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 hadn't been fucked in a week. She was going crazy without dick. Every night after work, she'd come back to her motel room and jam her fingers up her cunt, stroking her clit hard with her other hand until she squirted all over her filthy sheets. The motel housekeeping only came in once a week to change the sheets and wipe down the dingy bathroom, so invariably Ingrid slept on damp sheets, sticky with her own juices.
With no money of her own until she had a few months of paychecks come in to catch her up on her bills, Ingrid was stuck at this shitty motel. It was the only place she could afford after her asshole ex-boyfriend broke up with her. The place was ripe with drug abuse and prostitutes, so the foreign cleaning maids didn't look twice at her flesh-baring outfits or her dank sheets. They assumed she was just another whore, trying to make a buck. Which wasn't far from the truth, anyway.
Company Whore that she actually was, she was beginning to feel damn near virginal. Last week, her boss, Mr. Smith, had expressly forbidden anyone at the offices of SWY from fucking his slut. He'd also expressly forbidden his slut from getting fucked outside of work. Even though she knew he was just giving her abused body time to heal from the debasement she'd endured over her first few days at work - and time to drive herself crazy from male neglect - Ingrid was salivating for her next cock.
And she knew her next cock would come at the company conference that she flew out for tonight! She wasn't sure what was in store for her, but she looked forward to it with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation.
_______________
Mr. Smith and Ingrid's flight touched down at 5pm, local time. He had Ingrid sit next to him on the flight, and she was sure that he'd break her seal on the flight, whether with his fingers under a strategically placed coat in her lap, or finding a way to initiate her into the Mile High Club in a teeny tiny bathroom. But, he didn't. He just sat there and enjoyed the attention her massive cleavage attracted from male passengers (and some female passengers) as they walked past their business class seats.
Once at the hotel, Ingrid was beginning to pout and wonder what was wrong with her. Her boss hadn't fucked her in the back of the executive car either. He just left her at her room with a slap on her ass and handed her a trash bag, instructing her to, "put this on and meet me in the lobby." Finally starting to have some hope that he had a use for her, she was going crazy wondering what he had planned.
She tore into the garbage bag, anxious to see the trashy outfit he'd picked out for her. He didn't disappoint, spending a lot of money to make her look cheap. It was a skin tight Herve Leger strapless bandage dress that ended just below her ass cheeks. The constricting dress pushed her amazing silicone DDs nearly up to her chin. There were a pair of mile-high fuck me heels in the bag, and nothing else. Not that she expected him to want her in panties. She hadn't worn panties since she took her company whore position two weeks ago. Without a bra, her hardened nipples stood out in the dress.
After applying more heavy porn-star make-up and curling her long dark hair, she met her boss in the lobby 20 minutes later. Every male eye followed her. She loved the attention. It made her feel important and wanted. Mr. Smith led her out the front doors of the hotel, the doormen doing their best to avoid checking her out, and failing miserably.
Once on the busy street, Mr. Smith pointed out a bar down the street and across the way. "Shake your little slut ass down the street and take a seat inside that bar. That's where we're having our kick-off meeting. We've rented the place out and it's packed with SWY men. Tonight you'll get to fulfill the "whore" part of your job title again. Don't look so scared, slut. You know you want this."
Ingrid's pussy convulsed. Now that the time was finally here to get fucked, she was a ball of nerves. She wasn't really a whore! And even if she was a slut, was she prepared to get fucked by a roomful of men she'd never met? What about her ass? She hadn't had anything up her ass in a week; she was certain her asshole had tightened back up. All the blood drained from her face as she worried about the pain anal fucking would bring initially. But then her face dramatically turned crimson as she remembered how much she loved getting ass fucked when she was first enjoyed by Mr. Young. She still couldn't decide if he had raped her or not. Strange, when she had been all at once entirely willing and unwilling, so it was hard to say.
Mr. Smith ran his fingers lightly over her rounded cleavage and grinned. "Enjoy yourself, slut. And make sure my company men enjoy themselves - don't fucking disappoint me on this. I'll see you later for some of my own fun."
"Sir! You're leaving me?" Ingrid didn't want to walk in that bar alone.
"I'm not your fucking pimp, slut. You're a big girl. Go get what you want, my little fuck toy!" And with a final playful slap on her ass, her boss vanished back inside the posh hotel.
Ingrid grumbled to herself, he might as well be her pimp, renting her out by the hour! Regardless, she set off down the street, tottering on her heels, resisting the urge to pull down her obscenely short skirt, and wondering if he literally wanted her to shake her ass while she walked down the street. Hedging her bet, she gave her derriere a little wiggle.
She endured the glares from women - one woman actually stared her down and snarled, "Oh, do cover up, sweetie. You're looking a little desperate." - and knowing leers from men on her way to the bar. It was the longest 100 yard walk of her life.
Once she finally arrived at the bar, she pulled open the door and stepped inside. While her eyes adjusted to the dark wood paneled gloom, she could hear male conversation pause as they took in her appearance. She had been standing there for less than 10 seconds, wondering what to do next, when a short man in his late 30s with early onset balding appeared at her side. He didn't say a word to her, just pulled her tight skirt up over her hips, bent her over the hostess stand, unzipped his pants, and jammed his dick between her legs. He was annoyed to find her cunt not wet enough. After spitting into his hand, the stranger matter-of-factly rubbed the saliva in and around her pussy lips, then forced his already hard dick inside. He grabbed her hips and started hammering away at her.
Ingrid grunted as he thrusted. She had no idea who this short little man was, and yet he was fucking her! Ingrid couldn't believe herself, that she just allowed this stranger inside her body with no resistance. Some of the surrounding tables watched her take his cock, other tables ignored them and continued their conversations. 7 or 8 short thrusts later, and he was emptying his balls inside her. He groaned. "Ohhhhh, fuck! Phew, I needed that!" He withdrew and headed back to his hightop table, laughing with the other men seated there about how his frigid bitch of a wife never let him near her anymore.
Ingrid was still bent over the hostess stand, humiliated. He never even acknowledged her. She had just been a warm hole to him. Not only that, but that quickie was certainly not satisfying to her, after her week of depravation. She hung her head, but she wasn't sure if she was more disappointed or embarrassed. What was even worse, is she wanted the stranger to come back and fuck her some more. When did she turn into such a nympho?
