Wife turns slut-wife submissive when she is offered a job as the office slut. Her husband encourages her.
CHAPTER 1-A: THE INTERVIEW
All the way home from the interview, I worried over this discussion. The newspaper advertisement didn't give a hint about what ended up being proposed to me. It was Bill's idea that I apply for the job of secretary to augment our income, and that was how this started.
Bill made a decent income from his long-haul truck driving for a company (every other week, he was gone all week, and the other weeks he made short hauls that had him home at night). We lived fairly comfortably, but our concern had always been about the future, specifically enough disposable income for vacations and eventually our retirement. So, when I found this ad, it seemed perfect. I hadn't worked since we moved to this city for Bill's current job about two years ago. Compared to where we previously lived, this housing market was depressed, and we ended up in a very nice situation with a nice house, but more importantly to us, a large yard that was enclosed in the back with six-foot privacy wood fencing. At first, I stayed home to get the house in order, then to work on the yard with plants, flower beds, etc.
But I had finished all that. The house was decorated within our established budget, and the yard was comfortable and attractive for the outdoor living we enjoyed. That's when this job came into play. I had been in secretarial positions with progressively increasing responsibilities for most of my adult life, which was our married life. The last position I had was with the president of a mid-sized manufacturing company, who was disappointed to see me leave but promised the best reference imaginable.
I had virtually skated through the interview today. The president of the small office of independent salesmen had done his due diligence before the interview, checking on my background and references before the appointment. I was surprised by that. I was sure the attractive salary listed would have tempted many secretaries, currently unemployed or not, to check it out. But I quickly discovered that he seemed to be most interested in a mature woman with extensive experience and a work history of accomplishment and dedication. And that was me in spades. Then, the interview changed …
My husband, Bill Hogan, stood at the patio door looking into the backyard in the early darkening of dusk. Without looking back at me sitting on the couch in the family room, "How did it go from a seemingly normal interview for a secretarial job to a proposition for the job to include you being a slut for the office?"
Every time I thought of that happening and what was proposed to me, I continued to blush. "It was weird, Bill. I never thought anything about the discussion leading up to it at the time until the words came out of his mouth, 'You are clearly the perfect woman for the secretarial position to manage the phone calls, schedules, and paperwork, but I think you are also perfect for the other position the guys in this office, and me, have long desired for managing the stress and tension that comes with our work … we have long desired to have our own in-office-slut.'" I was watching his reflection in the sliding door. I blushed again. I was talking to my husband of 18 years about having been propositioned to be a slut in an office of four men. And more, we really were talking about it. I was dripping wet between my thighs.
"But, how …", Bill was still trying to understand, "how did he get to the point of bringing that up? That seems ripe for a harassment claim."
"Honestly, Bill, I wracked my brain trying to figure that out myself. He was disarmingly charming and engaging. I caught glimpses of the other three men, and they are all attractive and about our age, except for Jerry Mortensen, the owner/president, who is about 50. Maybe part of it was the way I was dressed. Remember, it was you who wanted me to add a little sexiness to my appearance, so that it couldn't hurt. When he said it, he seemed so confident it was disarming, which was crazy because, like you said, it would be an obvious harassment situation." I watched his reflection in the window, then, "What are you thinking, Bill?"
"His calmness is intriguing, isn't it? But …" He stopped and turned to look at me on the couch. "What are you thinking, Carol? You're the one who received this crazy proposal and, instead of rejecting it immediately … if not slapping him, your response was, 'I'll have to talk to my husband.'" He stood ten feet away, staring at me while my mind raced, failing to come up with any reasonable explanation. He's right. Why didn't I at least stand up and walk out?
I hated the idea of disappointing Bill. We had married when I was 19 and he was 3 years older. I had spent our entire marriage devoted to being the model wife who doted on him, agreeable to whatever he wanted, and honestly intent on following his lead in life or sex, even his ideas of experimentation. All the while, he honored and respected me as a woman whom he encouraged to be equal in all decisions and plans. I realized early that we were at a bit of a crossroads for our personalities: he seemed to want me to be equally included in everything, while I seemed to yearn for him to make the decisions and show me what he wanted from me. For a short period, that had been a point of conflict for us. He wants me to be an equal, and I want to be compliant. Eventually, we didn't put a word or name to how I responded; we just adjusted to it. Ultimately, I was happier to comply with Bill's wishes and direction and settled into that role.
He stepped away from the window and stopped directly in front of me, sitting in a chair across the coffee table from the couch where I sat. "Stand up, Carol." His voice was directive but also more. There was also something in his eyes, something more authoritative and commanding, something I might hear during our role-playing, but this didn't have the role-playing feel. "Take off your blouse and remain standing."
There was nothing said about role-playing, but he was commanding me. I stood immediately, my fingers working the topmost closed buttons. He had suggested that I leave several buttons open for the interview, and I had, though I knew my large 34 EE breasts would show cleavage. As I worked the buttons, pulling the blouse from the skirt, "You asked what I think, and what I think, Carol, is that you want to do this." He watched as I slid the blouse off my shoulders and down my arms. I could see his eyes focus like lasers on my breasts, which he has told me over and over how much he loves my very large, natural melons. All my bras encase the outside and over the nipples while leaving the insides exposed to display my cavernous cleavage if he thought it appropriate. I remained standing, my hands loosely hanging at my sides.
His eyes seemed to reluctantly shift from my breasts to my face. "What I think, Carol, is that you deep down want to be their slut in their office. That's why you didn't object and walk out but brought his proposal back to me." I nervously searched his face. He had to be right, didn't he? Could there be any other explanation? But his face was calm, at peace, almost reflective. I always believed we had a great marriage, a great understanding, especially after he accepted that I wished to follow him. "I know you remember our two most shared fantasies." I nodded. Of course, I did. Then, his eyes shifted to my skirt. "Take off the skirt."
I shivered. It was the same voice … authoritative, commanding, self-assured. As my fingers moved to the back to release the clasp and lower the zipper, my mind was playing over those fantasies. One was something we only acted on once when we had a lot to drink on a vacation at a Mexican resort. An older man had asked me for several dances, and over the time of those dances, his hands became quite familiar with my body. I had gone back to the table to report what had happened each time, and Bill had encouraged me to continue dancing with him if he asked. I being with a stranger was something we both talked about, and it happened that night, a threesome with that older man. It never happened since, though we both enjoyed it at the time, we both seemed too nervous about how the other of us might feel about it to ever bring it up again.
I stood before Bill without a blouse or a skirt. The tall fences and trees in the backyard shielded any exposure, though I was clearly exposed to the patio door. There was suddenly a look of disapproval on his face, and I tensed. I hated to ever disappoint Bill. "No more pantyhose! Throw them all out. Start using stockings." I nodded with relief as I pushed the offending garment down my legs, sitting only long enough to pull them off each foot, then standing before him, again, now only in bra and panties. He seemed to be engaged in a slow appraisal of my body as I stood before him.
The other fantasy we shared was something we enjoyed in role play with some regularity. Bill would be dominant, and I would be his submissive. It was never the other way around. That wouldn't have been what either of us would have wanted. I was always submissive. We might be in the roles for an hour during sex, an evening, or an entire weekend. When he was in control, I was his to be directed as he wished. He might have me cook dinner naked, serve him, and suck his cock while he ate. He might take me out wearing clothes that expose me if I leaned forward or bent over. He sometimes drove on the interstate with me naked to be viewed by those in pickups and big rigs like his. He might have me naked all weekend, even if I needed to be in the backyard to weed the gardens. I always loved these role-playing times, even if I might be extremely embarrassed when in public. I also had the feeling Bill always loved it, but he was in turmoil, and I understood it. He was brought up in a loving family where he was taught to honor and respect women, and taking away control from me seemed disrespectful. But we both recognized how that role-playing came close to matching my natural inclination to respond to Bill.
"Now the bra, Carol. I want to see those breasts hang." At 37 years old, I still had a shapely body, if somewhat more mature. I was 5' 6" and 130 pounds with long blonde hair, but it was my quite large 34 EE breasts that had seemed to define me over my life. Even as a girl, my breasts were larger than anyone else's, which drew teasing from both boys and girls and leering looks from male teachers. As I got older, it seemed guys sought me just to have the possible chance of feeling them in their hands. Bill was always different, and it was why I married him at the tender age of 19. Bill definitely loved my massive breasts, fascinated at seeing them sway and bounce when unencumbered by a bra, and enjoyed fondling and teasing them with his hands, fingers, and lips. To Bill, though, they didn't define me or limit his image of me; they enhanced me.
I dropped the bra, and my breasts did, in fact, hang without the support of the bra. Bill would sometimes hold them up with his hands and tease me about the engineering wonders that some lacy material could hold them so enticingly within my dress, blouse, or T-shirt. I would giggle appreciatively as he would then begin kissing and sucking the nipples.
I gazed at Bill sitting in front of me. At 40 years old, he was still in very good shape. At 5' 11" and 190 pounds, he had only a small pouch to his stomach, which was easily attributable to the hours he was forced to spend behind the wheel of his rig. But I still saw in him the football player he once was. His eyes were on me … everywhere … flitting from one part to another and back to my face. I could see his mind was engaged in thought as much as his eyes were on my body. I never, ever, had any reason to question his love and devotion to me. I trusted him completely. I could see he was working something out. Commanding me to strip like this wasn't normal, but it had something to do with what was happening in his mind.
He used a finger to indicate down, and I understood without explanation. I slipped fingers into the waistband of my lace panties and pushed them over my hips until they dropped to the floor. I stepped out of them and kicked them to the side. He then spread two fingers, and I spread my feet to shoulder width. I kept my pussy hair trimmed as he liked it. I still remember the moment he indicated while licking my pussy that he would like it trimmed, which I eagerly and religiously did ever since. He was as devoted to my pleasure as I was in pleasing him, and he enjoyed eating my pussy, though I seldom needed it for preparation to fucking. My body always seemed ready for Bill.
"Are you wet?" So direct. I nodded. I had become wet from the first authoritative, commanding tone of his voice. "Show me." I shivered.
"Yes, sir." He smiled. I had responded as I would while role-playing, but this wasn't role-playing. He saw and heard my response, and it seemed as though something clicked into place in his thought process. I lowered a hand between my legs and probed my pussy with a finger, slipping it into my hole. I moved it in and out several times as I watched his eyes intently focused on what I was doing. I pulled my finger out to hold it in front of me. It glistened with my juice. He told me to suck it clean, and I moaned as I did it. He smiled.
He sat watching me as I stood before him naked. It wasn't the first time, but this was different because it wasn't at a time of established playfulness. My entire body shivered. My nipples were almost painfully erect. My clit throbbed with blood flowing into it. My pussy felt like it might be dripping onto the carpet.
"We are at a Y in the road of our life journey, my dear wife. Your next responses will indicate if we move in one direction as we have been to this point or in another direction that will change everything." OH, MY DEAR GOD! This might actually happen. "Do you want to be available for sex with those men? Do you want to be their slut?" I thought of the answer I was feeling. He seemed to expect a quicker answer. "That's merely a 'yes' or 'no' answer." I shook my head. He looked surprised, "Explain."
"Sir … may I be plain in my response?" His face reflected intrigue, and he nodded. "Sir … I have desired for years that our role playing could be real, that you would have me as your submissive and you controlling me."
"My submissive slut?"
"Yes, sir, as your submissive slut. Then, should you wish me to be available to the men in that office for sex, I would willingly and happily provide it. You know how I dislike making the big decisions, sir. You also know how willing I am to accept and respect your decisions." My eyes searched his face for his reaction. I couldn't remember being so aroused without being touched!
He looked at me thoughtfully and seemed to be considering my body's physical reaction to all this. "Essentially combining both of our shared fantasies." It wasn't a question, but I nodded my agreement and understanding. Then he surprised me and gave me an indication of the turn of events this might lead to. "Sit on the couch, your feet on the table, and spread your knees." I immediately did as he directed, fully exposing my pussy to him. "Play with your tits and cunt." I shivered as I complied. It had always been 'breast' and 'pussy', now it was 'tit' and 'cunt'. One of my hands mashed a tit while I thrust one, then two fingers, into my cunt. My god … just the change in words was exciting.
My eyes had sagged closed. "Don't close your eyes. Look at me." I popped them open, fixing my attention on him. "And, don't cum … not until I say so." I squeezed my tit, pinched, and twisted the nipple while two fingers thrust in and out of my drooling cunt, the thumb stroking over my engorged clit. I was gasping and moaning, but I was intent on not cumming, as he directed. He had a satisfied smile on his face. "This will change everything, you know." I nodded emphatically. "This is truly what you want?" I nodded eagerly. "You will do as I direct whenever, whatever, however, and wherever?" I nodded urgently. "No, you have to speak your response, Carol. I have to know this is what you willingly and truly desire. You have long been compliant with everything, and I have accepted that, but this is going further. So, I ask again, this is what you truly want, slut?"
I almost came. Referring to me as his slut was almost too much. "Yes … yes, sir … I … I will … be your … willing … and responsive … and respectful … submissive … slut … I will … do what … you want … ANYTHING YOU WANT …" I was too close to my orgasm. I had never controlled its release, and I struggled to do so now. "Sir … I … ooooooooo … nnnnnnnnnn … sir, I … may I … please cum?"
My eyes were somehow still on his. I watched intently, desperately for his response, praying for his consent. I never felt anything like this before. He nodded very slightly, and I almost released it, but wasn't sure. I waited, and he smiled, "Now, slut. Give me your orgasm."
I exploded as I had never before from masturbation. I don't squirt, but the juices coming from my cunt (oh, how that seems so erotic now) were like a flood. Somehow, my eyes had stayed open, fixed on his as he watched my fingers blur as they continued to thrust in and out, my hips rising off the couch, my leg muscles strained in holding me up. I finally closed my eyes as I crashed back onto the couch.
When I opened them a moment later, I found his arms outstretched toward me. I rose weakly and stumbled to him, his arms wrapping around me as I sat across his lap. He kissed my hair while stroking my thigh and arm. "Well done, my love." I nuzzled in closer to him, a sense of warmth and pride spreading over me from those four simple words. Between kisses, he softly assured me, "I will always love you as I always have. You are and always will be my one and only love. I will continue to treasure you, love you, and protect you. Only now we will live out our fantasies and enjoy new excitement through your experiences and my attention." He raised my chin, kissed me softly, then asked, "Do you truly desire this change and trust in my control, my dear, lovely, submissive, slutty wife?"
I smiled and kissed him back. "Yes, sir. I have never been surer about anything in my life."
We spent the weekend having sex. It seemed, if he wasn't fucking me, I was sucking him hard, again. That wasn't really true, but it had the effect. We, or he, talked about how things would change. I would refer to him as 'sir' in private. We threw away things from my closet and the dresser that he wasn't happy with, to show off my body satisfactorily. He came up with preliminary 'rules of engagement' going forward. And, we discussed Mortensen Sales at length.
Monday morning, he came into the kitchen with his travel bag. This was his long-haul week, and he would be gone all week. It was bad timing, given what we were beginning, but we hoped we had our game plan established. I was naked, of course, a new expectation at home, preparing his breakfast. He came up behind me, one hand reaching a tit while the other smoothed over my hip as he kissed my neck, causing me to shiver and giggle like a love-sick teenager. I had loved the weekend being at his beck and call, and my love and devotion toward him seemed somehow more intense than ever.
I sat across from him as he ate, watching his movements as if I was committing them to memory to last me through the rest of the week. He noticed it, too, and laughed, reminding me that I would be getting well fucked from now on, not only when he was home but at work, too. I tingled at the thought.
I stood at the open front door with him. I kissed him passionately, then he held my chin to look intently into my eyes, and his words reinforced me. "Don't disappoint me, now. You are to get this job, then perform all your duties at work as required of you." I blushed, understanding fully what those words implied. In only a few days, I had transitioned to his fully submissive slut and was being given to four strangers to fuck as they desired. But it was a transition made easier by a near lifetime of being a step away from realizing.
At 9:00 AM, as specified, I entered the outer office of Mortensen Sales and stood before the empty desk that I hoped would soon be mine. On either side were two enclosed offices for Mr. Mortensen and the other three salesmen. At the back are other doors leading to a conference room, a unisex restroom, and a casual lunchroom with a coffee machine, refrigerator, and microwave. I saw the second office on the left open, and Mr. Mortensen stepped out.
"Aw … Mrs. Hogan, I thought I heard the door open and close. Please come back." I walked up to him, he stepped to the side, then closed the door behind us. He moved behind his desk, sat down, motioning me to take a chair in front of his desk. "I trust this means you spoke with your husband?"
"Yes, sir."
He smiled, certainly anxious to hear more. "And what did you two decide?"
I returned the smile, "I am very interested in the secretarial position, sir." I saw some disappointment move over his face, but I let him off the hook. "I may be interested in the 'other' part of your offer, but there are a few things to clarify." His smile returned. We spent time covering specifics of the employment we hadn't gotten into last Friday: pay package including overtime, which I anticipated might come up; a benefits package including health, sick time, etc.; and the compensation package for the 'other' part of the position. It was all very inclusive. The starting salary alone was near the top of any I had seen advertised, and the 'other' compensation add-on was an additional 50 percent. I wondered if that might make me a well-paid whore … or an escort. I smiled inwardly at the thought.
He asked if there was anything else, and I nodded, handing him a slip of paper with a phone number on it – Bill's cell phone. I asked him to put the call through on speaker, explaining that Bill had some items to clarify. Bill should have been on the interstate outside the city by then, and the call went through. The two men introduced themselves, settled on using first names, and continued with Mr. Mortensen giving a run-down on what he and I had just discussed with Bill, verifying our agreement on that after the review was complete.
"Well, Jerry, the timing of my being out of town makes this transition a little awkward, but I think we can make this work. Honey, will you please give Jerry our list of understanding?" I opened my purse and pulled out a folded sheet of paper with the rules we came up with. Jerry read each line of the paper, looking up at me several times. It stated:
RULES FOR CAROL HOGAN'S PARTICIPATION AND USE AT THE MORTENSEN SALES OFFICE:
Carol is to always refer to the men of Mortensen Sales as 'Sir'. Privately, she may be referred to as slut or by her given name, either of which she will consider appropriate and will respond to as such.
With any of the men of Mortensen Sales, Carol will always consider her cunt, ass, mouth, and tits to be at their disposal as they choose.
If the men of Mortensen Sales wish to fondle any part of Carol, she will submit to it without complaint or resistance.
Carol will wear ONLY skirts or dresses with a maximum hem length to mid-thigh to allow easy access to her body unless directed by them. She will NEVER wear pantyhose. Her underwear will be sexy lace or sheer.
Whether naked or dressed, Carol is to wear four-inch high heels, unless directed otherwise.
Carol will undress or allow herself to be undressed at the pleasure of the men of Mortensen Sales without complaint or resistance.
Carol will consider it an honor to suck cock, swallow cum, and clean cock with her mouth and tongue.
Carol will perform any task given to her without hesitation. Any pleasure she might receive will be through giving pleasure to the men.
Unless approved otherwise by Bill Hogan, Carol's husband, Carol's availability shall be limited to the men employed by and within the office building of Mortensen Sales.
And, finally, Carol is the slut of Bill Hogan, who is allowing the men of Mortensen Sales access to her. Any changes, additions, or deletions to this list shall be agreed to by Bill Hogan.
Jerry looked at me and smiled. Then, to Bill, he said, "That's a very complete listing, Bill. I commend you on its thoroughness. And, I understand you to say that Carol is in agreement with this."
"She is, but as my submissive slut … you understand …" Jerry chuckled and said he did. Then, Bill asked Jerry, "Do you have any questions or concerns, Jerry, regarding Carol's involvement in your firm?"
Jerry chuckled, "No, Bill, I think we are very fortunate to have Carol as part of our team."
Bill laughed, "I know you are fortunate. But, before we get too far ahead of ourselves, I need this document to be agreed to by all the men of your firm. You'll notice we both have signed and dated it. I also imagine Carol must still go through something of a rigorous additional interview, including the other men. Please consider the terms of this document in effect during the next stages of the interview. Does that sound fair?"
"Absolutely, Bill. Thank you." Then, before Bill could disconnect, "Bill, one other thing. Carol apparently doesn't remember me, but we've met before … a certain Mexican resort, some drinking and dancing?"
My mouth fell open, and Bill responded, "That was you? Well, I will apologize for Carol; she was focused more on satisfying one of our fantasies than who she was satisfying it with."
Jerry chuckled, "No need to apologize … either one of you. I fully understand. Just so you both know, though, my wife was with me that night and she encouraged me. She is dying to meet both of you personally."
"So, she knows about this office arrangement."
"Oh, absolutely. I wouldn't call us swingers or anything, but we do experiment." They said their goodbyes, and the call ended. I was left suddenly feeling more than a little awkward. I knew the next stage of interviewing was each man using me somehow, with me sucking them or being fucked by them. This was where the rubber was about to meet the road, as the saying goes.