Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. >Group Home by Fishman Installment 15 - Paying the Grocery Bill - How Karen Paid for It While the -party - was ongoing, I was left alone in the house. Steve disappeared almost immediately. Larry snuck out later. Where Steve went, I do not know. I never knew where he went. He often disappeared. Larry went to the bar and tried to get in. At first they barred him at the door but in the end he pestered them so much they let him sneak by and sit in a corner in the dark to watch it all. Eventually the bar owner would spy him and they would throw him out. So, it was from him that got my first report and it was, admittedly, subjective and from the point of view of a 14 year-old boy (he was actually 16, but he acted like a 14 year-old). He stomped up the stairs about midnight or so. Things had been well underway when he got there. He was not inclined to talk about it, not because he did not want to -"once he started he was effusive -"but he thought that it was shameful and some part of him still thought of Karen as his "mom" and so he was embarrassed about it, even if it also sexually aroused him. But plied with a whisky shot and beer chaser, it was easy to get him to talk. He gushed once he was tipsy. "I seen her. Naked. Not even her socks on. In the back of the bar. Under hot lights. Spotlights. Next to the restrooms and the jukebox. She looked hot. Sweaty. Squatting naked. Squatting on a bottle and fucking herself with it. They were taking pictures and laughing at her. But she didn -(TM)t care. She was fucking herself. Eyes wide open. Mouth open." His eyes were big in imagination. He was looking out in the darkness of the living room and reliving it. "Her titties bouncing -- I like that --. Bouncing like she does when she really gets going, going up and down fucking fast and ready to... you know -- Then she seen me and just stared at me -- She kept fucking.... more slowly -- I think she was going to cum -- She stared at me -- That -(TM)s when the bartender caught sight of me." "Did you see anything else?" "Yeah, I seen her clothes were all over the place -- like they -(TM)d chased her around and grabbing her, stripped her clothes off here and there, like she was trying to get away from them and didn -(TM)t want to do it. But in the end they must have got all her clothes off --" "How many men were there?" "Oh, a lot of men --" "How many?" "The bar was full of them. I dunno. They was mostly old guys. Like my grandfather. They was mostly just sitting in the dark and watching. Some took pictures of her. Flash bulbs popping from different places. And there was a young guy with a movie camera and a big light on it, shining bright on her when he took shots. A couple of the old guys were also naked under the spot lights with her, handling her -- you know, holding her, helping her to fuck the bottle and grabbing her tits, rubbing her pussy --. They wanted to fuck her, I think -- I think one of them maybe had already fucked her -~cause his prick was shiny wet and flopped about. A lot of other guys sitting in the dark had their dicks out, masturbating -- Some had their dicks just poking out of their pants, some had their pants down to their feet --" Larry went into a daze watching TV. I made myself my fourth drink of the evening. Oddly it kept me awake. I wanted to be awake when they got home. I wanted to know everything. Larry came out of his daze, blinking, and added: "I like seeing Mom naked." "Yes," I agreed. He trundled of the bed and I was alone again. I did doze off in my boozy stupor after all, because the next thing I remember was Karen, Frenchy and Jon bursting through the door with some hilarity. Karen was completely naked. Again. Naked in the street. Where were her clothes? They were so giddy and silly that it took a couple drinks to settle them down. Karen cuddled up with Frenchy on the sofa--still naked and Jon sat on the easy chair and watched TV. I watched Karen and Frenchy. That is when the conversation started and how my wife turned around and showed her ass at me and how they had fucked her rectum till it was just a big hole, wanting more cock. I could see the smear of their cum in her rectum and the dribble of it in her cunt. It gave me an immediate hard-on. I imagined all kinds of scenes. And they told it all now. They stayed up until dawn, telling me it all. Karen for her part, still completely naked, her feet up on the sofa, tucked under her legs, leaning on Frenchy who idly cupped a tit, and stroked or pulled on her nipple as they talked. Jon added comments. He got up and down for beers, until they decided it was Karen's job: they loved sending her naked to get them things; they liked how her tits wobbled when she walked into the room and the look on her face when she saw how they were looking at her. Amazingly, even after all this abuse and humiliation--how many time naked in front of these boys--she could still manage a genuine shame. Shame fed her sexual arousal, I think that was it; she really enjoyed this naked humiliation. That is why this "party" would be something special for her. As I say she stayed up with us the whole time that the story was told, nodding off some, but also coming out of seeming sleepiness to add a comment herself. Usually a plainly naïve admission that added to the sexual intensity of the description. I could not help but openly display my own erection. ******** I was asleep on my underwear on the sofa when I was awakened by their storming in with all that hilarity and excitement. My naked wife bursting into the front door with a giggle, having been forcibly pushed into the crashing threshold by one or both of them. She staggered across the room in front of me. And catching her self, smiling, obviously drunk, she bit her lip and brushed back her hair--defiantly displaying how she was naked for them; she fawned an obliging embarrassment at my stunned and disapproving or anxious stare, and covered her bald genitals with her hand but then removed it when Frenchy came in and embraced her warmly. She turned toward him as he took her into his arms, putting her hand onto his chest; she looked up into his face and he leaned to kiss her, tenderly. She kissed him back warmly. She really did love him now. Jon came in next, gave me a sarcastic look, saw by my underpants that I must have been jerking off all night, lying there thinking of what they were doing to her, and he said something sarcastic to Karen about it, who for her part seemed to ignore him. She did not like him. Though she would let him fuck her. She would suck his cock too. She did it for Frenchy. She would do anything for Frenchy. Jon turned on the TV before he headed to the kitchen. Frenchy and Karen came to sofa, his arm around her naked waist, and they sat together like lovers at the other end of the sofa, under the lamp light, where I could not help but stare fixedly at my wife's nakedness. She looked different somehow. More randy. More alluring. Obviously sexually used. I realized I could smell the sperm and her own cum strongly on her body. Across the top of her head, her hair was flecked with men's semen, like a spray of unmelting droplets of snow, and there was a smear of cum on her cheek which had dried and glued a wisp of hair to her skin. Jon returned with a bowl of cereal and flounced down on the easy chair. I don't know if it was blare of the TV--the theme song of Petticoat Junction--or it was his rude slurping of his cereal, drinking milk from the bowl, that made me feel so strangely unreal: Come ride the little train that is rolling down the tracks to the junction. Forget about your cares, it is time to relax at the junction. Lotsa curves, you bet Even more, when you get To the junction (Petticoat Junction) But the dishes, to observe, are those pretty gals, who serve, at the junction,. Petticoat Junction. The girls in the opening sequence to the show are "skinny-dipping'' in the water tower; their "petticoats" are draped over the rim of the water tower. Smiling flirtatiously. Obviously, they are naked. They knew we wanted to see them. It is always this story. The girl who wants you to see her naked, teasing you, teasing herself. "What happened?" I said. Frenchy did not reply at first. I looked over at Karen then and Karen averted her eyes from mine and turned her face away from me. You got to be kidding me, I thought. But no, she really was ashamed. Jon knew immediately what I wanted to hear and he enjoyed telling me, especially if it humiliated her or made me feel the cuckold that I was.. He put down his half-eaten cereal on the arm of the chair. He laughed: "She really thought it was going to be a birthday party." He thought of the joke and said it, though it was not his joke--one of the old geezers had used it: "And she came wearing her birthday suit for us!" I should have expected that Jon's point of view was unflattering. He always saw Karen as stupid; he always saw her as fat and willing to do sexual acts to compensate for her inadequacy. She was a "pig," as he was apt to describe her, and a helpless victim to his humiliations, but one sickly compulsively surrendering to him. Frenchy saw her more sympathetically. He delighted in her naïve sexuality, saw how she glowed with lust, how she was made more beautiful by how much men wanted her, and how much more they wanted her because she wanted to please them sexually. She was intoxicating. The more she gave, the more you wanted her to give. She was seductive. She was alluring. She was Marilyn Monroe. Between these extremes lies the truth: my wife is a willing slut; my wife is a innocent victim. She was carving it, obsessed with it, and at the same time she was humiliated, she was coerced and miserable. So, imagine, her entering the bar a little ahead of Frenchy, who holds the door open for her, and little fidgety Jon follows. She looks out of place, like she is dressed for work. She is the only woman in the place. She is fresh; she smiles brightly. She is so very young; by comparison, all these men gawking at her are well into their fifties or so. She is very pretty, they think--I don't care what Jon says. Her body is supple and lovely, whereas they are paunchy and sluggish. If any of these geezers can get it up, his prick has to get past the blubber of his big belly and if that old prick has any staying power at his age, it's only because he can't cum as quickly as a young man can and maybe can't even cum at all. Still, all these geezers get chubby dicks just imagining the things they can do to her, as she walks into the bar. Like the light went on, when she first appeared. For a brief spell, she was the fairy-tale princess. She was happy. But the mood changed. The purpose of this party, of course, was to humiliate her sexually--let's not forget. So, her briefly beautiful bewitching presence was soon darkened over by their intent. They saw her as a vulnerable victim. She was not here to be lovingly seduced. She was here to be force-fucked like a slut. To be dominated. To be compelled. That is why they demanded anal intercourse from her: she would get fucked how they wanted to fuck her--like the pig she is--and she will yield to lubricious depravity in meek and wanton and wallowing submission; she will take their pricks and ejaculations deep in her asshole and she will want them. The bartender greeted Frenchy with a backslap, and a sidelong leer at Karen. Jon went to the nearest barstool and snatched some free peanuts, taking in the crowd. Like Karen he was out of place too. Mr. Hansen and our landlord stepped out of a booth against the wall and made pleasantries with Karen. She was the guest of honor, they would have her believe. "Happy Birthday," said the landlord. "Thank you," said my wife. "How old are you?" "Twenty-one." "Hey, Sparky, get the girl a drink. What will you have, dear?" "I don't know. I don't drink very much." "Really --. Well, tonight, you will need the courage that vodka gives the Cossacks -- A vodka and seven-up, I think, Sparky.... Strong --" "You bet," said Sparky. His real name was Joe, but he was former boxer and had lost some of his brains in the ring. Hence, to call him "sparky" was a joke in a way. But this is how it began. Nicely. A pleasant birthday party. Sparky served Karen a good stiff drink. She was the guest of honor. Mr. Hansen and the landlord would take her around the room and introduce her politely and formally to all the men in the bar. The bar was in fact a single room, a long rectangle, alonf one side of which ran the long bar itself, the oldest furniture in the place, probably from the last century, all one solid piece of maple. To the other side were more recently installed Naugahyde-benched booths with built in tables, U shapes abutting the wall in a series of five or so; they had been installed in the early Fifites to encourage the man to bring his wife to the bar, but they turned out to be an enclave for the men getting away from the wives. Few women ever came to this bar. Between the booths and the bar was a row of a few table rounds and bent-wood chairs, also from another century. The men were kind. They wished her a happy birthday. Asked her how old she was and so one. But never asked her about the Group Home. She noticed that. They knew Frenchy. Nodding at him. They must have known about the Group Home. Several of them, she knew. She had seen them at Hansen's where they might come in to gab and stand about smoking cigarettes. She had seen them sitting on the bus bench on the corner outside Hansen's, though they were not waiting for the bus. Most of the men were not familiar to her. But even these strangers seemed to have heard things about her and sometimes said so when they were introduced. Their little remarks, and more especially how they gawked and leered, winked and nudged each other on some private aside, made Karen feel awkward and embarrassed, although she could not say why. Well, she could have said why, if she had thought about it, but she preferred denying what she knew to be the reason for her "party." She was the "party." She would be the "fun." Frenchy said: "She did not fool me one bit." He could see that she was anticipating. She was already flushed. As for Jon, he did not notice or care; he was downing his second beer and watching a ball game on the TV behind the bar. He didn't even notice when they started to take off her clothes. Before the third table---they had started at the front of the bar and were systematically moving along, taking each bunch of men in order-_-I wondered: was there some hierarchy here? Did the ones at the back of the bar pay more for their seats?---Well, regardless, when they reached the middle of the bar and headed to the last two booths and the last two table rounds before the open space at the back of the bar where a spotlight shown down on the front of the jukebox between the mens and ladies restrooms, Mr. Hansen introduced Karen nicely to privileged group and as he spoke about her, stepped in front of her, and casually unbuttoned her blouse. She looked over at the eager men to whom she was being introduced, smiling naively, a bit flustered perhaps, but said nothing about what Hansen was doing. She held herself in a relaxed posture. Hansen continued to unbutton her blouse, pulling it out of her skirt waist, he finished the last two buttons, and as he was talking, explaining how Karen was the Group Home mom for Frenchy (who looked on grinning) and Jon (who had not noticed what was happening), he stepped around behind her, and looking over her shoulder, as Karen looked to the rapt gaze of the men before her, he drew her blouse off her shoulders, down her arms, and dropped it on the floor. Karen must have blushed. Frenchy said so but he also said she tried to act like nothing at all had happened. She did this--I had seen it before--going "blank," she called it -- forgetting it all, just letting herself go. That blank and wide-eyed stare, the look of surprise and confusion, but a not so innocent realization showing in her color, in a bite of lip, in the avoidance of someone's gaze, casting her eyes down, ashamed. ***** "Why did you let him?" I asked her. She did not reply, and closed her eyes, her nestled forehead against Frenchy's forearm Frenchy said: "What was she gonna do about it, dad?" He kissed her forehead and squeezed her tit: "I mean, really --" ***** Before the next group of men Hansen continues his patter: "This here is Mrs. H******s; she is Frenchy's Group Home mom; she's just turned 21 and come down to celebrate with us; she wants us to help her become a real woman." Guffaws. Muttering. And as he talks he stands beside her and deliberately unfastens the top of her skirt and unzips it in a slow tug and then just lets it fall to her feet and she faces the men whose eyes drop to her crotch, wearing only bra, underpants and panty hose. She does not lift her arms. She looked stunned or drunk and does not acknowledge her exhibition in any way. Moving her to the next and the last table and booth, she has to consciously step out of her skirt and she nearly trips, but Hansen catches her, and guides her; she fidgets a little, bites her lip, clutching her hands in front of her. But says nothing to complain or object. Does nothing to resist. ***** I am wondering if she is drunk. Frenchy shakes his head and when he is telling me about it he comments: "She wasn't that drunk, Dad... she knew what was going on... I mean, what you think? He's taking her clothes off and she's letting him do it..." ***** Now before the last group, Hansen has her turn herself about and then stops her and, taking her shoulders, he positions her and again, keeping up his recitation of who she is and why she is here--now he adds the detail that she is come to let them fuck her in the butt and probably suck some dick--he smartly unfastens her bra at her back. With glittering eyes, she looks up brazenly into the eyes of the men ogling her, as Hansen slips his fingers into the straps of the bra and teases them to slither off her shoulders, so that the cups of her bra glide forward and then her bra drops to the floor in front of her, exposing to them her naked breasts, her wide wine-colored nipples. Pouting. Aroused. Their eyes keenly observe, then rise to see her look away from their gaze. Hansen grabs her arms and pulls them back to thrust out her tits. Karen looks surprised. This show of force pleases the men who make some remarks. Hansen turns her roughly to show her to others in the room, to turn herself so that everyone in the bar can see her now bare-breasted. Even Jon has pivoted on his bar stool to watch. She is submissive to Hansen. She is turned several deliberate increments--everybody gets a full on look and a side view--tits, nipples-- she looks up to face of Mr. Hansen like a puppy. He steps in front and cups her tits and leans over and sucks up her nipples, one after the other, wetting them and drawing them out to the glare of the light. He straightens again with a nod to the group in front of him; her distended nipples glistens. He looked down into Karen's up-turned apprehensive face and swept his hand dismissively toward the back of the room and to place under a sort of spotlight that beamed onto the floor in front of the jukebox between the doors of the men's and women's restroom. She preceded him to the spot and turned back meekly to face crowd; eyes wide; Hansen kept his distance for a moment, a smug look on his face; he said something over his shoulder and many laughed. In her underpants and pantyhose now, she clasps her hands in front of herself and Hansen sauntered now to where she is spotlighted. He stepped behind her, larding over her her, looking down over her shoulders at her pointy tits, and she, feeling awkward and ashamed, screwed her eyes back up toward her face. He stared hard at her. He looked down at her tits. "Nice tits, Mrs. H******s." She naturally blushed. Again, gravely, if maybe mockingly, strutting around her as she stood in her underpants under the spotlight, assessing my wife's near nakedness, approving of it with some contempt and a knowing wink to the crowd, Hansen called out: "You guys ain't gonna believe this..... Something Frenchy done special just for us.... I ain't seen this but once in France at a whore house during the War.... Gerry here..." (he craned to find him in the darkness of the bar) "... he seen it in the store for himself... when she came and stripped in the store..." "Yeah," said Gerry from the back of the bar some where. You..." he pointed to our landlord. "You come do the honors... Strip her naked now..." It had been arranged. No doubt the landlord had paid extra for the privilege. Droit du Seigneur. Like in medieval times, the Right of the Lord's First Night. He would be the one to strip her, to see her naked. The first feel her nakedness. The first one to put his prick her mouth, the first one to spend his cum in her mouth. The first one to fuck her in her rectum. He begins with leering and teasing to peel the pantyhose off her buttock and then reaching in front, off her belly, drawing the sides off her hips and then pausing where the waist of the pantyhose pinched at the tops of her thighs, and beneath her to stop and expose her white cotton underpants. Everybody had stood up now. They had come to gather near the edge of the light and stood--some of them--not more than three freet from her, the landlord behind her, grinning, sweating seriously. Frenchy said he thought he'd have a heart attack. Karen stood still, submissively, head lowered, turned aside. Awkwardly displayed. "Show 'em," Hansen said. And the landlord grinned and nodded. Karen looked up into the shadowed faces. The landlord nodded again and swiftly, suddenly, like he meant to tear them off, jerked her underpants down to her crotch, exposing her buttock to him and to the men gawking in front her bare shaved genitals. Pink and plump and gleaming with the baby oil that Frenchy had so lovingly annointed her. There followed a hushed study of her nakedness. The obscenity of her silly exposure to them was exagerated by the humiliating bunching up of her underpants and pantyhose--which she made no effort to correct, though she was ashamed--and accentuated the way in which that bunching made her things look more fleshy, made the bump od her cunt stand out. Finally the land lord, squatting behind her, huffing and puffing, drew down her pantyhose and underpants in a mass, turning them inside out as they loosened about her knees and then limply slipping on her calves they came to bunch at her feet. Karen looked down and lifted her feet to assist him in stripping her pantyhose away from her. He let them go, all bunched up, like some wad, and stood up straight. Again, Karen scanned the shadowy faces, blushing. Flushed sexually or ashamed. Which? By his right, the landlord now put his hands on her buttock and put his fingers between the crack of her butt to probe her wet cunt. Karen said nothing. She did not resist. ***** I asked her: "Weren't you embarrassed? To get naked like that -- in front of all those men?" Karen looked back at me pathetically from Frenchy's shoulder. She sighed. "I mean the landlord especially --. You know him! He has come here many times to fix things -- What were you thinking --. undressing in front of him?" "Nah, she liked it," grinned Frenchy. "Really?" I asked her. She sighed and Frenchy said to her: "Tell him, Mom." She turned her face away again, buried it into Frenchy's shoulder. She would not say it. Frenchy slapped her bare buttock smartly and laughed out loud. "I told you," he said to me. Then having left his hand on her buttock, he winked at me and glided his long fingers along and into the crack of her butt, obviously inserting his fingers into her cunt and feeling her there to give her pleasure. She said nothing but I could hear the sounds of his fingers in the sloppy wetness there. He liked making the sound, teasing me, embarrassing her. Or was she embarrassed or aroused? This is not the woman I married. ***** Hansen pointed triumphantly and emphatically at her exposed genitals and said: "See! Look at that! Do you believe it?" Standing up straight, completely naked now, brushing back the hair that had fallen in her face, brushing it behind her shoulders, she stepped away from where her underpants lay and stood facing them, dropping her arms against her body, hands lightly on to tops of her thighs. Several men whistled the fabled wolf call. Others commented on what they saw. Some thanked Hansen. All stared. Almost disbelieving. Maybe surprised but obviously very pleased. "Didn't I tell you?" Hansen said proudly, staring himself at her bald slit bump--the hint of vaginal flesh between those plump lips. It is true, you see: in those by-gone innocent times of the Sixties and Seventies you never saw a naked woman the way my wife stood there naked for them. Not only because she was completely naked, head to toe naked, no socks, nothing--I mean even strippers never got completely naked-- no self-respecting woman, not even your own wife, would let herself stand completely naked like that under such a harsh glaring light, so that her nakedness could be seen so candidly, so clearly, so ruthlessly. But no--that's not what stunned them. It was rather her bald sex that made her nakedness so obscene. She had no pubic hair at all. As Hansen had advertised. Hairless: like a little girl. Like an innocent little girl. In those days, you might only have seen some prepubescent girl hairless down there, like maybe in some nudie magazine--and even then they always airbrushed it to blur the details of her genitals; but you never ever saw a grown-up woman bare like that. Hell, I those days women didn't even trim their pubic hair and generally were ashamed to have you look between their spread legs. Only sluts showed those parts to men. It was easy to see the appeal of it: why on the report of it some of these men had paid a bonus to see my wife take off her clothes for them. Forget all the rest of it. The sex and all. They would have paid just to look at her naked like this. Naked, my wife looked awkwardly like some ambiguous blend of a little girl and a grown woman-- ripe naughty tits on top, aching for touch, but below her waist, in the warmth of her womanly lap, cleaving her thighs, her vulnerable untouched little girl genitals. The contrast made her look innocent and randy at the same time. Karen looked especially innocent and randy, as she was presented naked to them, because--just before they had come to the bar in middle of our living room-- Frenchy had made her hold up her skirt while Jon had pulled down her pantyhose and panties from behind her; then rubbing up her little girl bump to the point of her arousal, even chaffing her labia a bit, Frenchy had meant to accentuate the show of her genitals, then he slathered it all over and into its tender slit with a whole lot of lanolin moisturizing cream, rubbing her genitals all over and well and in between her legs and all over her buttock to show off her skin in a gleam and pink, and to make the cunt lips look puffy and plump and give the contours delicious highlights. Naked now, there followed many poses and postures for as instructions were called out from the crowd. Various ways to show her naked. Lots and lots of pictures taken. Frenchy brought home some. Finally, once she had shown every aspect of her nakedness to everyone in the bar in as many creative and grotesque contortions as they could imagine for her naked body, the ceremony of the evening was loudly and insistently--even rudely--called out for by the impatient veterans to this "show." Some of the men here had never done this thing and were not told about it in advance--having thought the "show" was just see the poor thing take off her clothes for them. But there was core group of faithful who looked forward to real "show----taking this dumb young pretty housewife with the pleasant degradation of butt-fucking her. They had talked about it for weeks. They had known that it was coming the moment they learned we had been hired. They had taken opportunities to meet us, especially to spy on Karen, walking down in the street or shopping at Hansen's store. They knew the whole thing was being set up. They anticipated. They talked about what she would be like. They heard she was naïve and inexperienced. They all agreed she was prettier than most. She was certainly the youngest they had ever had. And they had heard the reports about her from Hansen and from Frenchy that she gave herself submissively. Men scooted their chairs up to be closer to the scene of it. The bartender came out from behind the bar, crossed-his arms, and leaned against the end of it. Karen for her part said she didn't know what they wanted and was confused. But she would be submissive. Frenchy had warned her what would happen if she was not cooperative. He handed her an empty beer bottle. She knew what do. This is what Larry saw before they chased him out. ***** "Why did you mail these to the PO?" I asked. "The PO got a call from some neighbors." "You mean?" "Yeah, that's the funny part. It would be some of the men from the party. The landlord and some of the other men around here. They're all in on it." ***** Her initiation to anal intercourse would be staged like the sacred rite of a secret society. Conducted with solemn silence and earnest seriousness. Hansen and the landlord were the chief officiants, assisted by certain honored others, also older men like them, while the great group of men now rose out of their booths and chairs and stood to watch, some bringing those chairs to sit up close. She was turned away from the crowd. They bent her; she was made to lean forward and spread her legs. This way to show her cunt gape. To show the puckered star of her anus. Bent over, her hands holding her ankles, her knees slightly bent, she looked between her legs at the landlord, who fondled her buttock with relish, spreading apart the cheeks to show her cunt, to show her anus. Fingering her wet cunt and touching her anus with sensitivity, teasing her. This examination went on for several minutes, while the crowd gathered closer. She felt the heat of the spot light on her back; it was that intense. One of the subalterns stepped into the limelight with K-Y jelly in what looked like a tube of ointment. Another one stepped up with a wooden object that looked like some kitchen utensil, and was in fact a wooden pestle used with a chinois to mash cooked vegetables and press them through the funnel shaped ricer. It was perfect instrument for their purpose, being tapered to a narrow blunt tip and having a good knob-like handle at top end, being in all about twelve to fourteen inches in length. They began by showing us how they intended to lubricate her--the one with K-Y Jelly squeezed out large dollops onto the pestle that the other held and that one spread the sticky lubricant on the pestle so that it gleamed in the light. Then Hansen stood behind my wife's naked buttock, and waited for a blob of K-Y jelly to be squeezed out onto her anus and then with the pressure of his thumb he pressed it into her anus. He did three or four times. Like they had done this often before. Which in fact they had. Not to her, of course, but to other Group Home Moms, and to other "wives" who had got themselves compromised by some misadventure. ***** Frenchy interrupted his story to explain about the last group home mom, who was much older and much more reluctant that Karen was. "I mean Karen will just give up and let herself go, you know? She starts off scared or worried or ashamed but after she starts fucking she gets into it, she wants it. You know?" "But the last one --." Jon interrupted: "She was old enough to be my mom. And fat." "Well not fat, but sorta chubby, flabby, you know, not young. Her tits were saggy, but big like bags, big nipples on 'em. We liked to milk 'em like cow teats and make her make mooing noises like a cow. You know, fucking her doggy style. " "And oink like a pig." "Yeah when we fucked her butt," agreed Frenchy. "She liked sucking cock. Like Karen. Said she'd never done it before. Why is that? Why don't you guys get your wives to suck your cocks? They want to --" " --.but she cried a lot." "Yeah," Frenchy shook his head, "Man, O, Man, did she carry on? At the party, at her party, you know, we got her to take off all her clothes only after threatening her and her husband and she stood there sobbing but, hell, they didn't care. She got undressed. The teased her, felt her up and spanked her till she cried some more and got her butt beet red. But when they tried to fuck her in the butt, she fought with 'em; she fought hard. She tried sitting on the floor to make it impossible for them to do it to her, so they had to grab her and tie her up to a bar stool, bent over, hands at the legs, tits hanging down, and held her legs apart while they butt-fucked her. She finally stopped her crying but groaned a lot." "I think she liked it," added Jon. "Yeah. She did. She could hardly walk afterwards but she was real quiet and nice. We took her home naked too. Took her naked into the Red Barn, like we did Mom. Took pictures of her naked with the crew. She sucked them off too. Sent the pics to the PO. But he didn't want her." Frenchy finished Then pausing, he winked at me and said: "He really likes Karen though." Karen looked up at this worriedly. Jon nodded solemnly: "Yeah, he was talkin' about seeing her naked from first day he met her. That's why he took her picture in the office, Dad. Did you know that?. To have a before picture and an after picture. Smiling at the camera with her clothes on, then another one--to look at side by side--with all her clothes off." Jon held out his two hands palms-up like he was comparing two pictures. Eyes widening on the naked one he imagined. And of course there sat my naked wife hunched up against Frenchy, fidgeting, looking at Jon morosely. Frenchy laughed and gave her a hug: "Too true. Too true. And now he's got both pictures for real." And kissing her forehead, he comforted her: "It's okay, Mom." ***** The whole ceremony that the men did was done efficiently and seriously, and Karen would have no pause to consider it and would not resist, even she had wanted to. And I don't think she wanted to resist. Like all the sexual humiliations she had taken, she took this one in the same submissive shame. It was what they wanted of her. She wanted them to want her. She would let them. Hansen was handed the pestle. The landlord held Karen's spread buttock. Hansen pressed the pestle to her anus. Karen whimpered. But she did not resist. She did not complain. Hansen was masterful. He twisted it as he pressed it. Gently but firmly. He paused with the pestle partly in her rectum so that some more K-Y Jelly could be slathered on to it, around her now yielding anus. As he worked the pestle in and out, taking liberal applications of K-Y jelly by the appointed subaltern as the pestle was drawn out, he pressed it more and more deeply into her rectum. Her legs trembled, her face flushed, she grimaced with each deeper penetration. Finally, involuntarily, Karen expressed her sexual response; in the end she was loudly moaning animally as the pestle went deep into her rectum. ***** Jon said she was crying real tricking little girl tears but she wasn't complaining at all. Frenchy, giving Karen a hug, explained: "It didn't hurt, did it Mom? You liked it." Karen nodded, her head pressed to his chest, her face hidden. "She was crying 'cause, you know, she was ashamed of herself -- They saw that. She was ashamed 'cause she wanted them to do it to her and they all were looking at her, naked and all, you know, doing the nasty with her butt-hole." "They were laughing at her," added Jon. "Yeah, well -- she was moaning and everything --" explained Frenchy. ***** They brought an ottoman into the spotlight and motioned for her to kneel on it. Her rectum now engorged with the pestle, distended, stayed open when the pestle was withdrawn; he had her turn on the cushion to show her butt to the crowd, the dark deep gaping burgundy hole for her rectum. It was what Hansen wanted. Hansen handed the pestle back to the landlord. Now the subaltern of K-Y Jelly put the nozzle of the tube into the gaping hole of her rectum and squeezed with both hands, topping off the cavity with as much goo as he could force into it; it melted in the heat of her and dribbled out into her cunt, making all her genitals glisten invitingly. The man gazed with fixation. But then the landlord--seemingly waiting for a ripe moment--determinedly plunged the pestle into her anus, evenly, completely, more deeply than before. She groaned loudly and pathetically. Frenchy said it was hard to describe; it was sorry and satisfied as the same time. She shuddered. The landlord leaned toward her ear: "You like that, Mrs. H******s?" Meanwhile, Hansen undressed himself to his stocking feet; his long lank dick thickening, dangled like a blood sausage, not stiff and straight but limp and logy. He stroked it to make it harder. Other men seeing this began to undress as well. Karen caught sight of some of them undressing out of the corner of her eye. The landlord withdrew the pestle. Karen sighed and made as if to stand, but Hansen, still stroking his penis, put his other hand on the top of buttock and patted her and said: "No, no, honey -- We're just getting started." And standing back and looking down at the randy gaping rectum of my wife, still stroking his prick, he teased to stiffen and pointed it at her inviting asshole, poised to plunge into it. It was easy for him to enter her. The head of his erect penis slid into the gaping hole easily and the shaft of it followed, gliding with the generous lubricant and only met resistance when it struck the deeper part of her rectum and then he grabbed her hips and began to fuck her hard. And Karen, so Frenchy told it, cried out: "O, my god. My god." Jon tells the same story but he says she cried out when Hansen got it deep in her and then suddenly ejaculated; Hansen himself saying, "O my god;" and Karen squealing and so losing the string in her legs that the landlord had to help her keep on her feet. Conveniently, at her front the first subaltern put his own prick up to Karen's face and she looked up into his eyes and took it in her mouth. Hansen finished with a few more strokes and when he withdrew looked with pride at the pasty white goo, his cum belching out of her open anus. The landlord was next to put his dick in her butt. Stiffer and shorter than Hansen, he also took longer to climax, being his second time. By the time that he had cum in her ass, the first subaltern had already cum in my wife's mouth and the second subaltern had stepped up to take his place, taking my wife's head in his hands to guide her mouth onto his dick. When the next one-- the first man of the general population and the third man to fuck her in the butt--once he had ejaculated into her rectum, Karen was so emotionally spent that her legs gave out and she collapsed to the floor. The dick of the one in her mouth popped out, wobbling, wet and ready to burst. It did in fact burst. He ejaculated into the air and soiled her hair as she went down. She did not want to stand. She shook her head. She refused with incoherent expressions. She was crying now again--emotionally and sexually exhausted. A strand of ejaculate drooling from her lips hung viscously from her bowed head. This was as close to resistance that she ever came, but it was really and simply how she had just fainted; she fell unconscious for a moment. She was eventually forcibly brought to her feet, fondled opportunely, even kissed and reassured with tender intimacies. Someone brought over a bar stool and two or three of them guided her to lean over it, take hold of the legs of it, and then they resumed their assault on her rectum. The men, who could be her father's age, stepped up, undressed or undressing, and collected behind her. They stood behind and around her in in a vague queue, half naked without pants in shirt tails or completely naked to their socks, while the one whose turn it was bent over the back of my bent-over wife and thrust his prick in and out of my wife's rectum, gripping the flesh of her hips, the next one watched eagerly for his turn. As each took his turn in her rectum, the cluster reshaped, took on different assortment of men of different shapes and sizes, more or less naked, but never diminished in number. One after another given enough time each would ejaculate inside her rectum, while she and he almost simultaneously uttered sexual satisfaction. The only one who was young as her, not old like the most, was impatiently stopped when he seemed to fail to climax and was ridiculed and sheepishly withdrew for the next, more ready man. It is true: K-Y Jelly for most of the men prolonged their fucking her, preventing premature ejaculation, adding to the pleasure of the woman (it was thought) but sometimes it caused some poor guy to fail like this one. Nothing would deter most of them. They took turns in their spontaneous queue. They took turns with camaraderie, smirks and sarcastic smiles. Slapping her buttock smartly, like you might quirt a horse to get it to run faster, getting Karen to fuck them back, to take her anal assault on herself like she wanted it, sweaty herself in exertion, to moan and writhe and tremble. When finally each laboring old guy reached his hard-earned ejaculation, he grunted or grimaced or groaned and the crowd congratulated him as he gave her what he could; then the one fucking her withdrew his glossy prick in a slow motion to show the damage done, the hole remaining, then leaned over and kissed her lovely ass. Each time, in appreciation and in mockery, he kissed her pinked ass and thanked her. It was ritual. They were actually counting (though the number was mistook more than once). As if there was a quota. As if there was a goal. ***** My naked wife, nestled to Frenchy, had listened to all this silently and unresponsively but attentively. How many?" I asked Frenchy. He shook his head. "Everybody in the room," Jon said. How many?" I asked. "I didn't count," Jon said. Frenchy shrugged "Some fucked her cunt instead -- Seeing her asshole blown out with cum, they liked her juicy gash," said Jon. "That was extra. She didn't mind." Added Frenchy. They both grinned. "She had a good time," said Frenchy, giving my naked wife an encouraging hug. "Really -- [grinning] --Tell Dad. You liked it!." Karen murmured meekly but clearly: "Yes --" ***** Frenchy continued the story, describing how when they were done, they all took a rest. They collected up into their various little groups, getting dressed, congratulating each other; they seemed to ignore Karen who still clung tight-fisted to the bar stool, her legs shaking, sobbing--more with emotional and sexual exhaustion than with regret or remorse, and certainly not in any misery; the semen of many men, back-flowing from her abused asshole, literally trickled thickly down the inside of her right leg and was oozing and dripping off her knee onto the floor. There was puddle of it. Hansen and landlord addressed her kindly and one of the subalterns used Kleenex to wipe up the goo on her inner thigh and the rosy tissues of her cunt, although much semen still oozed out of her rectum for a time. ***** Frenchy explained: "I got her a glass of water. She felt better." "When she had recovered, and she saw most of the men had got dressed. I think she thought it was all over --. And so did most the men" Frenchy continued. Jon interrupted: "Yeah, that's when they got her sucking cock." Mr. Hansen and the landlord dragged her back into the spotlight. She grinning and uncertain. But looking sheepishly pleased with herself. The bar stool had been removed, a throw rug had been laid on the floor. forced her to her knees. She looked confused at first, but she knew what they wanted. She nervously giggled. Being really silly drunk now and giddy with the relentless sexual arousal. ***** "Did you really giggle?" I asked her. She would not answer me, pressing her face against Frenchy. Over her head Frenchy winked at me and made a silent nod. ***** The landlord announced: "Mrs. H******s is going to suck cock now. Anybody wants a blow job...." He gestured where she knelt. Karen looked up sheepishly and seemed shocked but Frenchy said he told her it was okay. Hansen smiled at her. "You be good, honey." There were several eager to be first, competing to see who could undress fastest. The first man was one who already had his pants off and so he hurried forward with his cock waggling in front of him. He got so close he stood astride her kneeling figure, atride her shoulders, and so she had to lean back, Frenchy said. He grabbed hold of her head and literally punched his prick into muffling protesting mouth. She put up her hands on his legs, to resist, and gagged at first but she did not push him back. She was submissive. Closing her eyes, she eventually dropped her hands to her knees, and relaxed on her haunches, as the man fucked her mouth. She whimpered pathetically and Jon said she had some tears. But the onlookers were not dismayed or ashamed of what they were making her do. They were rather astonished at her obvious willingness and they were loudly appreciative of her seeming responsiveness--that's what they made of her whimpering and the liquid sound of her mouth on the cock, and so they made cat-calls and whistled. Karen should have been ashamed, as they saw it. She was such a whore to them.. Mr. Hansen nodded to the crowd as the man whose cock was in her mouth grimaced and looked at him apprehensively. He was going to pull out before he came in her mouth. Karen for her part looked up blinking and blushing. He explained to man, putting his hand on his back: "No, man.... Do it in her mouth. Do it.... She wants you to do it.... She's gonna eat it..." The grimace relieved. The man shot off in my wife's mouth and Karen slurped and swallowed, eyes blinking. They men were astonished. Pleased but astonished. Speechless. Hansen said: "Come on, fellas... Really... You all can cum in her mouth..."." The line of two in waiting became a jostling crowd of seven. For Karen it was like being force-fed, what with the quick and eager stuffing her mouth with their pricks and the more or less instant ejaculations that occurred, for most of these men had never felt a woman's mouth on their penis and just looking down her flushed face and seeing it in her mouth, her pathetic upturned eyes, her sighs, got them spent quickly. All this cock-sucking that she gave was bonus; it had not been advertised. Hansen thought it up for extra humiliation, to get Karen ready for even worse. They had paid to fuck her in the butt. That was the usual. They hadn't paid for all this other stuff--the cock-sucking and the rest-- and they had a hard time believing it, but they thanked Hansen and the Landlord over and over again and commented on how much she like doing it to Karen; "She's the best. Can we have her again next week?" Hansen explained when Frenchy asked that these old guys had probably never get their cocks sucked, their wives won't do it. Hell, said Frenchy, if any of these geezers had ever been sucked off before, it had been a long time ago. None of the one's Frenchy had brought before this time had sucked cock. And, like Jon said, Karen was obviously willing. "She likes sucking cock," Jon said, "You do too, don't you Dad?" Frenchy laughed and said it was like some sort of eating contest at a state fair or something--how they were standing there and jerking off and then when they were ready stepped up to her andput it in her mouth and shot off holding her head, then pulling out when she was done with it and backing up for the next one who was jerkinf off and when he was ready to cum he'd step up and put it into her open mouth and right away give her another load of cum." "Yeah," said Jon ,"She got like maybe five or six in her mouth in a row like that. Champion wiener eater." "No surprise to me," said Frenchy. Jon shook his head looking at her as she leaned over sucking on Frenchy's penis while we talked: "She's a pig." "Yeah," said Frenchy. "They loved it," said Jon. "They said they'd like to come here for it. Said they'd pay ten bucks each to cum her mouth. Said they got friends who'd pay too." At this point Frenchy himself sighed and began ejaculating unashamedly into my wife's mouth as she sat next to him, where she had been gently guided to take his penis in her mouth and had submisively and placidily held her mouth on his erection as he had been openly masturbating, while listening to this conversation. He himself seemed calm and reposed. He did not express himself, his body did not clench, he just smiled a bit goofy, pressed his hand on the top of her head to keep her mouth on his penis and quietly shot sperm into her mouth. I only knew it because my wife twitched at bit and we all heard the slurping and swallowing of his semen. Frenchy winked. Jon said again: "She's a pig, man." When she had finished, taking pleasure in all the fluids she could suck up from it, she lifted her head and seeing us all staring at her, smiled abashedly, sat up (like this was nothing) and glancing back at Frenchy responded to his gesture and used two finger tips to wipe clean the corner of her mouth and lower lip, examined her fingers, and licked them. Jon shaking his head, got up to get more beers. I had to know: "Do you like sucking cock?" She looked down between her breasts, embarrassed, her fists balled up in her lap. She buried her face against Frenchy's chest, who put his arm about her; she nuzzled and did not reply. ***** She took many cocks in her mouth successively. A whole line of them--two quickly then a third one presented,-- each one spending in her mouth--and then two more and then another two or was it three? She did not want to remember--and still there were three or more waiting. She was flushed and feeling sick. She gasped and sat back on her haunches, after another one spilled his sperm into her mouth, waving off the others who stepped up, wanking their pricks eagerly, and they must have felt sorry for her, for they did not force themselves into her mouth. Hansen stepped up and protectively warded the last of them away from her. They complained sorely. But it was obvious that she was overtaken by exhaustion and maybe a little nauseated. She was so wobbly when she tried to stand up that Hansen, laughing at her, helped her up and another man joined to help her from falling down. They held her; some feeling her tits as others held her arms. She thanked them. The landlord brought her a drink. "What is this," she asked before tasting it." "Just water," he reassured her. She thanked him and drank it deeply. She was thirsty. She later told me their sperm made her thirsty, but she did not mind the taste, although she could not desribe it except for texture (pasty or syrupy) or quantity (most just squirt some, a few splashed out and filled her mouth). She drank most of a second glass before handing it back to the landlord. She dropped her arms as Hansen approached her, looking up at him sheepishly. Hansen leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, like he might his daughter. He told her she was doing a "good job." "You ain't never gonna forget tonight," he promised her. Smirking, making a face at his buddies, he grabbed her two tits and held them and shook them, like prizes to show off to the "guys". He squeezed them, making the nipples poke out, looking over his shoulder for approval of the crowd and then leaned to suck up first one pointy nipple and then the other nipple. Again, he leaned back and smirking, squeezing her tits for show, he paused for them to see how he had slathered her tit; the nipple randy, wet and shiny. Some hands from others joined him now, were feeling her between the legs, some between her buttock. She was aroused again, but she was light-headed and she almost passed out, falling between the men holding her up. Frenchy took hold of her and led her away from Hansen. Hansen merely shrugged. He had paid for her, Frenchy explained, he knew he would have her back anytime. Frenchy, holding Karen manfully like she was weak and in shock, guided her commandingly to the pool room in the back, to get her away from the men for a respite. This is when the famous polaroid was taken of Frenchy, naked with my wife, his long cock on display, and also this one. Frenchy gave me the original of both polaroids. Karen was not happy about that. She looked at him with annoyance, but then she turned to me and looked at me contemptuously, because, of course, I accepted them. I wanted to have them. ***** Holding the picture, looking into her face for her feelings, I asked him: "How come you're naked in the picture? Did you join in, you know, the anal sex thing?" He nodded: "Sure. Jon too." "How many did it?" He held up his two hands. "Count the fingers," he said. He closed his hands and grinned, then he opened the fingers of his right hand again "And count these." "Maybe more," taunted Jon, "if you consider the ones who went in twice." Jon reflected a moment; I did not need this much accuracy: "Well some of the guys went into her cunt." "And there were the blow jobs," Frenchy said to Jon. "How many?" asked Jon mockingly. "I dunno. Seven? Ten? More or less. Nobody was counting." He laughed, squeezing my naked wife against him. Karen blushed and smiled---I swear--smiled like a coquettish like girl who had been given a beauty prize. "Yeah--that was good" said Jon wistfully. She sheepishly dropped her head back against Frenchy's chest and put her arm about his waist. Frenchy kissed her forehead. ***** After about half-an-hour the crowd was ready for more and was getting annoyed, complaining about the money they had paid and their insatiable sexual urges: "What you doing, Hansen?" "Where's she gone?" "We ain't done with her!" And so on. It was the money that was the leverage. Hansen and the landlord broke up the quiet respite of the pool room, finding the two lovers in naked embrace (doggy style) and declared to my dreamy silly wife: "Showtime, Mrs. H******s." They let Frenchy withdraw his penis from her vagina and obliged her to let her compose herself, brushing her hair, reapplying her lipstick which Frenchy found and offered to her from his pants pocket. He had brought it with him. He liked the vivid red lipstick. They asked for and posed for the picture then that I have the copy of; the landlord obligingly took it. Hansen then led my naked wife by the hand back into the barroom and the crowd of men stood up to receive her. He put her once again in the spotlight and turned her about roughly so that her titties jostled. She looked a bit bewildered: after all, what more could she do for them? But the lecherous appetites of these geezers was almost unquenchable. And if most couldn't get it up again to fuck her, they would still find some other ways to sexually exploit her and simply enjoy her naked display. Hansen said: "Dance for us, Mrs. H******s." Awkwardly. Completely naked. She hated this, she told me. She thought they only made her do it to make fun of her. She was not a good dancer. She was not sure what they wanted, but she tried. She danced in the middle of the room. Surrounded by grinning men. Dancing more freely there. Letting her hips sway. Self-consciously aware how her tits swing with her dancing. Seeing how the eyes looked between her legs. Helped her up onto the bar top, she danced there too. The crowd was rowdy and made suggestive comments. Aroused by her, they all had other ideas. Ideas to tease her. Ideas to humiliate her. Ideas even to hurt her a little. Spanking her. Pinching her. Poking her with things. Some wanted to see her cry. Some wanted to hear her beg them to stop her mounting arousal. Or make her blubber with some titillating discomfort. So, it was contrived to let different groups of a similar mind to take her privately into the pool room where they could do whatever they wanted to her. Frenchy was allowed by them to watch. Jon was allowed by them to take photos, provided that the faces of the men should not be revealed; it being understood by Hansen that these photographs were necessary for profit and/or blackmail and also required by the PO as "evidence." The two boys were also told expressly that they must not interfere, no matter what these fiends might want to do to her. Frenchy shrugged at it all. Jon grinned and nodded eagerly Group One took her into the room to watch her fuck herself with a bottle. She had to fuck herself until she clearly had cum for them. There was a creamy cum of her own on the neck of the bottle. Group Two tied her to a chair to torment her with prolonged sexual teasing and obscene insertions to her cunt and her rectum and to both at once. While bestriding her on the chair, they masturbated and ejaculated into her open mouth. Group Three spanked her (making her start and bringing tears and rose to her cheek), attached plastic spring-pinching clothes-pins to her nipples (embarrassing and strangely arousing her) and slapped her face (making her gasp), slapped her breasts (making them jiggle), slapped her bare cunt (smarting her clitoris) , inserted a drink -mixer up her cunt- all for a cruel sexual stimulation (and for their own peculiar satisfaction). Group Four humiliated her outdoors behind the bar and in the street. They made her walk naked out the back door into the alley, barefoot, peering anxiously for strangers, clasping her breasts cross-armed (as if that made her more modest) and coerced her to step to the corner, to stand under the street light at the stoplight, to stand there stark naked, while they mocked her from a distance. They waited for a car to stop and for a group of young men in the car to see her and gawk and jeer as she masturbated. Group Five returned her to the bar by way of the front door and tied her hands behind her and serially fucked her mouth as she knelt before them naked. Then turned her and serially fucked her anus. And then she was told and she complied: to pee on the sidewalk where she stood. It was at the end of this abuse that they finally let her go home. Still naked, they allowed her to put on her socks again. And that is how she returned home, running down the street from the bar to our house, wearing nothing but her socks. We never found any of her clothes. And it was this last abuse which she proved.,turning to show me on the sofa, as Frency insisted, showing her gaping and still cum-slimy rectum.