Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Reluctant, Slut Wife, Wife Watching, Swinging, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Slow, .
Desc: Drama Sex Story: Chapter 1 - To what lengths would you be willing to go to save your job? How far would you allow your wife to go to help you? One salesman, and his wife, find out. A 'thinking' Loving Wife story. (Recently Revised)
Thanks to my usual Editors: Dowyd & DuffieDawg
and several advance readers that prefer to maintain deniability
The economy took a nose dive in my city about three years ago and it was just about the worst financial year of my life. The next year was even worse. This last year made those previous years look like a time of wine and roses. The omens for the New Year looked, if anything, worse still. Doom and gloom were the watch words of the day.
To make things worse still, our talented daughter Ripley, currently off at University, has found out that she is likely to be accepted into a prestigious graduate school program and now has plans to not just get her Bachelor's degree next year, but to continue until she receives a Doctorate. Her mother Florence, "Flo", and I are so very proud of her, but we hadn't the heart to tell her that we had nearly no hope of getting the tuition money for her graduate school studies. She'll have to take out a mountain of student loans to see her way through. We just won't have the money to help her.
There was a single slight bit of good news however, our younger son Drew announced that he would not be attending the local city college this fall and that he had already made plans to join the Marine Corps when he graduates from High School this summer. This was a great relief, but no great surprise. JROTC had been his favorite classes during High School and he was certainly buff enough (and a little thick in the skull) to make a good Marine. Drew had no real scholarly ambitions anyway, but at least this way Uncle Sam could pay his tuition later on if he changed his mind. He'd need some college at least, to help get promoted later on if he decided to make the corps his career — which wouldn't at all surprise me. At least now that would be on Uncle Sam's dime instead of ours.
My wife Flo is an angel, and I really don't deserve her. She is extremely even tempered, and calm under the most trying circumstances. She can think quickly under pressure. She is the rock of our family and the one true love of my life. Like me, her family never had the money to send her to college, nor did she have much ambition to ever go on her own.
Our daughter Ripley resulted from an 'accident' we had had during our Senior year of High School together and we were quickly married the day after graduation. Our son Drew came a few years later. I guess it was nice that we got our child rearing done fairly early in life so that now we can hope for an empty nest while we are still in our early forties and might be able to kick up our heels a bit in the future.
The holiday season at work had been very subdued this year. No surprise, especially not after three straight years of declining sales. My boss Ron tried to lighten the atmosphere of doom and despair, but he wasn't fooling anyone. If anything he was usually the most depressed person in the room. Scuttlebutt had it that there would be layoffs (again) in January, and I was likely to be vulnerable this time around. I was scheduled to have a long personal sales meeting with him next week that would probably decide my fate with the company.
I've been with USALift for about fifteen years now. We're one of the three largest forklift dealers in our large metropolitan city and the only company still selling only US made and manufactured forklifts. Very patriotic, but our products are more expensive than the numerous Asian made ones, especially Toyota's forklifts. In these days of tight financial times, getting a customer to spend 10-25% more for a virtually identical quality product is a tough sell. Very tough.
Five years ago when times were still pretty good, we had a sales force of over ten, today we only have five outside salesmen left. If commissions get reduced any further, I know we will lose at least two more. Like me, everyone is getting by financially just by their fingernails.
My first job was a forklift operator right out of High School for a sleazy fly by night trucking company. I wasn't too surprised when they suddenly packed up and shut down operations by surprise a few years later (and owing me two weeks of salary I could ill do without), but I had learned enough to nearly immediately get a better job at USALift working in their maintenance and support department. After a few years, I got promoted over to the sales side of things where I have been ever since.
Selling isn't my favorite thing in the world to do, but I seem to have a bit of a knack for it. I'm not the best pure 'salesman', and could never earn my living selling refrigerators to the Eskimos, but I understand our products inside and out and know what they can and can't do. I project honesty and sincerity to my clients, and never, ever, promise anything I can't deliver. This approach works well with our older and more established clients. I may not bring in the top new sales figures, but several of our longest established customers are secure in my care ... unless we lose that damned McCoy account.
McCoy Distribution is our regions' largest trucking and retail distribution center and they handle at least 90% of all the local supermarket chains and convenience stores. The company is gigantic, and uses a great number of our forklifts loading and unloading the hundreds of trucks that come and go each day. Henry McCoy, Senior was a rootin'-tootin' larger than life poor ole country boy who bought his first truck while still a teenager, and built it into an impressive empire fifty years later, including air freight and marine shipping enterprises. He was also a very religious and God fearing man who didn't like his employees to work on Sundays and held his executives to high moral principles. Old Henry was also a patriot, born and true, and he never minded paying a bit more for a 'Made in the USA' product ... in fact he insisted upon this to all of his suppliers up until the day he retired and handed over control of his well-oiled empire to his only son, Junior.
Henry McCoy, Jr., was a slightly different sort of animal. The kid wasn't stupid (smart enough to get an Ivy League MBA) but he was a bit short of common sense, in my opinion. In a scant six months, Junior had set about changing absolutely everything in the name of increased efficiency. Policies his father had established decades ago were abolished, and the new corporate mantra was to squeeze every dime of costs wherever possible. Every supplier contract was now being 'reevaluated' personally by Junior himself and it seemed unlikely that he would tolerate our slightly more expensive products and services, even in the name of patriotism.
Penny wise and very pound foolish, if you ask me. They were already making exceptional profits due to their high productivity, but Junior wanted to rake in truly obscene profits, even if he had to gut the company to do it.
Now, his next order of business was to gut our contract.
I'd only met Junior once before, and had been very unimpressed with him. He appeared to be a "know-it-all" smart ass kid who walked about with a perpetual sneer on his face and looked down upon everyone in his staff, whom he considered to be little better than menial servants. According to stories I heard from salesmen from other companies, Junior was also a world-class horndog. Allegedly, his father had been forced to pay off at least three women employees who had been aggressively sexually harassed by Junior. Senior would never have tolerated this behavior for a moment from any of his other executives, but somehow Junior had gotten away with this sort of behavior so far.
This new meeting on a Monday morning with Junior went about the way I expected it to. Even with our costs cut to the bare bone, Junior wanted and expected an additional 25% across the board discount.
Absolutely impossible ... and I told him as much, but he didn't seem to much care. He'd "bring in Russian or Chinese made forklifts if it would save me five dollars", he said with pride. It wouldn't in actuality save him a single red cent though. Both countries made notoriously unreliable products, especially their cheaper value end machines. Maintenance costs would go through the roof and productivity would certain go way down as a result of the low reliability, but Junior couldn't be bothered with those facts.
The meeting broke up with no agreement, and it appeared likely that no agreement could or would be made. I told Junior that I would review his proposed revised agreement with my boss and I would call him back on Friday.
"Great!" Junior exclaimed. "You can then take me out for dinner and a few drinks ... on your dime, of course ... and we'll discuss things then!" With that, the meeting was over and I headed back to the office to discuss the situation with my boss.
Ron, our Vice-President of Sales, and my boss, took the news stoically and in fact actually better than I had expected. My sales quotes had been pretty much directly at our cost and I had already given our best and only possible offer. We had known that Junior was going to slash all expenses and most likely force us out of the bidding for any future business with them, so the news didn't come as a complete and unexpected shock.
We spent the rest of the day reviewing all of my other sales accounts, and we agreed that while we would probably maintain all of those clients, our total gross annual income was likely to be reduced again this year. In total, my projected commissions from our sales and service contracts this year, barring any significant new customers, was likely to be reduced by about 40%. Ouch. This was worse than I had expected.
At the end of our meeting, Rod shut his eyes for a few minutes and then looked up at the ceiling for awhile before speaking to me.
"Greg, I'll be bluntly honest with you. Losing forty percent of your income this year might be the best case scenario. If we lose McCoy, our flagship account, more than likely we'll be padlocking the doors for good by the end of next summer. I'll have to start off by laying off more employees now, but we're down to the bone already. Losing more salesmen won't help us bring new money in, and Support can't spare any bodies either or we'll start losing other accounts due to poor service. It's a total ratfuck — we're now screwed no matter what we do!"
"Somehow, whatever you do, you've got to find a way to keep McCoy or we're all going to be out on the street. Take him to dinner, wine him, dine him and get him laid if you can. Hell, blow him or bend over for him yourself if that's what the bastard wants. I don't care if you have to give him your wife naked on a silver serving platter as long as he signs the Goddamned contract!"
There wasn't much else left to say. Joe was going to give me some revised, carved in stone final sale quotes, but he didn't expect much of any difference from what I'd already offered Junior. Somehow, between now and Friday, I was going to have to come up with some means of creating a miracle to keep the McCoy account.
Flo took one look at my face after I came home and said "That bad?" I just nodded, and played back the last five minutes of my conversation with Roy that I had recorded on my micro-cassette recorder in my pocket. I always record my sales meetings and meetings with clients, usually with their knowledge. It helps to refresh my memory later when I'm working on accounts so I won't forget anything critical. My memory is just 'ok', not even remotely perfect, so I need all the help I can get.
We spent the evening reviewing domestic finances until our eyes were red. The situation wasn't good. We didn't have much in the way of savings — it had all gone into paying Ripley's tuition these last three years. We could sell the house, we agreed ... and we'd probably have to. We'd been making payments on it for about ten years so there would be some equity to live on and hopefully enough to cover some of Ripley's grad school costs.
We were both more than willing to live in a crappy apartment for a few years to give her the chance in life that neither of our parents could afford for us. Still, completely financing her Doctoral studies seemed impossible, for now, unless the house sold for a lot more in this bad economy than we were expecting. Unlikely at best, but we could cross our fingers and hope.
The only bright spot was Flo's part-time job. She worked as a hostess/waitress at a local 'gentlemen's entertainment club' and was popular with the management and the staff. It was very likely that she could increase her work hours from her current twenty-five or so a week to the maximum of thirty-nine.
It's not like what you're thinking ... she always kept her clothes on and just seated guests and served drinks.
I admit having been extremely uneasy about allowing Flo to work there. In fact at first I was quite dead against it. The problem was, like me, Flo had nothing more than a High School diploma and virtually no work experience to speak of. She couldn't get secretarial work and even had trouble getting any interviews for receptionist jobs that paid basically minimum wage. She tried and tried ... to find something better but there was nothing. In the end, after months of an increasingly depressing job search, she had received only two job offers. The Roxy Gentleman's Club, and a chain restaurant looking for waitresses.
She quit after less than a week working at the restaurant so I agreed to let her try the Roxy instead. The restaurant paid the lowest possible wage and required that tips be pooled together and split with the rest of the staff, including management. Very illegal, but they didn't care. The Night Manager sexually harassed the wait staff mercilessly, and after the third time he grabbed Flo's ass, she decked the slimy bastard and quit on the spot.
Frankly, I anticipated much of the same (or worse) at the Roxy Club, but in the two years that she has worked there she had no significant problems and was happy working there ... and probably making more money now than I was.
The tips were much better there than at her previous waitress jobs. Plus, being an 'older woman', she was relatively safe from most of the guests casual pawing of the entertainers. She also provided a "mom" figure for much of the younger staff, which Management greatly appreciated and encouraged. Accordingly, the bouncers kept a friendly eye on her and swooped in to protect her at the first hints of unwelcome harassment.
I got the definite impression that the Roxy had some mob connections, but the Management was nothing but respectful to the staff and ran a very orderly house. Word from the other hostesses and dancers was that this Club was one of the best places to work in the area as long as you kept your nose clean and did your job, and then Management would have your back.
On nights she worked, I'd drop her off at the Roxy Club in the evening and then go home to sleep until she phoned me at 2 a.m. to make sure I was awake to come pick her up at the front door. She was always on-time and always exactly where she said she would be ... and always wore her wedding rings.
There must have been thousands of opportunities for Flo to have cheated on me or gone out on a 'date' (as some of her dancer friends would call their after-hours prostitution), but she never once did, and I was proud of her. I trusted her.
Flo did have one minor fantasy eccentricity. Since her middle name was Roxanne, she decided that her 'working name' while at the club would be 'Roxie'. She supplemented this by also wearing a mid-shoulder length bright red wig that covered her shorter brown hair. Wearing her work hostess outfit of a white blouse showing lots of cleavage and a short black skirt, even her closest friends and family wouldn't have recognized her — and that was exactly the way she wanted it!
"Roxie" started to take on a bit of a life of her own as the dependable, easy-going and reliable Flo started to use her new alter ego to channel a few of her most hidden fantasies. Normally "Roxie" would get into the car after work and she would take off her wig and once again become plain and boring "Flo", but sometimes now Roxie come home for the evening and would pretend to be on a 'date' with me. We started to have the hottest, nastiest and wildest sex when she kept that red wig on.
While she was being Roxie, she would do things that Flo would have been too far self conscious and reserved to do, such as giving giving me blowjobs in public, talking dirty to me during lovemaking, and frequently now requesting anal sex ... something Flo had never enjoyed before.
This was slow but gradual over the last two years, but Roxie was becoming a more important part of Flo's life these days and she was becoming increasingly reluctant to put Roxie back into her wig box and become plain and boring Flo once more at the end of each night. On the way home from work most nights now, Roxie would tell me about the dancers, their acts and how they teased and tormented their marks while giving lap dances, or even more. Yes, Virginia, there is apparently a Santa Claus ... and sometimes there is also sex in the Champagne Room. That's where the dancers earned the really big tips.
Our sex life grew from about once a week to nearly daily. It was like we were newlyweds again! Nights that Roxie worked were nearly guaranteed to become long lusty early mornings of heated sex afterwards, with barely time for a short nap before I arose for my work in the morning. With a long nap in the evening and a short nap in the early morning, I was just getting by with enough sleep ... barely. Not that I would change a thing!
The highlight, about two months ago on my birthday, was when Roxie brought me inside the club after closing time and sat me down in front of the stage to watch my birthday present dance for me. Apparently, some of the dancers had been teaching Roxie a few stripper pole dancing routines in secret over the last month, and now — for an audience of one (her collection of dancer friends didn't quite count) — my slutty wife paraded herself nude (except for stripper heels and a big red bow) onstage for my considerable enjoyment. Her dancer and waitress girlfriends joined me nearly thirty minutes later in offering her applause, hugs and kisses.
She also received an open invitation to strip for real up on stage anytime she was ready. So far, she hadn't ... that I was aware of, but she was certainly becoming tempted. The money was very, very good and she still had the figure for it, but she had given her word to me that she wouldn't, and so she had gracefully declined ... for now.
It was Flo, that late evening after my meeting with Junior that opened up that can of worms first.
"Do you want Roxie to go on a date with Junior, to save the account? Otherwise, I'll need to tell Management to put me on the dancer rotation list. We're going to need that extra money."
The short answer was "No" to both, but there were a more than a few buts involved. Flo, or rather Roxie, was apparently willing, but I wasn't quite happy with the idea of seeing my sexually revitalized wife in the arms of another man. I would not make a good or happy cuckold and I certainly wasn't a wimp husband. Flo knew our ground rules and Roxie had so far obeyed them all.
I'd much rather have Roxie solicit one of her dancer girlfriends to potentially do the dirty deed, if in fact, it needed doing. As for Roxie dancing, well I prefer for that to be a last resort, after the McCoy deal was lost for good. She'd do well, and make a lot of money, but Management wouldn't be able to protect her quite as much and sooner or later there would be customer pressure to perform in the Champagne Room. As constantly horny as Roxie was becoming lately, that extra stimulation was probably more than she would be able to resist. Our marriage was probably strong enough to survive that, but I didn't want to take the risk. One small step at a time, I thought.
Roxie worked the next night and had made tentative arrangements with two of her dancer friends to plan on accommodating Junior on Friday night. Then she gave me the good news/bad news part of the deal.
She had talked to the Night Manager on my behalf and had struck a sort of discounted pricing deal for the planned party on Friday night. The waitresses would see that Junior's drinks were extra strong (but not with top shelf brand booze) with even the option of dosing him with a Mickey Finn if we wanted it later. My drinks would be kept well watered, virtually just soda. This was the good news, but in return Roxie had to agree to a promotion to become "Stage Mom" and be Management's official interface with the dancers, and also become at least a 'backup' dancer herself, available to work the stage occasionally when needed, if there was a shortage of entertainers on any particular night. I wasn't happy about this, but things were already moving faster than I would have hoped.
When your life turns into scrambled eggs there is no point in complaining about a little extra spilt milk. Besides, there was always the chance that the disaster could turn somehow into an omelet.