Don Russell: Mother every way

Vanessa nodded. "That's the only way."

The image of her grandmother rose in Helen's mind and horror filled her at the thought she'd been toying with. "No…! No! I won't!" But I love him! I can't lose him! "Isn't there any other way?"

"Well…" Vanessa hesitated. "You might try shocking him. Maybe you could bring him to his senses that way."

"How?"

"Shock hell out of him! He wants you naked, let him see you naked! In front of Barry and me!"

"VAN! For God's sake! I'm not that drunk!"

"I'm serious! Start like it's a game – or like we're practicing a skit for Wednesday Club!"

"I'd die! I couldn't take my clothes off!"

"Make it a skit. You're a new slave being auctioned off. Costumes. Think he'd let it go all the way?"

Helen hiccuped. "In front of Barry? No!" She was suddenly excited. "You're right! It'll work!"

"Tonight then. Call Danny and have him go to the Avery's. Call Art's office and leave a message, they'll get to him by radio."

"No use. I still can't take off the costume."

"You'd be a slave. Chained." Vanessa laughed. "We'd have to use clothesline instead of chain, but we could spread-eagle you against the grate there. How far do you think Art would let me get?"

"All right. That way." Helen pressed her hand to her forehead, conscious of her giddiness. She knew Art would be indignant – that he'd stop them almost before they got started. She wasn't sure how the shock would make the desired change in Art, but she probably would if she weren't so drunk; Vanessa obviously did.

Vanessa kept Helen pleasantly lubricated the rest of the afternoon. It was a time of confused activity, making costumes out of sheets, locating rope, and making the necessary telephone calls. And Helen was still drunk when Art arrived. Conversation at the dinner table swirled around her, confused and trivial, and she continually found herself trying to unravel one topic only to discover the others had slipped into another. She ate little, the food appealing less to her than her drink, and she giggled at those times when Art acted as if he ought to be enlightened.

Afterward, when they had settled in the living room with liqueurs, she nodded owlishly while Vanessa introduced the fiction about their skit for Wednesday Club. And without quite realizing the time had come, she and Vanessa were on their way to the bedroom.

Helen undressed quickly, glancing at herself in the door-mounted mirror with satisfaction, and put on the skimpy, wrap-around affair Vanessa had suggested as a final teaser. Like a miniskirt that shrunk, Helen told herself. But it does cover the hair… not that they'll ever see it. Art won't let us go that far.

"Know what?" she said to Vanessa when she had her sheet-gown fastened at the shoulders and pinned down the side. "Know what, Van? I'm still drunk." She giggled.

"And pretty relaxed," Vanessa observed. "I thought you'd be all up-tight by now!"

Helen watched with a sense of detachment while Vanessa tied chunks of rope to each of her wrists and ankles. She held her hands behind her, resting against her ass, when Vanessa gathered the free rope ends in her hand.

"Let's go, slave-girl," remarked Vanessa with a hint of excitement in her voice.

Helen was startled at the sudden gleam in Art's eyes when he saw her costume. Glancing at herself in the brighter light of the living room, she realized the sheet was anything but shadow-proof; the relative darkness of her nipples showed clearly, and even with the brief "teaser skirt" there was a faint shadow at her crotch. She shivered and let Vanessa guide her to the grating.

"This one's rebellious," commented Vanessa, going into the act. She made Helen turn with her back to the bars. "Okay, honey," she whispered. "Do your stuff. Arms first, I guess."

Helen extended her arms over her head and held them patiently while Vanessa secured her wrists to one of the cross-bars. And at a prod of Vanessa's finger and a curt order, she spread her feet. Vanessa tied the ankle ropes, tugging at them to pull Helen's legs still further apart.

Helen gasped. "Oooh! That stretches me!" She squirmed helplessly.

Vanessa straightened. "You look great, honey!" she said in a low tone. "It's going to work!"

Helen glanced at her husband's face. His eyes were wide and he stared at her without blinking. So far, she thought, he's himself. Nothing on his mind but how sexy it looks.

"Observe, gentlemen," Vanessa was saying. "One of the loveliest of our captive princesses! No submissive peasant, this one." She paused and gazed at Helen. "But she'll bring hours of pleasure to the lucky one who buys her. Do I hear an offer? What, no bid?"

Helen saw Barry start to speak and caught the quick shake of Vanessa's head. That's right, she thought. Don't let them forget we're practicing a skit.

Vanessa smiled. "Of course! A discerning group like you would hesitate. 'What about damage?' you ask yourselves. 'A beautiful face,' you say, 'but what about the body?' I assure you the flesh is flawless." She paused. "What? You doubt? The exaggeration of the marketplace you say? I'm wounded. Wait! See for yourselves!"

Helen tensed at the avid interest she saw in both men's faces. And she quivered while Vanessa unfastened the safety pin that held the costume together at her left shoulder. The material fell free, slipping away from her shoulder and dropping against her body. She looked down in sudden panic to see how much of her had been exposed. Good God! she thought. Another half inch and they could have seen my nipple! The creamy flesh of her breast swelled boldly in clear view, the fold of the sheet lying across the upper edge of the pink aureole. A wave of giddiness swept over her. Oooh! How wicked! she thought.

"Absolutely without a flaw!" repeated Vanessa. And then, "You still wonder? What skeptics! Come now!" She shrugged and turned with an air of resignation to fumble with the pin at Helen's other shoulder.

"No!" whispered Helen. "He'll stop us now!" But she saw no startled objection in Art's expression. His lips were parted and he appeared to be breathing hard, but he made no move to stop Vanessa.

Vanessa pulled the pin free and stepped back. The top of the costume folded slowly downward, clinging momentarily to Helen's globes and then sliding free and tumbling about her waist, where it hung from the belt cord.

"Oh…! Oh…!" Helen gasped with horror as she gazed at her nakedness. Her breasts strained, drawn taut by the tension in her arms. The nipples stood out, quivering and beginning to pucker with her sudden fright. Why doesn't he stop us? she asked herself.

Vanessa faced the men confidently. "You see? You see, gentlemen? Perfection from conquered Minoa! Perfection! Note the ripe fullness… the luscious texture… the proud erectness! Where have you ever seen such succulent-looking raisins as these?"

To Helen's horrified amazement, Vanessa brushed each of the darkening nipples with her fingertips.

"Oh!" she cried impulsively. "Oh! No!" She squirmed, her shoulders pressed against the bars. "Don't!" She winced at the jolt of pleasure the touch sent through her.

Vanessa winked at her and turned back to the men. "I don't know," she said, pretending distress. "I don't know what the market's coming to these days. An honest owner shouldn't have to put up with this kind of skepticism. Goodness! Can't you see what an opportunity you have!" She sighed. "Ah, well. All in a day's work." She unfastened the three pins holding the costume together at the side and let the sheet drape from the cord.

Helen shuddered at the taut boldness of her exposed left thigh. The tiny miniskirt Vanessa had designed was shockingly overtaxed by the wide angle of Helen's legs and a sick tremor seized her stomach at the thought some of her pubic hairs might be visible beneath the ragged edge. Only the fact that the sheet covered most of it served as consolation. He'll stop us now, she assured herself. He won't let us go any further; he surely sees what we're ready to do! She studied Art's expression and felt a burst of terror at the fascination that appeared to grip him. His gaze met hers and he smiled as if awed.