Cheating Wife Controlled at Work

I am in a meeting at work when I feel my phone vibrate in the pocket of my jeans. I try to subtly pull it out to see what the text says. I shouldn't check it during my bosses presentation, but it might be important. It might be from Him.

And sure enough, it is.

Call me. You have 60 seconds.

My heart begins to race.

"Umm...I'm so sorry, it's my daughter's school." I say, trying my best to sound a little panicked as I point to my phone. My boss tries unsuccessfully to hide her annoyance as she nods before returning to her presentation.

I get up to leave and as soon as I close the door behind me I call Him, quickly trying to get back to my cubicle as He picks up.

"Good Slut," he purrs in that seductive deep voice of his. I get a warm flutter every time I hear those words in His voice. I used to hate that word but I've come to like it better than my actual name.

"Thank you Sir," I say quietly walking past a few of my coworkers. It's not an uncommon phrase to say on a business call, yet when I'm talking to Him I feel like everyone can somehow tell I'm not just talking to a client.

"Now Slut, that doesn't sound very thankful. Aren't you happy that your Master has freed you from that boring meeting?"

How does he always know?

"Yes Sir, I am very thankful! I am so sorry, I just didn't want my coworkers to overhear," I say louder now that I'm back in the relative privacy of my cubicle.

"That's better Slut," he says calmly. "What did you tell your boss? That your husband desperately needed to talk to you?"

"No Sir, I told them it was my daughter's school calling."

"Good excuse, Slut. I don't think they'd believe you would leave a meeting for your husband anyway." He loves knowing He is more important than my husband. God, I'm a horrible wife. But with Him, I just can't help myself. He makes me feel...free. Like I can be my real self with him in a way I can't with anyone else, including my husband. But I try to get him out of my mind a focus on Him, my Master.

"Where are you? Are you ready for your task now?" My Master doesn't call just to chat.

"Yes Sir, I'm ready, I'm at my desk." I try not to sound nervous but his workplace tasks are always the most stressful. It was less than a month ago my boss saw me gagging on two of my fingers at my desk. I had to sheepishly tell her I was just getting some food that was stuck in my teeth. Thankfully I'm a good liar. But what if He has me do something risky? Something I can't talk my way out of? I don't want to get caught again. But I can't even imagine disobeying Him.

"Good Slut. Your task is to reach up under your skirt and slide off your panties. Send me a picture of them laying on your desk. I want to see what's covering those holes that I own. Leave them there and rejoin your meeting. Afterwards you may put them back on at your desk. Understand slut?"

My stomach drops. Why did I choose to wear jeans today? The one casual Friday I decide to participate in and this is the day my Master chooses this task?

How does he always know?

I hesitate, not knowing what to do or say.

"What part of this don't you understand you stupid slut!" He is losing patience fast.

"I'm not wearing my usual work skirt today Sir, I'm wearing pants." The growing anxiety is obvious in my voice now.

"Well, my little stupid slut, just take off your pants then and complete the task! I'm not happy I have to explain this to you!" His voice is loud now. I've made him angry.

"Yes Sir! Of course!" I set down my phone and bend down to unzip my boots, looking around trying to figure out how I'm going to do this. The pathway by my three walled cubicle has people constantly walking by. I manage to get my boots off and kick them under my desk. But as I go to undo my button on my jeans a coworker walks by on the phone. He smiles at me. I must have wore the panic I have on my face because he looks at me puzzled as he continues past. I definitely cannot do this here.

"Uh-Umm... Sir..." I feel like a child in trouble with her teacher, despite being a woman in her 40s talking to a man more than 20 years younger.

"WHAT IS THE FUCKING PROBLEM, CUNT?!"

His volume causes me to move the phone away from my ear. I feel terrible. I've never heard him so livid. This is the man I live to please and I'm making him angry. I try to plead with him.

"P-Please Sir, may I just go to the bathroom and then maybe I can-"

"Silence, Slut. Now." The calmness of his voice is a shocking contrast to how furious he had just sounded. "I understand baby girl. You don't want to have one of your coworkers see you taking off your pants and panties at your desk. You don't want to be outed as the slut you are in your office. As lucky as it would be for them to see that and as aroused I'm sure a slut like you would get from being seen, we don't want to get you fired now do we?"

"N- No Sir." My heart rate begins to return to normal.

"See baby girl, I'm not unreasonable. Now get your earbuds and go to a bathroom stall. No need to put your shoes back on, you'll just be taking them off again anyway. And you don't want to leave me waiting any longer than you already have. Now go!"

I was shaking slightly as I made my way to the bathroom in my socks, knowing I'll be wearing far less in a few seconds. I hurried as nonchalantly as I could through the office and into the women's room. Thankfully it was empty and I lock the stall door behind me and put my earbuds in.

"I'm in the bathroom now, Sir."

"Good girl. Now take off your pants and your top. Find somewhere to hang them. You will need your hands free."

"Yes Sir." I smile at being reminded I'm a good girl. Before I met Him, I never would have imagined this small phrase would ever fill me with such joy. I usually hate when men call me a 'girl' when I know I'm a woman. But it's not just any man. It's Him.

I pull my grey sweater and white tank top over my head, slide my jeans down, and hang them up on the hook on the back of the door.

"Are you alone in the bathroom, Slut?"

I bend down to check under the stall to be sure.

"I'm alone Sir."

"Good. Now I want you to take off your wedding ring and set it on the bathroom floor. I don't want you thinking of him. Your vows to your husband mean nothing when you're talking to me, right Slut?"

"N-no Sir, they don't matter."

This was a new one. He's really feeling his power over me today. And all I can do is obey. All I want is to obey. I drop my wedding ring next to my feet. The realization of what I'm doing hits me like a ton of bricks. I'm betraying my husband in the worst way possible. But before I can fully process these thoughts, the bathroom door swings open with a loud creak, and I let out a small gasp.

"Did someone else walk in?"

I stay silent as I hear high heels click across the hard bathroom floor. I see them walk by under the closed stall door and enter the one a few doors down. I want to answer Him but I'm too nervous to utter a sound. I think about picking up my ring before this coworker can see it, or my shoeless feet. What will she think if she sees that?

"I take your silence as a yes. Now don't touch your ring or your clothes. Just stand there and don't say a word. Cough if you understand me, Slut."

My heart starts pounding again. I cough gently and try to stay still and not draw attention to myself.

"That's it, good girl. Just breathe and let my words wash over you. Your secret sluttiness will remain hidden, just as we both want. But I need you to keep obeying me. After all, my wants always come first."

It stings how much He's right. How I've put Him above so many other things in my life over the past six months. How I feel a strong desire to satisfy His needs before anyone else's, including my own.

"And you're so good at obeying me Slut. Remember a few weeks ago when we were working on training your gag reflex while you were at work? You were so hesitant to continue after your boss caught you giving your fingers a blow job. And yet you still continued and managed to get them all the way down your throat. You're such a good slut for me."

I can feel my arousal building. Knowing he think I'm a good girl, even after all the mistakes I've made, even just today, drives me wild.

"And then there was the time you were visiting your parents for dinner and I needed you to do your anal practices. You were such a good slut excusing yourself from the table and going to the bathroom to train your asshole for me. I was so proud you were able to get two fingers in yourself for me. Which reminds me, we'll be working up to three fingers soon."

Anal was something I've always avoided. I refused to even try with my husband so many times he'd given up trying to convince me years ago. And yet with my Master, I crave His training sessions. My ass clenched at the thought of three fingers when I can still barely fit two. But that's a worry for another day.

"Begin touching yourself now, but keep your hands on top of your panties. Don't touch your clit, focus on the entrance to your pussy. And remember, no cumming. If you understand, cough again."

I cough, and my hand like a magnet goes right between my legs. Crouching down with a widened stance, I adjust my position for better access. I can feel the intense heat and dampness radiating from me. A small moan escapes my mouth as I bite down on my lip, trying to stay silent and undetected, but unable to resist pushing the fabric into the source of my wetness. My breaths become shallow and fast as I start to move my hand slowly in a circle.

"Good slut. Keep going and keep listening. Now I think my most proud moment with you was on the night of you and your husband's anniversary. I know you remember that night well."

I held in a gasp. He was brining up my anniversary night now?? That was the only time I pushed myself more than I am now. I did so many things that night I never imagine I would do. And all those memories come flooding back. As if I wasn't embarrassed enough.

Just then I hear the toilet flush. I freeze as I hear the clicking of high heels across the floor, by me towards the sink.

"I didn't tell you to stop rubbing, keep going Slut!"

How does he always know?

I resume rubbing myself as I hear whichever coworker that was finish washing her hands and leave the bathroom.

"She's gone Sir," I say, relieved.

"Good. Because you still haven't done what I wanted you to do. And I'm growing impatient."

I was thinking back and I thought I had done everything He had asked of me. What was I forgetting?

"I'll help you out Slut, even though I shouldn't have to. What I wanted was to see a picture of your panties. If you had just worn a skirt to work this would have been so much simpler. But since you're already in the bathroom let's make things a bit more interesting."

My heart raced as did my mind, wondering what humiliating demand He has for me now.

"You are going to slide your panties down, place them over your face and head with the inside of the crotch covering your mouth. Take a selfie for me, but make sure your eyes are showing. I want to see the desperation in them."

I slide my white cotton panties off my hips. I take a seat on the toilet and lift my feet up one at a time to get them off. I see at the obvious and sizable wet spot I had made in them. It was one thing to feel the arousal, it was another to see the evidence. And it was a lot of evidence. It's a good thing I like my own scent and taste.

I place the damp panties over my face, then quickly grabbed my phone and prepared to take a photo. It was a pathetic sight. My face fully made up, hair perfectly straightened, yet here I sit on the toilet at work in just my bra and socks with my dirty panties on my head, all professionalism replaced with depravity. The unmistakable scent of my pussy fills my nose, impossible to ignore even as I try to focus on taking the perfect shot. My lips get a small taste of my own salty and musky flavor.

I snap the humiliating photo and send it to Him. All I can do now is hope He likes it.

"Good slut! Very good girl! You look incredible!" I smile at His words of approval.

Any shame I had melted away and was replaced with pride. I had followed His instructions and pleased Him, and that is all that matters to me.

"As a reward for your obedience you may rub your clit. Enjoy Slut!"

At those words I quickly and eagerly reach for my throbbing clit, and start rubbing it furiously.

"That pussy you're rubbing, Is that your pussy?" He asks slyly. I love when he confirms his ownership of me.

"No Sir."

"Is that your husband's pussy?"

The sharp sting of my betrayal hits, but quickly fades into acceptance. "No Sir," I reply.

"Who's pussy is it?"

"Yours Sir," I mutter, through moans.

"Tell me Slut, in a full sentence like a big girl."

"This is your pussy, Sir! It belongs to you! It's all yours!" I moan loudly, hearing my desperation echo against the empty bathroom walls.

"STOP!" He barks firmly.

My hand comes off my pussy and onto my thighs. I grip my skin trying to resist returning my hands to my aching clit. As hard as it is to stop when I'm this close to orgasm my instinct to obey my Master is stronger than my need to cum.

"You are enjoying this too much slut, this isn't for your pleasure it's for mine."

"Yes Sir, sorry Sir." I try to get my breathing back under control.

"It's okay baby girl, I know it's a lot to ask a slut like you to stop touching her clit. I'm very proud of your obedience right now. But now it's time to finish up. I want you to slide your ring finger in that pussy that I own. Get it nice and wet for me."

I know exactly what He is doing. He continues to burrow deeper and deeper into my mind. I'm both fascinated and scared by the power He has over my thoughts, like a puppet master pulling all the strings of my mind. No matter how much control over me He has, He always finds a way to break through and claim more.

"Get it nice and wet, Slut. And when you put that wedding ring back on, and it slides easily down, know that it was me, your Master who made your pussy this wet for you."

As if I could possibly forget.

"Now pick up that ring. Get your panties off your face and back on your body. Get dressed and clean the pussy off your face and hands and get back to work. No cumming until tomorrow, but you may have sex with your husband tonight if you'd like. Understand Slut?"

"Yes Sir. Thank you Sir."

"You are very welcome, Slut. Talk later." And with that, he hangs up.

I sit in the bathroom stall for a moment, processing what just happened. He pushed me further than I thought possible today. And yet I was able to obey and satisfy him. I get dressed and slide my wedding ring over my glistening wet finger. I'm starting to see the meaning of this ring differently now.

Making sure I'm all put together I leave the stall. As I wash the evidence of my arousal off my hands I think about how lucky I am to have found Him. Every morning, I wake up with excitement, knowing that He could call at any time and ask for anything He desires from me.

As I walk back to my desk in my socks I feel my body aching with unsatisfied arousal. But my mind is satisfied. I feel owned. Humiliated. Dirty. Slutty. Content.

I guess I am glad I wore jeans today after all.