Paying In Full - Chapter 5
by Don Jetman
~5~
Unexpectedly, Farmer had big plans for the rest of the day. "I'm taking you both shopping," he announced. The three of them sat at the kitchen table, finishing the club sandwiches Barbara had made during Farmer's talk with Peter. Farmer had just finished his second beer, and crushed the can suddenly as he spoke. "It's time we dressed your wife like a real woman, Peter, not like some boring house frau. Barbara, get me another beer, and bring one along for yourself. Peter, you're driving."
To Barbara's relief, Farmer's taste in clothing ran toward the elite, for himself, and surprisingly for women's fashion as well. They spent two hours in an exclusive boutique where all the saleswomen seemed to know Farmer. He and Peter sat on a long, curved divan as the women dressed Barbara in outfit after outfit, guiding her along a short runway as she modeled dresses, skirts, tops, and shoes with price tags that would have made Peter shudder, had he seen them. All the clothes were classic designs, made of the finest materials, but, as Peter began to notice, they all had one feature in common. In every case, each bared just enough of the female anatomy to be daringly short of scandalous. Dresses and skirts were cleverly slit almost to the waist, opening only when Barbara turned in a certain way, or stretched a leg through the opening at the right angle. Many of the tops were transparent in a certain light, or had tasteful slits or openings that revealed tantalizing glimpses of bare breast as Barbara posed in various positions. Others were made of the finest silk, but thin enough to outline every detail of her nipples and breasts as they collapsed over her like a second skin. Barbara was in heaven, overwhelmed by Farmer's generosity, ******* of what the chic fashions revealed.
For hours the women dressed her, undressed her, pampered her, complimented her, and paraded her in front of Farmer and Peter in a most private showing. It served Peter right, she thought, to watch while a man of money and power bought her things he could never afford, purchases his shiny pieces of silver from the Chinese couldn't have sustained for long.
"Um, where is she going to wear stuff like this?" Peter whispered to Farmer as another outfit revealed the shape of her firm breasts as though she was topless. Farmer smiled. "This 'stuff', as you put it, costs more than you make in a year, Peter. And where she wears it is my business. I'll take her places you can't imagine; have her meet people who would frighten you. Making her part of my world goes with our arrangement. I think she'll fit nicely, Peter. She's not like you at all."
Farmer bought everything Barbara modeled, and she was ecstatic. She gushed incessantly as Peter drove to their next stop, watching in the rear view mirror as she sat close to him, holding his hand, thanking and nuzzling him every few minutes. Farmer just smiled. "We've just begun, Barbara."
Their next stop was a combination spa and beauty salon in the city center. Barbara and Farmer entered, hand-in-hand, while Peter found a parking garage, then trudged back to find them inside. Farmer was sitting in the waiting area, sipping his 3:00 Glen Livet, tapping away on his cell. Peter sat beside him and looked longingly at the beads of sweat forming on the side of the scotch glass. It was ninety degrees outside, and it had been a long walk from the garage. Farmer finally noticed, and motioned to the woman behind the front desk. She arrived with a wide smile.
"Yes, Mr. Farmer?"
"Lizzie, Barbara's husband is parched. Bring him one of these, please?"
"Right away, Mr. Farmer."
The woman was a tall, striking blond in four-inch heels. Her name tag said "Elizabeth" in ornate, gold, cursive lettering. Peter looked up when she brought his drink, peered into her open blouse, and was stunned by the firmest, ripest breasts he had ever seen.
"Here you are. I'm sure you'll enjoy this. It's Mr. Farmer's favorite, and he knows his scotch, among other things..."
She gave Farmer a subtle wink and went back to her desk, but not before allowing Peter to have a long, satisfying look at her cleavage.
"Welcome to my world, Peter," Farmer boasted casually, still texting on his cell. "Have a good look through the fence. It's the closest you'll ever get."
The hours crawled by for Peter. Farmer's cell kept him occupied, but Peter had to pass the time with a small collection of bridal, fashion, and beauty magazines. And there was Lizzie, always smiling at him from behind her desk as she answered the phone, took appointments, and mothered over Farmer in a perversely sexual way that was much too close to father-daughter appearances for Peter's taste.
Eventually, Peter dozed off, only to be awakened later by the sound of Lizzie's voice once again. A second woman stood beside her, as breathtaking in every way. Cropped, shining golden hair followed her jawline, framing full, red lips and stunning, wide eyes that mimicked Lizzie's. A closer, second look revealed her to be Barbara. Gone was the long, auburn hair he had fallen in love with when they first met, the dark cascade that fell softly over his face when they used to make love. With the haircut, makeup, and fresh, white, open-buttoned blouse, she could have been Lizzie's sister.
Grinning from ear to ear, Barbara twirled with her arms stretched wide. "Well, guys, how do I look?" Peter saw the baby-blue skater skirt, a new purchase by Farmer earlier that day, lift as she twirled. She was naked beneath it, and her pussy shaved bare as a newborn baby girl.
"Um - but - she's not wearing panties - I mean, anything, under that short little dress," Peter stammered, turning pale at the sight of what Barbara had become.
"Ohhh - shhhh..." Lizzie interrupted. "For one thing, it's not a dress. And panties? Well, we don't do that here. Don't hurt your wife's feelings - doesn't she look nice?"
Farmer stared and grinned. "You look good enough to eat, Barbara. And as for Peter here? Well, your husband just has to learn to appreciate the finer things in life. Isn't that right, Lizzie?"
Lizzie twirled as Barbara had, her identical baby-blue skirt showing the same luscious, smoothly shaved slit. "He knows your wife's tastes," she said coyly, her big eyes fixed on Peter, "among other things..."
~5~
Unexpectedly, Farmer had big plans for the rest of the day. "I'm taking you both shopping," he announced. The three of them sat at the kitchen table, finishing the club sandwiches Barbara had made during Farmer's talk with Peter. Farmer had just finished his second beer, and crushed the can suddenly as he spoke. "It's time we dressed your wife like a real woman, Peter, not like some boring house frau. Barbara, get me another beer, and bring one along for yourself. Peter, you're driving."
To Barbara's relief, Farmer's taste in clothing ran toward the elite, for himself, and surprisingly for women's fashion as well. They spent two hours in an exclusive boutique where all the saleswomen seemed to know Farmer. He and Peter sat on a long, curved divan as the women dressed Barbara in outfit after outfit, guiding her along a short runway as she modeled dresses, skirts, tops, and shoes with price tags that would have made Peter shudder, had he seen them. All the clothes were classic designs, made of the finest materials, but, as Peter began to notice, they all had one feature in common. In every case, each bared just enough of the female anatomy to be daringly short of scandalous. Dresses and skirts were cleverly slit almost to the waist, opening only when Barbara turned in a certain way, or stretched a leg through the opening at the right angle. Many of the tops were transparent in a certain light, or had tasteful slits or openings that revealed tantalizing glimpses of bare breast as Barbara posed in various positions. Others were made of the finest silk, but thin enough to outline every detail of her nipples and breasts as they collapsed over her like a second skin. Barbara was in heaven, overwhelmed by Farmer's generosity, ******* of what the chic fashions revealed.
For hours the women dressed her, undressed her, pampered her, complimented her, and paraded her in front of Farmer and Peter in a most private showing. It served Peter right, she thought, to watch while a man of money and power bought her things he could never afford, purchases his shiny pieces of silver from the Chinese couldn't have sustained for long.
"Um, where is she going to wear stuff like this?" Peter whispered to Farmer as another outfit revealed the shape of her firm breasts as though she was topless. Farmer smiled. "This 'stuff', as you put it, costs more than you make in a year, Peter. And where she wears it is my business. I'll take her places you can't imagine; have her meet people who would frighten you. Making her part of my world goes with our arrangement. I think she'll fit nicely, Peter. She's not like you at all."
Farmer bought everything Barbara modeled, and she was ecstatic. She gushed incessantly as Peter drove to their next stop, watching in the rear view mirror as she sat close to him, holding his hand, thanking and nuzzling him every few minutes. Farmer just smiled. "We've just begun, Barbara."
Their next stop was a combination spa and beauty salon in the city center. Barbara and Farmer entered, hand-in-hand, while Peter found a parking garage, then trudged back to find them inside. Farmer was sitting in the waiting area, sipping his 3:00 Glen Livet, tapping away on his cell. Peter sat beside him and looked longingly at the beads of sweat forming on the side of the scotch glass. It was ninety degrees outside, and it had been a long walk from the garage. Farmer finally noticed, and motioned to the woman behind the front desk. She arrived with a wide smile.
"Yes, Mr. Farmer?"
"Lizzie, Barbara's husband is parched. Bring him one of these, please?"
"Right away, Mr. Farmer."
The woman was a tall, striking blond in four-inch heels. Her name tag said "Elizabeth" in ornate, gold, cursive lettering. Peter looked up when she brought his drink, peered into her open blouse, and was stunned by the firmest, ripest breasts he had ever seen.
"Here you are. I'm sure you'll enjoy this. It's Mr. Farmer's favorite, and he knows his scotch, among other things..."
She gave Farmer a subtle wink and went back to her desk, but not before allowing Peter to have a long, satisfying look at her cleavage.
"Welcome to my world, Peter," Farmer boasted casually, still texting on his cell. "Have a good look through the fence. It's the closest you'll ever get."
The hours crawled by for Peter. Farmer's cell kept him occupied, but Peter had to pass the time with a small collection of bridal, fashion, and beauty magazines. And there was Lizzie, always smiling at him from behind her desk as she answered the phone, took appointments, and mothered over Farmer in a perversely sexual way that was much too close to father-daughter appearances for Peter's taste.
Eventually, Peter dozed off, only to be awakened later by the sound of Lizzie's voice once again. A second woman stood beside her, as breathtaking in every way. Cropped, shining golden hair followed her jawline, framing full, red lips and stunning, wide eyes that mimicked Lizzie's. A closer, second look revealed her to be Barbara. Gone was the long, auburn hair he had fallen in love with when they first met, the dark cascade that fell softly over his face when they used to make love. With the haircut, makeup, and fresh, white, open-buttoned blouse, she could have been Lizzie's sister.
Grinning from ear to ear, Barbara twirled with her arms stretched wide. "Well, guys, how do I look?" Peter saw the baby-blue skater skirt, a new purchase by Farmer earlier that day, lift as she twirled. She was naked beneath it, and her pussy shaved bare as a newborn baby girl.
"Um - but - she's not wearing panties - I mean, anything, under that short little dress," Peter stammered, turning pale at the sight of what Barbara had become.
"Ohhh - shhhh..." Lizzie interrupted. "For one thing, it's not a dress. And panties? Well, we don't do that here. Don't hurt your wife's feelings - doesn't she look nice?"
Farmer stared and grinned. "You look good enough to eat, Barbara. And as for Peter here? Well, your husband just has to learn to appreciate the finer things in life. Isn't that right, Lizzie?"
Lizzie twirled as Barbara had, her identical baby-blue skirt showing the same luscious, smoothly shaved slit. "He knows your wife's tastes," she said coyly, her big eyes fixed on Peter, "among other things..."
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