The Walk of Shame

The Walk of Shame.

This situation is not unusual for me. I'm hanging onto the dangling knob above me at the centre of a London tube train carriage, acutely aware there are lecherous eyes feasting upon me, some obvious, some not so. They're mostly heterosexual male. Not one of them has had the grace to offer me a seat. The Piccadilly Line from South Ealing to Barons Court is always rammed at 9am. The jostle and tussle of the carriages along the well-used tracks are causing me to stumble and press into tightly packed passengers, causing my un- cupped breasts above my low- neck silk top to jiggle temptingly for their feasting eyes. "Go on, feast away, you naughty people," I muse. I can see some unapproving passengers tutting and shaking their heads. Some have a hand fidgeting in their pocket and the voyeuristic of them are taking furtive pics whilst pretending to scroll and text. I give them my temptress look, my sultry eyes to the lens. They can jack off to it later, "Have it boys, you dirty bastards," I conjure in my mind.

Some would call this the 'Walk of Shame.' It's the term used for us girls having pick-up sex through the night with nothing to change into the following morning. It happens. If I was a straight guy, then no, this thought would not even enter their heads. The result of this is having to suffer the indignation of being inappropriately dressed for a morning journey home or to the office. Guys don't need to bother. Nothing in our handbag other than some slut wipes and a spare pair of knickers to freshen up if we're lucky. Some make-up for reapplication, a selection of condoms, a purse and a line or two. Wearing night club attire this hour of the day marks you out like an owl in broad daylight. I'm so well used to it. It's part of the job now.

Barons Court station signs streak past the window. Sparks light up the dark tunnel and the train pulls abruptly and noisily to a halt. I teeter in my 5" Blahnik heels and quickly lose balance, falling thankfully into the arms of a helpful soul who obligingly stops me from crashing into the rest of the herd who await impatiently to swarm out of the carriage doors.

'Good night?' he says, his eyes taking in my swaying breasts beneath the flimsy top as he helps me towards the carriage's sliding doors with a firm supportive arm around my shoulder.

My head's still swimming in the excess of alcohol I've consumed and I feel well hungover. I gaze lazily into his deep brown eyes summing him up. Married I guess, 40ish, kids, a suburban commuter stuck in the rat race. In his sharp suit, tie and a brown briefcase, I'd place him in insurance services or banking. A chancer. He wasn't unattractive, short and thick brown hair, possibly Italian judging his accent. Yes, I thought, I would.

'Wouldn't you like to know!' I tease, '... 'and no that isn't a question, that's an observation!'

He blushes and his eye brows rise, and as the doors open, changes from his chivalrous demeaner to an average frustrated rat race Joe and pushes out onto the platform and ghosts away with the swarm.

In heels, negotiating the awkward carriage step to the platform is no mean feat, but I manage, just. There are no steps to talk of and no escalator or I'd have eyes wandering up my short and tight, high waisted tight pvc pencil skirt, eager to get a dawn glimpse of my thinly gusseted, shaven snatch no doubt. I wasn't sure if I was grateful or disappointed. I like to be desired.

I stumbled awkwardly and somewhat indecorously through the front door of Mattison's Estate Agents. I'd turned a head or two along the high street and felt very self- conscious. On my mind right now was a strong double espresso.

'Morning Toni, my, you had a night you dirty stop out!' exclaims Tania, our always bright, always shining, young office receptionist. 'I hope it was worth it!' She looked me up and down admiring my outfit and winks.

'Tania, you know me,' I boast, 'A girls got to do what a girls got to do in this dog eat dog sales market. Bring me a coffee, there's a love.'

Tania's reception phone beeps. Answering she relays to me, holding her hand across the mouthpiece... 'Mr P wants to see you Toni, I'll bring it up...' She looks me up and down again, winks and sucks her pencil, before pushing it in and out her mouth in a provocative fashion. '...I'll perhaps give it half an hour!'

Mr P was in fact Peter Mattison, the sole proprietor of Mattison's Estate Agents. He'd inherited the business from his father, Thomas, but everyone affectionately called Peter, Mr P. Married with 2 children at public school, self-assured, well groomed, he took pride in his appearance. He also took pride in his staff and paid well. He was generous but that generosity came at a price. His female staff, especially the sales staff, were expected to dress for the job and he gave them ample clothing allowances for the part. He was also expected on occasions to take, shall I say, liberties, or so I'd heard!

I walked upstairs to the open entrance of his salubrious office and knocked on the solid oak door. Dark panelled walling, a high plastered ceiling skirted with intricate cornicing, crystal chandeliers and a plush burgundy Axminster carpet were before me. He sat behind his antique office desk and bayed me in with a simple 'come hither' gesture of his hand and placed his phone on the desk. Mr P was not a poor man.

I sashayed across the deep carpet and stood to the front his desk, straight backed, chest out, legs together, a model of deportment.

'You've done well Toni. We've a sale. Mr Phelps has called this morning. He said you worked your butt off for it last night. Is that true?'

'I did Mr P. I did everything you'd expect of me to make the deal. Everything. I've been a very good girl.' I cooed, boastfully, bouncing up and down on my heels, excited that I had achieved my aim.

' No! No Toni you are being a little disingenuous I think. Look, I'll not mince my words. You are a bad girl, from what he told me. A very bad girl in fact.' He eyed me up and down from his leather padded seat as if deciding what to do with me, stroking his chin in deliberation. Tension was in the air. 'It's what I would expect from the likes of you, it's why I employ you.'

Standing, he loosened his tie, removed his pin strip suit jacket and placed it neatly onto the back of his chair. Straightening his linked shirt cuffs, he returned to his seat and continued to stroke his chin.

'Apparently, and correct me if I'm wrong, and these are his words, he's been 'working' you most of the night. You're a real slut he said. Is that true Toni?'

I could feel my face colouring up. Shamefully, it was all true.

'We've a motto in this business Toni. 'Quid pro venditionis.' It's what I demand of my sales staff. Do you understand what that means? After all, it's what keeps us in business, and what I demand of you.' His eyes continued to look me up and down, pouring over my body like the guys back in the tube carriage.

'I do Mr P. It's what you've drummed into me the day I joined. 'Anything for a sale.''

I wasn't sure where this was going. I felt like I was being ridiculed. I so needed this job, what with my expensive life style. The flat in Battersea, the gym, expensive restaurants; they all deplete my bank balance.

'Do you have boundaries Toni?'

'In what respect Mr.P?'

'In respect of how to achieve a sale of course!'

'I follow our motto sir.'

I could feel myself sinking down a pit. I could be out on my ear in the not too distant future. I also noticed I'd started to call him Sir, not Mr P. It was like being back at school. He addressed me like a headmaster when he was normally more familiar.

'You do indeed. Literally I think. Would the term 'quid ad officium' mean anything to you?'

I hadn't a clue. I'd had a job to pass my English exams and been too busy larking around at school than to concentrate on foreign languages. I bowed my head and shook it guiltily.

'It means 'anything for a job!' Didn't they teach you Latin at school?'

Oh course they didn't, I went to secondary modern. I was lucky they taught basic Maths.

'No sir! Just French.'

'You enjoy your job don't you. I think you'd do anything to keep it.'

I would, well, as long as it was legal. I nodded back, coyly.

Mr P rose from his seat and walked behind me. I stayed where I was and watched his reflection in the wall mirror behind his desk. His gaze was on my back, rear and legs.

'So, this is how you dress for our male clients. Sort of... scantily!'

I nodded again. I could feel his eyes burning into my tight arse like the horny perverts on the train. This was becoming erotically charged. I could feel my thin panty gusset dampening and the thin string brushed against my swelling clit.

'Part your legs Toni!'

'But sir...'

'Part them!'

I did, but not too wide, 9" or so. He kicked them further apart, just enough for my tight pvc skirt to rise above my stocking tops. I was sure this was deliberate.

'Bend over to the desk's edge and rest your forearms on it. Legs straight!'

I did as was required. 'Like this Sir?' I made a point of pushing my arse out so that the tight skirt rode even higher exposing the naked flesh of my thighs.

'Yes, Just like that! Perfect!'

I could feel his hand caress my thigh, sending tingles up my body, then a finger under my g string gusset, sliding it up and down, feeling the wetness he'd created. Pulling it aside, he perched the damp string high on my buttock.

'Now listen. With your permission, I'm going to fuck you Toni. I'm happy with the work you've been doing for me. I like a girl that puts out for the interests of the company. Would you like that?'

I was breathing fast, my chest heaving in and out. The nipples were standing proud and poking through the silk. I wasn't being castigated; I was being prepped, rewarded. My nervous disposition was rapidly evaporating and developing to that of brazen office slapper. I was feeling a lot more comfortable in myself; in my environment.

'Yes Sir!'

'Yes what Toni?'

'Fff..uck me! ' I affirmed. I wanted this now. I'd felt dirty the night before with Mr Phelps, and that stirring lust was with me again, well it had hardly left me, only this felt naughty and nasty in an exciting way. I liked being dominated. It brought out the salacious slut from deep within me.

I could see his hands reach out to my flimsy blouse in the mirror's reflection, and cup my breasts as if offering them to the mirror for my viewing delectation, before violently ripping away the blouse's fabric. Pearl buttons flew across the carpet and bounced like hail stones upon grass. My 38" firm tits flopped before me.

'Mmm.' He approved.

He then dove behind and lifted the tight pvc fabric over my firm and smooth arse cheeks to my slim waist.

'Yes. I can see our client would want to spend some precious time with you young lady. Or should I say young office bike. He has taste.' He drew back his hand and slapped it hard on my firm rump, then again and again causing it to smart. My clit tingled and desire and lust coursed through my body.

'Please fuck me sir,' I pleaded, 'I need it in me,'

'What Toni? What do you yearn for?'

I searched for the words he'd want to hear. It wasn't difficult.

'Your cock sir. I can't get enough.'

'Language! Patience slut, patience! You'll get it. Do you like this?'

I raised my head from near the desk and looked into the mirror's reflection. Carefully and assuredly, he proceeded to unbuttoned his suit trousers, whilst looking me in the eye. My stilettoed feet shuffled. Reaching into his desk draw, he pulled out a tube which I had to shamelessly admit to myself, was a brand I recognised. He screwed off the cap and placed the KY jelly on the desk before me, then wrestled out his thick and veiny, circumcised cock.

'Mmm...yes' I purred, licking my lips. 'I love cut cock.'

'Any cut cock?'

' Yes!'

'Is the right answer Toni!'

I judged it had been swelling since he'd been talking to the client and the lascivious leching at my firm tits and arse. Mr P's was a good 8" in length and a generous 6" in girth. A useful size. His fist slowly stroked it to its pulsing erect glory and I could see a dribble of precum leaking down to the floor. As I leaned on the desk watching him pleasure it, my mouth open and almost dribbling, I could feel the juice from my slit leaking excitedly too, trickling down my inner thighs.

With his cock proud, he pulled out his heavy balls from the restraint of his flies allowing me a clear view of his plentiful tackle, standing proudly from gabardine trousers. The bulge had to be released, I could see that. Spitting on his hand he proceeded to stroke it in clear sight of me, his saliva causing the thick bulbous head to gleam. His mouth was curled to one side in an appreciative smile.

He reached for the tube of lubricant and squeezed a generous drop into his palm, before rubbing it up and down his shaft.

'Like what you're seeing slut? I like what I'm seeing!'

My cheeks flushed as I gazed at his hand wanking himself rigid.

'Do you know what the lube is for Toni?'

I couldn't lie. I wasn't naïve. He just wanted to hear me say it.

'Butt fucking sir. So you can stick your nice cock deep in my tight young arsehole. If I'd had warning, I'd have worn a plug for you.'

'Would you now! Your cunt sore from last night?'

'Yes sir.' I parted my mouth, allowing my tongue to moisten my red lips and wag whorishly.

'That's the team spirit Toni.

It was true. I'd fucked Mr Phelps good. One fill isn't enough for me. Once I orgasm, I have to have another, then another. I could fuck all night. Mr P was staring at my arse, working his meat to it's full stiffness. If this was how he rewarded good service and if I got a nice bonus, this job was going to be good for me. Basically fucking for his business, a well paid whore. He was like a pimp.

He was married, but as far as he was concerned, what he did at work was none of his wife's concern. For all I knew, she was fucking her personal trainer or her gardener. I would if I were her.

He walked behind me again and he had a perfect view of my suspender framed arse and puffy waxed cunt.

'I like a smooth cunt,' he delighted in saying, 'So much nicer to finger and lick.'

I couldn't agree more.

I could hear him move behind me and feel his hands grasp both my arse cheeks, forcing my butthole open. Kneeling down, his fervent tongue darted across my star, short flicks to start, then a deeper more intense wet probing.

'So what did our Mr Phelps do to you Toni?'

I wasn't going to hold back. I was getting into this. I'd tell him the unfettered detail.

'Mr Phelps is a randy man sir. Assertive. He takes what he wants. Dirty bastard.' teasing my boss into more excitement.

'Mmm, good. A man after my own heart. Continue!' he murmured as he flicked his tongue down to my swelling clit, allowing my juices to coat his chin.

'We agreed a house sale price on condition I slept with him last night. So, I obliged the dirty fucker!'

'Good girl! In this business, to empty a man's wallet you often have to empty their balls!'

'Certainly sir. I'm a cheap slut, just as you like me. I fell to my knees as soon as he suggested it and pulled out his cock. Told him what took him so long as I was gagging for it. He stuffed it down my throat as soon as I mentioned that, made my eyes water. He pulled out and I licked it up and down like a good whore would sir. My eye liner was streaming down my face.' I wasn't lying, once that desire gets into my soul, I'm possessed by my demons.

'Mmm, perfect.' He encouraged. He'd now parted my thighs and was lapping at the juices flowing from my crotch. I could hear him gurgling in contentment. The room was becoming perfumed with my flow and my buttocks were quivering.

'Mr Phelps pushed me to the floor, and sitting on my mouth told me to lick his arsehole clean and wank his cock at the same time, because that's what sluts do...oh...sir, that's filthy...you bastard...'

Mr P had lapped at my cunt and was now fingering my g spot. The thumb of his other hand was rubbing my clit as his tongue traced up and down the inside of my thighs. I lifted one foot to the desk, opening myself up for deeper attention

'...then...oh...mmm...lick it deeper Mr P, Sir... you dirty fucker...I felt Mr Phelps cock pulsing. Having my tongue lapping his ring had him in ecstasy. I felt so dirty and I was loving it. I wanked him hard, my bracelet rattled as my fist flew up and down him and I looked him in the eye encouraging him to spurt his load onto my urging face... eager to drain... the cum out of him. It flew out into the air and across my face and eye lashes as I gazed into his face. I love that... It's such a filthy look... to have a strangers spunk plastered on your face...and look rewarded'

I heard Mr P make a deep purr of contentment as he rose to his feet before his next manoeuvre.

There's something sexy and depraved about your boss having you for his pleasure when you're totally willing yourself. It's a delight to go to work. The fact he was such a dirty minded and adventurous bastard made it even more welcome. I'd wasted years in other jobs without a tickle of interest.

I could now feel Mr P's rampant cock sliding up against the groove of my arse cheeks. I so wanted it in me. Relating my story to my boss was such a delicious turn on.

'You are a bad bastard' I rested my head on the desk and arched my back, pushing my butt into the air. Twisting my heels further apart I allowed my thighs to open my cheeks to their fullest potential. 'Mr Phelps was a repeat heavy cummer, but his cock size left a lot to be desired. I expected the gentleman's cock to be a bit more fulfilling for me. Like yours.' With my red nail varnished fingers pulling my butthole nice and wide I wanted him in no misapprehension that I wanted his meat deep up me.

'That's no gentleman Toni! A lesson for you. A gentleman fucks their treasured mistresses and whores up the shitter for their pleasure. He leaves the cunt fucking for his wife, for breeding, for the matrimonial bed. Rear entry sodomising doesn't wrinkle our clothes and we can carry on with our business shortly after. His mistress if the same. A simple lift of the dress or the skirt and she's getting her piece of the action, dogged up the arse. If she's prepped with the plug she'll be ready quicker. Be it a desk or a toilet there's really no need to undress. It's more exciting...and this is what this gentleman does.'

He placed his hands on mine and stretched me wider. Sir was going deep. He spat on my ring and offered his manhood to my butthole, pushing slowly at first, but thanks to the lube his luscious cock found soon found its rhythm and so did his lust. I could see myself in the mirror behind his desk, my tits swaying my face contorted. He was staring down at my arse, watching his meat sink deeper and deeper into his employee's butt, his face pulled and contorted in lustful desire

'What are you Toni...' he panted

'A fuck slut sir. Your filthy whore...!'

'More slut...'

'Ah...mmm... your disgusting fuck toy...'

'That's right. A gentleman's whore that gets... fucked up the arse for pleasure and money by whoever can give it to her.'

A minute passed. I was gripping his meat for all I was worth, enjoying waves of pleasure and orgasm. I could see him in the mirror leaning back, ready to pump a load. My climaxes were coming and going but I moved a hand to my clit to rev them up. His commanding words were bringing me to intensity I'd never experienced. He could see my arse cheeks quivering

'That's it Toni, enjoy' He pulled out my arse and pointed to the floor.

I had a good idea what he wanted. I obeyed and dropped down, back straight, holding my breasts out like a common trollop, looking pleadingly into his eyes.