The Master was fucking me in his office, bentover his desk, when his wife walked in without warning and saw us.
I had been skirt up, panties down, tits out, hands gripping the desk's far edge, my head pulled up and back by his hand in my hair, and therefore forced to face towards the office's only door as this strong man rutted into me -- like a hungry masculine animal seeking some violent relief between my own legs -- so I saw the moment the door opened and *She* stepped in.
We had no time to hide, decouple or even cover up. Her eyes were daggers when ours met for a moment. Two women in contrast: the woman who had this man's ring versus the woman who had (currently) his cock. His long, hard, thick and deliciously insistent cock!
The wife turned around fast and stormed out, slamming the office door behind her.
"Oh, just ignore her, little slut." he said to me. "Stay focused on your pussy. Stay focused on my cock. Thats all that should matter to you."
I would. Stay focused.
Try to anyway.
My quarterly bonus depended on how much I pleased him. Part of my compensation for working as both their family's household maid and his private executive assistant. Under contract also for certain duties beyond the ordinary, of course.
I could not complain. I knew I was, in effect, a prostitute. The benefits were big enough and the man in question was a handsome hunk, and not entirely unkind when it mattered most. What was not to like? His wife was a danger and risk of course. On paper she had agreed to allowing this lifestyle, and in this era of The New American Patriarchy that fact was decisive in courts of law. In reality of course I knew she did not approve. I knew she was jealous of me. I imagine she even hated me.
"Focus, little slut."
I had drifted into feminine analysis again. His words brought me back. As my body now was rocked back and forth from his furious fucking, and my fully bared tits swung to and fro like a shameless whore. My stiff nipples sometimes dragged or rubbed across the crisp-edged papers and thick metal-clamped folders on his desk's top surface, a kind of literal "extra touch" to my predicament that I both loved and hated.
"Yessss...." I responded.
He suddenly gripped my long raven-black hair tighter and pulled my head back more firmly, like trying to rein in a horse he rode or to correct the beast's attention. I was the beast in this scenario.
"... sir. Yes, sir."
With a free hand he slapped my exposed right buttock hard. So hard it hurt. *OW!*
"That's it," he growled, sounding pleased.
I learned well before then that Master liked to hurt me. Though he was not a Sadist in the traditional sense. Not as cruel or extreme as some other men were known to be in his role, with their own maids and so-called assistants. I *was* lucky to have him, even if the life could still be hard at times. Because I was aware of just how much *worse* it could have been, for me. Could still in theory get, if our contract ever ended or if it changed hands against my wishes. If I was then forced to serve a *very* different sort of man. The thought terrified me.
Anyway I hoped he finished and came inside me soon. Inside my pussy. I would prefer also if nobody else wandered into the office and saw me like this. Saw us like this, with me bent forward over this rich powerful man's desk, tits out and swaying, as I rutted back and forth on his cock. On *my* Master's cock.
Finally, he grunted.
His fingers dug into my hips on both sides and then he froze.
I felt it. Inside. The pulsing of his penis as it throbbed and ejaculated loads of his cum inside me. I loved that moment, always, and how it made me feel. So "successful" as a woman, so happy and satisified, which may be insane because I was in this case merely a whore of sorts, and unmarried. He paid for my pussy and for all his access to it. He had no need to wine me and dine me, to seduce me. And I had the man only for this moment too, with no real long term committment or partnership back from him -- he could dispose of our little arrangement at will. He could throw me out on the street tomorrow, and with minimal severance.
He pulled his softening cock out. Wiped its head on my buttocks and the top of one of the stockings I wore. Then tucked himself back in to his underwear and dress pants.
"Don't move. Stay like that a while."
And so I did. What my Master told me to do.
And by the way, I had not reached an orgasm myself the entire time he fucked me. Though a few times I felt the crisis might approach. The closest I got was right before his wife barged in and caught us. *The greedy bitch.* The moment I made eye contact with her a bolt of cold went through me and killed the dirty mood I had been in. I went from feeling dirty in the *good* way to feeling it in the bad way. *I am a Dirty Whore, being used for money by a powerful man*... simply because he could -- because *we* could -- and from that other woman's perspective, I was a home wrecker. Potentially. I *should* be mad at him or her or the both of them but honestly mainly I was mad at myself. Despite how good the money was for me those days --- I had needed it, badly.
As I remained there bent over his desk, I could feel my Master's freshly deposited male cum begin to slowly drool out of my sore cunt. Felt it begin to run down the inside of one of my legs in a trickle, there had been so much of it. He always ejaculated *immense* amounts into me -- or onto me -- when he came. As if he had not expended any of it ever for his own wife.
I cried a little then, I have to admit. Though I kept my face looking down & somewhat hidden between my now folded forearms. While a decent man, mostly, he was still *just* a man and so I doubted he would notice.
His phone rang. He answered it.
