Angel Martinelli slipped on a red blouse over a green skirt as she dressed for her husband’s office Christmas party. She looked in a mirror and fluffed her auburn hair. She had aged well. At forty, her skin was smooth with just a hint of crow’s feet at the edges of her blue eyes. “Put something decent on,” Tom, her husband, barked. “That skirt is too tight and way too short, and your tits look like they might fall out of...