How I Became A Corporate Whore (Part 2) [MF]

You can read Part 1 here:

[https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/jml30l/chronicles_of_a_corporate_whore_part_1/](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/jml30l/chronicles_of_a_corporate_whore_part_1/)

That night I couldn’t sleep. Lying beside my husband, deep asleep, his hand limply laid around my breasts, I stared at the ceiling, seeing all that happened that evening as if in a movie. The way I offered myself to my boss, the way he fucked me with his eyes alone, the way I let him objectify me, the way I allowed his hands to slither inside my panties, the way he kissed me, the way I moaned as he sucked my nipples, and the way I writhed against his body as his fingers strummed my pussy. But most of all, how easily I let him have me. All for what? For position? For politics? For money?

Yes, career was important for me. It always has been. But so was my family; my loyalty; my principles. As I argued and shamed myself for slipping momentarily, I realized just as I realized I was falling asleep that I had gone over these thoughts thousand times over, and although my answer had never been clear, but a muddled one, I knew how what I’d later.

The following day was monotonous, with my boss merely asking me if I were alright, and we exchanged no more than what our professional courtesy demands of us. It was surprisingly calming for me. Neither did he bring up the topic and nor did I offer. The week went by thus, but the elephant in the room in my head kept growing, bigger and bigger, much like a cock, until it was an angry, purple head spewing thick, white, fertile seeds all over. I needed to address the issue. With him. Or atleast with myself. What was I doing? Where would this lead to? I wondered.

By the end of the week, my boss delivered his end of the deal. I received the official letter of promotion. I was elated but it was mired in trepidation. This meant, I would have to uphold my end of the promise, and I could feel my heart beating faster than my husband’s balls slap my ass when he fucks me. I went to his chamber and poured my heart out. I told him while I was grateful for what he did, and made it clear that while I was willing to sleep with him– the price I decided to pay–I was still quite nervous about the whole thing. His reaction and response was perhaps the reason I became who I’m today.

He smiled, and told me in the most soothing words that if I weren’t feeling right about it, I wouldn’t have to do it, but he suggested that working in hectic environment often leads to toxic culture, and having allies is more important than being a lone wolf. And I knew what I was going to do. I told my husband that I’ve an important meeting and that I’ll be late. I carried a pack of condoms with me and prepared my mind that I’m doing this for my family. Truth be told, it wasn’t lust then I had. It was desperation. I cried a lot the night before I was to spend the night with him. Through tears, I washed my principles, my ideals and my wedding vows away, and I wore a sexy lingerie for the evening, making sure I do not come across as putting up a half-hearted effort.

I wore my formals that day, so that I do not raise suspicions from my husband. My husband is not at all suspicious as a person, but in my head, he would spring up the question accusing me–that was how paranoid I was. I reached his house, and after talking for some time, I expected him to be all over me. But he didn’t. He simply looked at me and complimented me. Of my beauty, and my boldness, and my determination to turn the table. He offered me some vodka, which I readily agreed to. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do much without being inebriated. We sat close, and soon as our glasses were refilled, our lips met, and I tasted him again. This time, he wasn’t intense or forceful unlike last week, but decided to linger, savouring every bit, relishing every inch of my mouth, sucking my lower lip and playing and prodding at my tongue with his.

Kissing is something of a deeply intimate act for me. And it is that what triggers a rush of rain between my legs. After what seemed like an eternity, he broke the kiss, emancipating me from a trance, and I looked at him, gasping for breath, our spit rolling down my chin. He told me how beautiful I look with my dishevelled hair and how innocently erotic I look every morning when I walk into his cabin. He told me of how long he has been fantasizing about me, wantonly describing about how my ass looks and how it sways, and about how my eyes tempt him to wonder how they would look when I’m sucking his cock. While he told me all these, his hands, unbeknownst to me had slid inside my shirt and in the bra, kneading on my breast, pulling and pinching my nipples. Lust raged in me.

I was doing this for my family, I reminded myself.

He gently placed his hands on crotch. A giant bulge angrily stirred. I winced slightly. It was the first time I was touching another man who wasn’t my husband. Guilt coursed through my veins. As if sensing it, he leaned in and began to lick my neck as his hands reached down between my legs and quickly unbuttoned my trouser and had it pulled down just enough so that he has the access to my freshly waxed pussy covered in a lacy thong. He wasted no time in rubbing me, focusing never finger me, but play with my clit with the expertise of a wizard.

I do not know how long he did it because by the time I came to my senses I was moaning quite audibly and was leaking considerably making a mess–something I was planning not to because I had to return to my husband that very evening. I quickly got up and removed my trouser exposing my legs to him, leaving little room for imagination.

He quickly undid his belt and pulled his trousers down, displaying the huge cock he had been stroking to every night thinking of me. I knelt down and enveloped my mouth around his shaft and began to suck. But I wasn’t good at it. Unlike now, I didn’t grasp the fineese of being a cocksucker. That is a skill I picked up being a whore over the years, which is how I became the filthy cocksucking whore I’m today. My teeth would graze accidently, and I didn’t know the right pressure, so at every suck and at every lick, he would teach, guide me, almost like a mentor, the art of fellatio.

And I sucked him like a student. I closed my eyes throughout the whole act, trying to imagine it was my husband’s cock I was sucking, and that I wasn’t doing anything immoral. The bloody principle just wouldn’t go away. I bobbed my head faster. I heard the word ‘slut’ from his mouth at one point, and I paused–almost for a fraction of a second–but that word only made me vigorously suck him. It was the first instance I was called a slut. A slut. Is that who I’m now? A woman who is promiscuous? Someone who is a cheater? My hands moved in a flash, synchronous with my mouth, as I began to suck, sloppily, like a slut. Precum and spit oozed down. I was possessed. I held my eyes closed. The world was black. It was dark. All that mattered was the now. I’m a wife. A mother. And I’m doing this for my family. Suck suck. I felt a hand on my head forcefully push my face closer to the balls, and I complied. Strong musky odour rose from his crotch. But I didn’t squirm. I liked it. I gagged, and I opened my mouth wider, make me gag even more. He released the grip and I coughed and sputtered, but got back to the job. I had to finish it. A few minutes later, his cock spluttered cum in my mouth and my face and all over his legs, spilling a generous dollop on my hands.

And that was when I looked at him, my shirt half undone, boobs spilled, face covered with his cum, wearing nothing underneath but a sexy thong, with cum staining my wedding ring. A stain I would never be able to remove.

I looked at him, heaving, panting, gasping. I knew he was right. I was a slut.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/jsdt9f/how_i_became_a_corporate_whore_part_2_mf