Cream This Thick Ch. 04 - Aroma

Things accelerated quickly from there. Michelle woke up the next morning with two messages from Mrs. Wasserman. Both of them were the videos of the previous night's debauchery. Michelle put on headphones and scampered into the bathroom, watched herself lick Mrs. Wasserman's crotch, and moaned while she slowly touched herself.

It was worse when she watched the video of herself masturbating. At first, she was amazed at her flexibility. She hadn't been able to spread her legs like that in years, let alone get them over her head like that. But the Michelle in the video seemed ten years younger. She looked so happy, and impossibly turned on. She was more animal than human. She moaned repeatedly, her body shaking and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. It was like watching a stranger fuck herself on camera. Like watching porn.

A completely pathetic stranger. If Michelle had seen this a few months ago, she'd hate this woman. She'd wonder if her parents or siblings or co-workers knew what she did. She'd wonder if she had children and what she would think if they saw her like this one day. She'd think she was cheapening her life, selling her body for a cheap thrill. She'd hate her, and honestly, part of Michelle did hate the woman on the video. She was weak. She was needy. She was out of control.

But she did look good.

She looked happy.

Happier than Michelle had felt in years.

She licked her lips and watched the video for the seventh time. She was edging, pushing herself close to orgasm, but she didn't want to cum. Not yet. She was enjoying herself too much. It felt too good to tease herself slowly, to move closer and closer to completion. It was a little dance with her body, one she hadn't played in years, one she had forgotten about until Mrs. Wasserman came along and woke all of her up at once.

She wasn't sure she was going to cum. It was difficult in the morning. Her kids were knocking on the door, wanting to use the bathroom. Her husband was asking about breakfast. There were a thousand distractions. It felt impossible for anyone to cum like this. But then she heard it, lodged deep into the audio. She hadn't heard it last night, not while she was there. But in the midst of her touching herself, Mrs. Wasserman gave the slightest chuckle and whispered, "What a pathetic little cunt."

What a pathetic little cunt.

Michelle couldn't agree more.

She rewound the video and turned up the volume, trying to drown out all other distractions. It almost hurt her ears, but that didn't matter. She was close.

What a pathetic little cunt.

Her hand moved faster. She closed her eyes. She didn't need the visual anymore. She could hear the wet mess of her fingers pounding into her pussy over and over. She heard the rumble of her moans turning slowly to moos. But that wasn't what she was listening for.

"What a pathetic little cunt."

Michelle's world went wet. Her legs shot out and locked. Her back spasmed and tensed. She almost dropped her phone and gripped the side of her sink. Her body shook, but her free hand kept circling, grinding her clit.

In the stillness of the aftermath, she swore that she could hear Mrs. Wasserman's chuckle.

What a pathetic little cunt.

***

Despite her morning, she wasn't late for work. She was getting better at giving herself plenty of time. She knew she could always get coffee at work, and each day the humiliation Mrs. Wasserman made her endure felt less and less like a punishment.

She felt good this morning. She couldn't quite explain it. The rational part of her mind knew she was going back to Mrs. Wasserman, to her control and humiliation. It told her that this would be another thankless day of being mocked and ordered around. In addition, Mrs. Wasserman may have more for her, something worse than mooing.

And yet, she knew she was going to cum today. Multiple times. In front of Mrs. Wasserman. She'd beg for it, and certainly Mrs. Wasserman would make her do something awful for it, but that wasn't the end of the world. It was still better than making dinner and giving her husband a bath. It was better than vacuuming, even though she made it clear to her daughters that they should be handling the chores when they came home from school.

The undeniable fact was that Mrs. Wasserman's control on her worst day was better than Michelle's family on their best day.

Maybe she was a bitch to think it. Maybe she was a pervert. She didn't know. Thankfully, she didn't need to worry about it. She had no choice. Mrs. Wasserman had taken all that pesky freedom away, and without it, Michelle only had to worry about one thing: whatever Mrs. Wasserman told her to do.

"Good morning, Mrs. Wasserman," said Michelle as she cracked the door to her boss's office. "Is there anything you need?"

"No, thank you." Mrs. Wasserman was looking over some papers on her desk. She didn't look up from them. Her indifference warmed Michelle almost as much as her scorn did.

What was she becoming?

Did it matter? It felt good.

"May I have some milk, ma'am?" asked Michelle. She wasn't nervous, but her body was buzzing. It was excitement. What would she have her do now?

"Later," said Mrs. Wasserman, waving her hand to shoo Michelle away. "I'm busy."

Michelle flinched from the dismissal, but closed the door quickly. She scampered back to her desk and sat down to work, but her fingers didn't move. What just happened?

She decided not to dwell on it. She'd come back later. Mrs. Wasserman was in the middle of something. She'd be done in a little bit, and then Michelle could get her milk and finish her work.

Except the headache came earlier than she expected. By the time the nausea settled in, Michelle saw Mrs. Wasserman leave her office out of the corner of her eye.

"Where are you going?" asked Michelle. The younger woman snapped her neck around. She was upset about something. Michelle gulped and added, "Mrs. Wasserman?"

"I have a meeting upstairs. Aren't you the secretary?"

She turned and walked away before Michelle could say anything else. There was some snickering around the office floor, but it wasn't the kind that warmed and thrilled Michelle. She put her head down and tried to focus. Today was ... the eighth? That meant ... oh yes, the department head meeting. She'd be up there for the next ... two hours?

Shit. Shitshitshit.

Michelle reached into her bag and took medicine for a migraine. It hadn't come yet, but she knew it would. She'd rather be prepared. Then she got back to work. Things were sluggish. It was hard when the blurry vision started. Twice she ran to the bathroom and stood over the toilet, expecting to vomit at any moment. But nothing happened. She went back to her desk and did her work, no matter how slow the going was.

She muttered a prayer of thanks when Mrs. Wasserman stormed across the office floor towards her office. Michelle wanted to stand, to ask about her milk, but Mrs. Wasserman looked like nothing could be further from her mind.

"Come here cow," she said loud enough for the whole office to hear. The other secretaries looked around, wanting to know who she was talking to, but Michelle stood up slowly, blushing. There was some gasping and giggling across the room, but this time it made Michelle's legs go soft and gooey. Yes, she was the office cow. She was sure Michelle would make that company knowledge soon enough. There was no reason to keep that a secret.

Mrs. Wasserman slammed her office door in Michelle's face. The older woman paused, wondering if she should knock, but then again Mrs. Wasserman had told her to come. Then again, what if she didn't get milk for taking too much initiative? What if she didn't get milk because she failed to take initiative.

"Aw, hell," muttered Michelle. She knocked.

"Come in. What are you, stupid?" snapped Mrs. Wasserman. More giggling filled the office floor. Michelle blushed, but the shame helped calm her nerves. If the other secretaries knew how pathetic she was, she'd have less to lose. Honestly, the sooner everyone knew what she was, the better her life would be.

Before Michelle closed the door behind her, Mrs. Wasserman was yelling. "Do you work for me or the other way around?"

"What?" asked Michelle.

Mrs. Wasserman pulled out a full bottle of milk. She waved it around. "Do I work for you or do you work for me?"

"I work for you?"

Mrs. Wasserman stormed towards Michelle with the milk in hand. She smacked the older woman hard. Michelle's hand went to her cheek, but Mrs. Wasserman pulled it away. She raised her arm to strike Michelle again, but paused. "Who's in charge here?" she asked.

"You are, Mrs. Wasserman," said Michelle. She tried to speak clearly, but the tears were already forming in her eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Mrs. Wasserman."

Mrs. Wasserman stepped back and lowered her voice. "It's come to my attention that you might have forgotten that. Or do I need to remind you what you are?" She went to her desk, took out her cellphone, and grabbed her desk phone.

"Yes?" said a foreign voice on the speaker.

"Put me on the intercom," said Mrs. Wasserman.

"Yes, Mrs. Wasserman," said the other secretary.

Mrs. Wasserman held up her phone, showing the video she had loaded to Michelle. It was the video last night of her masturbating and mooing. She held it up against the speaker of the phone, ready to play the clip in front of the whole office.

"No," whispered Michelle. She took two steps forward to stop Mrs. Wasserman, to take the phone from her, but then stepped back, holding her hands in front of her lap. "Please," she mouthed.

"Who is in charge?" mouthed Mrs. Wasserman.

"You are," mouthed Michelle.

"Say it."

"You're in charge, Mrs. Wasserman," said Michelle. She heard her voice echo across the office over the intercom. She blushed and her knees softened. She wanted to sink to them and let Mrs. Wasserman do whatever she wanted. Let her destroy her. At least then it would be over.

Mrs. Wasserman picked up the phone and hung it up again. "Good," she said. "Because I was starting to feel like a fucking barista." She picked up the milk again. "You want this, my fat little cow?"

Michelle nodded.

"Then you should appreciate that I put up with your interruptions. Remember this: you need me, not the other way around. I shouldn't be stuck in my office on the off chance you need your milking. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Wasserman snapped. "On your knees."

Michelle sank eagerly.

Mrs. Wasserman snapped again. "On all four."

Michelle assumed her cow position. Udders low. Ass out.

"Crawl to me."

Michelle obeyed, crawling towards Mrs. Wasserman's chair behind the desk.

"You should thank me."

"Thank you —"

Mrs. Wasserman gave her a slight kick with her heels. Michelle whimpered and shrunk back.

"Cows can't talk," said Mrs. Wasserman. "Kiss my feet as a way of showing your thanks."

Michelle hesitated a moment, but then leaned forward. Mrs. Wasserman was in dark Wolfords patterned to look like lace with bright yellow heels. She bent down and gave the heels a slight kiss.

"You must not want it," said Mrs. Wasserman. "That's a pretty shitty thank you."

Michelle inched closer and threw herself into it. Two small kisses on the heels quickly became kisses all over the top of the feet. She kissed the ankles. She switched between the feet, wanting to make sure that each foot received its due attention. Her head was killing her, but she knew it would all be worse if she fucked this up. She couldn't fail Mrs. Wasserman. Not again.

Her kisses started off scared. They were quick pecks, lips pursed and extended, as though trying to create distance between the feet and her mouth. But as she kissed, her body relaxed into it. Her tongue darted out and gave a quick lick, then a longer and thicker one. It was a cow-lick she thought to herself, proud of the pun.

Michelle's mind shut off. She was all animal now. She found the hints of life that Mrs. Wasserman kept to herself, and nothing would stop her from getting it. She licked wildly more and more, needing more. She moaned to herself, and kept licking.

She was interrupted by another quick kick to the face. She yelped and jumped back, looking up at Mrs. Wasserman. "That's enough of that," said the younger woman. "I can't go around with soaking feet." She smiled cruelly. "Though I do appreciate the spirit."

She handed the milk to Michelle. "Hurry back. I want to keep it nice and locked up." Michelle reached for it, but Mrs. Wasserman pulled it back. "I'll expect the same mark of thanks each time I give you milk, is that understood?"

"Yes, Mrs. —"

"Cows don't speak."

Michelle licked her lips. She tilted her head back and mooed. She hoped the girls throughout the floor heard her. Let them find out. Let them make fun of her. For half a second, she imagined all the girls watching her moo and kiss Mrs. Wasserman's feet, each of them disgusted and laughing. The thought almost broke her mind with lust.

"Good," said Mrs. Wasserman. She handed the milk to Michelle and turned back to her desk. "Now hurry back."

***

Mrs. Wasserman kept up this routine over the next few weeks. Michelle would have to moo for her milk, just like before. But now she would kiss Mrs. Wasserman's feet and thank her for her kindness.

Part of Michelle wasn't sure what kindness that was. She paid for the milk and gave it to her boss. She did all the work Mrs. Wasserman asked for and more. She worked harder than any other secretary on the floor. She gave her life to Mrs. Wasserman.

But still, none of the moaned thanks were faked. Mrs. Wasserman had given her a new life. She transformed her. She gave color to everything that was dull and stressful. All she had to do was work her hardest between milk breaks. Life became the moments between begging and thanking Mrs. Wasserman for milk.

And that life wasn't bad.

On the late nights when Michelle worked for free — the nights Mrs. Wasserman blackmailed her to be there — that life wasn't just not bad. It was bliss. Michelle floated through those evenings. Even when she was stressed and embarrassed, when she sweated and panicked and fucked up everything because she was a stupid cow, even then she felt like the most special cow in the world. Not because she was worth anything at all, but because she belonged to Mrs. Wasserman. She was her cow, dammit, and she was going to be thankful. She was going to show her how gracious she could be.

Sometimes Michelle felt that Eloise was almost tender with her during those nights. There was a gentleness that came over her when no one else was around. It wasn't like she asked Michelle about her children or her marriage — she already knew Eloise didn't give a shit about them. But Mrs. Wasserman would let Michelle work on the floor in her office instead of at her desk. When they ordered food, Eloise would buy Michelle something even if she did make comments about Michelle's weight when she chose something unhealthy. But even that ... it was more out of concern than shaming. Eloise was still herself: arrogant, cruel, power-hungry, dominant, and a raging bitch. But it felt more and more like they were on the same team. During the day, it felt like Eloise went out of her way to find ways Michelle wasn't living up to her expectations. Michelle was a perpetual fuck up when other people were watching, but when they were alone, Michelle was her favorite pet.

She was her cow.

Michelle had to be honest, that got her through many dark moments. When her husband needed help going to the bathroom, when one of her kids wet the bed, when she had to go grocery shopping after an impossibly long day and there was no parking, when she made dinner and everyone hated what she made, she thought of Eloise. She thought that at least she was doing something right for someone. She may fuck it up, but Eloise wasn't a whiny brat of a child. She was Michelle's better. She was instructing Michelle. That meant she cared. That meant she wanted Michelle. She could have fired her weeks ago, but she wanted a cow, a pet, even if she was chubby and clumsy and stupid. She wanted Michelle.

Vicki was the exact opposite. The other Mrs. Wasserman didn't come to the office often, but Michelle endured her over the phone and FaceTime. Sometimes Vicki would come for lunch or on their late evenings. The gentle flow of being Eloise's cow late at night died when Vicki was in the room. Michelle went to her desk and tried to avoid Vicki, but the curvy redhead went out of her way to draw Michelle in. She had Michelle wait on her. She would comment on her clothes and weight. Sometimes she would trip her just to make her spill something because she enjoyed watching Michelle clean up for her. It was one thing to work for a bitch, but it felt like Vicki was hunting her.

God, did it make her wet.

Michelle stopped trying to understand it. The worse they were, the more she melted. She knew anyone else would have quit. She knew her rights. It was abuse and sexual harassment. But she liked it. She wanted it. Late at night, she craved it. Even from Vicki. It didn't matter. She was a stupid cow. The more they used her and mocked her, the more she melted. The wetter her pussy got, the slower her thoughts were. She didn't have any concerns except to make them happy — even if that meant giving them chances to laugh at her. In the end, they often let Michelle touch herself while they recorded it. That was better than anything she was getting at home. Better than anything she had ever gotten in her life, if she was being honest.

Better than she deserved.

On one such late night, Vicki came over unannounced. She appeared from the elevator in a trench coat and heels. Michelle spotted the dark stockings underneath the coat as the woman rushed past her desk. She also caught the scent of milk from the woman, which caught her eye and attention. Before she opened the door to Eloise's office, the curvy redhead held up a finger to her lips to silence Michelle and winked. Then she slipped into her wife's office.

Only then did Michelle realize that Eloise was busy. Not just the normal kind of busy — which normally meant she had work to do. But Eloise wasn't bullying Michelle that night because of some debacle going on in Hong Kong and taking all of her energy and attention. Vicki should have called before she showed up, especially on a night like tonight. And more importantly, she should have called Michelle, Eloise's secretary. The young woman would undoubtedly take out the frustration of this interruption on Michelle later. If the two had a fight over it, Eloise would blame Michelle for that too. Somehow it was all going to be Michell's fault.

She braced herself for the yelling that would come. Or maybe Eloise would buzz her and summon her for a lecture. Honestly, Michelle wasn't sure who would be worse to piss off: Eloise or Vicki. Eloise would make her miserable tomorrow, but if Eloise rejected whatever shenanigans Vicki was up to, there would be hell to pay. Michelle imagined the redhead standing outside her wife's office, pissed off and tapping her foot, looking for something to take her rage out on.

That would, of course, be Michelle.

"What are you doing here?" Eloise said loud enough to travel through the walls of her office. Her tone was not pleasant.

Scared beyond belief, Michelle put on some noise cancelling headphones she kept nearby for when Eloise was out of the office. It helped her focus, but she didn't dare drown out a summon from Mrs. Wasserman. Putting it on now would be foolish, but she could never bear to hear couples fight. It reminded her too much of her own parents, and in her darker moments, it reminded her more so of her own marriage. So she put on headphones and stared at the speaker system, waiting to see the green light blinking that meant Eloise was talking to her.