tagNonConsent/ReluctanceCompany Whore Ch. 04

Company Whore Ch. 04

bynotsoliteral©

Author's note: Obviously no woman should be treated like Ingrid is treated in this story. It's just a fantasy and if fantasizing about degradation, coercion, and outright force don't get you off, this isn't the story for you.

*****

Ingrid hadn't been fucked in a week. She was going crazy without dick. Every night after work, she'd come back to her motel room and jam her fingers up her cunt, stroking her clit hard with her other hand until she squirted all over her filthy sheets. The motel housekeeping only came in once a week to change the sheets and wipe down the dingy bathroom, so invariably Ingrid slept on damp sheets, sticky with her own juices.

With no money of her own until she had a few months of paychecks come in to catch her up on her bills, Ingrid was stuck at this shitty motel. It was the only place she could afford after her asshole ex-boyfriend broke up with her. The place was ripe with drug abuse and prostitutes, so the foreign cleaning maids didn't look twice at her flesh-baring outfits or her dank sheets. They assumed she was just another whore, trying to make a buck. Which wasn't far from the truth, anyway.

Company Whore that she actually was, she was beginning to feel damn near virginal. Last week, her boss, Mr. Smith, had expressly forbidden anyone at the offices of SWY from fucking his slut. He'd also expressly forbidden his slut from getting fucked outside of work. Even though she knew he was just giving her abused body time to heal from the debasement she'd endured over her first few days at work - and time to drive herself crazy from male neglect - Ingrid was salivating for her next cock.

And she knew her next cock would come at the company conference that she flew out for tonight! She wasn't sure what was in store for her, but she looked forward to it with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation.

_______________

Mr. Smith and Ingrid's flight touched down at 5pm, local time. He had Ingrid sit next to him on the flight, and she was sure that he'd break her seal on the flight, whether with his fingers under a strategically placed coat in her lap, or finding a way to initiate her into the Mile High Club in a teeny tiny bathroom. But, he didn't. He just sat there and enjoyed the attention her massive cleavage attracted from male passengers (and some female passengers) as they walked past their business class seats.

Once at the hotel, Ingrid was beginning to pout and wonder what was wrong with her. Her boss hadn't fucked her in the back of the executive car either. He just left her at her room with a slap on her ass and handed her a trash bag, instructing her to, "put this on and meet me in the lobby." Finally starting to have some hope that he had a use for her, she was going crazy wondering what he had planned.

She tore into the garbage bag, anxious to see the trashy outfit he'd picked out for her. He didn't disappoint, spending a lot of money to make her look cheap. It was a skin tight Herve Leger strapless bandage dress that ended just below her ass cheeks. The constricting dress pushed her amazing silicone DDs nearly up to her chin. There were a pair of mile-high fuck me heels in the bag, and nothing else. Not that she expected him to want her in panties. She hadn't worn panties since she took her company whore position two weeks ago. Without a bra, her hardened nipples stood out in the dress.

After applying more heavy porn-star make-up and curling her long dark hair, she met her boss in the lobby 20 minutes later. Every male eye followed her. She loved the attention. It made her feel important and wanted. Mr. Smith led her out the front doors of the hotel, the doormen doing their best to avoid checking her out, and failing miserably.

Once on the busy street, Mr. Smith pointed out a bar down the street and across the way. "Shake your little slut ass down the street and take a seat inside that bar. That's where we're having our kick-off meeting. We've rented the place out and it's packed with SWY men. Tonight you'll get to fulfill the "whore" part of your job title again. Don't look so scared, slut. You know you want this."

Ingrid's pussy convulsed. Now that the time was finally here to get fucked, she was a ball of nerves. She wasn't really a whore! And even if she was a slut, was she prepared to get fucked by a roomful of men she'd never met? What about her ass? She hadn't had anything up her ass in a week; she was certain her asshole had tightened back up. All the blood drained from her face as she worried about the pain anal fucking would bring initially. But then her face dramatically turned crimson as she remembered how much she loved getting ass fucked when she was first enjoyed by Mr. Young. She still couldn't decide if he had raped her or not. Strange, when she had been all at once entirely willing and unwilling, so it was hard to say.

Mr. Smith ran his fingers lightly over her rounded cleavage and grinned. "Enjoy yourself, slut. And make sure my company men enjoy themselves - don't fucking disappoint me on this. I'll see you later for some of my own fun."

"Sir! You're leaving me?" Ingrid didn't want to walk in that bar alone.

"I'm not your fucking pimp, slut. You're a big girl. Go get what you want, my little fuck toy!" And with a final playful slap on her ass, her boss vanished back inside the posh hotel.

Ingrid grumbled to herself, he might as well be her pimp, renting her out by the hour! Regardless, she set off down the street, tottering on her heels, resisting the urge to pull down her obscenely short skirt, and wondering if he literally wanted her to shake her ass while she walked down the street. Hedging her bet, she gave her derriere a little wiggle.

She endured the glares from women - one woman actually stared her down and snarled, "Oh, do cover up, sweetie. You're looking a little desperate." - and knowing leers from men on her way to the bar. It was the longest 100 yard walk of her life.

Once she finally arrived at the bar, she pulled open the door and stepped inside. While her eyes adjusted to the dark wood paneled gloom, she could hear male conversation pause as they took in her appearance. She had been standing there for less than 10 seconds, wondering what to do next, when a short man in his late 30s with early onset balding appeared at her side. He didn't say a word to her, just pulled her tight skirt up over her hips, bent her over the hostess stand, unzipped his pants, and jammed his dick between her legs. He was annoyed to find her cunt not wet enough. After spitting into his hand, the stranger matter-of-factly rubbed the saliva in and around her pussy lips, then forced his already hard dick inside. He grabbed her hips and started hammering away at her.

Ingrid grunted as he thrusted. She had no idea who this short little man was, and yet he was fucking her! Ingrid couldn't believe herself, that she just allowed this stranger inside her body with no resistance. Some of the surrounding tables watched her take his cock, other tables ignored them and continued their conversations. 7 or 8 short thrusts later, and he was emptying his balls inside her. He groaned. "Ohhhhh, fuck! Phew, I needed that!" He withdrew and headed back to his hightop table, laughing with the other men seated there about how his frigid bitch of a wife never let him near her anymore.

Ingrid was still bent over the hostess stand, humiliated. He never even acknowledged her. She had just been a warm hole to him. Not only that, but that quickie was certainly not satisfying to her, after her week of depravation. She hung her head, but she wasn't sure if she was more disappointed or embarrassed. What was even worse, is she wanted the stranger to come back and fuck her some more. When did she turn into such a nympho?

Through the veil of hair hanging around her face, Ingrid could see another man approaching her. She started to stand up to meet his eye, but he just grabbed the back of her head and forced her onto her knees.

Ingrid automatically opened her mouth. The man whipped out his soft dick and stroked it a few times while he admired her upturned face and heaving rack. Once he was hard, he slapped Ingrid's cheeks with his rod. She closed her eyes and took the cock beating, grunting a bit through her wide open mouth with each slap.

"Open your eyes, bitch," he ordered. "Look at me and beg me to fuck your mouth hole."

Ingrid hastened to comply. She was finally getting some good attention! "Oh yes! Please sir!" She paused in between dick slaps. "Please fuck my face!"

She only needed to ask once. He slid his hard rod between her lips until he hit home at the back of her throat. Taking hold of her hair on either side of her face, he held her head in place and started jackhammering her mouth, sliding into her throat. Her red lipstick smeared all over his cock as she slobbered and gagged on him. A camera flashed in her face and she squeezed her eyes shut while someone laughed.

The man pulled out of her mouth and slapped her with his dick. "I fucking told you to look at me, fucktoy." Ingrid opened her eyes and looked pleadingly up at him as he resumed fucking her head. "Yeah, that's right you fucking bitch!" The man rammed his cock once more deep into her throat and she could feel him coating her throat with his cum. "Fuck yeah! Bitch!" With no other choice, she swallowed his sperm and sucked the last of it from the head of his cock.

Once finished, the man patted her cheek. "Thanks honey. I love a good wet mouth." Ingrid flushed at his praise, wondering how she had wound up on her knees in a bar full of men who knew they could do whatever they wanted with her. A month ago, she hadn't been aware that she was a slut, and had only been fucking her ex-boyfriend, and enduring only his abuse. But this is what paid the bills. She was so thankful for Mr. Smith and SWY for giving her a great paying job. And, she supposed, getting fucked was the only thing she was good for. She knew she wasn't smart. Her only assets were the huge fake fuck bags on her chest and her tight body.

A fleeting thought went through her insecure brain, remembering the two cops who visited her motel room. What would they do if the found out how slutty she was behaving tonight? Would they arrest her? She couldn't remember the charges they said they would bring against her for - what was the word? - promiscuity? But surely she could work something out with them if they found out? She wasn't prepared to go to jail! She'd heard horror stories about prison rapes. But maybe she'd enjoy that ...?

Before she could go much further down that line of thought, a third man appeared in front of her. He took her hands and raised her gently to standing. Using a paper bar napkin, he dabbed at her lips, wiping away spittle and a trail of cum. The man pulled her skirt down, pausing only long enough to slide a finger through her wet slit and pop the finger into her mouth.

"Now if you ain't a tasty morsel," the man drawled. Ingrid tasted a mixture of herself and semen on his finger. She looked him up and down and felt more moisture leak down her leg. The man was hot! Tall, dark, and handsome! Just like ... her ex-boyfriend. She already both loved and hated this man.

"My name is Spencer Wolburn. You can call me Mr. Wolburn." He smiled. "Or sir." He had the sexiest southern accent! "I'll just call you whatever I feel like. Deal? Good." The man was so charming that Ingrid couldn't help smiling back him.

He continued on. "Now, I could watch you get fucked in here all night, but that just ain't sportin'. All these assholes in here know you're a sure thing. They've been waiting for you and your compatriots all year long. I'd rather watch you get fucked by a roomful of men who have no idea what a depraved little whore you are. Let them think they have to work for a hot piece of ass like yourself and then get surprised when you give up your wet holes so easily."

Ingrid blushed when he called her a "hot piece of ass". This man was so nice!

"Let's go across the street. It'll be our little act of kindness for the evening." Ingrid started to let him lead her from the room, but she suddenly resisted.

"Oh, but ... but Mr. Wolburn? Mr. Smith said I'm supposed to be in here! I'm supposed to make these men happy. I'm Company Whore for SWY..." she trailed off uncertainly.

Mr. Wolburn gave her a pitying look. "Aw, honey, don't you worry your silly little head. These guys have a couple other Company Whores here to fuck tonight. They'll get their fill of slut snatch, believe you me."

Ingrid's heart dropped. She wasn't the only Company Whore? She silently berated herself for thinking she was special. The kind Mr. Wolburn saw her face fall with the realization.

"Aw, you poor dumb thing. Here, I'll explain it for you, Sweet Tits. You're one of 4 Company Whores. Each one of the 3 senior partners gets a whore. Company perk, you see. And your boss, well, he's not a senior partner, but he gets a whore, too. He's a mite special, seeing as how the senior partner Mr. Smith is Connor's daddy. So, he gets a whore too. That'd be you, honey."

Ingrid brightened up upon learning she was only one of 4 Company Whores. So she was a bit special after all!

Mr. Wolburn pointed across the crowded room. "Now, my whore is over there getting her ass reamed. She sure does love a good anal fucking up her slutty little asshole," he laughed. Ingrid looked where he pointed and saw what she had missed earlier while she was getting her own fuckings. There was a busty blonde bent over a few tables away, mouth agape, while 3 or 4 men took turns fucking her from behind and yet another man recorded the whole thing on his iPhone. She looked like she was moaning and thoroughly enjoying the gang bang, but Ingrid couldn't hear her over the loud music in the room.

Mr. Wolburn continued, speaking loudly into her ear, hand around her waist. "Since only a few select company men get to keep Company Whores, our mid-management employees here not based at one of our main offices only get to enjoy your favors on select occasions, this annual meeting being one of them." He ran his hand over her plump ass, resting it on her tight ass cheek, squeezing gently.

"So, yes, slut, I am a senior partner. Which means I have seniority over your junior sonny-boy boss. Which means," he paused to grin, "you have to do what I say. So follow me."

Ingrid licked her red-painted lips. "Yes sir."

______________

Mr. Wolburn continued his tutorial as he led her out the door and down the street.

"Now, I know most of our partners get their kicks from abusing that tasty little body of yours. I saw that lovely little video of yours that Connor uploaded to the company intranet. If you don't look damn good fucking yourself with that huge rubber dildo, getting your huge tits yanked around on a chain! Whoo wee! I watched that little performance several times while I fucked my whore back there. I came all over her face while I watched you squirt on that dildo."

Ingrid felt her breasts tingle at the memory and she froze suddenly, realizing that it probably wasn't just Mr. Wolburn who saw her performance online. What the fuck was she doing to herself? Didn't she have any self-respect? They've turned her into nothing more than an internet (what the hell was an intranet, anyway, she wondered?) porn star! She resolved that from now on, she wouldn't allow these men to debase her and abuse her. Big-titted slut or not, she was a real live woman and deserved respect, dammit!

Just as Ingrid lifted her chin with resolve, she saw Mr. Wolburn was a few paces in front of her and she skip-stepped to keep up with her boss's boss as he strode down the street.

He continued, interrupting her thoughts. "Anyway, while I love to watch a good slut getting used and abused, I'd rather do just that ... watch you. And then jerk off all over you after other men are done with you, adding to your nasty little cum collection. It's my own little idiosyncrasy." He yanked on her arm, forcing her to keep step with him. "So, here's the plan, Sweet Tits. We're headed to that little dive bar down this alley."

The dive bar in question was exactly as described. Dark, neon lit, and down an alley. Ingrid imagined the clientele for this place was a step or two down from the previous bar she was in.

"Your job, should you choose to accept it, is to entice as many men in that bar as possible to fuck you," he drawled. "I'll just sit back and watch the shenanigans until I feel a need to step in and participate. Sound good to you, slut? Good. I thought you'd get off on this plan."

Ingrid's face drained. With her new-found resolve, she managed to respond, "Actually, no sir."

Mr. Wolburn froze. "Excuse me, cunt?"

Ingrid inhaled. "I've had enough of being raped. That's what you all are doing to me. I'm worth more than this! This isn't the job I signed up for ..."

Ingrid's brave little speech was interrupted by a bruising grip on her upper arm. Mr. Wolburn lowered his face to within inches of her nose. He also lowered his voice menacingly. "Well fuck you for an upstart whore-turned-sudden-feminist-bitch. Here I've gone out of my way to be nothing but nice to you, and you repay me like this? What the fuck did Connor hire? What the fuck do you think you're going to do? Go hire a sexual harassment lawyer?" He barked with laughter and Ingrid lowered her head. "Fucking good luck with that, cunt. No one will believe such an obvious slut." He slapped at her cleavage. "Just look at those huge fake tits of yours! The best you'd get from a lawyer is a fucking up your ass. And you'd deserve it in both meanings of the phrase."

While she endured his verbal assault, she also berated herself silently for being so stupid. What the hell had she been thinking? She must have lost her mind, thinking she could back-talk him and still keep her job. "I-I'm s-s-so sorry, sir! Please, please! Let me make it up to you! I'll be so good! I don't know what came over me!" She could see Mr. Wolburn's anger start to fade, so she hurried on. "I know I'm a slut! I'll do anything you say!"

Mr. Wolburn relaxed his grip on her arm and stood up straighter. "Welllll now, that's better, slut. I'm glad you came to your senses." He breathed in deeply, calming himself, then growled, "But I am going to stop acting like you have any say in this matter. If you don't perform up to my expectations inside, I'm going to have Connor fire your slutty little ass, pay docked, with no reference. And then where would you be?"

Ingrid fell to her knees right there in the alley. "Oh please, please, sir! I'll do anything you say, anything you want! I'm your fuck slut, I'll fuck whoever you want, however you want! Please, let me be your cum dumpster, sir!"

Without another word, Mr. Wolburn yanked her to her feet and pushed her inside the smoke-filled bar. Ingrid's eyes adjusted slowly to the dark room, ears pounding to the classic rock they were blaring. She took a moment to adjust her dress and hair, then made her way to an empty barstool.

The bartender's eyes were locked on her enormous cleavage. He addressed her tits, asking, "Are you lost, sweetheart?"

Ingrid blushed. Of course he would think she didn't belong in a place like this, dressed as she was. She looked like a marginally expensive prostitute at worst, or a slutty girl headed to a trendy club at best.

She smiled at him and decided she needed a story, and fast. Thinking on her feet, she explained, "Actually, no. I, um, was just on my way to the, um, hotel when I saw your bar and decided to stop in for a drink." Realizing how lame she sounded, she tried to come up with a better story she could sink her teeth into. "You see, my boyfriend just dumped me! Yeah, I literally just found out he was screwing some other chick. And now I need a drink or three!"

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