Karim al-Zib

A Helpful Wife

Prologue

In a very special part of Algiers, where the police did not go without invitation except to pick up their monthly bonus, and where the only customers were the government ministers and the super rich businessmen who came to North Africa for an anonymous and frankly expensive forbidden thrill, Pierre Lemarge plied his trade at his poshly and gaudily decorated night club that was called, not strangely, "Pierre's." Thirty years before, Pierre had been a strikingly handsome, slender and prosperous gigolo and pimp in Paris and Marseilles. Years of self-indulgence and dissipation had left him almost hairless and quite overweight, with a blotchy complexion and a hacking cough, but he enjoyed his life and the money he made at his business running his string of clubs all over North Africa and Mediterranean Europe.

Now he stood at the door of his club in Algiers, welcoming his rich guests who paid 500 French francs, or 100 American dollars, or 65 pounds sterling to see the cabaret. They paid an equal price for champagne, and other drinks were marked up ten times over the normal as well. Of course, that was not all. The cabaret performer always was heavily tipped, but Pierre took all of this for himself. There was no sense in letting the girl have money so she could run away.

Inside, the customers now seated themselves around the circular stage so that the act could take place in the center. The stage itself revolved slowly for the benefit of the clients and gave everyone an equal look at what was going on. Pierre noted the presence of the Greek shipping magnate, the Arabian sheikh, who always spent the most money, the Italian movie star and her boyfriend, and the Algerian minister of defense. The common tourist could never afford to see this show, would not even hear about it. Pierre made twenty thousand dollars a night for his shows, so they were the best.

His girls were the best. The most beautiful, loveliest, youngest. He rotated the acts through his string of nightclubs so that each act played each club at most three weeks a year.

Tonight's "star" was the daughter of an American tourist.

The seventeen-year-old brunette had "gone missing" from her family is Morocco, having taken the wrong turn in the Souq and walked into the clutches of Pierre's talent agent, a cutthroat Palestinian who specialized in abduction and white slavery. Within a week of her disappearance, she had been training for her job as cabaret performer in Lemarge's clubs. She was a lovely thing with light-brown hair and firm, full breasts. Pierre had not been able to sell her virginity, for she had given that to her boyfriend, who played halfback on his university's varsity football team, but she still had sufficient innocence to make a lovely act for the club.

The opening acts were just finishing when Pierre came in and picked up a drink for himself from the bar. The opening acts were the girls who had been with him for a few years and no longer quite had the freshness a girl needed for the main act. At one time they had been the main acts. Now they opened for the newer girls, engaging in wild acts of sex on the circular stage with big, well-hung men of assorted colors.

To a chorus of applause, the emcee came out with the new girl, whose name was Jeanne. She was well-drugged, though not in a stupor, her pretty eyes glassy. He had started her out a couple of weeks before with a huge black Nubian and as her resistance softened and she improved in her performance, Pierre moved her up to top the bill.

The emcee, Rashid, brought the girl out and arranged her over the padded support that had been specially built for the act. He shackled her hands so that she couldn't move, her upper body inclined slightly down and her legs straight and vertical behind her, exposing her pink cunt to the eyes of the audience. When the girl's hands and feet were secured she actually had no idea what was happening tonight Rashid led out her partner, a randy, male donkey. That was when she began to cry, scream and struggle.

This was what the audience liked, and they could tell her reluctance wasn't an act. But the girl had been well-fucked by well-hung studs for the past two weeks and after the animal had mounted her and Rashid had fed its long cock into her pussy, her screams of outrage slackened and she began to enjoy what she had been trained to enjoy. The audience cheered at her acquiescence and they began ordering champagne, cocktails, and drugs at a rate that Pierre's staff could barely keep up with.

Pierre loved his job. He grossed millions every year and he got to sample the "stars" before they went on stage. His only problem was finding new, acceptable talent.

But the Palestinian did pretty well. And Pierre had his sources.

And life was pretty good for Pierre Lemarge.

Chapter 1

Kim Stevens for just three months now, Mrs. Curt Stevens, wiped the tear from her cheek as she dutifully made her new husband's sandwich and put it into the brown paper bag. She had never expected that he would have to eat his lunch out of a sack like this when she married him, but that was but a tiny inconvenience. She didn't mind making him sandwiches. What bothered her was that she had to do it because they were too short of money for him to be able to eat in a restaurant the way other men of his calibre did. It was that that had led to her unhappy frame of mind this morning.

Curt had been in a foul mood lately, for at least the last month, since he had come to the realisation that he wouldn't be progressing very rapidly, if at all, in this company he had just gone to work for, Manson amp; Harvey International. It seemed that he was just doing mundane paper work, that he was what he called "a glorified secretary" and that he would not soon or ever have the opportunity to travel abroad and arrange for the big import and export deals he had dreamed of doing when he was in college studying his courses in international business. Now he was dreadfully disappointed in his position and seemed to be taking his frustration out on Kim.

Which wasn't fair at all. Kim was the most even-tempered and tolerant companion that most men would ever see. But Curt's behavior was beginning to drive her to desperation.

When they had met at the University seven months before, Kim had seen all her dreams of an ideal family life coming true. She had known a lot of boys in high school, none of whom impressed her as having the mettle it would take to be decent husbands. She had been pursued by the most popular athletes, student politicians, and scholars, and as the prettiest girl ever to have attended the high school, would have been an easy winner in any of the beauty contests. She had disdained all these things and kept with her studies, resolved to becoming a career girl and helping her widowed mother survive the poverty they had always been plagued with. It was at the end of her first semester in college that she had met Curt and the ensuing romance had eclipsed all those wonderful plans of a career.

She had asked her husband-to-be if perhaps she shouldn't go on and finish her degree before quitting to become a full-time housewife, but Curt, an honor student with boundless ambition and self-confidence, had assured her that he would soon be making quite enough money to take care of the both of them and her lonely mother in Kansas. She should stay home, keep herself healthy, and make the house ready for the children they would soon be creating.

It was after graduation that their plans hit a snag when the job Curt had been promised had suddenly been given away to the company president's new son-in-law, leaving Curt with not his second or even third choice, but actually the last choice of all the firms he had applied for. His secondary choices had already been filled and Manson amp; Harvey had been the only company with a position still vacant. And the disappointment and disruption of their plans was causing a great strain on their relationship. Not that Kim was that upset. It wasn't Curt's fault. It was just that his reaction to the situation was to abuse Kim because of it. He wouldn't look at her, or talk to her, and what was worse, he couldn't even make love to her anymore. He had become totally impotent. He couldn't even make love to her anymore, and the harder they tried to make it happen, the softer he became.

When Kim had married Curt, just three months before, a few days before her nineteenth birthday, she had been a virgin. She had saved herself for marriage faithfully all through high school, and had been as eager and responsive as any new bride could be. They had saved all their money to honeymoon in Hawaii and had enjoyed a part of paradise as Curt had helped her explore her own sexual responses. She had found them to be strong, indeed, overwhelming, when Curt touched, caressed, and penetrated those secret parts of her body.

"Here's your sandwich, darling," Kim said when Curt came through the kitchen.

As usual lately, Curt's eyes avoided her as he took the bag from her with a grunt and walked sullenly out the door. He was usually so sweet, but now it seemed there was almost nothing left between them, and after only three months of marriage. Tears welled up again in Kim's beautiful eyes and she made up her mind then and there that she would do what Curt himself had been too proud to do for himself.

In the bedroom, Kim took her robe off and began looking for her best clothing. She had never had the money for nice clothes and her newest dress was almost two years old. Her underwear was equally antiquated. She stopped briefly before the full-length mirror on the wall to give her naked body a critical look. She had never been a vain person. She lacked the money to dress herself up, but she made a terse mental comment to herself that she looked good. The skin was creamy and flawless, with a slight olive tinge to it, her legs long and statuesque with firm,full thighs and beautifully turned calves. Her belly was flat, no baby growing there, yet her hips flaring perfectly. She did think her breasts were quite a bit too large, though they were round and firm to the point of being hard. The nipples, now relaxed and quiescent, grew to hard red points when Curt excited them with his mouth and the aureoles were a bright pink and the size of silver dollars. Turning sideways, she decided that her buttocks were a bit too big and round, though they were full and bouncy. She decided she would have get more exercise and spread less butter on her bread. She gave a quick brush with her fingertips to the sparse blond bush of her pubis and she felt the darts of pleasure striking into her womb at just that tiny touch. She moaned spontaneously and squeezed her thighs together to stop the spasms of need that shook her belly. It had just been too long since Curt had given her what in the first two months of their marriage she had come to need almost as much as the breath of life. She knew then that she had to get Curt straightened out and back in working order or that their marriage and her whole plan for life would come down around her ears.

Kim put on her best old underwear and her best old dress and her best old shoes. The person inside was the best young woman around, the purest and most beautiful, so she made up her face but lightly and took special care to have her hair perfect. She smoothed any creases out of her blue dress and slung her purse over her shoulder.

Half an hour and a bus ride later she was sitting in the waiting room outside the office of Ike Harvey of Manson amp; Harvey International. Harriett, the secretary, announced her over the intercom and Mr. Harvey's gruff-sounding voice came back asking if it was important, did she have an appointment.

"She's very nice looking, Mr. Harvey. You might want to talk to her."

The intercom clicked off and Kim sat waiting. She was dreadfully nervous and suddenly wished she hadn't come. But she had to get some consideration for Curt or her dream life would come to a horrible end.

The intercom buzzed and Harriett said, "You can go in now, Mrs. Stevens."

Kim rose on shaking legs and went through the door into an enormous office. The desk was expansive, heavy, and crescent shaped. The room was also furnished with a couch and chairs, coffee table, bookcases and a bar. Behind that desk sat a man of about fifty-five with a pot belly, broad shoulders, a balding head and piercing grey eyes. He exuded power and a kind of predatory, pragmatic aura. Kim was immediately intimidated anew.

All at once, Harvey smiled. "My God, I believe you're the nicest looking girl that's ever walked through that door. It shouldn't be difficult to place you somewhere in the organisation. Are you interested in public relations?"

Kim hesitated. "Uh, Mr. Harvey…" And then she smiled, for his broad smile and friendly manner had totally disarmed her.

"Really, Miss, you could even get by without having to type very well. We might be able to find you a place in the reception office." His eyes devoured her. "Like a drink?"

"Y-yes, that would be nice," Kim stammered.

"Sit down, my dear," Harvey said, crossing to the bar where he began mixing screwdrivers, making sure Kim's was especially strong in alcohol.

Kim took the drink from him and sat on the couch. She had never drunk but once in her life and she felt the sweet and tasty drink warming her stomach and within five minutes she would feel it warming her senses as well. Still, her nerves were on edge inasmuch as Harvey thought she was here to apply for a job when she was actually here to ask a favor of him he might not be eager to grant.

"I think the public relations department is the right place for you," he said when he saw she had finished her drink. The second cocktail was in her hands almost instantly, and she had to drink half of it down before she had the courage to stop him and tell him what she had to say.

"Uh, Mr. Harvey, I have to apologize to you. I'm not here to apply for a job. I'm here to speak to you about my husband."

Harvey gave her a blank look. "I don't understand."

Kim got up and went to his desk. "My husband, Curt Stevens, he works for you. I'm here to ask you if you can't arrange for him to be promoted. He's working far below his potential."

Harvey stared at her a moment, then his face went dark. "You actually came in here to try to induce me to promote your husband out of turn?"

"He's been here three months already. He deserves a raise."

Harvey stood up and leaned over the desk, his eyes blazing,

his face turning red. "Never, in all my thirty years in business, has any man under me done anything so unethical and dishonest as to send his wife in to beg for a promotion." He blustered around the desk like an angry bull. "I don't see anything else to do but give the bastard his walking papers. Fire the bum and get his ass out of this company."

Kim stood there, incredulous. "Fire him? Oh, you can't do that. It would ruin everything."