Emily’s New Job Pt. 03

Since the blackmail started I've been in a constant state of dread at work. I'm sure that Tom has something awful and degrading in store for me, but he acts like nothing happened between us. He says hello each morning and when we pass in the hall but no longer stops by my desk to chat, like he used to. He doesn't get handsy or make inappropriate comments or otherwise do anything to make me uncomfortable. Not even when I wear slightly snugger clothes or show a little cleavage.

I start going to the gym almost every night to vent my anxiety. I work up quite a sweat on the treadmill. In the shower afterward, I touch myself and think of Tom and his cronies did to me. I bring myself off to a shuddering orgasm in seconds, with tears of shame in my eyes.

My husband seems to sense something wrong. He compliments my appearance for the first time in years. "Have you lost some weight?" Philip asks, "Done something different with your hair?" Before my new job, he scarcely looked in my direction when I got undressed. Now he tries to initiate sex a few times per week. Of course I shut him down immediately. The idea of sleeping with a wimp like Philip makes me ill.

***

One day, Tom's girlfriend comes to the office to meet him for lunch. We both have pretty faces but the similarities end there. Angela is in her mid-twenties. I'm forty-five. She has long blonde hair. My dark auburn hair is cut shoulder length. She's willowy and slender. I'm very thick and uncommonly busty.

From my desk, I can hear them chatting and laughing through the door to Tom's office. He gives her a kiss right in front of me when she leaves. I'm seeing red for the rest of the afternoon.

Late that day, Tom stops by my desk for the first time since the blackmail started.

"Hi Emily, got a minute?" he asks, in his usual happy-go-lucky voice. "I want to talk to you about something."

I follow Tom into his office. He closes the door behind me.

"I'm going to the Four Points for a few beers after work and I'd like you to come with me," he says.

"Too bad. I have dinner plans with my husband," I lie. Philip left for another of his business trips that very morning.

"Cancel them. Work comes first." Tom drops a rumbled paper bag on his desk and pushes it toward me. "I brought you something to wear."

"No," I tell him. "I won't do it."

"No? Suit yourself."

He taps a few keystrokes into his phone. I know exactly what he's doing. He's sending a picture to one of my son's friends through social media. He's done this before, when I've displeased him.

"No! Tom, please don't!" I beg him, panic rising in my voice. "I'll do it! I'll wear whatever you want!"

"Shut up!" he shouts. Tom's face goes red, nostrils flared. "Just shut up and listen, because I'm only going to tell you this one more time."

His outburst snaps me out of my blubbering. I choke back a sob.

"From now on, you do what I say, with great enthusiasm. Otherwise, the next picture I send is going to your little boy. Got it?"

I nip my lip and stare down at my feet.

"Now you're going to go home, get yourself dolled up and put on the pretty little costume I bought for you," he continues. "Then you're going to meet me at the Four Points. If you're not there by eight o'clock, your poor little boy is going to see his thick Slutty mommy sucking and fucking."

***

The Four Points Cocktail Lounge is a tiny dive a few miles from the office. When I arrive that evening my stomach is in knots. I've always been a conservative dresser, but tonight I'm wearing a cheery red cocktail dress with narrow spaghetti straps, a matching pair of block heel strap sandals, and sheer lace-top thigh high stockings. The dress is very short and totally inappropriate for a woman my age or with my curves. The shape of my nipples is plainly visible through the cheap stretchy fabric.

The bar is near empty except for a handful of drunks and some men shooting pool in the back. Everyone turns to stare at me when I enter. I feel naked and vulnerable in such a revealing outfit.

I find Tom at a high-top near the pool table.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to show."

"I didn't have much choice in the matter, did I?"

"I suppose not," he says. "Have a seat."

My unsupported breasts rest against the tabletop. A few other patrons glance over at me and Tom. Trying to figure out if we're a couple or otherwise make sense of our age difference.

Tom pushes a cocktail toward me. It's an enormous goblet of Windex-blue liquid.

"I took the liberty of ordering you a drink."

"No thank you," I tell him coolly.

"That wasn't a suggestion. Drink up."

I sip at the cocktail. It's cold and surprisingly sweet.

Tom leans in close and puts a hand on my knee.

"You really look very sexy tonight, Emily" he says. "What a figure. Wow."

I blush terribly. Despite everything he's done, I can't help but be flattered.

We make a little small talk about the firm and my boss, Mr. Potts. Then the conversation turns to me: my friends, my family back in New York, my interests in books and painting. Tom is such a charmer. He pushes a lock of black hair behind my ear and whispers a joke. I reflexively touch his arm when I laugh. It's like we're on a date.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" I wonder.

***

"Another drink, Em?" Tom asks, sometime later. I've been so engrossed in our conversation that I completely lost track of time. I'm shocked to see that I've finished the entire goblet.

"No thank you," I mutter. Suddenly I am feeling very drunk.

Some men are playing pool in front of us. They are about Tom's age but obviously of a lower social status class. All three wear deeply stained t-shirts, Wrangler jeans and work boots. Landscapers or construction workers, most likely.

"Mind if I play, gentlemen?" Tom asks, when they've finished a game.

The men glance at Tom and then look me over, slow. They give me the creeps.

The leader of the group has curly dark hair and a thin mustache. His skin is tanned to a dark bronze. He agrees to play for the table if Tom pays for the first game.

Tom agrees and racks. The dark guy breaks. He tries to chat me up between shots. "What's your name, darlin'?" he asks. "You live around here? This guy your husband?"

I give him curt, one-word answers but he won't take the hint. He smells of cigarettes, cheap beer and body odor. Like he's been working in the hot sun all day without showering.

Tom nearly runs the table on his first turn and ends the game by banking the 8-ball into a corner pocket a short while later. I'm legitimately impressed.

"Good game," he says. "Want to play again?"

"Sure," the dark guy says.

"How about we make things a little more sporting?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"If we win, you owe us a pitcher of beer." Tom gestures over to where I'm sitting. "And if you win, my friend Emily over there will show you her big fat tits."

I can't believe my ears.

"Tom! What are you doing?"

"Relax, Em." He gives me a wink. "I'm a ringer."

***

The second game starts the same way as the first. Tom drops a ball on the break and pockets three more in short order. The dark guy hits a few shots but he can't keep pace. One of the then hands me a beer. I absently sip from the bottle even though I'm already quite drunk from the cocktail.

Before long, Tom is down to only the 8-ball. He squares up his shot and meets my eyes. He smiles at me, and deliberately scratches into the corner pocket. The men cheer and clap Tom on the back. A few drunks from the ball wander over to the billiard room to see what all the commotion is about.

"No!" I moan. "He did that on purpose!" My speech is badly slurred.

"Don't be a sore loser, Tom says. "Our new friend here won lost fair and square. Time to pay the piper."

"I ... I won't do it." I try to sound confident but my voice cracks. Hot tears fill my eyes.

"That's your choice," he says. "But if you don't show your big tits off to these guys, I'm going to show them to your son. What's it going to be?"

The men stare at me, waiting. My eyes well up with tears.

I'm trapped.

***

I stand in front of a small crowd of greasy men, teetering in my heeled sandals. Tom stands behind me with his hands on my shoulders. He pushes the spaghetti straps down my shoulders, slowly revealing the tops of my breasts.

"You boys ready for a show?" he asks.

The men cheer.

"Hell yeah!" one of them shouts.

In one swift motion, he rips the dress down to my waist, baring my breasts to the room. They are pale and heavy, with just a little natural sag. My nipples are the color of bubble gum, with large areolae and thick long stems.

"Look at those fuckin' tits!" one of the men says.

"Christ almighty," another adds. "What a rack."

"You got back problems, darlin'?"

I've never felt so degraded.

Tom cups my breasts from behind. He squashes then together. He lifts and drops them a few times, demonstrating their softness to the room. He pinches my nipples and rolls them with his thumbs.

He tugs the dress down my thick legs to the floor and I unsteadily step out of it. I'm wearing a set of skin tone thigh high stockings and red string panties. The side straps rest high up on my muffin top hips. The men hoot and holler, as if we're in a low-rent strip club.

"Very nice," Tom says. "Now jump up and down."

How could he even think of something so disgusting?

I jump once. My breasts hit my chest with an audible clap.

"C'mon Mrs. Bigtits. You can do better than that," he says. "Jump up and down! Let's see those melons bounce!"

I jump up and down again and again. It's a struggle to maintain my balance in my drunken state. My breasts repeatedly clap against my chest: clap clap clap clap clap ... The men catcall and whistle.

"She's gonna give herself two black eyes!" one of them cracks. They all laugh.

I jump until I run out of breath and lean against the pool table. Panting, red-faced and utterly defeated. My head is swimming. I'm close to blacking out. Clearly I've been drugged.

"Looks like you got our new friends here all hot and bothered," Tom says. The men stare lustily at my tits. I can feel things getting wildly out of control. "I'm sure Mrs. Bigtits won't mind I helping you boys out."

The crowd advances on me. I back up against the pool table and try to protest, but my speech is a slurred mess.

***

The men run their dirty, calloused hands over my pale skin. They grope and squeeze my breasts, tug the thong strap deep up my rear, give my bottom a sharp slap. I struggle and squirm but don't put up much of a fight. Someone plunges a tongue into my mouth. A hand slides down the front of my panties.

Belts are unbuckled, flies unzipped. I'm pushed to my knees on the sticky tiled floor. The dark man wags his semi-hard prick in my face. It's long and skinny, an angry shade of pink. Shiny in the fluorescent light. His untrimmed black bush runs up his inner thighs and down the shaft.

"Go on, darlin'," he says. "Grip it."

I grip his cock. It's warm and pulses in my hand. I squeeze it up under the turtleneck. A thick dollop of precum beads up at the little slit.

"That's real good," he says. "Now go on and suck it, bitch."

I close my eyes and take his cock into my mouth. Tentatively at first, but soon I'm blowing him in long strokes. Trying to bring him off as soon as possible despite my disgust. The onlookers whistle and catcall, urging me on.

"You blow like a pro, honeydoll."

"Always wanted to get my cock sucked by a big-titty soccer mom ..."

"Go on chubster - Suck that fuckstick! Make it squirt, baby!"

I make muffled groans in reply: mfff ... nghhh ... nghhh ...

"You like suckin' dick, don't you darlin'? Why don'tcha go ahead and show my buddies how much you like it?"

The men crowd in, thrusting their hard-ons in my face. I tug a fat prick and run my tongue over a hairy, purplish scrotum. Through slitted eyes I see Tom in the crowd holding a palm-sized camera. He's been filming this grotesque display. I groan out loud in shame but go on sucking and tugging, moving my mouth from one unwashed cock to the next: mmmff... nghhh ... nghh ...

Someone grunts and ejaculates over the the side of my face, up into my hair, into my ear. The cock in my mouth erupts. A thick rope of jizz hits the back of my throat. I flop the out of my mouth and it goes on squirting. Warm cum runs down my chin to my neck. The few tug themselves furiously. Cum hits me from all angles: my face, my breasts, my hair, down my bare back.

Tom's face is bright red, almost unbearably aroused. He goes on filming until all the men are spent and I smear their custard over my soft tits and finger it into my mouth.