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Climbing the Corporate Ladder

By Willing Wimp

I spent the first ten years of my marriage thinking I was a good lover and provider and that my wife, Rachel, was satisfied with our relationship. In retrospect, I now realize that I took my beautiful Rachel for granted and didn't show her the appreciation she deserved. I was a moderately successful junior business executive. Rachel, in turn, was a very dutiful and supportive housewife, and a loving mother to our small children. She never complained, made me feel like a king when I came home from work, toiled at housework all day, and never refused my sexual advances at night.

I knew, though I didn't stop to think about it, that she wasn't having orgasms, but I thought she just wasn't that interested in sex, that all she really wanted was to please me. I would use her to get off quickly, roll over, and go to sleep. I never really thought about her pleasure or satisfaction. We probably could have gone along that way for another ten years. However, I was laid off from my job, and had difficulty finding a comparable job. Things would change.

The children were entering elementary school, I was still unemployed, and money was tight, so Rachel decided to try her luck in the job market. Having been a stay-at-home housewife, she had little job experience. Although she could type, her skills were rusty. I thought, if we were lucky, she might be able to get a job in a secretarial pool somewhere.

As it turns out, we were more than lucky. I had maintained contact with friends in my old company, and had asked them to keep an eye out for a job opening for her. A job opened up for an executive assistant to the CEO, Mr. Daley. My friends and I knew that Rachel wasn't really competent to be an executive assistant for the company CEO. But I knew Daley. I had a grudging admiration for his hard-as-nails approach to business. I also knew his weak spot. He had a real eye for the ladies.

I had seen him at conventions entering strip clubs. I had secretly followed him and watched as he groveled at the feet of the strippers, something that made me feel superior to him. I also knew the women in the company felt uncomfortable with the way he stared at their bodies, always trying to look up their skirts or peek down their blouses. But we were desperate for money, and I knew this might be our big chance for Rachel to get a job that would earn us far more money than she would be able to get based on her skills and experience alone.

Rachel's talents are not, strictly speaking, of a business nature. Rachel, it should be said, is quite a beautiful woman. Her face is more than pretty. Full, brunette hair cascades over her light tanned shoulders. She has full sensuous lips, heavy, round, large breasts, a nice waist, and hips and an ass that are irresistible. Her legs are long and shapely; her feet, elegant, exquisite.

Rachel had been home raising kids for eight years, rarely wearing make up or getting dressed professionally. Her beauty had been a well-kept secret, jealously guarded by me.

I knew that Rachel would enhance her chances for getting the job if she wore a short skirt and a low-cut blouse, but I wasn't quite sure how to convince her to do so. I decided to go shopping with her to pick out clothes for the job interview. She started out looking at the racks of business suits and other conservative cuts. As she came out of the dressing room to show me her choices, I found one reason or another to find fault with them. Finally, she asked me to help her pick out something. I picked out a silky, see-through, cream-colored blouse and a black short skirt with a slit up the thigh. She took one look at my choice, and said, "What kind of a job do you think I'm applying for?" I answered that I knew who she was applying to work for, and that Mr. Daley would probably hire her if she wore what I picked out, but that she had no chance for the job whatsoever if she played it straight.

Rachel looked at me in disbelief. "You're telling me you want me to dress like some kind of a slut for your old boss?"

I didn't know how to get out of this, so I ended up plunging in deeper. "Look, Rachel," I said, "The guy is a pervert. He gets off looking up women's skirts, and you can nearly see him drooling when a sexy woman is near him. His reputation is a joke among the employees. We always say he must not be getting enough at home. I know this about him, and thought it would help you get the job."

The look of disbelief turned to one of anger. "Why would you want me to work for a person like that?" she demanded.

"Rachel, honey, this is a chance to make a good salary, much better than a secretary."

"You make me feel like a whore," she said. It was the angriest I had ever seen her.

We left the store empty handed. She didn't speak to me that night, or the next day either. We each went our own way, keeping our distance. I didn't even know if she would still show up for the interview the following day.

The next day, I got the children off to school, and then sat at the breakfast table to see if she would come down dressed in the usual jeans or sweat pants, or, perhaps, in a business suit in a decision to go forward with the interview after all.

I was stunned when she appeared. Rachel came down ready for the interview. She was dressed in the blouse and skirt I had picked out. The blouse was unbuttoned deep into her cleavage. She wore a front clasping bra that left her nipples exposed, clearly visible through the thin material. She had on the darkest mascara I had ever seen her in, and red ruby lipstick. The lipstick matched her bright finger and toenails. The sandals that exposed her bright red toenails also boasted two to three inch heels. The effect on her legs and ass, particularly against the tight, small skirt that gripped her hips, was breathtaking. She just glared, challengingly at me.

"Rachel, you can't go to my office looking like that," I said.

"It's not your office anymore."

"Rachel, this is too much. You'll embarrass me in front of my friends and co-workers."

"I'll embarrass you? Is that all you care about? I never realized what a self-centered prick you are. This is what you wanted, this is what you get."

"What would I say to my friends at work?"

"Wake up, Joe, you're not working any more." And with that she walked out the door. I looked out the window watching her gorgeous ass sashay as she walked to the driveway. I continued watching as she opened the car door. At that point she looked up and saw me looking out the window. She opened the car door, and slowly backed herself into the car seat, letting her skirt hike up, exposing a bright red splash of shiny, silky panty between her legs. This completely shocked me, as until then she had never worn anything but white cotton, or the occasional pastel, panty. I couldn't understand why she would buy a pair of red silky panties for the job interview.

I was nervous all day. All day, I imagined what my friends would think when they saw her walking through the halls to Daley's office. I imagined the interview itself. I was totally preoccupied with how she looked, how she was dressed, especially those red panties.

I cleaned the house, and prepared a nice dinner. I really wanted to make it up to Rachel and let her know how much I loved her. I was also, frankly, very nervous about what she might be doing at work, how in her anger she might be embarrassing me. She was gone all day, much longer than the time it would take for a job interview, and wasn't there when the kids came home from school. I took care of the kids, played with them, fed and bathed them, told them Mommy had to work late, and put them to bed.

Rachel came in about 10:00. She was tipsy, her lipstick a bit smeared, her hair somewhat messy. She looked incredibly sexy.

"Honey, why didn't you call? I made dinner." I said.

She looked at me coldly. "Do you realize how many times you've missed dinner and didn't call?"

"I'm sorry," I said.

That response brought the first mild look of approval in days. "That's a start," she said. "Now, get me a glass of wine, and bring some lotion. My feet are killing me."

"Aren't you hungry?" I asked.

"No, I had dinner with Mike. I got the job."

This was a lot to sink in. I had worked at this company for nearly ten years. I had never once had dinner one-on-one with Mr. Daley. And I never referred to him, to his face or even behind his back as Mike. I also wasn't in the habit of getting wine and lotion for my wife. But I complied. I handed her a glass of wine.
"Take off my shoes," she said.

I knelt at her feet, and slipped off her shoes. "Rub them," she said, as her foot crawled up my chest. In doing so, I caught a glimpse of the flashing red panty. I got quite a hard-on. I squeezed out some lotion, and started working it into her feet. I was so excited, I could hardly stammer out the words, "Tell me how it went."

"Just walking in your office, everyone had their eyes glued on me, both the men and the women. I think I made quite an impression. Dress for success, they say.

"Mike and I quickly got down to business. I told him that I was your wife, so we started out talking about you."

I couldn't tell where this was going. "What did you say?"

"He said that he laid you off because he thought you thought too highly of yourself, that you couldn't be a team player. I agreed that you were selfish, and I thanked him for laying you off, so I could try to teach you humility."

"You what?!"

"I told him that it was your turn to be my housewife, and that I wanted to earn as much money as you had made before."

"But you couldn't possibly earn my salary. I was a professional. You're hardly qualified to be a secretary."

"For being a dumb secretary, I do a pretty good job of negotiating a salary. During the first part of the job interview, I kept crossing and uncrossing my legs." As she said this, she did just that, and my eyes dropped to take in her gorgeous thighs and sexy red panties. "He was like a little fish, and I just dangled the bait in front of him, waiting to hook him and draw him in. We chatted more and I continued to flirt outrageously and watch him take it in. Then, when he asked why I thought I should get the job, I stood up and leaned across his desk. He got a real good look at my qualifications. I told him I would be loyal to him and only to him. I told him I would be his whore, that I would tease him all day, keep him constantly excited, and finish every day taking him any way he wanted, mouth, tits, cunt, ass, all were his for the taking and only exclusively his, no fears of any sexually transmitted diseases, no worries about sexual harassment suits, no hassles, no gossip, no blackmail, no problems with his wife, no problems with my husband."

"Are you crazy?" I stammered.

"No, Joe, I'm not. I'm dead serious. If you want to stay married to me, we do it on my terms. I was your passive little housewife for ten years. Now, it's your turn." She parted her legs slightly, and again, despite my anger, my eyes were drawn between her legs. "I'll earn the money, and you serve me and take care of the kids."

"But how could you tell him, how could you tell Daley, that you would only have sex with him?"

"I told Mike only he could penetrate my body. I'm really not interested in your little, prematurely ejaculating prick anyway, Joe. You had your pleasure for ten years. Now, I want you to learn how to pleasure me. If you want to pleasure yourself, I'll tolerate that. And with Mike, it's purely business, and I already have him totally wrapped around my finger.

"But I think Mike gets a kick out of knowing he'll be fucking your wife, and knowing that you won't be fucking me."

"How could you do this to me?"

"Easily, honey. You convinced me that I'm only a whore to you. If I'm going to be a whore, I want to be in control, and well paid. I don't need a pimp, certainly not you."

"But how could you walk through the office having everyone look at you like that?"

"Oh, I knew the humiliation wasn't really mine, dear, but yours. Everyone knows I'm your wife. And soon everyone in your office and in all the other businesses your company deals with will know that your wife is fucking the boss, and that you're just a little wimp with no control over me whatsoever. I really take pleasure in that." With that she crossed her leg, flashing red panty again and putting her other foot close to my face. "Lick my toes, and I'll tell you about my dinner with Mike," she said.

I didn't want to hear about the dinner, and yet I did want to hear; I didn't want to lick her feet, and yet I did. I was reeling from anger, jealousy, and humiliation, and yet I was trembling with sexual excitement. Rachel was transformed into a sex vixen. And I, at that moment, into a wimp. There was nowhere I would rather have been than kneeling at her feet. I licked.

"Mike really likes my feet, too," she said. "Did I tell you how I negotiated by salary? At first he said that he couldn't get away with paying me your salary, that the pay grades are too well established. I told him that I could make his stock grow quickly, I got up, trailing my hand across his chest and walked to the wall. You know he's got that wall of his office with the built in bookcase, and all those old books? There's a ladder that slides on a track, so that you can reach the top shelf by the ceiling. I told him that I would waste no time climbing the corporate ladder, and with that I got up on the ladder. I told him that in this office, I would be upper management, because I guessed he liked to be lower. He looked at me a little shocked, but I climbed up the ladder, stuck my butt out, and invited him to come steady it. He nearly leapt to get down under me. 'Do you like it down there?' I asked. 'Yes," he said. I told him that I knew what that meant. I knew that in public he would be the boss, but that as soon as the door is closed, and we're alone, that I would be the boss. I told him that he would have to beg for me all day for what he wanted to do to me, or me to him, and that if he's a good boy, and gives me lots of money and presents that, of course, I'll fulfill his wishes.

"I also told him, plenty of teasy, but no fuckie until I get my first paycheck, and it's got to be the same amount I was used to seeing when you used to bring home a check. So we went out to dinner, where he wined and dined me. I think I was told I was beautiful more in one night than in the past ten years. He was so sweet, and I could tell he was so hungry for my breasts, that I, of course, let him squeeze and suck them a bit after he walked me to my car."

"How could you let another man... How could you let, him..."

"You wanted me to turn him on, Joe. You wanted me to be a sex object for him. I'm just doing it more openly and honestly than you would ever be capable of doing. And, I'm going to enjoy it. I'm going to enjoy your humiliation and misery."

"I have my dignity."

"No, you don't. Joe, right now, you're powerless before me and you know it." With that she uncrossed her legs and slowly began to part them. "Where do you want to be right now, dear?"

"Between your legs," I whispered.

"Strip naked," she commanded. I complied.

"On your knees,' she commanded. I knelt before her. "Tell me what you like, what you want."

"I like your new panties."

"Beg," she said.

"Can I touch? Please," I said.

"No, you don't appreciate enough."

I spent the next 20 minutes or so telling her how beautiful she was, kissing her feet, trying to move my hands up her legs, only to have her brush them away.

"I'm getting tired of this," she said, standing up before me. You called Mike a pervert, remember?
"Yes," I said, still in a kneeling position in front of her.

"Well, I think you're a panty pervert yourself," she said, and with that she wriggled out of her panties, letting them drop at her feet. "Use the lotion on yourself, Joe. Kiss my panties. Let me watch you get off on my panties, you little pervert."

I buried my face in her panties, and worked the lotion on my cock, cumming and dropping exhausted at her feet.

"I'm going up to take a bath and go to bed. Don't bother me again tonight," she said. And with that, our lives have been completely changed.

Rachel now has a professional day wardrobe that would be the envy of professional ladies of the night. Her smoldering eyes, tanned skin, and flowing dark hair are beautifully complemented by a lot of red and black; her hourglass figure by tight fitting, low cut knit blouses and miniskirts. She walks and talks with confidence that had been dormant for a decade. She is a woman in control.

She has ruined two professional reputations. I am totally finished in my profession, but everyone has lost respect for Mike Daley as well. It's obvious that Rachel has him totally wrapped around her finger. And the sexual nature of their relationship is clear to anyone with eyes to see. But Daley is still the boss, and more tyrannical than ever as an executive. His subordinates are afraid of him. But they are even more fearful of Rachel, because they can see that she is now calling the shots for the company, particularly on personnel issues, which gives her immense power over their lives.

I like it. I humiliated every day by my wife's conduct with my former boss at my former company. I am the laughingstock of all my old buddies. My social life is completely ruined; I have no professional prospects whatsoever. But I've never been happier. I have learned a new role in life. Serving Rachel.

I help to pick out her clothes, especially her panties. I love to go shopping with her to lingerie departments. She finds a chair, usually occupied by spouses outside the dressing room, and I bring her a selection of thongs, string bikinis, bras, garters and stockings. All the ladies can see me pawing through the merchandise, and bringing the items to my wife. They often look at me disapprovingly. I find myself humiliated and excited at the same time. I do the same thing in the shoe department, elbowing aside the salesmen, so I can kneel at her feet and serve her, for all to see.

Rachel regales me with stories every day as I massage her feet after a hard day at the office. She cockteases not only Mr. Daley, but all the men in the office--my former golf partners, the various clerks and assistants who used to work under me, even the custodial staff. And then she comes home and makes me beg her for details of her teasing. She lets me grovel at her feet and look up her address. After much whimpering and begging, she lets me lick starting at her feet and moving up her legs, inside her thighs, and, if I'm a good boy, to lick her panties, and curl my tongue inside the fabric. She often encourages me with little comments like, "Can you smell Mikey today, honey?" Or, "Mikey really worked me over today. Taste me all over and try to guess where he came on me." Or, "I got all wet and juicy for you today," Or, "I got dirty today doing dirty things, clean me up with your tongue, dear."

I take vicarious pride in Rachel's power and success. I live to care for the children and to serve her. Although she has been true to Mr. Daley and has not allowed me to have intercourse with her, my sex life with Rachel is more complete and satisfying than it ever was when we were in a traditional monogamous relationship.

Proudly signed,

"Willing Wimp."
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