Karen’s Way

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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

My wife Karen grew up on a farm in the Midwest. Her parents were good wholesome folks who kept her sweetly shy and innocent of big city ways until she moved to the city to live with her sister after she graduated high school. She didn’t wear fancy clothes or makeup, and she actually looked kind of plain when I first met her a month after she arrived in the city.

I thought she was nice, anyway, and we started going out. I wasn’t any great stud in the looks department, myself, so I didn’t feel like I was doing her any favor. It didn’t take me too long to realize it was the other way around. Karen was beautiful. Gradually, her big sister was teaching her how to wear makeup and prettier clothes. The transformation was amazing.

One night, we were making out in her sister’s apartment. It was the first time I got her bra off. I almost swallowed my tongue when I saw those gorgeous breasts. I knew then that Karen was one of Nature’s rare perfections. I fell wildly in love with her beauty.

Two weeks later, I asked her to marry me. I don’t know why she said yes. Maybe she would have felt guilty about our heavy petting if she didn’t. Whatever the reason, we were married when she was still a month short of her nineteenth birthday. I was five years older, but maybe just as inexperienced. I think I married her because I realized I could never find another girl as beautiful as Karen that would look at me twice. It probably wasn’t the best motivation to start a lifetime together, but that’s the way it happened.

Actually, we were very lucky. We got along just fine. I kind of put her on a pedestal. I worked hard and earned enough to support our little apartment and send Karen to secretarial school. Looking back on that time, it was heaven. I’d rush home every night to a nice supper Karen would have waiting. We’d stay home and watch TV, or I’d help with her homework. And every day, she grew more beautiful.

Strangely, that was the seed of our biggest problem. Secretarial school was filled with young girls whose fondest dream was to get out of school and land a job where they could hook a rich, handsome young exec. They were experts at the arts of seduction. Whatever Karen had not learned from her sister, these girls filled in. To make matters worse, there was a not-so-subtle competition among them to outshine one another in terms of face, figure, clothes and flat-out sexiness. It wasn’t long before Karen was the acknowledged winner, by far the prettiest and sexiest of them all. Of course, that meant she had to wear the clothes and makeup to fit the part.

She didn’t seem to mind. The transformation from the shy, plain farm girl was nearly complete, and I was having trouble with it. Karen was so obviously beautiful and sexy, we couldn’t step out the door without her attracting an overload of lustful male attention. I’d see the looks in their eyes and it would tear me up. My stomach would feel like it was twisted into knots. I hated going out, but I was afraid to let her go alone. So I ended up absorbing a lot of that kind of torture. Karen ate it up.

It didn’t help that I felt completely inadequate to sexually satisfy my beautiful young wife. Karen’s appetites had blossomed into an irresistable river of need, a major element of her raw animal attraction. My own urges were confused and overwhelmed by it. It put her on a level I could never reach. Our sex was weak and unfulfilling. Frustration fed on itself and grew into an awful emptiness between us.

About the time she finished secretarial school, I got a great job as head financial honcho of Johnson Molded Forms, a small plastics firm. The pay wasn’t much, and I only had one old spinster bookkeeper for a staff, but I ran the books of the company – billing, payroll, accounts, payables, taxes; everything. With that kind of responsibility under my belt, I knew I would grow with the company.

We were hoping it would help us get out of our shoebox apartment, but it wasn’t enough. When I figured out what we’d need for the down payment and monthly mortgage, it looked like we’d have to save for another three or four years and I’d need big raises right along to afford a decent house. Karen looked over my figures, just as disappointed.

“Wait a minute,” she said, brightening. “You forgot me. I can earn something, too. That should help.”

My heart rose into my throat. I didn’t want her to get a job. I wanted her home, where I could keep her all to myself. But I couldn’t tell her that. All I said was: “Oh, yeah. Maybe it would.”

I plugged in a minimal secretary’s income and it made a big difference. With Karen working, it looked like we could afford our first house in less than a year. She was thrilled, and promised to sign up at the school’s job placement office the next day.

Then she went for her first interview. It killed me to see her go off in her short skirt and translucent white blouse. She looked very business-like, I’m sure, but there wasn’t any question about her qualifications. I doubt if the guy who interviewed her even bilecik escort asked her to type. When she came home crying because the pig had tried to feel her up, I lost it. I wanted to kill the son-of-a-bitch. Then I wanted to sue him for harrassment. Karen wouldn’t let me do either. But it was the end of the interviews.

Karen calmed down the next day, and told me I was overreacting. “How am I going to get a job if I don’t go out on interviews?” she asked, logically enough.

“I don’t care,” I countered. “I’m not exposing you to that again.”

“Great. That’s just fine. Then you find me a job where I don’t have to interview. ‘Cause I’m going to work. I didn’t break my nails on those typewriter keys for two years to sit home in this dumpy little apartment and mend your socks.”

I didn’t know what to do. It scared the hell out of me when Karen got her back up like that. But I didn’t want her going into some strange office, where she’d be leered at and pawed like some kind of plaything. I was between the proverbial rock and hard place.

Amazingly, fate came to my rescue. Mitch Connors, the VP of Sales at Johnson Forms advertised a position for a secretary. Theoretically, Mitch was my peer, even though he made about five times what I did. I thought it might be a safe place for Karen. Mitch seemed to be a decent guy, and I could keep an eye on her.

What a colossal mistake. Mitch took one look at Karen and his eyes lit up like a kid’s at Christmas. I knew it was trouble from that minute on, but I was caught. I’d asked him to consider Karen. When he said he’d hire her, what could I say: ‘No thanks; just kidding. I don’t like the gleam in your eye.’?

So Karen went to work for Mitch Connors in our little office. From my cubbyhole I could see her at her desk outside Mitch’s door, and it was a revelation. I had never realized our company was such a hotbed of lust. Of course, it all swirled around Karen. Every day I was treated to the exquisite torture of watching the salesmen pass her desk on their way into Mitch’s office. They never failed to stop and chat, probably flirt a bit, maybe drop a suggestive comment. And of course Karen would smile and blush and send them on their way with a nice eyeful of legs and cleavage.

As bad as it was watching the parade of leering salesmen, the scenes my imagination churned up when Karen was out of my sight were worse. Every morning and every afternoon, Mitch would take her into his office for an hour at a time, carefully closing the door behind him so they would not be disturbed. Sometimes my mind played tricks during those hours. I would hear moans and cries of ecstasy, and my blood would freeze until I realized it was only the wheezing of our ancient air conditioner.

Karen didn’t help the situation. From her training at the secretarial school, she was already well practiced at the arts of seductive dress and grooming. And with the attention she was getting from Mitch’s corps of randy salesmen, she just kept pushing the boundaries. In fact, I thought she pushed it way too far. One day she wore a micro-mini with sheer black stockings that barely reached the hem of the skirt. She had to arrange her legs very carefully when she sat, or show off her tender thighs above the stockings. Her blouse was cut extremely low, so that her cleavage was always on display, and when she leaned forward, it pulled away to expose her translucent lace bra. I told her she was starting to look more like a whore than a secretary. She just laughed and called me a prude. Clearly, she loved the attention. What was not yet clear was the fact that Karen was also getting off on tormenting me. It took me a long time to admit that to myself, even after it was obvious.

Part of the reason it took me so long to recognize it, was the fact that she wasn’t having an affair or even seeking one. She just liked to show off and tease. I kept telling myself it wasn’t meant to hurt; it was just her excess sexual energy finding an outlet. I was overreacting. My own inadequacy was making me pathologically jealous. I made a hundred excuses for her, but it got harder to excuse as her behavior became more and more extreme.

It wasn’t just in the office, either. For instance, she basically stopped wearing panties, and she made sure I knew it. With her short skirts, that knowledge lent an air of sexual tension to every move she made when we were out in public. One time at the mall, we took a break from shopping and sat down on one of the benches. Karen was tired and sprawled carelessly. Her skirt rode well up her legs, which were casually parted to make room for the bag she dropped between her feet. Quickly calculating the angles, I realized her pussy was probably visible to anyone walking toward us along the mall. Fortunately, it was late on a weeknight, and no one was in the line of sight. I started to say something to Karen, but stopped cold when I saw her expression. Her lips were parted in a taunting half-smile as she turned manisa escort toward me. Her eyes sparkled with excitement and her breasts rose and fell quickly with her breathing. She was keenly aware of her little exhibition. Just then, three young men emerged from a store not more than thirty yards away and began walking straight at us, talking and joking with each other.

“What were you going to say?” Karen asked mildly, making no effort to close her legs or pull her skirt into place.

I couldn’t answer. I looked from Karen to the three young men. One of them suddenly stopped in shock, staring straight at my wife’s naked pussy. It hit me like a dagger in the heart. I turned back to Karen and searched her eyes, my jaw hanging slack.

“Oh, you always do that,” she laughed, “start to say something and forget what it was in the middle.” Her voice was loud and bright, purely for the benefit of her audience.

The three young men passed us, suddenly silent. I could not look at them again, or at Karen. My eyes wandered to a trash receptacle in a fancy box. The message on the box said: “It’s your mall. Keep it clean.” I read it over and over without making any sense of it.

Another time, we were hanging around on a Saturday morning. Karen was still in her nightgown, reading the paper and drinking coffee. I was in the bedroom getting dressed when I heard a knock at the front door. I had one leg of my pants on, but I started to hop toward the door. I was afraid Karen would answer it and take the opportunity to show off her sexy nightgown. I was too slow. Karen got there first. Just as I got to the bedroom door, I saw her at the other end of the hall, opening the front door just wide enough to see who it was.

“Yes?” she said, peering around the door. The outlines of her body were clear through the flimsy material of her shorty nightgown.

“Good morning, ma’am,” I heard a man’s voice drawl through the cracked door. “My name is Eugene Moore and I’m here with an unusual opportunity for you and your neighbors to subscribe to some of today’s premier periodical publications at the lowest rates ever offered, and at the same time – at no extra cost – to provide an important contribution to one of this country’s most worthy charitable organizations, the Christian Love Foundation for the Worthy Poor. I wonder if you could spare me a few moments of your valuable time to hear the details of this truly wonderful offer?”

I should have strode down the hall and slammed the door in his face, but I couldn’t. The scene that was about to unfold was as clear to me as if it had already happened. I silently closed the bedroom door to a crack and continued to watch with perverse fascination.

“Well …” Karen hesitated, “I guess I could.” She opened the door and faced the man, Eugene Moore.

I could see his face over Karen’s shoulder. He was a small man, no more than five nine, and thin, probably in his early thirties. But his washed out rat face had the used-up look of an alcoholic or drug addict, deeply lined, with small close-set eyes and stained crooked teeth.

His eyes widened momentarily as they registered Karen’s near nakedness. He started to say something, but his mouth forgot what it was and hung slack. An instant later, his features slid back into their accustomed oily smile. “I … I thank you, ma’am,” he managed to stammer, having practiced it a thousand times. “I know you’ll find it well worth your while. Uh … is your husband at home today?”

“Oh, yes. But I think he’s dressing, or taking a bath. Would you like to come in.”

“Um … yes. I …”

But Karen had turned away and was leading him into the living room. He watched her back and swung the door shut behind him. Even though Karen had passed out of my sight, I knew he could clearly see the outline of her naked body as the bright windows of the living room turned her nightgown transparent. The view was mirrored in his face, in the urgent expression of his lust, an expression that chilled me to the bone.

The salesman disappeared from the front hall, following Karen. Silently, I moved back into the bedroom, put on a shirt and finished buttoning up my pants. I padded softly back out into the hall and peeked around the frame of the arch leading into the living room. Karen was on the couch, facing me. Eugene Moore sat across the coffee table from her, his back to me. Karen looked directly into my eyes and gave no indication that she saw me. She could have said ‘here’s my husband,’ but I knew she wouldn’t. She wanted me to watch, and it would be better if the salesman didn’t know that I was.

Karen was sitting carefully upright, her knees pressed firmly together. The little nightgown was doing its best to cover. It had lace bands at her breasts and waist that prevented the darkness of her nipples and pubic patch from showing clearly through the gauzy material. But, even standing, the gown barely reached her upper thighs, and seated as she was, the hem mersin escort extended just far enough over her lap to keep her pussy out of sight.

I felt as if I was seeing her through the eyes of Eugene Moore. I had lounged complacently beside her all morning, but suddenly, she filled the air with a crackling erotic tension that caught in my chest and pounded in my ears. A damp trickle of fear ran down my back. At the same time, there was no denying the stirring in my crotch.

The salesman had gone back to his pitch, gesturing over some brochures laid out on the coffee table. I listened to his stilted southern drawl and ground my teeth in frustration. How could Karen give herself to someone so repulsive?

” … and remember,” fifty percent of your subscription rate goes directly to the Christian Love Foundation, helping them provide the basic necessities of life for those poor unfortunates who, through no fault of their own, cannot provide for themselves.

“Now, I know you could probably use several of these informative and entertaining periodicals, but you’ve probably been put off by the high newsstand prices. Well I’m here to tell you, you don’t need to pay anything like those prices. If I can’t save you fifty percent over the newstand, I’m not even going to offer you the magazine. In most cases I can save you as much as seventy percent. Now what do you say to that?”

Karen smiled. “It sounds good. What’s the catch – you only sell a bunch of boring old farm journals, or something?”

“Absolutely no catch. We’ve got every kind of magazine you could name, from the Ladies Home Journal to Playboy.”

“Playboy!” she giggled. “Oh, my husband might like that.”

There was a pause while Eugene Moore quickly calculated. “I can’t see why he’d want to look at Playboy, ma’am, with you right here in his house.”

“Mr. Moore,” she chided playfully. “You aren’t trying to say I could compete with those Playboy models, are you?”

“No ma’am,” he replied. “I’m saying they’d have a hard time to compete with you.”

Karen looked surprised for a moment, then giggled. “Oh, Mr. Moore. You’re certainly full of it, aren’t you? Do you really think I could be a Playboy bunny?” She put her hands behind her head and struck a mock pose.

From Moore’s point of view it must have looked as if she was staring off into space, but her eyes were looking straight into mine, reveling in my anguish. Eugene Moore made a small strangled gasp. Raising her hands to her head had lifted the ruffled hem of her nightgown from her lap, plainly revealing dark tufts of pubic hair in the junction of her legs and torso.

Eugene Moore swallowed hard as Karen’s arms dropped to her sides and the hem of her nightgown fell back over her pubic patch. “Ma’am,” he said earnestly, “I honestly do believe you could work for Playboy, or any other magazine if you had a mind to.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Moore. You’re awfully sweet. Now, what were you saying?”

“Oh. Yeah. Um … I guess we were trying to decide which of these magazines you and your husband might be interested in. Here’s the list.” He spread out one of the brochures. “As you can see, it’s a pretty extensive selection.”

Karen leaned forward and studied the brochure. This action allowed the loose neck of her nightgown to fall away, providing Moore and me with a clear view of her lovely breasts. Moore was close enough to reach out across the coffee table and touch them. Karen went over the list carefully, shifting gradually from left to right, insuring that Moore could carefully examine each of her gorgeous tits.

“Well, I see a couple we might like, but I’m not sure we can afford them,” she said, still leaning over the brochure. She looked up to Moore’s face, finally forcing his eyes to shift from her sweet chest.

“I, uh … Let me tell you about our easy payment plan,” Moore sputtered, trying to force his mind back to the selling task at hand.

Karen slowly sat up, listening. Her gown again covered her breasts, and Moore was able to recite his payment plan. Karen’s smile encouraged him. At the same time it spoke clearly to me, saying I’m not through yet. Watch what I come up with next!

It may have been that smile that finally awakened me to the streak of cruelty that ran through her teasing. Suddenly I knew she would not be through until she had destroyed my last shred of self-respect, and that she would enjoy the course of it every step of the way. Even this revelation, however, could not dull the shock of her next move.

As she listened to Moore spout the figures and terms of the payment plan, Karen cocked her head playfully, as if it was all very interesting, but way beyond her. Then she raised her foot and placed it on the couch and leaned her cheek on her knee. This opened her sweet pussy to Moore’s astonished gaze. Her pussy lips pouted, plump and wet and open, as if awaiting his kiss.

I felt like I had never seen such aching sweetness before. Suddenly, I was monstrously hard, my balls aflame with an unfamiliar throbbing pulse. I retreated to the bedroom in sickness and confusion. I lay on the bed with my head spinning. Outrageous scenes of Karen and Eugene Moore played through me like electricity. I couldn’t hear them, their sound in the apartment was no more than a vague and senseless murmur. Twice, Karen’s high laugh cut through.

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