Company Whore 1

Author's note: Obviously no woman should be treated like Ingrid is treated in this story. It's just a fantasy and if fantasizing about degradation, coercion, and outright force don't get you off, this isn't the story for you.

*****

Ingrid needed a job. And she needed a job bad. Despite all her best efforts, every door she's knocked on in the past week has been slammed in her face. Though she'd never admit it out loud, she felt certain it was because of her enormous tits. Women refused to work with someone who looked like such a slut, even though Ingrid did her best to camouflage her DDs. And men, well the men just stared at her chest and overlooked her other qualifications.

Getting that boob job last year was one of the biggest mistakes of her 24-year-old life. Not that it had been her choice. Her controlling ex-boyfriend had insisted she inflate her rack for his personal taste and enjoyment. And his personal taste ran to almost obscenely huge tits. When Ingrid went under the knife, she thought her respectably average size 32B breasts were just being enhanced to a good full C cup. Instead, when she woke up, she found her chest had been inflated with silicone far beyond her expectations.

After she healed, Ingrid spent the next year getting titty fucked daily by her jerk-off ex-boyfriend. She didn't know why she didn't have the backbone to tell him to get lost, but she felt that she needed him. She figured the degrading fucking was an acceptable trade-off for his financial support. So she met the shocking and sudden news of their break-up with mixed emotions. Simultaneously she was relieved and devastated when he kicked her out of their condo last week and replaced her with some blonde bimbo with an even bigger rack. Ingrid was relieved to be free of his insatiable use of her body, but devastated because she now had no place to live, no job, no savings. And, if she were honest with herself, she wondered why she was no longer good enough for him.

So here she was a week later, stuck in a cut-rate motel until she could get back on her feet, practically begging for a job. She checked her small wrist watch and saw she had 15 minutes until her next interview. Just enough time to check her reflection in her compact mirror, make sure her white button down blouse was buttoned up to her slender throat (her tits had an annoying habit of popping buttons open), and her snug but business-like navy pencil skirt smoothed down over her toned and shapely ass and thighs. Then she set off to find the offices of Smith, Wolburn, and Young.

After a few wrong turns, Ingrid walked through a set of double glass doors and found herself in an immaculate, modern reception room. A well dressed young woman greeted her, confirmed her appointment, and led her through an imposing set of passcode protected locked doors, down a long series of quiet, maze-like hallways and into Mr. Connor Smith's office for her executive assistant interview.

Ingrid was impressed by both her surroundings, and by the man she saw seated at a huge mahogany desk in front of her. She dug deep for her last remaining confidence, straightened her back, lifted her chin, and smiled.

_________

An hour later Ingrid had a job! Even better, she was to start tomorrow! After she explained how much she needed this job, Mr. Smith had been very kind, hardly glancing at her breasts or rear end, and told her how excited he was to have her join the SWY team. At the conclusion of the interview and subsequent job offer, he ran through a shortish list of job expectations: Ingrid was to be punctual, handle requests that could run from the personal to late-night last-minute deal closings, have coffee ready for him every morning, and dress appropriately.

So the next morning, Ingrid arrived 20 minutes early, wearing the same type of outfit she wore for her interview: a high-wasted snug pencil skirt that fell just above her knees, a nude minimizing bra, and over that, a long-sleeve button-down blouse tucked in to her trim waist. She finished off her look with natural makeup and her long dark hair pulled into an attractive and respectable french twist. She felt pretty, yet business-like. Ingrid couldn't wait to get her first paycheck!

She felt very proud of herself when she had a cup of coffee in hand for Mr. Smith as he walked in his office door that morning. She was sure she hadn't made the coffee right, but surely he'd allow her some leeway as she learned his tastes and came up to speed.

After handing the coffee to him with a bright, "Good morning, sir!", Ingrid took her seat back at her desk just outside the big walnut double doors leading to his office. Not knowing what else to do yet, she picked up the thick employee handbook she found in the top desk drawer and began to page through it.

She jumped when she heard Mr. Smith's imposing baritone voice call to her through the open door of his office. "Ingrid, please come see me."

Well that didn't sound good, she thought. She jumped up and rushed in, her ass wiggling just a bit, eager to make him happy on this first day.

He looked her up and down with a stern look on his face. "Didn't we go over job expectations yesterday, Ingrid?"

She wasn't sure what he was getting at. "Yes ... yes, sir, we did. Is there something I've missed?"

Sighing, Mr. Smith pointedly looked at her outfit. "You think this is what I meant by appropriate dress?" Seeing she was confused, he continued, "Why do you think I hired you? I thought you understood the position you're in." He pushed his chair back from his desk to cross the room to stand in front of her. Running his fingers lightly down her sleeve, he grabbed her small hand and held it with both of his meaty hands.

"Please head home at lunch and come back in something more ... appropriate for me."

Ingrid couldn't fathom what he meant. She knew she was dressed in business-appropriate attire and didn't know what to change into. Even the receptionist, the only other person she's met so far in the offices, was dressed similarly to her.

At lunch time, she rushed to her room at her flea-bag motel she was stuck at until her first couple of paychecks came through. Ingrid rummaged through the clothes in her suitcase. The only thing she could come up with was that maybe she needed to show off a little more of her assets, maybe to provide a bit of office eye-candy for clients? She knew attractive executive assistants were important to the overall first impression executives wanted to offer clients and colleagues. It was the only thing she could think of and it made her extremely nervous having to reason this out for herself without explicit instructions. What if she was wrong? She couldn't afford to lose this job. After unbuttoning her blouse, she removed the ugly tan minimizing bra, and pulled out a white lacy push up bra her ex-boyfriend liked, her enormous tits bouncing as she shrugged into it. She hoped she was right!

_____________

After lunch, Mr. Smith found her back at her desk wearing the same button down blouse she'd arrived in, but with a few of her top buttons undone and a hint of her magnificent cleavage peeking through. She felt his gaze rake over her face and her now loose hair as it brushed over her shoulders, still wavy from the morning's french twist. His eyes traveled over her full lips, which she'd played up with some artfully applied red lipstick and gloss, and down her throat to stop at her tits.

"Please follow me into my office, Ingrid."

Ingrid couldn't tell if he was pleased or not and rushed to obey. After she crossed the threshold into his office, he asked her to shut the door. Taking her by her elbow, he guided her to an alcove in the corner she hadn't noticed earlier that had a couch, chest of drawers, and a floor-to-ceiling wall-to-wall mirror. She thought this must be where he stayed on nights he worked late.

"Look in the mirror, Ingrid, and tell me what you see."

Ingrid's stomach fell out. Now she thought for sure she chose wrong when she came back to the office looking sluttier, rather than more conservative. She looked in the mirror and saw Mr. Smith's dark, imposing eyes staring hard at her.

"Answer me, Ingrid."

Taking a shaky breath, she was so nervous, she couldn't help stammering over her words. "I ... I see me, sir." She swallowed.

"And what are you, Ingrid?"

"Your executive assistant, sir."

He smiled, but the warmth of the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. As if patiently speaking to a child, he asked, "And why do you think I hired you, Ingrid?"

She had no idea what he was getting at. His hands gripped her shoulders, and were starting to dig in a little painfully. Still she stood there, nervously looking at herself in the mirror. Her mouth fell open and she had no idea what to say. Intimidated, she jumped when he repeated himself with a hint of menace in his voice and she tried to come up with a good answer. "Because I'm the best fit for the position, sir?"

Mr. Smith smiled again, but there was nothing kind about his smile. "How much do you need this position, Ingrid?"

At that question, Ingrid whirled around, shaking his hands off her shoulders, pleading him with her eyes, nearly dropping to her knees, tits wobbling as she swayed with panic. "Oh sir! Please, I need this job so badly, sir! Just tell me what you need from me, and I'll do it!"

He put his large hands back on her shoulders and, turning her back around to face the mirror, looked in her eyes in the reflection. "I hired you not because you're smart ... because you're not. I hired you not because you're the best fit for this position ... because any number of small-brained women could fulfill my requirements. I hired you because you, Ingrid, are a slut."

Ingrid could hardly believe her ears. She flushed a pretty red from her ample décolletage to the tips of her ears and stammered, "Ex ... excuse me, sir?"

Mr. Smith's hands slipped gently down over her shoulders to the buttons on her blouse. He unbuttoned 2 more buttons and reached inside to grab each one of her tits. Even his large hands couldn't hold those DDs in their entirety.

Ingrid was paralyzed. She whispered, "I'm not a slut, sir." Yet she allowed him to fondle her huge breasts.

"Oh, but you are. What woman but a slut would inflate her tits to this obscene size on purpose? These enormous silicone tits of yours tell me you know what you're good for. Your tits may be larger than your brain, but at least you're smart enough to realize that. You're here to please me, and it pleases me to have you dressed like the fucktoy that you are. Even now, as I manhandle your tits, you allow me what would have another woman running out and calling a sexual harassment lawyer as soon as she could find a phone. Tell me, what does that make you, if not a slut?" He squeezed each of her breasts one at a time through her bra for emphasis.

Inside her head, Ingrid was panicking and couldn't think of a coherent response. Of course he must be right. She knew from the moment she woke up with these over-inflated silicone fun bags that she would never be anything but a slut for men's enjoyment, try as she might to deny it. Even now, she allowed him to slip his fingers underneath her lacy bra and pluck at her nipples underneath the lace of her bra, squeezing hard enough to cause a bit of pain ... but a good kind of pain. She was mortified to feel her panties were growing damp.

She swallowed and looked down at his hands inside her shirt. "Oh, god, you must be right. I must be a slut ... sir" she whispered.

He pinched her right nipple hard and pulled up on it. She gasped. "Now you're finally talking sense, you fucking good-for-nothing cum guzzler."

She bit her lip and tried to think, though that was near impossible with him pinching and rolling her nipples between his fingers. She couldn't imagine what he wanted her to say or do now. All she knew was how desperate she was to please him so she could keep her job.

He spun her around to face him and put his hands back inside her bra. Grabbing all the wobbly flesh he could with his fingers, he lifted her tits out of the lace cups and dropped them to bounce and jiggle on top of her bra, naked to his gaze.

For having such large tits, she had surprisingly small pink nipples, a little larger around than a quarter. He tugged ruthlessly on both of these pink buds and saw her eyes begin to moisten with tears. He slapped her right tit and watched it bounce into her left breast. In her shock, she took an automatic step back and he responded by slapping her left tit bag even harder.

"Since you're clearly slow to fully understand expectations, let me spell them out for you, you stupid cum hole. You are never to resist the demands of any male in these offices. You are always to dress appropriately. And since your slut mind can't figure out what that means, 'appropriate dress' means your tits are always to be on display as much as possible. And by as much as possible, slut, I mean one step away from going to work in a titty bar."

His hands finally left her boobs and slid down her waist and over her hips, gripping the fabric of her skirt in his fingers. "Your skirt should be just long enough to cover your pussy and ass. Not this conservative bullshit knee-length you've tried to pawn off on me today. You are a fucking slut and should always dress that way."

Kneeling on the floor, his hands slipped under the hem of her skirt and back up her between thighs, finding her panty-covered cunt. He smiled.

"As if I needed any sort of confirmation beyond that huge inflated rack of yours that you are a slutty fucktoy, these wet panties are just the confirmation I need. Look how wet you get just from realizing what you are. The only thing you're good for."

Ingrid had never been so humiliated. And to her horror, she found that his degrading treatment really was making her wet. She could see her nipples standing out at attention and feel her own dampness between her thighs. Wondering if he meant to fuck her or just embarrass her with his manhandling, she came to the realization that like it or not, she would have to allow it. She knew this was the best she could hope for. And maybe being a fucktoy really was all she was good for.

__________________________

After a nearly sleepless night in her shitty motel room, Ingrid woke with a start and to her shame found she was already wet thanks to her disturbing XXX dreams and anticipation of the day. Mr. Smith had, in fact, not fucked her yesterday. After the humiliating scene in front of his mirror, he'd taken a pair of scissors to her skirt and cut it to fall just below her ass cheeks. Then he pushed her down to the floor and made her crawl on her hands and knees back to her desk, with her wet cunt lips on full display from behind as she crawled away from him. The rest of the day was spent much as she'd expected to spend her days when she first accepted the job ... only now dressed like a slutty club girl.

And today, she walked into work ready to willingly display her tits and ass. If he wanted a little T&A, she concluded, she'd give it to him, as long as the paychecks kept coming.

Because her office slut attire was too embarrassing to wear out in public, Ingrid wore a trench coat over her outfit of a micro-mini clubbing skirt (no panties, of course) and white button down blouse. Though she knew she wasn't smart, she did learn from yesterday's lesson, and had tied the button down shirt up just below her push up bra, exposing her flat midriff and leaving the buttons undone, displaying her DD cleavage, with her black lace bra visible through the whiteness of her blouse. Massive amounts of cleavage spilled over the top and jiggled with every step she took. She finished off her look with porn-star makeup, her dark hair swept up into a sleek long ponytail and her highest fuck me heels strapped to her feet.

She felt like a slut and wasn't sure if she was humiliated or turned on. She really thought she was better dressed to go work at a strip club, but figured working in this office building, no matter how she was treated, was a considerable step or two up from that.

After shedding her coat, she fixed Mr. Smith's coffee and stood waiting for him at his office doors with her head bowed. She awaited him with a lot of trepidation, not sure what to expect from him today, but hoping against hope that he liked what he saw.

He walked in, took one look at her and smiled. "Ah that's much better, slut. Now you look like the piece of trash fuck doll that you are. Please join me in my office."

Hearing his degrading words made her immediately grow damp between her legs. She was so ashamed that the nasty words did that to her, and the shame, paradoxically, made her cunt even wetter. She didn't understand herself. She hoped he couldn't see the moisture trickling down the inside of her thighs.

After following him into his office, he set his coffee down on his desk and turned to her. To her continuing humiliation, he looked her over and smirked when he saw her pussy juice leaking down her legs.

"Get on your slut knees and open that cunt hole in your face."

Without hesitation, she dropped to the floor, opened her mouth, and waited for what she just knew was coming next. But instead of putting his cock in between her plump, red-painted lips, he grabbed her cheeks in one hand and squeezed, forcing her mouth open even wider.

"You are so eager for my dick, aren't you, slut? Well you don't deserve it yet." With that, he spit into her open mouth and then slapped her cheek, snapping her head to the side.

Ingrid was shocked, but she just sat there on her knees, blood rushing to her cheeks as she swallowed his saliva. Was a paycheck worth this? Apparently it was.

He forced her mouth open again, then shoved a thin black butt plug past her lips. "Suck on this, you fucking cunt."

She took the butt plug into her mouth and sucked obediently, wetting it with her saliva. Mr. Smith smiled down at the picture she presented, kneeling in front of him, glistening eyes looking fearfully up at him, the end of a butt plug sticking obscenely out from her puckered lips as she suckled the anal toy.

"Have you ever been fucked up your asshole, slut?" She blushed, glanced away before looking back at him, and slowly nodded. Why was he not surprised?

He yanked the slim butt plug out of her mouth, turned back to his desk and traded it for a larger plug. "Then that'll save me training your slutty ass fuckhole. I can't determine if I'm pleased or not. Well, I hired a slut, and a slut is what I got."

Ingrid began to try to speak, but he slid the larger anal plug into her mouth, effectively gagging her. Her mind screamed internally that he misunderstood her, she wanted to explain that her ex-boyfriend got drunk every now and then and forced his dick in her ass against her will while she screamed and tried to writhe away from him. She'd never enjoyed it, and her puckered asshole certainly wasn't trained for regular fucking.

Mr. Smith slid the larger ass plug in and out of her mouth a few times, then once he judged it was wet enough, slipped it out from her lips, and ordered her to get up and bend over his desk.

Trembling, she did as he said. As she bent over, her skirt slid up, exposing the bottom of her ass cheeks and pussy lips. He admired the view, then pulled her skirt up further to reveal her tight asshole. Pushing the wet butt plug against the pucker, he felt her clench up and groan.

"If you don't relax, slut, this is only going to hurt more."

Ingrid did her best to follow his advice as he pushed the plug inch by inch into her fuck hole. She felt split open and incredibly full as she felt it lodge home fully inside her. Gripping the edge of his desk hard, she bit back tears. He patted her ass, pulled her skirt down, yanked her back to standing by her long ponytail, and sent her back to sit at her desk.