasts; highlighting and accenting her perky melon-sized assets.
"There he was; the fucker." She thought to herself. This was the epitome of terror to her. His image had been burned into her memory ever since she was fourteen-years old. He was much older now; bigger than the 6'-4" teenager she remembered.
He was at least 6'-6" tall now. In jail, he didn't have much more to do than work out. He had no fat. His muscles bulged. He looked more like an NFL tight end than the gangly high school center she remembered. The eyes were the same; cold, fierce and threatening. His hair cut was shaved on the sides. His flat-top was narrow; more like a Mohawk.
Jenny had gone to an away-game in her freshman year in high-school. She had been on the bus with the cheerleaders and other girls in the glee-club. They had watched their team get slaughtered by the home team. Hank Munson had been the featured center of the opposition and on most all-state player selections. He was a clear full-scholarship selection for most colleges.
Like the others, she had booed and jeered him any chance she had. He had not had a particularly good night, for him, but never-the-less used the taunts for incentive. After the game, she had taken longer than usual to get to the bus. The crowd had thinned by the time Jenny started for the bus. She must have gotten turned around in the hallways around the gymnasium. Trying to get back to the bus, she must have taken a wrong turn.
The first thing she knew was some huge hands had wrapped themselves around her mouth and neck. She remembered her coke and nachos flying all over the place as he picked her up and drug her into the electrical room.
His hands were so big and he was so strong, there wasn't much she could do to protect herself. "Shut your fucking mouth, cunt, or I'll slit your fucking throat." She heard from behind her. Jenny was too young and scared to know how to react. She didn't quite understand what was going on at the time.
The tall, gawky, half developed young teenager understood enough to know she was being raped, but powerless to know how to prevent it. When it was over, she managed to slip her torn dress back on and run out to the bus; only to find it was gone. She eventually was able to locate some security people and let them know what happened. The humiliated young girl had to endure hours of interrogation while trying to hold the few scraps of clothing she had left to conceal what she could.
The police officers seemed to enjoy her partial nudity as she struggled to hide her breasts. She sensed opposition to her accusations that it was Hank who had abducted and raped her.
Eventually he had been arrested and convicted. Since she was a minor and he was eighteen, he was convicted of rape, kidnapping, sex with a minor and assault. He had been sentenced to over 20 years.
The events of that evening stayed with her for many years. She resisted dating most of her life. She had met her husband, Mark, after she had started working. She was 25 years old; he was twice that.
"She would eventually learn to love him." She told herself. He had a great business. He was wealthy. He treated her well. Things were always strained. Jenny had never really gotten over the rape, and was pretty detached during sex. "It was something she owed him." She tried to tell herself.
.... There is more of this story ...