Sara was angry and frustrated. She and her husband had invested their entire savings into this questionable project. They lived in a very little town just outside of Kansas City. It was halfway between Kansas City, and Lawrence, where the big state university is located. Lots of people would eventually move here to get out of the rat race, but still be close enough to commute into either place where there were plenty of jobs. Nemaha was a very little town, of about 200 people. The main street was wide enough that people could pull into 90° parking on each side, or into another double row, nose-to-nose down the center of the street. Lots of people sat on their tailgates on Friday evening and drank beer.

Several restaurants had started and died over the years, but there was no real place to eat. Sara taught Social Anthropology at the University. Her husband, Joe, ran a phone store in Kansas City. Both had a fair income. Joe felt the city had lots of potential. Like most of the buildings on each side of Main Street, a large hardware store had been out of business for years, and nobody wanted it.

Joe wanted to open a diner / tavern / Bed & Breakfast. He felt the hundred-year-old building had outstanding potential. The first floor of the load bearing brick building had sixteen feet high ceilings, old tin ceiling tile, and wonderful oak trimmed huge glass windows. Joe had bought the building at a bargain price.

He had turned the second floor into about eight elegant bedrooms with their own bath, Jacuzzi and fireplaces. Each one had a great view of the river just outside. There was canoeing, and bicycle riding along the river. The restaurant would be a wonderful place to eat. Joe felt he was close enough to the airport to attract lots of people from New York for getaway weekends.

Things seemed to be headed in the right direction, but not quite fast enough to make the mortgage payments. Joe felt if he could just get the revenue up enough, perhaps he could sell it and get their money back. Joe changed the concept from just a restaurant to having a bar with pool tables on the back half of the building. He had asked Sara to help be the hostess at the restaurant. Because of her background, Sara was an instant success.

At first, the main crowd was farmers and hunters who came in when it opened at 5:30 in the morning. The old men came in to have coffee and tell tall stories. When summer started, Sara came in to help cook and wait on tables in the morning. Joe realized that whenever Sara came in, word got out, and business increased. Sara was the best thing to ever happen to that little town.

Sara usually came in wearing high-heeled western boots, high-rise, form fitting Levis, and a long sleeved oxford cloth button-down shirt. One day, she had not expected to work when her husband called. She had been out in the yard watering the grass.

She had been wearing her dark brown logging boots, which laced up to just below her knees. She had very short cut-off Levis, with the bottoms hemmed just below her crotch. She had a very thin tank top. Sara came in on short notice, without a chance to change. Joe noticed.

Joe noticed that the old men got on their cell phones. They took pictures and sent them to their friends. In no time, the Dinner was full. Lots of people were not only getting coffee, they were ordering full meals. The daily receipts were up tenfold at the end of the day.

That day, Joe discussed the change in receipts with Sara. "Honey, you are beautiful. The men just adore you. I have a suggestion. Next time you come in, try to dress a little sexier. Sara was shocked. How dare he suggest that she parade around in something to attract men to the restaurant? Reluctantly, Sara knew that it wouldn't hurt, but she was so shy and timid, it was a hard idea to accept.

The next morning, when Sara got up, she noticed Joe had laid out her clothes for her. He had set out her high-heeled grey sued boots. They stopped just below her knees. He had the same form fitting denim jeans on the chair, but the blouse was new. It was a very thin purple silk sleeveless blouse. There was no bra. How could she do it? She thought she would die if anybody from school saw her in that outfit; a professor in Social Anthropology dressed like a waitress from Hooters.

Sara could hardly put one foot in front of the other as she opened the front door of the Diner. When she walked in, the boisterous place turned silent. All heads turned and stared. Sara forced a smile and greeted each of the men by name as she put on her apron and walked around pouring coffee. One of the old men had his own key, so whoever got there first, made the coffee.

Sara was thankful for the apron, because it covered most of her front. Never-the-less, they had all seen her when she came in. Text messages were flying. Soon the place was packed. Business was good that day.

Soon, her husband decided to change tactics again. Instead of having her be the waitress all day in the diner, he had her make an appearance randomly during the morning. Then, he would have her come in during the evening and work a few hours as hostess in the restaurant, and later waitress in the bar.

Business was getting better and they both knew it. Sara felt more humiliated each day, but had no alternatives. If she didn't dress this way, business would eventually go back to mediocre.

One evening, a new man who was not part of the local community came into the bar. Sam Roberts was some kind of businessman from Kansas City. Through casual conversations with other customers, he got the idea that the business might be for sale.

Sam was a big athletic man of about fifty. He was about six feet six inches tall, and about two hundred fifty pounds. He had short grey hair and wore an immaculate grey suit with faint white pinstripes. His leather boots were made by Heyer out of lizard skin.

Joe and Sara were sitting in a booth near the front door towards the end of the evening. Sam came over and introduced himself. Joe invited him to sit down. When Sam went to the restroom, Joe said: "Sara, honey, this guy might be interested in buying this place. We need to be as nice as we can to him. Just be yourself and everything will be o.k."

When Sam came back, he thanked them for their time and got up to leave. "Walk him to his car honey." Joe whispered under his breath. Shocked, Sara forced herself to smile got up when Sam did. She wrapped her arm around his and giggled at some of his jokes as they walked out.

"Come on, I'll show you my car.' He said. Sara tried to fake interest. She had no interest in cars. "Probably another BMW or Lexus" she thought. When they got outside, Sam walked towards a bright red sports car at the very corner of the parking area; away from all the others. No wonder nobody had noticed.

It was a red, 1972 slant nose 930 Porsche. It was not a kit. The bug-eye headlights were "frenched" into the front fenders. The rear fenders were radically flared with huge wide tires. Sara was shocked. She had never actually seen a Porsche before, not to mention this rare model.

"Thanks for walking me out, Miss Sara. I think this business could do alright, but a lot of it hinges on you."

"Thanks. I hope we see you again," Sara forced herself to say with as nice a smile as she could summon.

A few days later, Sara received a box from FedEx. It also had a letter in it. It said:

Sara you are beautiful. I think the future of the business your husband wants to sell depends a lot on you. Here is a new dress. Let's see how you look in it and how it affects business. I want you to wear the dress and the boots you had the other night; nothing else. Let's see how this goes, and maybe we can talk more about the business."

Sara was shocked and outraged. She showed the box and letter to her husband, hoping he would tell her to throw the dress away and Sam could shove the letter up his ass.

"Sara, this may be our chance to get out of this business. Why don't you humor him and see how this plays out?" Joe asked. Sara was shocked her husband had not backed her up. She was alone.

Dejected, Sara went to open the box. The box had some long grey silk stockings that went up to just below her crotch. The dress buttoned down the front. The hem did not reach her thumbs when her arms were down. The top had been outrageously designed. The top had been designed to work as a bra, but the front did not go high enough to cover her nipples. The back had wide straps that went over her back and attached with Velcro tabs to the front on each side of her arms. Her front was pretty much exposed. The last garment was a lacy, almost transparent bolero top. It had no sleeves and went halfway down her torso. There were no buttons. It was stiff enough to hang straight down. Sara would not be able to move her arms much without revealing her breasts. Sara tried the clothes on long enough to see what was going on, then shoved it all back in the box and threw it into the closet.

Joe heard the noise and had a good idea she was angry. When she came down, he said: "Honey, this may be our only chance to get out of this deal. I hope you will consider doing what he says."

Sara was angry, humiliated at the idea, and struggled with despair at the situation she was in. The next morning went fast. She worked a few hours at the Diner. When she got to work, Joe told her that Sam had booked the entire restaurant for the night. It would be a private party. Sara sat at home that afternoon, depressed at her orders. She sat on the bed looking at the box. She knew she had to do it, but could not overcome her humiliation to even get started.

Finally, it started to get dark. Sara could see lights and hear a few cars arriving. It was a Tuesday night, not a lot of people would be out anyway. What kind of party would this be? Sara could hardly move her hands as she forced herself to open the box. She took off her clothes and put on the silk stockings. She had never dressed without any panties. She refused to look in the mirror until she had her dress, bolero and high heeled sued shoes on. She crossed her legs to zip them up and finally looked in the mirror.

The image in the mirror would have been provocative and stunning on somebody else. Sara knew what the mirror didn't show; no panties; no bra; bare breasts behind that bolero. Once you knew, you could see the outlines of her long stem pink nipples through the fine, transparent lace bolero.

Sara combed her long reddish brown hair down her back. She braided thin strands on each side of her temples, and clipped them behind her to hold her hair out of her face. Sara put her mother's long double strand of pearls around her for psychological cover. They extended down to the middle of her abs.

Sara forced herself to put one foot in front of the other; out the front door; and up to the Diner. When she opened the door, her heart stopped. There was one table in the center of the room with Sam as the only guest. Her husband was standing near the kitchen door waiting to cook whatever Sam wanted.

Both men stared at Sara. She was stunning; panties or not; bra or not. Of course, her husband had no idea what was under the dress or bolero. Sara walked hesitatingly over to her husband, searching for assurance that they were still together on this. She had hoped he would have a change of heart; not so.

"Honey, you look spectacular. I don't see what you were so upset about." Joe looked admiringly at her. She stared back into his eyes, searching. Sara stood there, motionless. Then, Joe understood. Gradually he realized that nothing was keeping the bolero in place other than her stationary posture. Any movement would reveal at least one nipple or the other. Sara shuddered, fighting back tears of humiliation as she stood with her hands to her sides.

Joe caught himself. He tried to slowly remind them that they had no choice if they wanted to get away from this diner. "You look great, honey. Let's just get through this."

Jenny turned like a zombie; picked up a menu and walked over to Sam. Unable to speak, she laid the menu in front of him. "What would you like to drink?" she stuttered robotically.

"You look absolutely stunning, Miss Sara." Sam meant it. He spread the white linen napkin on his lap and stared at her. His eyes fell to her breasts. He picked up the serrated steak knife; lifted it slowly and used it to raise the front edge of her bolero. The dress supported the bottoms of her breasts and held them up magnificently. Her long-stemmed pink nipples peeked over the edge and jiggled to reflect her nervousness. Sara knew not to offend him by pulling back. Her face turned red as she met his gaze. She dared not look over at her husband, who she knew was just a few feet away watching.

Sam's gaze swept slowly down the length of her short silk dress. There were only a few buttons from her crotch to the hem. Sam extended the point of the razor sharp knife against the lowest button. It skittered across the oak floor creating the only noise in the room. Sam raised the knife a few inches. Another button bounced loudly across the room. There was only one more button that concealed the lower edge of her crotch from view. Her husband could almost hear the threads separate as he cut through and sent another button dancing noisily across the floor.

Sara's face turned beet red with humiliation as he used the point to pull the garment out away from her. Sara was beautifully tanned from hours reading in her bikini down by the river. The decorative lace tops of her stockings and her Coppertone abs framed her trimmed vagina beautifully. She had shaved her pubic hair into a "landing strip" configuration above her pouty lips. From that point on down, she was bare. He didn't pull all of her dress away; just enough to get the idea; just enough to humiliate her in front of her husband. Joe could see what Sam was doing. Joe could see that she was standing there accepting the humiliation being piled on her.