Jenny Marie Stephens was a pure, unsuspecting victim. She just didn't know it yet as she studied her watercolor. She was on her third try of the blown-up view of the purple cannas. Jenny was in a unique position as an artist.

Some of the better artists her age had been much better when they were all young, but were making a living at it. At some point, the better ones had come to a stage where they had begun to develop a formula. They were able to use their level of skill to put out large volumes of paintings that were good, but they were not challenging themselves to improve. Just roll out the paintings and collect money.

Jenny, on the other hand, had struggled all her life to improve. She was fortunate to have been married to an older, businessman, who had insisted that she stay home to take care of their daughter. Although it was a financial struggle, she was able to stay at home, exercise, take care of their daughter, and paint. She often made seven or eight black and white sketches, color studies and alternating studies of each subject she was trying to paint.

As a result, finally at the age of forty, she was beginning to get reasonable recognition for her work. She had been inducted into the National Watercolor Society and several other organizations.

Marcel Robidoux was another matter. He had been kicked out of medical school for performing several inhumane experiments. He had been released from an IT consultant's office for some questionable business practices. Never-the-less, he was close to being a genius. The man had gone through college on a track scholarship. He was an Olympic caliber high-jumper, hurdler and 800 meter runner. "The Black Onyx," as he was called was always in the headlines; sometimes for taking indecent liberties with women; sometimes for outrageous wins against nationally ranked competition.

Women were terrified and also drawn to him. For the last few years, he had completely fallen off the radar as far as recognition went. Nobody had seen him for several years. It would be hard to miss this six-foot, six inches tall athletic savage.

People like the Ted Kacznski, the Unabomber, who chose to live in virtual isolation in a 10'-0" by 20'-0" cabin in Montana, Marcel chose to hide in plain sight.

The University Hospital, right in the middle of town was huge. It was the largest single employer in the state, with 20,000 employees. The Hospital was well over a hundred years old. It had grown from a small teaching college to a megalith that covered several city blocks. The state was continually adding space to the building. One day it would be funding a million dollars for a neutron microscope, the next, they had to spend more than that for the space to put it in. The slightest change in air-conditioning currents would blow the specimen off of the slide.

Most large hospitals contain huge areas; even whole floors of unused space so that when technology makes the laboratory or surgery suites obsolete, they can build another on a different floor without shutting down any operations. Marcel was able to find anonymity in the massive medical metropolis, where all is required for acceptance is an identification tag. Nobody knows who you are. They do not recognize the names on the tags; only that you have one.

The complex was forever remodeling, demolishing and refurbishing one part or another of the complex. Workers were moving in and out all hours of the day. Lots of construction work was done at night, so as not to obstruct the daily functions of the hospital.

Marcel was able to go into the general maintenance and facilities department during the night. When nobody was around, he was able to write and issue change orders to construction projects that were underway. Throughout many hospitals, it is common practice to make accommodations for the many doctors that are on the floor for eighteen hours a day. There are suites, with bedrooms, kitchens, toilets, showers and television rooms. The doors are marked with the radioactive sign rather than a tag that lists it as "Doctor's Quarters." The doctors do not want it to be known where they are so they can have some privacy. They can sleep or dictate notes while they watch television.

Marcel had been able to get into the plan files with the AutoCADD Program, make changes and authorize the amounts through change orders. As long as the total for the project did not exceed 5% of the original bid, there were rarely any questions. Marcel was able to portion off the corner of a new laboratory suite for "Future Exam Room."

The space had a number of unusual items. The normally gypsum board walls had 8" studs with 5/8" gypsum on each side. The walls were stuffed with batt insulation. Several inches inside of the gypsum walls, a set of 8" concrete block walls surrounded his special suite. The cells of the block and the space between the concrete were filled with more insulation.

The doors into and out of the suite were an "airlock," with two sets of doors. The hospital floors are sixteen feet from floor to floor, so that large amounts of ductwork, tubing and many other items can be installed above the ceiling.

Marcel was able to walk on framing above the ceilings and peek into all of the other activities and install cameras above the ceilings to see what was going on.

Marcel was also able to break into the computer system of the hospital. By adding just a few cents on to each person's bill, he was able to siphon off large amounts of money into an account of his own. With his run of the computer system, the interstitial spaces above, and phantom additions to empty spaces, Marcel could do any number of things.

Finally one day he spotted Jenny bringing in her daughter for a checkup. Her daughter, Stephanie was in for her checkup. Each year the girls on the track team had to get a checkup before track season started. Stephanie was one of the better sophomores, running the 800 meters in just over 2:00 and the 1600meters in just over 11:00.

Marcel was intrigued with both of the women. Jenny was older, but spectacularly well toned. Her long reddish-brown hair was done in a French braid that cascaded down her back to just below her waist. Her dark, wire-rimmed spectacles gave her green eyes a scholarly look. Her blue, men's, oxford cloth button-collar shirt was starched and tucked into the top of her dark blue Levi Jeans. Her boot-cut jeans broke slightly at the bottom over her black, lizard skin boots.

Her daughter, Stephanie looked like they were almost twins. Her mocha-sun tan was just a little darker than her mother's. Her chocolate colored logging boots were covered at the top by the grey wool socks that were folded down over the tops; just below her knees. Her cut-off Levi shorts had been hemmed and stopped just an inch or so, past her crotch. Her reddish brown hair was braided a couple of twists just above her neck and tied off with a rubber band for a "fish-tail" braid. The braid hung down the right side of her and covered one breast. The other pink nipple seemed to thrust itself innocently through the almost transparent bra give a good suggestion of how big her cantaloupe sized breasts were.

It was a normal exam. The doctor assured her it was just a formality, and the results would be emailed to them the next day.

The following day, Jenny got some alarming news. When she opened her mail, she found that their health insurance had been canceled because of her daughter's test results. Their email said that the doctor giving the exam had found signs of cancer and was referring the family to a specialist. The doctor said that Jenny should come in to visit the specialist and he would go over the results. Jenny was stunned. They barely had money for the insurance the way it was. With any kind of bad news, they could be ruined.

Jenny was near tears when she told her husband, Joe, and asked him to go with her the next day. They had no idea that Marcel had faked the letter about the insurance being canceled. They had no idea that he had intercepted the doctor's email and changed it to include his own name as the specialist for referral.

The next day, when they went into the hospital, the receptionist found Dr. Rubidoux's name in the computer and buzzed him on his cell phone. The doctor came around the corner and introduced himself.

Jenny's blood chilled when she saw the man. She didn't know what to think of him. At 6'-6" tall, she had not ever seen such a tall and athletic black man before. Yet here he was, a doctor who potentially held their daughter's life in his hands. On the one hand, his manners and speaking were comforting; on the other hand, there was something potentially evil in his eyes. He seemed vaguely familiar. She felt she had seen those eyes before; but where?

The doctor escorted them to his office.

"Mr. and Mrs. Stephens, I have reviewed your daughter's x-rays, her blood tests and heart cardiograms. I am certain she has a concentrative heart problem and also some serious blood irregularities. My problem is that your insurance has been canceled and we, as a hospital, cannot afford to give her the treatments she needs.

Jenny was stunned. She had been braced somewhat by the letter she had received that morning. She did not know it was all Marcel's doing. "Doctor, I don't know how all of this happened. I had no idea that we had any problem with our insurance." Jenny said almost in tears.

"Well, you didn't until the results came in. Evidently the results triggered something in the computers that enabled the insurance company to cancel you before the results were official. It's like the big companies laying off somebody a month before their retirement takes effect. I am sorry, but I have no way to rectify this."

"Doctor, I don't know what options we have, but we need to do something to cover our daughter's health problems." Jenny said, trying to choke back tears."

"Well, Mrs. Stephens, it seems that you don't remember me. When we were in college, we were on competing teams. I ran for State, and you ran for the big church college nearby. We met a couple of times a year. I was always interested in you and tried to ask you out. You always giggled and said no. It would have been a big thrill for me, on scholarship from Nigeria, to go out with the prettiest girl on any of the track teams. I didn't know many people, and would have been thrilled to go out with you."

Then it hit her. He was taller now; didn't have the Mohawk haircut; and was wearing expensive shoes and slacks under the doctor's white coat. It was coming back now. Those eyes were the same; she had always sensed some evil in them. Now it was there more than ever.

"I was only eighteen, and from a small high school. Being in college was overwhelming. I wasn't giggling because I was laughing at you. I was very uncomfortable with everything. I'm so sorry if you mistook my reactions as an insult to you. It wasn't meant that way." Jenny was desperate to diffuse the situation. It was embarrassing enough for her to admit to knowing him in front of her husband.

"Well, Mrs. Stephens, it is time to make amends. You want me to ignore your lack of insurance to treat your daughter. You want me to waive thousands of dollars of fees for me and the hospital just for you. You want me to jeopardize my position here at the hospital for your family. You are going to have to make up for it some way."

Jenny was starting to tear up. What could she do to diffuse the situation?

"Stand up young lady. It's time for your exam. You are going to have to show me how much you and your husband want me to heal your daughter. Jenny's mind was racing. "Where could this be going?" she wondered as she stood.

"Take your clothes off, Mrs. Stephens."

Now Jenny understood. His long ago pent up lust for her was starting to emerge. What should she do?

"Please, Doctor; does this have to be done in front of my husband? Can't you allow me the dignity of allowing him to leave?"

"No, Mrs. Stephens; I want your husband to see what an unscrupulous woman you are. Everybody has a price. I am guessing you willing to fuck anybody for a price. Am I right?"

"No." she said. "I will not prostitute myself for anything."

Joe raised his head slowly and looked at his wife. "Honey, what choice do we have? We have no insurance and our daughter is sick." Jenny's face blanched. Her heart seemed to stop.

Her own husband was implying she should do this. Jenny slouched in her chair.

It took everything in her to stand. "What do you want me to do?" she said as she looked at the floor with her arms crossed self-consciously in front of her. She clutched her French braid like a child clutches their teddy bear during a storm.

Marcel stared at her. Without speaking, his eyes told her what to do. "Strip." They were saying.

Jenny struggled to force her arms to her collar. Slowly, her thin, shaking fingers pushed the first button through the eyelet. Once the first button was open, the rest seemed to be a little easier. Finally she had to tug her shirt up and out of the waistband of her jeans. It was time to take off the shirt.

In order to procrastinate, Jenny put the toe of one boot against the heel of the other. She pivoted the heel of her left boot loose. She sat back down on the chair and used her feet to shove the boots off.

Jenny looked up to Marcel and then over at her husband to see if maybe this charade had gone far enough. Marcel's eyes told her it wasn't even close. Jenny tried to present an air of defiance as she unbuckled the top brass button of her jeans. The air was silent with anticipation. The snap seemed to thunder in her ears. Jenny had to stand again to undo the zipper.

Her ears turned red as she drew the zipper down. She was at a crossroads now; what next, the jeans or the blouse. She bent over at the waist as she tugged the tight-fitting jeans over her hips. She sat down again to pull the jeans the rest of the way. The cool air-conditioning reminded her she had no pants. She nervously crossed her magnificently tanned legs as she slowly folded her jeans. She bent over to rearrange her boots beside her chair. She nervously placed her jeans across the top of the boots, knowing that the long men's dress shirt was next.

The already unbuttoned shirt fluttered open once it did not have the jeans to hold it together. Jenny nervously clutched the sides of her shirt, struggling with her mind, knowing what was next.

Jenny fixed her gaze at a point above Marcel's head on the wall behind him as she slowly arched her back and slid the shoulders of her shirt off of her. Jenny brought it around in front of her and clung to every second it took to delicately fold it into a neat square and place it on top of her jeans.

Jenny tried to hide her embarrassment by crossing her legs and arms in front of her. It didn't do much good. Her panties and bra were made of the nude sheer stretch fabric. She might as well have been naked for all the cover they gave her. Both Joe and Marcel could plainly see the pink nipples struggling against the sheer fabric.

"You're going to have to stand now, Mrs. Stephens." Marcel whispered.

Jenny lowered her head with her chin on her chest as she stood with her arms crossed in front of herself; one hand across her breasts and one palm over her vagina. She couldn't decide which was more emotional support; to cover her breasts or her face as she struggled not to sob.

"You're a long way from being done, Mrs. Stephens. Get with it."

Jenny could not stop the tears now, as she reached up to the clasp behind her. She bowed her head as she reached behind her. When the clasp opened, she tried to hold the sheer fabric against her, if only for the psychological barrier it presented. Jenny crossed her arms and removed the fabric. She softly folded once cup into the other and walked over to Marcel, who had his arm extended with his palm up. She handed it to him, reluctantly and embarrassingly giving him his first clear look at her melon-sized breasts. Whether it was the cool air-conditioning or her sheer terror and embarrassment, her long-stemmed coral pink nipples stuck straight out. Her Bai Ling nipples were a sight Marcel had never seen before.

Her golden sun tan and her alabaster white breasts framed the long pink nipples spectacularly. The inquisitive pink objects seemed to have a mind of their own; fearless and un-inhibited, they seemed like curious little puppies curious about their surroundings.

"Next." Marcel's eyes whispered to her.

Jenny turned to her husband, looking desperately for some way out. He had none. In fact, she thought she sensed a rise in his slacks that did not belong there.

Jenny chocked as she stuck her thumbs between her hips and the thin straps at the sides of her panties. She slid them down past her thighs. From the edge of her extended fingers, the soft transparent fabric fluttered to the floor. She stepped out of them and struggled to cover herself.

Marcel extended his arm; palm up. Humiliated, Jenny bent over to retrieve the garment. Her breasts swung out and her long braid hit the floor as she bent over. She could feel the cool air hit her between her legs. Self-consciously she put one hand behind her to hide her open butt from nobody in particular as she bent down to pick up the panties. She did not bother to fold it as she handed it to him.

Jenny stood there for some time. The room was silent for different reasons. Jenny was dying of humiliation. Marcel was reveling in his newfound power over this couple. After all these years, his fantasy was within sight. Joe stared in a mixture of despair and stupification.

Her long reddish brown hair wound down her back and back in front of her, over her right breast. Her long pink nipples were spectacular; double framed by her alabaster white breasts and again by her tanned and toned torso.

Her vagina seemed manicured. Her reddish bush must have been trimmed; thicker in the middle, but tapering in color and thickness into soft faint blonde fuzz like the cover over a Hawaiian fern. You wouldn't have to stick your nose into it to know it smelled like a baby just out of the bath and dusted with baby powder. Her clitoris was vaguely visible under the thinly trimmed downy fuzz.