Chapter 14

Connie Barlow had a terrible secret that she couldn't take to confession, because no one would understand, and she had no illusions about her confession remaining in the confessional. Pastor John wouldn't understand. His cronies wouldn't understand. Her husband, Roy, didn't understand, and she didn't understand. Her four kids certainly would not understand.

Connie often laughed inwardly when she heard other women complaining about sexual harassment in the work place, or bosses who were assholes. Connie worked as the personal secretary to a man who made Attila the Hun look like Mr. Rogers, and his wife was ten times worse. Between the two, they made her life a living hell, and she was addicted to their abuse. She couldn't quit and couldn't stay away. She couldn't deny them anything, even as their physical abuse bordered on torture and their outrageous demands kept escalating to the point where they would ruin her life by alienating her family and her church.

Bob Wilson and his socialite wife, Carla, knew how to abuse and humiliate a woman. They were into that sort of thing and so were their friends and associates. Connie was hired because they saw something in her they liked--the yin to their yang. They knew a subservient masochist when they saw one. Connie didn't know she was one until she became one, and the process was slow, one bit of abuse and then another after that first bit settled in. Slowly, they led her along like a dealer creating a junkie.

They used sex as the lure. Like most COG wives, Connie wasn't getting enough, even two years ago when she started working for Bob and her twelve-year-old daughter, Michelle, was still an untouched ten-year-old virgin. Roy had always been a skirt chaser, and he was in the thick of it chasing after the young girls after the Pastor and the elders were through with them. He joined other horny members of the priesthood who swam around the big sharks like hungry Ramora, catching a tidbit when they could. As a consequence, Connie wasn't getting enough at home.

Connie fell easily to Bob's lame seduction techniques, though it seemed to take him forever before he could take her at will and pass her around at will--five weeks--twenty-two working days from the first incident to the much awaited copulation and unconditional surrender--an eternity to someone subconsciously eager to see what Hell was really like.

In those five weeks, he led her deeper and deeper, exposed more and more of her dark desires, bringing subconscious to conscious, the unthinkable to the thinkable-too-much. He led; she followed. He corrupted her family relationships and left her nothing but a compulsion to submit regardless of the consequences. This story would have a villain and a victim were it not for the fact that she followed his lead like a seasoned ballroom dancer who, when tapped, went from her husband's arms into the arms of the devil without missing a beat.

Connie knew she would end up letting him fuck her from the first time she entered his private office with papers to sign and found him masturbating like a flasher she once saw in a parked car. He looked at her the same way that flasher did, checking her reaction to his hard cock. He had a nice one. They both did. They were both well above average and very hard. Both had cocks that arched back like a strung bow, weeped precum--fuck muscles that throbbed in their fists. Bob's was a little nicer because his looked thicker and he had a wider crown to his helmeted soldier of lust. The flasher may have been an inch longer, but Bob had ten good inches, and ten was plenty to a gal used to six and hadn't had an inch in three months.

Connie knew what he wanted. He wanted her to look, to show shock but intrigue, to be revolted but at the same time attracted, like looking at a deadly snake. She gave him the look he was looking for because she knew that would encourage him, and then she hated herself for the rest of the day. The following day, however, she couldn't wait to see if he'd do it again.

For a full week, they played this game. Every time Connie entered his office, he'd have his Cobra out. She gradually adjusted, or gave him that impression by frequently stealing glances, showing no revulsion. Each day, and throughout each day, gradual escalations occurred. He would show more, and she would take greater interest. They conducted more office business in his office, in close proximity, often with her standing beside his chair or leaning across his lap to adjust papers for him to peruse or sign. At times, his penile wetness would get on her arm. Sometimes, she'd wipe; sometimes, not, but she'd never make a disagreeable face or avoid the contact. Sometimes, he'd tell a filthy joke, always about sucking or fucking, and she'd laugh at his joke.

Connie thought she gave clear signs that he could go farther, faster, but he went at a measured pace. By week's end she was at wit's end. When she entered his office on Friday morning, he had no pants or underwear on. He was scooted back from his desk and now she saw balls and all, something she never saw on her flasher. Bob had a big set of balls between his hairy legs, and Connie loved big balls on hairy men who are jacking off. She could not help but smile and lean against his side of the desk. She could not help staring or saying, "Well, aren't we comfy today?"

He smiled and said, "You know it. Care to join me?"

"I would, but I don't have one of those."

"You have something better."

"What could be better?"

"I think a pussy is better. You have one of those, don't you?"

"The last time I looked between my legs I did. I still think a penis is better, especially if I look between my legs and see a portion of one."

"Well, since you're not in the mood to play, what brings you?"

"I have some papers for you to sign before the mail goes out."

"Let's see what you've got."

And with that, he scooted forward and wiped his drooling cock along her forearm from wrist to elbow. Once again, he cut her off just as they were going somewhere. By this time, Connie expected to be cut off and she wasn't disappointed. On the other hand she was very disappointed. She was frustrated. She was ready, and he had to know that. The long, heavy smear proved that. She was ready to take the initiative, maybe kneel and take him into her mouth. What prevented her was the knowledge that he wanted to lead this dance of lust, and he expected her to follow. On the positive side, they kept making steady progress. The penile smear was the best so far--the longest and the wettest--certainly, the most deliberate.

Connie remained optimistic, eager for the next escalation. Six times that day, she entered his office and was never disappointed. He did not wear pants all day, nor did he have any visitors, which wasn't that unusual. His wife, Carla, was the most frequent visitor, and she had remained conspicuously away all week. She was not out of town, but he seemed to know she would not be popping in. Connie found this very odd, but Carla was his problem, not hers. Early on, he assured Connie that only he could fire her, and he would only fire her for poor job performance or not following orders. He even gave her that in writing, though she never asked for it in writing. Still, with that paper and on his word, she did not sweat the wife.

Each time she entered his office was better, and her office stays lasted between ten and fifteen minutes. He did not continually jack off, but he usually kept a hand on his cock and made sure she had provocative views. He always faced her with his legs apart. She usually sat on the edge of his desk or in a chair that sat beside his large swivel chair and was turned to face him. That was her chair, and when she sat in it, his knees served as bookends to her own, often touching her own, but only lightly so that his hairs tickled her skin. More and more, she took her chair and discovered that she could move his legs out wider by letting her own go out wider.

While in the chair or on the desk, they talked. In the morning, they discussed business while she leaned against the desk. Around noon, they discussed current events while she sat on the desk. In the early afternoon, they discussed their personal lives while she sat in her seat with her knees ten inches apart. At the end of the day, he was nude when she came in and they discussed his cock with her knees eighteen inches apart so he could see the broad wet spot he made in her panties. Still, she went home frustrated in wet panties.

Connie spent the weekend hemming up her skirts to mid-thigh. Roy eyed her curiously, but she told him that was the style and the boss wanted her to dress more in the current style. Roy teased her about sucking up and told her where that would lead. He was absolutely right, but she wasn't about to let him know just how right he was. By this time, she resolved to carry on an office affair and live with the consequences if it ever got out. Without his knowledge, she got on the pill.

On Monday morning, Connie looked stunning in a tight skirt and shape hugging sweater. She tried the sweater with and without the bra but decided to wear the bra because braless was way too obvious, and Roy drove her to work with the kids in the car. Sitting in that skirt would be bad enough; because, when she sat, the hem line rode high up her thighs, higher than she thought it would, almost to her crotch. Roy was sure to make more comments. He teased her about dressing to please even in front of the kids. He'd be relentless in the car.

Connie tried to put that out of her mind. Her wardrobe was now cut and sewn. There was no going back and no money to buy a new one. She took extra care to do her hair and makeup. She looked and smelled like a French whore when she finally emerged. Roy took one look at her with all four kids behind him, ready to go, and said, "Christ, Connie, where do you work? Are you working on job security or a raise to twenty bucks an hour?"

Connie turned bright red and said, "I'm just doing what I was told to do, Roy. We need this job. There is nothing going on and you know that."

"There will be when he sees you. If you want to get something started, you couldn't wear a better outfit. That mini skirt cries out, 'Look what I have for you! Do you want some?'"

Connie grabbed her purse and marched by him and out the door, furious that Roy would say those things in front of the kids. She wanted to fire something back, but she knew she'd just look foolish, and she was fooling no one except the baby. Seven-year-old Jimmy knew better. Ten-year-old Michelle knew better, and twelve-year-old Mark knew a woman on the prowl when he saw one. Connie could not bring herself to deny it, so she sat in the car and awaited the worst. She looked to her lap and groaned. Tugging didn't help much.

Once all were in, the three older kids peered over the front seat and checked out her leg display as Roy said, "Connie, you had better be wearing panties under that obscenely short skirt you're almost wearing."

"I am." She said while looking straight ahead.

"Let me see."

This time she looked at him in shock and said, "NO!"

"You're not wearing any, are you?"

"Roy, enough is enough. You're embarrassing me."

"We're not going anywhere until you show me panties."

Flustered and upset, Connie said, "Roy, we have kids in the car. Honestly, do you think I would go out without panties?"

"Yesterday, no; today, yes. The kids have seen you in your underwear, now show me."

Connie countered, "They haven't seen me in underwear since they were toddlers, and you know it."

"Show me."

Flustered and frustrated, looking at the three grinning kids, Connie said, "Make them sit back in their seats."

"No, I'm sure they want proof, too."

Flustered, frustrated, and miffed, Connie hauled up her skirt clear past the top of her panties, and defiantly said, "There, are you happy, now?"

The kids were very happy after getting a good look at Mommy's sexy new panties, all of her panties from thin crotch to low-strung waist band--shear, snug-fitting, party panties--and Roy smiled. Connie fumed after restoring her indecency. She felt like a slut and Roy made her feel that way. The kids made her feel that way.

Ten miles later, she knew that she made herself feel that way because that's what she was. No one forced her to wear party panties or show all of them for that long. Only a slut would wear them and only a slut on the prowl would display them so brazenly. After dropping off the kids, she apologized to Roy and told him that she didn't blame him one bit for thinking she was on the prowl, but she was not, never would, and would not object to having to prove herself at anytime in the future in reference to a panty check.

His response to that was that he would be checking, though he knew she could always remove them once inside the building, then put them on before leaving, but that he would subject her to panty checks because it thrilled the kids, and that's where they left it. She kissed him and got out, thankful that he did not grill her about the sexy panties, thrilled that there would be more panty checks, though that was the most humiliating ordeal she had ever been subjected to. As she entered the building, she pondered the whys of that discovery but got no answers.

As she rode the elevator with three men in suits who kept eyeing her bare legs, she felt naked, having never worn a skirt this short in public before. She tried to focus on the day at hand and what might await her in Bob's office. This could be the day, especially after he sees how she dressed for it. Her outfit begged, "Please fuck me!" but that was her intent. After the discussion they had Friday afternoon, wherein they talked about his cock, a discussion wherein she used the term, "cock" for the first time, also a discussion where she used the term "fuck," there was little left to do except use the cock and fuck.

They had talked about cocks and fucking for thirty minutes until she was fifteen minutes late to meet Roy at the curb. He was pissed and she was sopping wet, so wet she made a wet spot on the back of her skirt that Michelle brought to her attention as they walked to the house from the car. Thankfully, Roy wasn't paying attention, but Michelle and Mark didn't buy her I-must-have-sat-on-an-ice-cube excuse, not with that dollar-bill-size wet area right where her pussy plopped down. That was one reason she knew that those two saw right through her when she came out looking and smelling like a French whore. They immediately put the wet area and the whore outfit together and they knew she was getting fucked or trying to get fucked.

Connie entered the outer office, her office, thinking about that embarrassing scene yesterday after work, another in the living room that morning wearing her French whore outfit, and the panty inspection she had just been subjected to, and being turned on by all that she recalled. She had suffered humiliation and found it thrilling, and more thrilling the more she thought about it. This was all very new to her, fun to contemplate, but she had other matters to think about that were just as thrilling--adultery, for one.

Bob would be along soon, and Connie wanted to be out from behind her desk, so she busied herself with filing in the filing cabinet that would have her back to the door when it suddenly opened. She did her filing in the lower two drawers, but the door opened at one of the rare times she stood erect. Still, she heard a wow.

She turned to face Bob and smiled. He stood in the doorway, taking her in, eyeing her from toe to hem line, before saying, "I love the outfit, Connie. You have the legs for it."

"Thank you. I was hoping you wouldn't have an objection to my dressing in sexier styles."

"Why would I object? You inspire masturbation as it is. This is fodder for bigger and better orgasms. Good girl. Keep up the good work."

And then he walked on past and into his office, leaving Connie slumped against the cabinet, thinking, "Christ, what does a gal have to do to get laid around here? Is this guy so hung up on whacking his pud that he'd rather do that than fuck a babe like me? No, he likes fucking too much. We discussed that."

Connie had the uncomfortable feeling that she was in for another week of snail's pace seduction, and she wasn't sure she could follow his lead for another week. She sat at her desk and tried to imagine where they'd dance this week. He mentioned bigger and better orgasms, but she then recalled not once seeing him cum, nor any evidence that he had cum. That was odd considering how much time he spent jacking off with the object of his inspiration in the room with him.

Twenty minutes later, he buzzed her. She entered to find him nude again and went straight for her chair which was now even closer. She had to squeeze in between the two seats while he raised his left leg to allow her to pass through. When she sat, her knees were at the edge of his stuffed chair and in contact with his thighs when he scooted to the edge of the seat and sat back. He stared at her mini-beaver as he widened his thighs, allowing her room to widen her beaver. She followed his lead and maintained a light contact with his thigh flesh, bringing her beaver to a good eighteen-inch knee spread when he stopped. Her hem now lay directly over the crotch of her panties, affording him with the full, wide-crotch, panty-covered beaver shot, at which he gazed while stroking his weeping cock.

Connie stared at his cock and said, "My, aren't we feeling frisky this morning?"

"You look great, Connie. You inspire frisky."

"Thanks, but I think you mean the area between my legs look great, because that is all you've had eyes for since I sat down."

"That's because I know that under that wisp of fabric is a pussy that likes cocks about my size and shape. I believe that's where we left off yesterday."

"It is, and you're right. There is a pussy under these panties. Shall I take them off and show you?"

"No, I wouldn't last two minutes if you did that. I think before long, you'll be wet enough that I'll be able to see through them. You are one wet cunted little bitch, Connie. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, my daughter did just yesterday. She didn't use those exact words, but she said the same thing. My pussy soaked the back of my skirt on the ride home, and she pointed it out to me and my twelve-year-old son. I made some lame excuse about having sat on an ice cube, but they saw right through that. They knew that wetness leaked out of my pussy. I could plainly see that awareness in their eyes. I'm certain they think I got fucked and that was why they were kept waiting in the car for fifteen minutes."

"That must have been humiliating for you."

"You have no idea how humiliating that was, and it was worse this morning when they saw me dressed like this, reeking of perfume. Their eyes called me a whore and, after I sat in the car and my hem line rose almost to my crotch, Ray made me prove that I had panties on. I had to lift my skirt completely inverted with my three kids hanging over the seat watching me do it. You wanna talk about humiliating, that was humiliating."

"How did that humiliation make you feel?"

"Oddly, it turned me on like gang busters and was the main reason I showed them all of my panties and not just a bit to prove I had them on. When Roy dropped me off, he said he'd be doing panty checks from now on, not because he thought I'd ever try to get by without them, but because seeing me do it thrilled the kids. It did, too, but that was mostly due to seeing me in these sexy, almost nothing panties--panties only a whore would wear off to work. I felt as though I were making a confession."

"I'm sure, so when you leave here today, leave your panties on your desk."

"WHAT!"

"You heard me. I want to see these panties lying on your desk."

"But, Mr. Wilson, I can't. He is sure to order another panty check. After one time, this has become a game for them. Roy as much told me so."

"Yes, and just think how humiliating that will be when your children and your husband get a good look at your wet cunt."

"I'd rather not."

"I'm telling, not asking."

"I meant, I'd rather not think about how humiliating that will be. If you order me to, I will."

"I'm ordering."

"I will, and when I lift my skirt to show them, I'll lift it as high as I did this morning. If it'll please you, I'll make sure they all get a good long look at my wet cunt."

"You're a good girl, Connie. You do good work, now I'm sure you have work to do, and so do I. When I buzz for you again, I'd like to see a thoroughly wet crotch. Do you think you can manage that?"

Showing frustrated disappointment, Connie said, "I'd have a difficult time keeping them dry. Wet should be no problem."

Bob scooted back. Connie got up, and walked on unsteady legs back to her desk where she thoroughly wet her panties. He buzzed her one hour later and was not disappointed when she sat down and made a twenty-four-inch knee-spread beaver for him. As he studied her vaginal form showing through quite well, she said, "Are they wet enough? Can you see my cunt, now?"

"Yes, you do have a pussy between your legs, don't you?"

"Yes, I do, and my pussy is driving me crazy."

"You should masturbate."

"I should stop or I'm not getting to get any work done. Masturbation doesn't help. It just makes me wetter."

"What that cunt needs is about ten-inches of hard cock."

"I couldn't agree more. Do you know anybody with a ten-inch cock?"

"Off hand, no."

Connie expected as much. Now, she was certain that this was all to tease and torment. She resolved to do no more begging and simply follow his lead until he asked for a fuck or took it without asking. She sat waiting for him to say the next words. She watched him slowly jack off while staring at her soggy, see-through beaver. A few minutes later, he said, "Let's talk about your daughter, Michelle. How old did you say she was?"