Paying in Full by Don Jetman - Chapter 1 - "You have both agreed that cooperating is preferable to prison, no?" Barbara and Peter stood before him in room 720. He had written the instructions inside a greeting card, delivered only yesterday. "Friends like you make my world a better place," it had said on the outside. Inside, the message was more sobering. "Room 720. Lexington Hyatt. 7:00 PM. Attendance not optional." They nodded in unison, both knowing his price would be exorbitant. He opened a small pillbox. The left compartment held a blue pill, the right, a pink one. "Please. Ladies first," he said, grinning at Barbara. "No, the blue one," he told her, when she reached for the pink one. Peter was to retrieve the pink capsule. "Barbara, put it on your husband's tongue, then tell him to swallow." She raised it to his mouth, he opened, felt the bitter taste of it on his tongue, and swallowed. "And of course, that one's for your wife," he told Peter. Barbara opened and took hers as well, swallowing it with some difficulty. "Your wife will become my property for a year," he explained. "Barbara, I know how you despise the treatment of women as sex objects, so I've decided to make you one." Barbara cringed, but was determined not to let him see her weaken. "For the next month, each weekend you will attend a series of crash courses, custom tailored to your most personal traits. In the end, you will find your role as a sex object not only acceptable, but desirable." "I won't," Barbara answered, seething at the thought. "Oh, but you will," he told her. "The pills you have given each other are only a start, but one you'll soon appreciate. You can probably feel yours already - a slight trembling in your arms and legs, the increased heart rate, a hint of euphoria as your breath becomes quicker and deeper." Barbara stared at him, her mouth now open in disbelief, her breasts rising and falling with each deep breath as beads of sweat formed on her forehead. "Oh God," she whimpered. He smiled at her, then turned to Peter as she struggled to keep from shaking. "Yours is somewhat more innocuous, but yet more sinister at the same time," he explained. "Although the effects can't be felt outwardly, the little blue pill your wife has so cooperatively placed in your mouth will render you helplessly impotent for thirty days. When Barbara returns from her training, she'll give you one on the first of every month, for the entire year. I'll be sure to be present, just to make sure neither of you decides to cheat. I like my women to be faithful, you see. So, while Barbara must do most of the work, or have most of the fun as she'll soon see it, you must stand by her like a eunuch while your wife satisfies her sexual needs elsewhere. And her sexual needs will be most astonishing, I assure you." With that, he approached Barbara and began to unbutton her blouse. When she took a sudden step back away from him, his look hardened, and after a stern warning about what prison might be like for her, she let him open her blouse to the waist and slide it down over her shoulders. In a single swift motion, he pulled her bra up roughly, letting her breasts fall free beneath it. Her bare shoulders and firm breasts were creamy white, her nipples embarrassingly puckered and hard. He cupped each of her breasts lightly in his hands, lifting them gently, testing their weight. Her breathing became heavier, her eyes fluttered, then closed. "Your husband can't believe what he's seeing, Barbara," he told her softly. "His faithful wife submitting to a stranger as he fondles her bare breasts. How breathtaking his humiliation must be as he stands by helplessly, knowing he can't intervene, knowing just as well that for the next year he'll be useless in bed, useless to satisfy you." Grinning at Peter, he released Barbara's breasts, covered them once again with her bra, then raised her blouse, smoothing it over her slender shoulders. He stepped away from her, leaving her standing there, her jutting nipples mocking her shaken husband. He walked to a mahogany desk a few feet away and sat, eyeing the couple with perverted amusement. "Peter, you may now remove your wife's clothes." Peter stared across the desk at the large man. Now a new horror caused his hands to shake and bile to rise into his throat. Before him stood his wife of five years, first curious, then alarmed, now uncontrollably aroused in spite of the circumstances that brought them here on a Sunday afternoon. The man had pawed the yielding skin of her firm, round breasts, and she was panting, her face flushed, her body trembling, her smooth, flay belly pulled taught as she fought the effects of the small pink pill. The large man was his boss, a demanding sort who by nature found it far easier to humiliate than to praise his employees. Peter never considered Jack Farmer beyond using blackmail, or any of a hundred shady methods to get what he wanted - but this, this was more that he could have imagined. OK, so he did send a portion of the schematics to the Chinese. But they were worthless without the rest of the set, and the money - $750,000 - enough to afford a home that he knew Barbara wanted, a home more like her wealthy father could provide, if she would let him. Each time "Daddy" offered his help, she refused, but the look of disappointment was always there to haunt Peter later, the look that said, "Why can't you give me what Daddy gave me?" When Farmer intercepted the transfer, he threatened to contact Washington. As a defense contractor, Farmer knew the consequences, and threatened to involve Barbara's father, a twice-elected Senator from their state. Peter would have agreed to anything to stay out of prison, and to preserve the good name of his wife's family. Barbara was incredulous when Peter confessed, then furious when she learned of the threat to involve her father. Now she stood before him in a perversely lavish hotel suite, pale and unflinching as they faced the consequences of Peter's imprudent greed. "Your wife's clothes, Peter. I'm waiting," repeated Farmer. To everyone's surprise, Barbara moved slowly to the center of the room as if in a trance. "Do it, Peter," she said coolly. He rose and approached her, knowing full well that her concern was for her father and not for him or herself. When he reached for her blouse, Farmer stopped him. "Turn her to face me, Peter. Do it from behind. I want to see. I want to see what you can't see - your lovely wife, stripped naked, ever so slowly in front of me." He shot Farmer a look of pure hatred, then retreated to a position behind his wife. Reaching around her, he followed the open edges of her crisp white blouse up to the collar, then slowly pulled it back over her shoulders and down along each arm. He could feel her breathing as he held her in the strange embrace, breathing that caused her firm breasts to swell suddenly as his fingers brushed over them. "Take it off, Peter," Farmer instructed as he watched from behind the desk. "Drop it on the floor beside her." He freed the blouse from under the waistband of her skirt, pulled it over her shoulders, and dropped it as Farmer had commanded. He could feel her shiver in the cool air-conditioned office. "Now the bra. And stay behind her Peter. Don't block my view." Slowly, fingers shaking, he opened the hooks one by one, feeling the material give and then go loose when the second hook came undone. He could feel her heavy breasts fall partially free, still encased in the lacy cups, but now hanging naturally inside them. He eased the first narrow strap over her shoulder, then the second, feeling the heat from her body rise to meet his clammy fingers. Once again, he reached around her and, resting his hands over the upper slopes of her breasts, peeled the bra from her and dropped it to the floor.