tagNonConsent/ReluctanceCar Show Slut Ch. 15

Car Show Slut Ch. 15

bydavidwriter©

The man sitting in front of me, the man about to be introduced to me as the boss of the firm to which I was about to give my presentation in the hope of securing a very lucrative contract with them, was the man I had let fuck me last night for five hundred dollars. NO! This can't be happening! But it was. Oh God, it was. I just stood there, numb, as Bill rose to his feet. I felt my world, my entire life, crashing around me. This was the end of my career.

"Hi, William Jones," he said calmly, politely, a smug smile on his face as he looked me in the eye. "Call me Bill." I heard him speaking, but it was as though I was somewhere else, not actually present in the room. My heart was pounding in my chest. I felt gripped by extreme panic, locked to the spot in the floor. I thought for a moment I would faint.

"Anne, are you OK?" I heard someone say. I think it was Pete. His words jolted me back into reality -- but a reality I could hardly bear! I steeled myself as best I could.

"Yes, I'm OK. Bill," I said, extending my hand to complete the formalities, though desperately trying to avoid his gaze, "pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," he smiled. He was as cool as ice, acting as if nothing had happened the night before, as if indeed he had in fact just met me for the first time -- as everyone else in the room naturally assumed was the case.

"Anne, you look a little pale," he said. "Would you like a glass of water before we continue?"

All I could manage was a feeble 'yes' as I sat down.

Oh my God. It wasn't just the embarrassment. That would have been bad enough, bad beyond belief - and it surely was. I could hardly bring myself to look him in the eye. But what about when all this got back to Mr Sheldon? For it surely would. Bill would tell him, I was certain, tell him how his marketing executive had fucked him the night before their meeting like a common whore. I felt like turning and walking out of there, right there and then. But something, maybe my sense of professionalism, made me stay. Made me resolve to at least get through the presentation. Go through the motions, get it over with, in the best way I could, and not give Bill the satisfaction of seeing me crumble. And then just get my sorry ass out of there.

It was the most excruciating and longest day of my life. The only respite was, oddly enough, when I was actually giving the presentation for which I had been so well prepared. For despite the internal trauma, the fact that I was virtually shaking the whole time I spoke, and that I could hardly look Bill in the eye even for a moment, I actually didn't do a bad job of it. But oh, then came the extended business lunch, which normally occurs at these sorts of affairs, and for two hours I had to engage in light conversation with the three men, with Bill throwing in the odd line about my private life, such as how could it be that such an attractive, intelligent girl as myself wasn't already hitched? Damn him, he was enjoying himself over this, at my expense.

We had a wrap up in the afternoon, and by five mercifully it was over. I said my goodbyes to Pete and Jeff as they prepared to leave, but then just as I was about to go Bill came over to me.

"Oh Anne, would you mind sticking around just a minute? There are a couple of points I'd like to go over."

"Yes, sure," I replied. What else could I say? And I knew pretty much what those 'points' were going to be. Pete and Jeff had gone. Now it was just Bill and myself alone in the conference room.

"Take a seat," he said firmly. The tone of his voice had changed. He remained standing, and idly strolled to the opposite end of the conference table. I watched him, his back towards me, his fingers straying across the top of the chair, lightly tapping the chair. Then he turned to look at me.

"Well, well," he said, placing one hand in front his mouth, resting his thumbs under his chin, as if in some kind of contemplation. Here it comes, I thought, bracing myself, here it comes. "That was an interesting day, Anne, I must say. Not as interesting as the night before, though -- not by a long shot. And on that topic, may I ask, what was last night about? What the hell was going on there? Doesn't Sheldon pay you enough, Anne? Or Angie, is it? Hmm?"

I started to cry. All the emotion pent up all day, I just lost it.

"I'm sorry, Bill, so sorry," I sobbed, feeling even more dejected, even more pathetic -- cracking up like this in front of him was exactly what I didn't want to happen! "I don't know what I was doing! That was, that's never happened before, I've never done that before!"

"Hey," he said, "hey!" raising his voice. "Stop crying. Get it together. I'm just asking: last night, what was that about?"

He gave me a tissue and I dried my eyes.

"I don't know. I just don't know. Maybe just a fantasy, one I never meant to be real, and it just sort of got out of hand. I'm really sorry, Bill, I... I just don't know what to say!"

"Hmm, but this is certainly an interesting situation we've got ourselves into here," he said, chuckling. God, he was laughing! "Tell you what: if you're thinking I'm not going to do a deal with you because of last night, the answer is you're mistaken. The fact is that your proposal is pretty good. It's got merit. It's not perfect, and there are some fundamental points on which I would like to negotiate different terms but, on the whole, it's well in the ballpark...

"Now, listen carefully to what I've got to say. I run this firm. Tomorrow Pete and Jeff will be making their own recommendations to me as to whether or not we do a deal, but I've got final veto. I'm the boss, I can overrule them if I so chose.

"Now, as I said, your proposal is good, not perfect, but good. Maybe good enough. Maybe not. Now, listen carefully: I've got a proposition for you.

"Since I'm the boss, and I make the decisions, I could make a decision right here and now, yes or no. As I said, I can sign up with you right now, or I can walk away right now. It's all up to me. Your pitch was good. With a few minor amendments, I think it could be something that can work for my company.

"Now, I fly back home in the morning, which means I'm here for another night. So, here's the deal: you will agree to be my personal whore for the evening, and that means you do whatever I say, when I say it. You agree to that, deal's on. How does that sound?"

No. No way. I couldn't do it. The shame I felt right now was almost unbearable, let alone be his God damned slut for the night! I almost didn't care any more. Fuck it all, my career will be over with this anyway! Just get me out of here! I've had enough, more than enough, and now he's trying to humiliate me even further, if that were possible! I was about to get up and leave as it suddenly occurred to me: why am I still sitting here even now? Isn't this excruciating enough? If my career is all over now, why not just walk out and spare myself any more humiliation and embarrassment? Why didn't I do that earlier? I'm still hanging on to some hope, I must be, otherwise I would have already walked out. Otherwise I would have walked out this morning. To walk out now is almost illogical -- why go through all the shit and humiliation I had today for nothing? There's got to still be a way out of this, got to be a solution. There's always a solution to be found for any dilemma, even one as sordid and pathetic and as unspeakable as this. But could I really do what he's asking? No. When I still hadn't given him an answer, he said:

"Oh come on. You seemed to enjoy playing the slut last night, at least from what I can remember. You seemed to really enjoy it, Anne. You just admitted it was some kind of fantasy, didn't you? Why don't you just face the fact -- you wanted it, and you loved it, you loved it my sweet little thing. Didn't you? Hmm? One more night of playing the whore and then you go home with a deal signed and sealed. It's that easy, it's that simple. What's your problem?"

I just sat there in silence, looking at the floor. I felt like something like a naughty schoolgirl sent to the headmaster and waiting to see if she was going to be kicked out of the school.

"You know," he continued, "I could also decide to let Sheldon know what his marketing executive gets up to when she's away on business at his expense. I don't know Sheldon all that well, but I'm pretty sure he'd be fairly pissed at that news. Don't you?"

"You're blackmailing me!" I said, trying to rally myself into some kind of action, even though I felt utterly cornered, completely powerless. Damn it, I knew it: I should have just walked out!

"You may call it blackmail," he said. "I would call it taking full advantage of my position of strength in this particular situation, as any good businessman would. Business isn't always fair, Anne, you should know that by now. Anne, think about it. Don't get hysterical, just think about it. I have no reason or motive to tell Sheldon what happened, nothing to profit from it. I mean, of course I could ask him for my five hundred back!"

God, now he was laughing at his little joke. This was just getting worse and worse...

"But seriously, Anne, we both know what would happen to your career if I did tell Sheldon. You'd be finished. What happened with us last night, from your perspective, was a very unfortunate and unlucky coincidence. But that's the situation you -- not me - seem to have engineered for yourself. Remember, you brought this on yourself.

"I'm saying to you that if you walk out the door right now, not only is the deal off, but I will be left to consider what course of action I might take with regards to what I tell Sheldon of our meeting. But if you do what I say, the deal's on, I give you my word on that, and I give you my word that Sheldon won't ever -- EVER -- find out about last night's little adventure. So, what do you say?"

What could I say? It was like being thrown a life raft in the middle of the ocean by the man who had just deliberately sunk the boat. But a lifeline it was. Because, if he was as good as his word, I had a deal, and I still had my career. As unpalatable as it all sounded, I didn't feel that I had much choice in the matter.

"What do you mean by anything?" I said through gritted teeth.

"Anything means exactly that -- anything. Probably the same sorts of things that happened to you last night -- and I don't remember you feeling any discomfort or displeasure then. 'Anything' means whatever I say it means. You will not be physically harmed in any way, if that's what you're getting at."

"How do I know I can trust you?" I asked. "This is blackmail - how do I that know we will have a deal if I go through with this?"

"Anne, I wish you wouldn't use that word 'blackmail'; it's so distasteful. But listen to me: whatever your opinion of me as a person, in business I like to think of myself as a man of principle. When I agree to something in a business situation -- and what we're discussing here is business, even if the circumstances of this business are a bit unusual -- in business, my word is my bond. It's non-negotiable -- if I say 'it's a deal', then a deal it is, and I won't walk away from it. I know you don't think you can trust me, but I give you my word. You'll just have to accept that. In any case, I don't think you have a lot of alternative options here, do you?"

"No," I conceded. I felt defeated. I had to take him on his word, and I wasn't entirely sure I trusted him. But I had no choice but to trust him. There was no other way out of this.

"All right, I agree."

"Good. Now, go back up to your room and freshen up. I'll be up there to pick you up in, say, one hour? I'd like you to wear the same dress you wore last night. You looked really hot in that. Oh, and no bra, either -- those tits of yours are too damned hot; it's a crime to keep them constrained. OK, I'll see you in an hour's time."

He got up and left the room. I sat there for a while contemplating the situation. I felt like I was about to burst into tears again, but I stopped myself. Tears were not going to help me now. I had to pull myself together! I got up and went back to my room.

I still could hardly believe what had happened, and could hardly bear to think of what might be about to happen. I hated him for this. He was virtually making me his prisoner -- he was blackmailing me, the asshole! But maybe it was just as he said: as any good businessman, or woman, for that matter, would do -- exploit an advantage. And through my own stupidity I had presented him with this 'advantage'. Because it was true. He was right: this was a situation I had unwittingly got myself into. He might be playing hard ball, but it was all my doing, not his. It was only going to be one night, and then I was in the clear. Not only that, but I would have a deal -- the sole reason I came here in the first place. All you've got to do is obey his wishes, and the deal is done, I kept reminding myself as I showered and got myself ready. Ready for what, though, I wasn't quite sure. I was feeling very apprehensive, very nervous about what was to come. What was going to happen to me? What was he going to force me to do?

I slipped on the black dress, quickly did my hair and put on some lipstick. I looked in the mirror. Yes, I did look good. Well, good enough to be worth five hundred bucks, I thought, and I felt buoyed that I could still find at least some humor in my sad predicament; I could still laugh at myself. Soon I heard a knock at the door. It was him. I let him in and he looked me up and down, head to toe.

"Mmm, sexy," he said. "Very sexy. Anne, you really are one hot babe, you know that? Actually, I'll call you Angie tonight. I think I prefer you as Angie," he chuckled.

"I've booked a table at a restaurant on the other side of town. Let's have a quick drink before we go, shall we? Will you fetch me a Scotch, please?

I nodded and poured him a glass of whiskey, and a glass of white for myself. He was sitting on the bed, still eyeing me up and down.

"God, Angie, you look so hot in that dress," he said as he took a sip of his drink, his eyes not leaving my body for a second. "Damn, it's making me hard just looking at you. Tell you what, we don't need to go for another 20 minutes or so: why don't you fill in the time by giving me a nice blow job while we're waiting? Hmm?

"Down on your knees, there's a good girl."

Oh yes, here it comes, I thought to myself, here it comes. I got down on my knees in front of him and unzipped his trousers. His cock sprang free. It was already half hard. It took it in my hand and slipped it between my lips. Just like that. Before long I could feel it beginning to grow inside my mouth.

"Good. Good girl."

It felt odd. Here I was, sucking Bill's cock, but in a totally different context from the night before. Then I had been bought and paid for as a whore. And it had excited me. Now I was some kind of slave. Not paid for, but owned. That's what it was, really: because tonight, he owns me. My body is not mine -- it belongs to him! Damn, how did I get myself into this!

Then his cell phone rang. I let go of him while he took the call.

"Hey, don't stop," he said, his hand covering the receiver.

I took his cock back into my mouth and started sucking him again. It occurred to me that if I could make him cum now, make him cum really hard, really exhaust him, he may not be able to get it up again later in the night, and thus my night as 'his whore' might not be as difficult as it might otherwise have been. As my mouth slid up and down his hard shaft, I pondered the ridiculousness of what had just gone through my mind: I'm here on my knees with my client's cock in my mouth, and thinking of making him cum as hard as I could as some kind of positive outcome! I felt so ashamed; this had to be the nadir as far as my business career was concerned. I had always prided myself on the fact that I had got to where I was on intellect and people skills alone, not on my looks -- or worse. But now here I was, on my knees, hoping to secure a deal not with my brain but with my mouth, my mouth wrapped around my client's cock, doing my best to make him cum in my mouth.

As degrading as all this was, what made it even worse was the fact that he wasn't even concentrating on what I was doing to him. All the while as I devoured his cock, Bill was talking on the phone. I felt almost disappointed, somehow almost insulted, that I didn't have his full attention. I began to suck him harder, taking him in deeper, playing with his balls gently in my hand. But he was still deep in conversation on the phone.

"Yeah Jeff, I agree with you there: it was a pretty good pitch she made."

Oh God, it was Jeff, his marketing executive! How embarrassing...

"Yeah," he continued with the conversation, "there are a couple of points I think need to be worked through, but on balance I think Anne's proposal can be of great benefit to us. I'm not sold on it, though, and I want your input on this before we do anything. I'm going to give it the once over again myself tonight, and we can discuss it in the morning. What's that? Yeah, you're right, she certainly is a hot looking chick."

Oh my God, now they're discussing me -- my looks!

"You know," he continued, grinning down at me as he spoke, watching me as I continued to work my mouth up and down his shaft, "the whole time she was giving her presentation this morning, I was sitting back there watching her, and I could hardly concentrate on what she was saying -- watching her speak, I just couldn't help but think just how fucking hot she would look with those cute lips of hers wrapped around my cock."

I could feel the heat in my cheeks, burning red with shame and embarrassment. I couldn't believe what I was hearing! And I was actually sucking him off at the same time! The asshole...

"Yeah, you're right, Jeff, she is one cute piece of ass -- a body like hers is just made to be fucked. Bit uptight, though, I thought. She seemed very nervous for some reason. Yeah, I agree, probably all she needs is a good, hard fucking!"

He was laughing loudly now, the two of them sharing a joke at my expense, only Jeff had no idea that the very woman he was talking about in such disgusting, sexist language was actually present in the room. With her lips around the cock of the man he was speaking with... Oh God, could it get any worse than this?

Mercifully, the phone call soon came to an end. Bill put the cell phone down and lay back as I continued to do as I had been told. I looked up at him. He was reclining back in the chair, hands wrapped behind his head as if he was relaxing on a sun lounge by the hotel pool or something.

"Mmm, this is the life, don't you think, Angie?"

'Angie' didn't know quite what to say, or whether in fact she should remove the appendage from her mouth so that she could say anything. God, this was going to be an awful night.

Then the room phone rang. It was reception; evidently our taxi had arrived. Bill jumped up and stuffed his cock into his pants, telling me that 'we'll continue this later', as I knew we surely would.

Going down in the elevator Bill seemed to take great delight in checking out my reflection in the mirrors on the walls.

"You are so God damned beautiful, Angie. Damn, you're hot! You know, last night, when we met, when you were sitting there on the stool and you looked real hot, I thought to myself, 'I'm gonna have this woman, no matter what the price. Five hundred was a God damned bargain!"

He was laughing again.

He escorted me to the taxi, feeling up my ass as I climbed inside the vehicle. Did I mind? Well, yes I did. But I didn't have a lot of choices other than to grin and bear it. Bill told the driver the address of the restaurant and was met with a reply of 'yes boss' from the driver. He was Asian. I guessed he might have been Korean, but I couldn't be sure. I saw him check me out in the rear view mirror.

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