Emily’s New Job

My name is Emily Pritchett. I'm married, forty-five years old, and my son recently left home for college.

In my younger years I was quite a beauty. I have dark, shoulder length hair, big blue eyes, pale skin and a busty hourglass figure. "You're so pretty," my husband once said. "It's like being married to Snow White!" Phillip hasn't said anything like that in a long time. These days, we go months at a time without sex and it's only missionary style, lights off. He barely looks in my direction when I get undressed. Sometimes I wonder if he's screwing one of the pretty young salesgirls who accompany him on business trips.

I blame myself. I've gained significant weight over the years and started to show my age in other ways. Sometimes I stand naked in front of the bathroom mirror and pick at my flaws: the slight sag to my heavy breasts, tummy pooch, muffin top hips, wide round rear end.

I've felt unsexy and unwanted for years.

***

I recently started a new job as an administrative assistant at a law firm near my home. I left the workforce after my son was born, but now that he's out of the house and my husband travels for work most of the year, there's less reason to be home.

So far the job has been great: low stress, flexible hours, and everyone is very friendly, *especially* a young lawyer named Tom. He stops by my desk several times a day to see how work is going and make sarcastic, quips, often at our coworkers' expense.

"Morning Em," he says one day, smiling. "Is the old man still working you to the bone?" One of his favorite gags is to pretend the kindly old attorney I report to, is secretly a harsh taskmaster or closet perv.

"No Tom," I tell him. "Mr. Potts has been very fair."

"Good," he says. "Let me know if the old man gets out of line and I'll take care of it."

He gives me a conspiratorial wink and wanders off. I can't help but chuckle, until I notice an older admin named Phyllis glowering in my direction. I blush bright red and return my attention to my work.

*This is how rumors get started,* I think.

There's a definite flirty tone to these exchanges, but I can't help myself. He's young and charming and undeniably good-looking, with sandy brown hair, three-day stubble and a lean cyclist's build. Most importantly, he gives me the type of attention I've been missing in my marriage.

I tell myself Tom Is just being friendly. He's closer in age to my son than me. There's a picture on his desk of his pretty young girlfriend. What could be possibly want from a chubby middle aged mom?

***

On the Friday of my first week on the job, the company holds a happy hour to welcome me and a few other newcomers to the firm. Normally I wouldn't go; big crowds make me shy. But Philip is on another one of his trips and the idea of spending the night watching TV in the big empty house isn't very appealing. Besides, Tom keeps urging me to come along.

"You have to go," he says. "You're practically the guest of honor!"

"I don't know ... I'm not much of a drinker ..."

"Just one drink, Em."

"Fine," I tell him. "Just *one* drink."

The happy hour is at a cocktail lounge not far from the office. It's casual Friday, so I'm dressed in dark blue jeans and a v-neck sweater that I haven't worn in years.Maybe twenty of my coworkers are in attendance when I arrive. I order a white wine spritzer and mingle with the other admin, who are all very nice. I spot Tom through the crowd a few times, sitting with a group of other young lawyers. I smile and wave to him but stay on my side of the room. I remember the older admin frowning at me and don't want to give people a reason to talk.

I end up having such a good time that I order a another drink and stay much later than planned. By now, most of my colleagues have left and I'm feeling a bit tipsy. I decide to drive home while it's still safe.

I settle up my tab and visit the ladies room before I go. Tom is waiting for me in the dark hallway outside the restrooms. He looks angry.

"You've been avoiding me all night," he says.

"No, Tom ... I thought I should mingle with people I haven't met yet ..."

"You said you'd join me for a drink."

"I really can't ..."

"You promised."

I'm stunned by Tom's bullying demeanor. It is so out of character for him to behave this way.

"I ... I didn't know ..." I stammer. "Okay ... I guess I can have one more ..."

Tom gives me a wide, wolfish grin, like he's been putting me on.

"Great. Let me introduce you to the boys."

***

He leads me to his table and introduces me to the group. All men, including a few faces I recognize from around the office. Like Tom, they are all in their mid-twenties and blandly handsome in the same clean cut, catalogue ready way. The table is strewn with empty beer bottles and shot glasses. There's a raucous frat house atmosphere to the group and I'm a bit uncomfortable, realizing I'm fifteen or twenty years older than anyone else at the table.

I take a seat beside a muscular, olive complexioned young lawyer and Tom pushes a glass toward me. It's an enormous goblet of Windex-blue liquid.

"I took the liberty of ordering for you," he says.

"You said one drink!"

"That is one drink." He gives me a wink.

"I can't finish this."

"Just drink what you can," he says. "Try it. You'll like it."

I playfully roll my eyes and take a sip. The drink cold and surprisingly sweet.

***

Tom and I chat for a long while. The conversation revolves around me and my interests. He asks a lot of questions about my family life and particularly my son. He asks to see a picture. I pull one up on my phone and hand it to him. I'm a bit embarrassed to realize the picture is from a beach vacation many years earlier and I'm wearing a modest two-piece in the shot. Tom studies the photo for a moment, then hands the phone back to me with a grin.

"Good looking boy," he says, with a wink.

The others men appear to be engaged in some form of heated sports debate and mostly ignore us. At one point, I catch the swarthy one staring at my chest. I've been slouched in my seat and showing more cleavage than I intended. I sit up a little straighter and wait for a moment when no one is looking and discretely readjust my top.

***

Later, the waitress asks if I'd like another drink? I'm astounded to see that I've finished it the entire goblet. I check my watch. It's well pst midnight. I can't remember the last time I ever felt this drunk.

"No, thank you. It's getting late ... I have to get home ..."

"You sure, Em?" Tom asks. "How about one more for the road?"

A few of the men chuckle.

Are they laughing at me?

"N-no, thank you ... " I stammer, dropping a new bills on the table to cover my tab. "I really have to be going. Good night."

I stand to leave and immediately go lightheaded. I steady myself against the table. All the glasses rattle. A beer bottle rolls over and shatters on the floor. The men all hoot and laugh. One of them shouts, "Mom is flagged!"

I'm mortified. A busboy scurries over to clean up the mess. I mutter apologies until Tom puts his hand on the small of my back and steers me to the door.

"I'm so embarrassed ..." I moan, out in the parking lot.

"Don't worry about it Em. They've seen worse," Tom says. "But you're in no condition to drive. We'd better take you home."

The olive complected man and a tall, thin ginger have followed us out of the bar. I mumble something about calling an Uber but they ignore it and lead me toward a black Hummer at the back of the lot.

***

The ginger, who turns out to be named Darren, drives. Clyde, the muscular guy, rides shotgun. I sit in the backseat with Tom.

I give the driver my address. He plugs it into his GPS and soon we're driving down a country highway. But instead of making the turnoff toward my house, he pulls into the office park where we work.

"Forgot something in the office," Tom says, as if reading my thoughts. "Just be a minute."

The lot is empty at this time of night. Darren drives us to a spot that faces the duck pond at the far end of the lot and kills the ignition.

All three men stare at me.

"Aren't you going to take me home?" I ask. My speech is badly slurred. I suddenly feel very vulnerable with these young men.

"Sure, we'll take you home," Tom says, "Mrs. Bigtits."

"What?"

This sort of language is so out of character I'm sure I've misheard him.

"Mrs. Bigtits," he repeats. "It's just something the guys around the office call you. Sounds a little like Pritchett ..."

"Yeah," Darren adds. "And you've got big fat tits."

The men chuckle. It finally dawns on me: I've been drugged. I'm am suddenly very scared.

"Take me home now."

"How about a little goodnight kiss first?"

Tom leans in and kisses me on the lips, hard. I'm so stunned that I don't resist until he pushes his tongue into my mouth and squeezes a breast over my sweater. He runs his tongue up my cleavage to my neck while I feebly try to ward him off.

"Tom ... stop ..." I mutter. "I'm married ..."

"That's okay Em," he says. "We don't want a relationship ..."

"Yeah," his buddy in the front seat adds. "We just want you to make us cum."

Tom starts to lift my sweater. In a moment of panic, I flail with my free hand and catch him across the bridge of his nose with my knuckles. He stops, glares at me. Then he grips my hair, hard.

"Shut up!" he shouts. His face is bright red and inches from my own, nostrils flared. "Just shut up and do what you're told or you're gonna get hurt!"

I'm absolutely shocked. I've never been spoken to like this before. I stop struggling and choke back a sob.

"That's better," he says. "Now your medicine like a big girl and we won't have to get rough."

***

Tom briskly undresses me in the backseat. He lifts my sweater over my head and tugs my jeans down my hips. Underneath, I'm wearing simple white cotton panties and matching bra, front closure.

"Plump and juicy," Tom says. He runs his hands up my hips and goes for the clasp of my bra. "Your body is much too fine for these granny panties, Em."

I'm oddly embarrassed. When was the last time I wore sexy lingerie? I can't remember.

Tom fumbles the clasp open and my heavy breasts drop free. They are milky white in the moonlight with large areolas, the color of bubblegum and thick stems. One of the men whistles. I nip my lip and stare into my lap.

"Lordy ..." one of the men says. "What a set of hammers."

"I'd sure like to run my prick between those melons."

"I bet your boy faps it to those milk juggs every night."

How could they even *think* of saying something so vile?

Tom plants his face between my tits. He squeezes and kneads the globes with both hands. He sucks my nipples and tugs at them with his lips, as if nursing. I squirm beneath him but make no move to resist. He unbuckles his belt and lowers his zipper. I can't believe this is happening.

"Look at it," he says.

Tom's pants and boxer briefs are pushed down to his knees. His cock is thick and deeply veined. It's an angry shade of pink. His pubis is trimmed into a tightly coiled bush. Darker than his hair.

"Grip it!" He hisses through his teeth.

I grip his cock. It pulses warmly in my hand.

"Good. Now pump it, you slut!"

I stroke his prick. Slowly at first, gradually building speed. The little slit at the tip opens and closes slightly with each tug. Tom sighs and resumes fondling my breasts. He quickly stiffens in my hand.

"That's a real good girl ... now get down there and suck it, Mrs. Bigtits!"

***

I haven't given head in ages but soon I'm blowing Tom with aplomb. He coils his hand in my hair and gently pushes down my bobbing head. The car fills with wet sucking sounds and Tom's contented gasps and groans. I'm acutely aware of the other men watching my performance.

"What'd I tell you boys?" Tom says. "First week on the job and Emily is already showing off her fat tits and sucking cock."

"I bet she does this at every job," one of the men says.

"Does your husband know he married a slut?" the other adds.

All I can do is snort and gasp in reply: *mmmff ... mmfffft ... nghhh ....*

"Get filthy, you hot plumper slut!" Tom pushes my head down harder. "Throat my hog... swallow my cock you fat-titted pig!"

Tom thrusts his hips, forcing his swollen prickhead into my throat. I flip him out of my mouth, sputtering and gasping for air. He pushes me down in the backseat, already tugging my panties down my wide hips.

"Time to give Mrs. Bigtits what she came for," he says.

Tom peels my panties down my legs and off. He spreads my thighs wide, pushing back my hips. He holds his cock at the base, running the tip between my swollen lips. To my horror, my pussy is unbelievably wet. I mutter something about a condom just as he finds the right angle and *thrusts* into me.

Tom jackhammers my cunt hard, forcing my knees wide with his arms. My big soft tits bounce on my chest and his ballsack slaps my ass with each thrust. The boys hoot and cheer him on.

"Fuck that slut, Tommy Boy!"

"Mom needs it bad!"

My husband's cock is always semi-flaccid on those rare occasions when we fuck. You could hammer nails with Tom's.

Through slitted eyes, I see the ginger in the front seat, *filing* this grotesque display with a small handheld camera. I grit my teeth and cum hard.

Tom cums almost seconds after. He pulls out at the last possible moment and strokes himself furiously. He squirts ropes of warm jizz over my belly, my tits, up my chin. I flinch when a final squirt hits my face.

I lay there panting for some time. Tom wipes his cock clean with my panties and zips up. Then he turns to the men in the front seat.

"She's all yours fellas," he says.

***

What happens next probably takes fifteen or twenty minutes but seems to go on much longer.

I kneel on the floor of the car and blow the men, both at the same time. I suck one cock while jerking the other, alternating to keep them both equally hard.

One of the men fucks me on all fours in the backseat. He pushes the first digit of his thumb up my ass. His buddy holds me by the hair and guides my mouth so that I drool over his nutsack and lick his taint.

They both jerk off vigorously above me and cum almost in unison. One on my breasts and the other in a splattery mess on my face and up into my hair. I catch a glimpse of Tom, now holding the camera on me from the front seat, just as they unload. An evil grin is plastered on his smug red face.

***

When they're finished, the men dress me like I'm a doll without even bothering to clean me off and drive me home. They talk amongst themselves as if I'm not even there. One of the men mentions an all-night diner. I can feel their cum drying on my stomach and tits beneath my clothes. I've never felt so degraded and used.

We pull up to the curb in front of my house.

"Thanks for the great time, Mrs. Bigtits," Tom says, smiling. "Me and the boys go out for drinks every Friday. You're welcome to join us *any* time."

The boys speed off, chortling and laughing as I make my way unsteadily to the door..