The Sarah Solution

All characters in this story are 18 years of age or older.

*

Paul Mackenzie sat glued to the newspaper. There were few advertisements for positions in his field and none at a senior level. It had been three weeks since Powell and Powell had downsized him out of his cushy salary and corner office and he was getting desperate. For one thing he hadn't told Sarah that he'd lost his job and he knew from their dwindling bank account that he'd have to tell her soon. He scanned through the remaining classifieds finding nothing until his eyes landed on a small display ad.

Gentlemen's Club requires hostesses.

Top pay for minimal hours.

Must be open minded

... and very attractive.

He looked at Sarah cooking bacon at the stove. She was definitely attractive although you could hardly call her broad minded. A typical "good girl" from a strict family, Sarah regarded sex as the sacred obligation of marriage that all good wives must endure. Yet, in spite of her straight-laced upbringing, her natural beauty had made her the target of licentious leers since she'd entered puberty.

She pretended to be oblivious to all of the unwanted attention her figure garnered but Paul felt she was very much aware of her effect on men. Whereas many women would have enjoyed the attention and made the most of their assets, Sarah's answer had always been to wear loose clothing and down play her assets.

His musings took him back to his own situation and Paul even wondered if his wife's prudish attitude hadn't had something to do with his becoming expendable in his job. She'd been dancing with his boss at the Christmas party and didn't like it when he playfully pulled her in close. When his hand dropped down and gave her ass a little inappropriate squeeze she made a scene and embarrassed them both. The boss never let him forget it. Every chance he got he'd refer facetiously to "sexless Sarah" or make a remark about her probable sexual preferences in the crudest terms. It was a frequent joke among the guys in the office and Paul went along with it to save face.

Since that time, however, Paul would not stand for her dressing down. He looked for opportunities to take her out dolled up in a short skirt, high heels and a sexy top even though it made her more than a little uncomfortable. The fact that it did make her uneasy was the point. He felt that if forced her to be more aware of her body and herself as a sexual being she'd eventually loosen up her attitudes and shed the prudish image she had. Besides, he liked to see other men ogling her and watch them nudging each other to make their sly remarks if they caught a glimpse of her cleavage or a stocking-clad thigh.

When Sarah would catch them looking her cheeks would flush and she'd tug down the hem of her skirt, quickly glancing away to avoid eye contact. Still, her long legs were hard to hide in a skimpy skirt and keeping her knees pressed together was a constant chore. She'd try crossing her legs demurely, but that didn't work either as the skirt would ride up even further. Most often, it was at Paul's insistence that they'd sit at the bar perched on the high stools that added to her sense of exposure.

Sarah tried to talk to Paul about it but he made her feel small minded and prudish. She wanted him to understand how she felt, explaining that she was constantly worried that they would run into someone she knew. But he just laughed and said, "yeah, wouldn't it be great?"

Later, when they were in bed at home, he'd remind her of how the men were looking her at her legs and breasts and talking about her in the lewd way that men often do. He teased her by mentioning names of specific guys he knew she disliked and telling her how much they'd like to see her "putting it out there".

When she'd been in high school she'd had an incident with one particular boy she had liked. He'd called her a "cock teaser" when she wouldn't put out for him. Paul always brought his name up. Each time he'd embellish the tales a little more, telling her stories the boy had supposedly spread of her being "easy" and "giving great head".

Sarah was always mortified by her husband's accounts and one night she actually cried in humiliation. Paul felt bad momentarily until he slid his hands between her legs and was surprised to find how wet she was. In the midst of her shame, her thighs rolled open with no resistance and her mons rose to meet his hand. "Did you suck them off like they said Sarah?" he whispered.

"Nooo!! She had wailed as a powerful orgasm gripped her belly. She came impressively in an unexpected mixture of arousal and mortification.

¬¬¬________

Paul glanced back at the paper and his eyes were drawn to the ad once again. He couldn't help but think of the money she could make to help them out of their financial problems. It would just be ¬¬for a short time until he could get back on his feet. If she took another stint at the library it wouldn't help. Not with what they pay. However, he knew girls in the Clubs could make great money. The only question was how to get his wife to do it.

Sarah's voice broke through his reverie as she ladled scrambled eggs onto his plate. "Are you going to go in late today?'"

He sat for a long thoughtful moment looking up at her. "I lost my job," he blurted at last. "I no longer have a job to go to."

Sarah stood in disbelief, not knowing whether Paul was serious.

"I've been wanting to tell you. I just couldn't find the words."

"What are you going to do? How are we...?" she began.

"I don't know." Paul replied. "There just doesn't seem to be jobs out there for thirty-five-year-old executives."

"I could get a job," Sarah volunteered.

"You couldn't make enough to carry us through the short term until I find something else," he responded grimly.

She was silent for a few minutes pondering the sad truth. "What are we going to do?" she finally asked.

"Lose the house, sell one or both of the cars and move to a cheaper neighborhood," he blurted disconsolately.

The tears came then. "Oh no... Not this place... We've worked so hard... All of our friends are here."

Paul let her wallow in her despair before adding fuel to her sense of loss. "We could probably have an auction and get rid of a lot of stuff." He offered mournfully. "The Royal Dalton's alone might raise enough to get us through for a few weeks."

The tears came harder then. The Royal Dalton's were a special gift from her mother.

"I'd never sell them," she vowed.

"You may not have any other choice." Paul pointed out.

"I could go back to work at the library."

" What you can make shuffling books won't pay what we need to survive."

The tears came again and this time she was quiet for a long time, defeated by the news and their lack of prospects.

After a while, Paul spoke and said. "I know this guy. He owns a club. A gentleman's place. I could ask him if he has something that pays a decent buck.

"Would that pay enough? " Sarah asked sadly.

"Yeah. I hear he pays well. I could ask. Maybe I can get an interview for you."

"What would I be doing?"

"I don't know. Just greeting businessmen and their clients and welcoming them to the Club I guess."

She was quiet again, clearly unhappy with the turn of events but unwilling to see them lose everything. She didn't particularly like the sound of "greeting businessmen and their clients," but she knew they would need good money to replace the income her husband had lost. Reluctantly she agreed that Paul should try to get an interview for her.

The Club was an imitation of Vegas with all of the ersatz glamour and glitz. Definitely a showplace geared to the expense account crowd, it had all of the pretensions of the fast life available for plastic or cash. The Manager had been reluctant to set up an appointment with Paul when he called out of the blue, but in the end he'd said "Ok. Five minutes. But you better not be wasting my fucking time." He was even more skeptical when he realized that Paul was there to make a pitch for a job for his wife. It was only when he showed a picture of her on the beach in Aruba that the man's eyes narrowed and his interest spiked.

"So why isn't she here talking for herself?" he asked.

"Because she's never been in the business before. She's shy and needs some encouragement," Paul said.

The Manager grinned thoughtfully and looked long and hard at the picture and then at Paul. "But this is something you'd like her to do isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer he continued. "She's 28. Why now? Why do you want her in it now?"

Paul's shrug didn't deter him.

"What do you do for a living Mr. MacKenzie?" he asked.

"I'm between jobs right now," Paul admitted sheepishly.

"So you're putting your old lady out to work," he chuckled.

"Yeah, sort of."

"And how does she feel about showing her ass?" The Manager smirked.

"Well she hasn't ... she might...uhh," Paul stammered.

The Manager threw back his head and laughed out loud. "And you think you can convince her to take off her clothes and dance in public?"

"Well I think I can with your help," Paul answered. "If we create the right situation where she doesn't have a choice. I think, after doing it once or twice, she'll have to continue."

"Well what's she like?" the Manager asked. "What's she like in bed? Is she a good fuck?"

"Yes. Terrific," Paul allowed.

"What does she do? Suck you off? Swallow your cum? Take it the ass?"

"Yes. She's very good," Paul lied, squeamish and anxious to move on from the man's explicit questions.

The Manager stared at Paul. "I don't fuckin' believe you. I think she's a bit of a tight ass and you'd like me to her loosen up."

Paul shifted uncomfortably caught by the manager's directness. Desperate, he thought to try another tack to garner the man's support. Leaning forward conspiratorially, he smiled "Well... she is a bit...I know...but maybe if she got in so far she might feel that she couldn't back out."

"Okay...then you must have some idea how the fuck you intend to get her to do this?"

"I thought if I could act as her agent and make a commitment on her behalf. If you had her under contract and you had already paid a retainer then I'd get her in here and you could let her know she has to honor the contract. She thinks she's applying to be a hostess. Maybe you could get her into the dance thing through that."

"Yeah sure. As long as you can pull that off it could work. But you've gotta get her in here for 'show and tell'. Before anything is final the boss and I have to see the product. That could be very interesting," he laughed. "There's nothing I enjoy more than seeing a prissy bitch show off her pretty ass!" He was thoughtful for a moment, looking at Paul through narrowed eyes. "If you do your part and I end up with a signed contract there won't be no back lash. Even at that, I think she'll need something extra to calm her down before you'll see it happen."

"I can buy her a couple of drinks before we meet with you," Paul offered, pleased that things were coming together.

"You might need a bit more than that," he chuckled. "Bring her up here first and I'll be late, "in a meeting" and have my secretary pour you a drink while you're waiting." He took a small packet from his desk and handed it to Paul.

"Take these. Crush them up and put two of them in her drink when she isn't looking. They'll relax her."

"What are they?" Paul asked cautiously.

"They're like a mild tranquilizer," the Manager soothed. "The girls take them when they're feeling edgy or got the PMS."

"They won't harm her will they?"

"Naw. They'll help her relax. And they wear off quick. She won't even feel it. You don't need to worry. We're not going to chance messing up a cash cow now are we?"

"That's a good point. I think you should really sell her on the money," Paul said. "She knows we're in a financial bind and it'll make her realize that she needs the job."

"Do you know how much our girls get paid?" the Manager asked. Before Paul could respond the man answered his own question. "A lot. And you need her to do this. If you can't, stop wasting my time and get the fuck out of my office."

"No. I understand." Paul stammered, "If we work this out she'll do it. As far as the money, I've heard the women are paid very well."

"The experienced ones can make up to $1200 a night with tips and table dances. A new one like your wife I'll pay 41500 a week, tips and tables to the house. If the customers like her I'll sweeten the deal."

Paul snapped his briefcase open and produced the rough contract he'd printed off at home. It called for a retainer of $2500 up front. The Manager looked it over and said, "$1200 to get this started and the rest when she actually gets on our stage."

"Deal", Paul replied.

¬______

Sarah was reading in the front room when Paul got home. Her hair was tied up and she had on a flowered house dress. She looked the picture of the suburban housewife sitting with her book.

"Did you find anything?" She queried softly.

"Not for me," he replied. "But I did set something up for you. I got you that interview to see the Manager of the Club we talked about."

"Oh Paul," she whined. "I have been worrying about that since you first mentioned it. You know how I am around strange men. I always feel that they're looking right through my clothes.

"And they are Sarah! You might as well get used to it. I have. Good lord I've fought back my jealousy for years knowing that other guys are going to look at you. You're a nice looking woman and you might as well face the fact. You can't keep going on like you did at the Christmas party. Start using what you've got. Loosen up. Be a little sexy."

"But to take a job as a hostess in a Men's Club ... knowing what else is going on there..."

"Like what?"

"Strippers! I went on their website. They advertise that they have totally nude dancers. And you want me to hostess there? What am I supposed to be? A den mother for tramps?"

"Listen Honey. You had better come to some reality here. I talked them into giving you this job because we are almost out of money. I took the cheque they gave me as an advance for you working there and paid the mortgage on my way home. We desperately need the money. For a short time until something clicks for me, I need you to do it. We need you to do it!"

She was quiet then, angry, anguished and apprehensive. If she could have seen any alternative she would have flatly refused to do it.

"Will I have to wear some sort of stupid sexist uniform?" she asked.

"I don't know. But for $1500 a week it's not too much to ask. If that's part of the deal you'll have to do it."

There were tears in her eyes when she went to bed.

Later when Paul came in, she refused to make love and it angered him. "She knows how desperately we need to replace my income," he thought. "The Manager was right. She is a prissy bitch."

The more he thought about it, the more her attitude galled him to the core. In tough times people do what they need to do and it was time that she learned to accept that. He lay there thinking for a long time and went to sleep angry. $1500 a week would solve their financial crisis in the short term and $1200 a night would make life easy after she was established. He was determined that Sarah was going to do her part... like it or not!

___

It was a frosty ride to the Club. Sarah sat in the passenger seat pressed against the door not talking and staring out the window. She had refused to put on the short skirt and top Paul had laid out for her. Instead she wore a dark blue dress and jacket that she insisted was "what one should wear to an interview." Her makeup was understated, and her overall appearance demure. When they pulled into the parking lot Paul turned to her and spoke.

"Don't blow this interview Sarah. We have nothing else lined up. Until something breaks for me you're just going to have to hold up your end. And if it means putting up with a few leers and the odd inappropriate comment from the customers, so be it."

Still, she fretted. "What if they just don't like me? I haven't got the job yet. They may have someone else in mind."

"Make them like you! And don't think by tossing off this interview our problems will go away. They will get much worse, very quickly."

The Manager's secretary ushered them into his office amid apologies for him being tied up. She directed them to an ornate tea wagon where several bottles of expensive liquor were kept. "Please, help yourselves to a drink. The Boss will feel better if a least you have relaxed and had a cocktail while you're waiting."

Sarah sat primly on an over-stuffed leather couch while Paul poured their drinks. She was still mad at him so she didn't even look his way. She was fidgety and her hand kept moving between playing with her pearl necklace and fiddling with her wedding rings.

Paul was irked by her aloofness and bothered by her high-and-mighty attitude. It was the same self-righteous crap that she showed at the Christmas party. Instead of being willing to do what needed to be done she was acting as if this was his fault for having lost his job.

The powder dissolved instantly and she took the drink without a word when he handed it to her. She looked like an ice goddess sitting with the glass folded in both hands on her lap. Paul had made her leave the jacket in the car so even the dress she'd chosen couldn't hide her figure. He began to wonder if she was going to take a sip of her drink at all. But then she took a mouthful to calm her nerves and he settled back in his chair. It took only a few minutes before the tension drained out of her face and she nestled deeper into the comfortable couch. Soon, her eyes took on a brittle sheen and she wet her lips several times. "Boy, that drink is powerful!" she giggled. "He must buy the really good stuff."

Before long, Paul noticed her glass was empty and realized she had taken the full dose of the tranquilizer.

"I should mention Sarah, that these men are very plain spoken. Some of their language may be a little rough. But they mean well."

She wrinkled her nose at that and said imperiously, "Then I shall have to remind them that I am a lady."

"No. You shall have to remind yourself that you need this job badly."

With that, the door opened and the Manager came in with another well dressed man in his fifties. They were brusque and business-like, moving across the room and introducing themselves as they went. Sarah stood for the introductions and in her heels she was taller than either of them. That struck her funny and Paul could see that the drink had given her a kind of giddy euphoria.

"Did you make yourselves a drink?" the Manager asked looking pointedly at Paul.

"Yes we did. Thank you."

"Well then Mr. MacKenzie, I suggest you wait for us downstairs in the bar. We would prefer to interview Mrs. MacKenzie on her own."

Paul was stunned. He desperately wanted to stay. His eyes flitted between the two men and his wife sitting stiffly on the leather couch, her eyes wide open silently pleading for him not to leave her alone. But, no option had been offered. His only choice was to comply graciously, and leave Sarah sitting alone and unaware of what was in store for her.

As soon as the door closed. The two men turned to his wife. Even the photo on the beach that Paul had showed the Manager at their first meeting didn't fully capture her appeal. They both looked her over like cattle dealers buying a prime heifer. Even under the influence of her drink Sarah felt discomfitted under the boldness of their scrutiny.

"What size do you wear?" the Manager began.

"In a dress?" she stalled. Hmmm, I'm a size six...but I can get into a five depending on the make."