another I have not read... but read some of his in the past and they were good
******* Wife
by neff trebor
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 *******'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 *******. 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 ****** 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 ******* 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 *******'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 *******'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 *******?" Her ******* 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.
******* Wife
by neff trebor
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 *******'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 *******. 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 ****** 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 ******* 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 *******'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 *******'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 *******?" Her ******* 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.
