Emily’s New Job Pt. 02

I wake up Saturday morning hungover and disoriented. It takes me a moment to realize I'm in my own bed, still wearing my clothes from the night before. My head is throbbing. I stagger to the bathroom and run a shower. I peel off my sticky clothing, stand beneath the hot stream and try to piece together what happened.

Last night, my coworker Tom and two of his buddies from the office drugged me at a company happy hour. They drove us to a secluded parking lot and had their way with me.

I keep replaying what happened in my head. The sleazy things they made me do. The disgusting way they talked to me. Most of all, the smug look of satisfaction and arousal on Tom's pink face while his buddies worked me over in the backseat.

I feel degraded and embarrassed, for having put myself in that situation. It never occurred to me that Tom would have any interest in me, sexually. I'm busty. Men have told me I have a beautiful face. But I would charitably be called "thick" and I'm old enough to be his mother. I can't believe this happened.

I spend the weekend in a state of anxiety, unsure of what to do. I consider calling my friend Julia to ask her advice but decide against it. I have no proof. The men bullied me but they didn't physically hurt me. Whatever drug they used would surely have worked it's way through my system by now. Besides, the thought of telling my husband what happened makes me physically ill. Thank God he's away on business.

On Sunday, I go to the gym for the first time in months. I think about the disgusting names Tom called me while I run on the treadmill: hot plumper slut, fat-titted pig, mommy cock whore. I work up quite a sweat. I'm still thinking about it in the shower afterward. I slide a hand down between my legs and almost immediately bring myself off. Hot tears of shame fill my eyes.

*What is wrong with me?*

***

Over the weekend, I decided to call in my resignation and never look back. But Monday morning comes and I wake up at the ordinary time. I perk some coffee, eat some cereal, shower and dress for work as usual. By eight o'clock I'm in the car heading to my office.

My stomach is in knots all morning, waiting for Tom to show up. I imagine that he'll apologize for what he did. That, or we'll have some sort of public confrontation right there in the office. But Tom strolls right by my desk as if nothing happened when he arrives. "Good morning Emily," he says. "How was your weekend?" He passes without even waiting for my answer.

At first, I'm relieved. I've never handled conflict well. But the more I think about it, the angrier I become. How can he pretend that nothing happened?

Tom says hello each morning but he no longer stops by to chat like he used to. A few days pass by like this, then a week. I find myself paying closer attention to my appearance and dress before work. I get my black hair cut into an stylish bob, wear a little more makeup, buy a few new articles of clothing; for example, a satin blouse that shows off my bust.

Tom doesn't seem to notice. I'm enraged. I ignore his greetings and stare daggers at him when I see him in the hall. The worst part is that I still find him attractive, even after what he did. He has sandy brown hair, three-day stubble and a lean, cyclist's build. It's infuriating.

During this time, Philip comes home from his trip. I can't even look at him without feeling contempt. I have no rational reason for being angry at him, but I can't help myself. There's something so meek and effeminate about him now, with his receding hairline and middle aged paunch. What kind of husband lets younger men fuck his wife?

We go out to dinner. Philip keeps telling me how much he likes my new haircut. It's all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes. In bed that night, he makes a pass at me for the first time in years. I tell him I have a headache and turn my back. I'm secretly relieved when he leaves for another business trip.

***

Late one afternoon, I'm digging up some files for my boss Mr. Potts in the records room when Tom walks in behind me. I immediately tense up. This is the first time we've been alone since the happy hour.

"Hey there Em," he says.

I give him an icy glance and turn back to the filing cabinet without a word.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, in his happy-go-lucky voice.

His *fake* voice, I know now.

I snort out loud and ignore him.

"Listen, if I did anything to offend you -"

I can't take it anymore. I whirl around and point a finger at him.

"You know what you did," I snap. "You *raped* me!"

Tom goes pale. He closes the door to the records room and throws the bolt.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me." My voice quavers. "You drugged and raped me."

Tom advances on me. I back up against the filing cabinet. He lifts his phone from his jacket and opens a photo album. Tom scrolls through a series of pics, holding his phone so that I can see the screen.

"Oh really? Does *this* look like rape to you, Em?" He adopts the same tone of voice he used after the happy hour. Angry and bullying. "How about this one?"

I catch a glimpse of the pictures. I'm naked in the backseat of the car with a thick cock between my breasts and another in my sucking mouth. I blush horribly and look at the floor.

"It sure doesn't look like rape to me. It looks like you were having a great time being a slut," he says. "Maybe I should ask Kevin what he thinks?"

I *gasp* out loud at the mention of my son.

"Freshman at UCONN, likes hockey and photography. Right?" Tom reaches for the top button of my blouse. I flinch but don't resist when he opens it. "Kids today have such extensive social media profiles. What would happen if Kevin and all his friends at school saw mommy's big titties and fat ass?"

I feel ill.

"Or that sissy husband of yours, Philip." He pops open another button. "Maybe I should send it to him? Maybe me and the boys should run a train on you while Philip watches? I'll make him hold my pants while I fuck your ass ..."

How could he even *think* of something so disgusting? Tom opens another button. I should call out for help but I can hardly breathe.

"Not to mention the guys around the office. I bet they'd *love* to see the busty new office MILF sucking and fucking like a slut. I'll tell them all Mrs. Bigtits spreads her legs for anyone. You'll get *plenty* of young dick then ..."

He unbuttons my blouse to mid-chest and fans the lapels open. Underneath, my pale, pillowy breasts are encased in a white bra. Front closure with a stiff underwire and lace trim.

"Want to know what I think? I like you *love* getting fucked like a gutter whore. I bet your hot little red snapper pussy is soaked right now ..."

He's right. I can't believe this is happening.

"Now you're going to suck my cock like a good girl, or I'm going to start showing people a whole new side of Mrs. Bigtits."

"You wouldn't dare," I gasp.

"Oh no?"

Tom taps a few keystrokes into his phone.

"What are you doing?"

He ignores me and finishes typing.

"What did you just do?" I ask, trying to suppress my panic.

"Just sending a pic to one of your son's friends. Douglas Gibbs. Maybe you know him?"

Little Dougie Gibbs. I haven't heard that name in years. Dougie was of my son's friends from elementary school. They must have kept in touch online. The idea of him seeing one of those pics makes me sick with embarrassment.

"You bastard ..."

I choke back a sob.

"Quit your blubbering," he says. "Maybe he won't recognize you, but Kevin will. Keep stalling and we'll find out."

I cast a glance to the locked door. It's late in the day. Most of our coworkers have left for the day.

"Are you blackmailing me?"

"If that's the way you want it." Tom laughs. "Now get on your knees, Mrs. Bigtits."

***

I kneel down on the carpeted floor. Tom unbuckles his belt and lowers the zipper. He scoops his cock out of his boxer briefs. I get a better look at it in the light of the file room than in the darkened car the other night. It's an average length but very thick and deeply veined. I'm surprised to see that he's already fully erect.

Tom pushes his pants down to his knees wags his cock in my face in a bullying gesture.

"Go on," he says. "Put it in your mouth. Suck it."

I grip his prick. It's warm and oily slick in my hand. I squeeze it just up under the turtleneck. A thick dollop of precum beads at the slit. Holding him at the base, I run the tip along my lips, as if applying a gloss. Then I close my eyes and take his swollen prickhead into my mouth. Soon I'm blowing him in deep strokes.

For a few moments the only sounds are his contented sighs and my wet sucking noises.

"Not so classy now, are you, Mrs. Bigtits?" Tom puts his hand on my head and uses it to guide my mouth. "Two weeks on the job and you're already sucking cock in the storage closet ..."

I bob my head faster and make muffled grunts in reply: *mmmff ... nghhhh ... mmmm ...*

"Thaaaaat's it ... suck that fuckstick ... make it squirt, mom ..."

*mmmmfft! nghhhh ... nghhff ...*

"Put some tongue into it ... get filthy you thick juggy bitch!l ..."

I use my hand as an extension of my mouth and turn turn my head to blow him at different angles. I unclasp my bra. The cups spring open with an elastic snap. My heavy, slightly sagged breasts drop free. I lift his prick and run my tongue over his swollen, purplish scrotum.

Tom hisses and grunts. His voice takes on a course whisper.

"Thaaaat's it ... hot plumper slut ... dirty mommy whore ... me and the boys are going to fill you full of booze and cock again ... gonna cream your pretty face ... fuck!"

Tom abruptly pulls out of my mouth. I gasp and pant for air. He strokes himself vigorously: *fapfapfapfapfapfapfapfap ...* I flinch but don't move when he squirts several thick ropes of jizz onto my mouth, my chin, my breasts.

When he's finally finished, Tom tucks himself back into his briefs and zips his pants.

"Let this be a lesson, Em. From now on you do what I tell you to do," he says. "Or else."

Tom leaves me there on the file room floor, panting for air and glazed in his jizz.