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.

When Jenn came back in, she had two huge cotton gloves on, carrying the black cast iron kettle. "Wow; that smells good, hon. Do you men like Chinese food?" The men nodded; more intrigued with what was above the kettle than in it. Jen set it down and went back for another dish. "I hope you like rice." She said as she set down the large porcelain bowl. The men were talking again as she returned again with a large bowl of lima beans. "Some people say these are lima beans. Some call this dish edamame. Some say they are soybeans." The men chuckled; not really caring what they were.

The men chatted some more during the meal and the conversation seemed to drift towards Joe's patents. "Well, the patents aren't technically finished. The patent office is still conducting a patent search. It should be done in a couple more months. I spent over six months doing it already, and I know there is nothing else like it." Joe said, trying to hide his nervousness about the subject.

When the dinner was over, Jenn took the dishes to the kitchen to clear the table. "We have some nice dessert." She said when the table was clear. "Are you ready, or do you want to sit a while? I can bring it into the living room if you want."

"Well, Mrs. Stephenson, I thought you were the dessert." Marcel said without looking up. He was checking his cell phone for messages.

"I beg your pardon!" Jenn almost chocked, thinking she might have misunderstood or misused and English phrase. Joe looked up in surprise; thinking he had misunderstood.

"Look, Joe; you know that we have more than enough money to fund your entire operation. We know that you are struggling to get by until the patent is approved. You can sell the patent for a decent amount, but then you cannot run the new business you want to start. You know you need us or somebody else; like us to get this off the ground.

"We have met you several times now. Your business prospects look good. So does your wife. I am a bit of a gambling man. I am willing to bet your wife that you need the money and backing more than your wife.

"What do you think; Mrs. Stephenson? Are you willing to bet your husband can get another backer before the patent is approved? What will you live on until then? What will you do if the patent takes longer? We have a copy of the patent and have refiled with a few modifications. If you have the slightest problem with your patent, it may take forever to sort out the difference between yours and ours. We are gambling we can outlast you financially if it takes a few more months."

"I think I am willing to bet that you and your husband are desperate enough for the funding that the two of you will meet almost any terms we offer. I'm willing to bet you will be willing to be nice to us in exchange for a favorable business deal. What do you think, Mrs. Stephenson?"

Jenn stared in horror at the smirk of the two Africans. She watched intently; the face of her husband; searching for some expression of outrage. Slowly his face turned red. She had seen that expression before. He was ready to kill somebody. Jenn knew that if he said the wrong thing; if he did something, it might be the end of their future. They could not afford to lose the farmland. They could not afford to lose their house. They could kiss goodbye their daughter's college plans.

"M ... M ... Mister Okanda, perhaps we've misunderstood you. Sometimes people mix up their words in English. Maybe what we think we hear is not what you intended to say..." Her words trailed off, hoping she had misunderstood.

"No, pretty lady. You have not misunderstood me. Your husband has not misunderstood me. Your husband has a wonderful idea. Most likely his patent will go through. But you know it might take many more months and even some more legal work; especially with our filing. In the meantime, we are prepared to help ... for a price; of course."

Jenn almost gagged. She didn't know if she could look up again at her husband.

There was a long silence. Slowly, Jenn raised her eyes to see what her husband was thinking. "Oh, fuck." Her mind screamed. She recognized that pleading look. His eyes were begging her not to tell them to "Go Get Fucked!"

Down deep, she knew better. She collapsed into the leather sofa behind her. Her hands covered her face. She dropped her face down onto her knees. "What..." was all she could come up with.

"Well, young lady, I think we're ready for that dessert. What do you have?" Jenn stood and turned for the kitchen.

"We have home made Crème Brule..."

"No, ma'am; that's not what we meant. Again; you are the dessert. Why don't you go back upstairs and dress in something a little nicer." Marcel said as he smiled. "Here; I'll go with you."

Jenn froze. Marcel was next to her in a step. He took her arm and guided it into and around his elbow, like they were a date. Jenn grabbed the railing with her right hand. She was trembling so bad, she could not have made it up the stairs by herself.

Joe's heart was pounding in his ears almost as loud as her high heeled shoes clip clopped down the upstairs hall. His heart was in his throat as the bedroom door closed behind them. Upstairs, Jenn stood there, petrified as Marcel slid the clothes hangers back and forth along the wood pole. He was talking, but the words escaped her.

"This ought to do it." He said as he dropped several garments on the bed. Jenn sat down on the bed; shivering, not knowing or wanting to figure out the next progression of events. She looked over. There was one garment. It was a dark grey silk button front dress. It was her daughter's. Somehow it had been misplaced into her closet?

"That ... that ... that's not mine; she started to say..." Her words trailed off. She thought better of it. "Does he know I have a fourteen-year-old daughter?" Her blood chilled. "Maybe he doesn't know..." her mind screamed as she timidly reached for the dress. She pulled it over and covered herself with it as she looked up, questioningly at him.

"Put it on." He said. "I'll watch the door for you." It was more of a whisper. It was more of a hiss. She almost couldn't hear it; but the words till stung. She looked around; like he might turn his head or give her some privacy. He had the look of a cobra. He was in front of the door. She had no way out. She turned her back to him. She held the dress in front of her as she began unbuttoning her blouse.

The cobra turned his head, incrementally from side to side. His eyes indicated; "No." Jenn put the dress down and began unbuttoning the blouse. One by one, she pushed each button through the eyelet. It almost didn't dawn on her quite what she was doing until the last one was undone. "Turn around and face me, you magnificent creature." She hesitated. She turned to face him. She gulped and tried to think of her daughter as she arched her back and slid the shirt over one shoulder; then the other. She tried desperately to bring the garment around in front of her to keep covered. Their eyes locked.

Marcel held out his hand; palm up. Jenn extended her arm and laid the garment in his hand. He threw it over his head; not caring where it landed. He grinned. Her long stemmed coral pink nipples peeked over the top of her quarter-cup bra like two new born sparrows waiting to be fed. Her first instinct was to reach up and cover herself, but his evil gaze told her to keep her arms down. She held the pose; not wanting to wonder what was next.

She caught his gaze drifting down to her slacks. His eyes had some strange Machiavellian grip on her she could not escape. She grabbed the gray dress and started to slip it over her head; thinking she could keep the bra and take her slacks off underneath the dress.

"No fucking way; Miss Stephenson..." That stare needed no explanation. Holding the grey dress in front of her, she reached behind and unhooked the bra. With her dress in front of her and her arms pinning the bra against her, he was willing to give her this millisecond of reprieve. He held out his hand again; palm up. Jenn locked eyes with him again as she handed him the garment. She sat there on the side of the bed with her arms down in humiliation. The cool air-conditioning made her very aware of what he could see. She felt her nipples rise and harden from the change in temperature. The humiliated woman shuddered waiting for the next order.

Trying not to stand, Jenn undid the sash of her slacks. She tried to bend over to hide herself as she scooted up enough to slide the silk slacks past her knees. She bent over; more to hide herself than to pull the garment out away from her boots.

"Up." She heard him whisper. "Stand."

Jenn was shaking as her knees straightened and pushed her body up from the bed. She couldn't help but cross her arms over her breasts. "The rest." He said. "Take off the rest."

Jenn put her hands over her face and bent over; almost in half at the words. She didn't know if her knees would hold her up. "I've got to fucking get through this. Get them out before they realize I have a daughter." She thought.

Still bent over, Jenn reached up behind her; put her thumb between her hips and the fabric and pushed down. Once past mid-thigh, the wispy garment floated to the floor. Without thinking, she stepped out of it. Again, Marcel held his hand out; palm up. Jenn felt the cool air waft between her legs; robbing her labia of what little moisture might have been there as she bent over to pick up the filmy cover. She handed it to him; trying to summon all the dignity she had as she looked into his eyes. "Please let this be the end." Her mind screamed. Jenn stood there; naked except for her high-heeled boots and wire rimmed glasses.

She turned to reach for the dress. "Never mind. I'm out of the mood for the dress right now." He said.

"He's going to fuck me." Her mind screamed.

Jenn's mouth opened in anguish and her knees started to buckle at the idea. "At least my husband can't see." Her mind seemed to say. "On second thought, you are too delectable a creature to not be shared with my partner. I remember hearing you say you had dessert ready. Let's go get some. You are a wonderful cook and I am famished." He started to extend his arm out again at his side. Jenn's mind was numb as he guided her forearm around his elbow.

"Wait a minute. You are just too sophisticated and classy a woman to run around just like this." He said as he looked at her. He went over to her make-up table and came back with a strand of pearls and wrapped it around her neck. "That's better." He said.

Joe had been wondering what was going on in the upstairs bedroom. It had been quiet for quite a while now. "He's trying to fuck her." His mind screamed. He was ready to grab a kitchen knife and fly up the stairs. Then they heard the door click as it opened. They heard Jenn's high heels click a few times before the door shut again. Joe and Emil sat up as the clip-clop of her high heels got louder. They stopped for a second or two at the top of the half flight of stairs.

From there, Joe could see Jenn's ankles and part of her calves. "She's changed into a dress." He thought. As each clip-clop brought more of the couple into view, the more of her legs he saw, until he could see her legs past the hem of any dress he knew she had. Joe had some inner sense that there was a hesitation in her steps. Joe's heart almost stopped when he realized she was naked. There was no hem above her thighs where there should have been. His mind went into an additional gear of rage. He watched in mounting indignation as more of his naked wife came into view.

Jenn's mind was spinning out of control; trying to cope with her own humiliation. Now she could see her husband was about to go out of control.

"It's okay, honey. We'll get through this." She didn't say it out loud. She tried to mouth the words subtly and relay it with her eyes and a weak smile she did not feel.

"Mrs. Stephenson has graciously offered to serve us dessert. Aren't you men famished?"

Emil had the smile of a serpent. You couldn't see one. You could feel it; the mocking, menacing look in his eyes, knowing he was about to be treated to something better than crème brule.

The men sat in the living room. In a semi-circle in front of the fireplace were a long brown leather sofa and two leather chairs on each side. Between the fireplace and the sofa was a long glass coffee table. Marcel sat in the center of the sofa. Emil sat in one of the leather chairs to his right and Joe was opposite Emil on the other chair.

The men's heads all turned towards the kitchen door as they heard the clip clop of Jenn's heels approaching. She had a medium sized tray with three large wine glasses filled with chocolate Crème Brule. The Africans smiled as the dessert arrived, but it wasn't about the Crème Brule. They were enchanted with the jiggle of Jenny's long-stemmed coral pink number two erasers that bobbed like manometers a half count off of the clack of her high heels.

Nobody was behind her, but she stooped; bent at the knees to offer the cups of dessert to each of the men. She served Emil first. He may have been the farthest away. Next was Marcel. She wouldn't look at him. Last was Joe.

When she approached him, she heard Marcel's voice. "No bending the knees. Keep your knees straight. Stand with your legs farther apart." The humiliated woman did what she was told. She moved her feet about shoulder width apart.

"Now bend over. Serve your man." Jenn had her legs spread past shoulder length. Her eyes were watering as she bent over at the waist. Her cheeks were burning as she felt her breasts swing free and down. "Look at that Emil. Isn't that about the best sight you have ever seen?" Emil grinned like an eight-year-old with a pillow case full of Halloween candy.

Jenny's eyes met her husband's. "Please don't do anything, hon. There's nothing we can do. We can get through this. We'll be alright." She whimpered. Her tears dripped down her face and onto her breast.

"Well, Mrs. Stephenson, I'm finished with my dessert, now it's time for yours." Jenn turned; put the now empty tray on the fireplace mantel and turned to face Marcel. She couldn't help but cross her hands helplessly over her breasts in nervousness. Marcel extended his arm towards her and wagged his finger for her to approach him.

The few steps it took to close the distance took so long, her boots made no noise. Maybe her heart was pounding so hard neither she or Joe heard her boots.

The room was silent except for the water recycling through the fish tank. Jenn stood before him; naked except for her wire rimmed glasses, her boots, her grey silk stockings and double strand of pearls that hung almost to her belly button. They jingled slightly; telegraphing her humiliation and embarrassment.

The three men had had their close look at her. Jenn, in some strange moment of insanity had shaved. She had a narrowed "landing strip above her cleft. From the top of her cleft on down, she was bare. The landing strip was a thing of beauty. The reddish brown tangle was thick and curly in the center. From there it thinned out in number and hue. It went from the reddish brown to an almost clear blonde at the edges. The curls were sparse and almost clear at the edges. They looked like the down on a new baby's face; like Hawaiian fern in the cloud-covered mountain forest that never sees the light of day.

Jenn's body had been tanned and toned from hours at the beach and jogging trails. Her gravity defying long-stemmed pink nipples were triple-framed by the pink areoles, the alabaster white breasts surrounded by her bronzed torso. In the same manner, her shaved labia were framed first by the white bikini line; then the bronzed and freckled abdomen and legs.

Marcel let his legs part. Silently, Marcel pointed: "Down." She took the two steps towards him. Slowly, Jenn sank to her knees between his.

"What do you think desert is going to be?" he whispered. Jenn still had her arms crossed over her breasts. She turned to her husband; looking for some kind of assurances or emotional support; some sign that this would be okay. "Tell me what to do." Her eyes screamed at him. She tried to tell herself she could learn to live with anything as long as her husband knew this wasn't her decision.

She turned questioningly back towards Marcel and looked up into his eyes; hoping for some sign of mercy. She saw none. She looked down at his crotch. It was huge. It was ... moving.

"Tell her what to do, Joe. She doesn't seem to have a clue. Is she a good cocksucker?" There it was. There was no mistaking what was expected of her. She knew; but the words hit her like a hammer. It was so cold when said. Perhaps in the middle of the night; perhaps with enough wine; perhaps in an exceptional mood of passion, she might have. But in front of her husband and in front of two total strangers, she didn't think this would be possible.

But Jenn was beat. She had no escape. She had no realistic plan of escape. She tried to put her mind in a different place; shut herself out of the situation and watch this woman she didn't know. Perhaps her mind could step back and sit on the raised hearth of the fireplace and just watch in indignation. She would watch this whore of a woman who had put on the quarter cup bra and thong for her husband. She had it coming.

Marcel was looking at Joe; waiting for him to mimic his words to Jenn. All Joe could do was raise his hands; palms up in resignation as he looked at the floor.

"Tell her you fucking pussy. She needs your fucking approval. You can't just watch her do this for your sake and later tell her you didn't approve. What the fuck is it? Do you want her to do this or not? We aren't forcing her. His words were barely a whisper, but they hit the couple like a clap of lightning.

"Jenn; hon, I ... I ... we ... we ... have no choice. We ... we ... we have to cooperate." His head dropped.

"Fuck you; you weenie. What kind of fucking business man are we dealing with that can't tell his own wife how to behave?"

There was a long silence as the men got up to leave. Emil almost gagged. He was so close to the treat of his life. But then he caught it; that wicked gleam in Marcel's eyes as he passed the couch.

Joe cleared his throat. "Please don't go gentlemen. I ... I ... I want you to stay. We want you to stay. My wife wants you to stay. I will tell her." The men stopped, still standing with their backs to the couple. Marcel didn't turn around.

"Why would we stay?" he said; trying to hide his gloating.

"Jenn, honey, I ... I ... I ... want ... want you to ... to ... to suck these gentlemen off..." His words trailed off into a whisper. It was a whisper that Marcel and Emil could hear. It was a whisper that felt like her husband had kicked her in the head and knocked her over. If he hadn't said it, perhaps she would have said: "Please don't leave." She couldn't have spit out the rest, but it would have been understood.

She was still hoping her subconscious mind could take a back seat and just watch; but she couldn't get back and watch. Once the men returned to their original seating, she watched as her hands nervously reached for the clasp on Marcel's belt. She watched as her hands slid the belt loose from the buckle. Who was this that pulled the brass snap open? Didn't she realize what was going to happen? The room was silent as she took the hasp and slid the zipper down his fly.

Marcel reached his left hand up over the back of the sofa. He pushed his right hand down on the arm rest of the sofa to bring his butt up off of the cushion. Jenn did it without hesitation; like when somebody extends their hand for a handshake, nobody thinks about putting their hand out to meet the other.

Jenn just reached up and grabbed the waistband of his Levis and tugged them down past his thighs. Luckily she had turned her head sideways as the pants came free. She would have been slapped in the face with a monster she had never even dreamed existed. As her head was turned, she could see the expression of her husband.