Whore 94 Ch 07

Ch07: Office duties

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There it was: Whore94.

It hadn't been a dream then. It hadn't even been a nightmare.

Whore94; Inscribed on my left buttock. It represented so much for something so small.

It told me I was a whore. It told other people I was a whore.

Had I been forced? Seduced? Manipulated? Or had I come willingly?

Had I wanted it? Had I always wanted it? Had I always been a whore?

I spent a long time staring into my bedroom mirror, wishing myself away – wishing away the whore blinking back at me from the other side of the glass.

My buttocks were red, raw, swollen.

I shouldn't have let the CEO spank me like that. Why had I let him do that to me? What kind of woman was I? What kind of whore?

My mobile phone chirped. I reached for it and saw the word ‘Sir' flashing up on the display. It was the CTO – my boss. I had entered his name into my address book as ‘Sir' as a kind of joke. It had been a joke, hadn't it?

"Good morning Elizabeth," he chimed brightly when I answered the call. "I've just finished talking to the CEO. He told me about last night - I wanted to be the first to congratulate you."

Congratulate me?

"You're a very lucky girl," he said. "It's an outstanding opportunity!"

My mind whirled. I had sucked Mr. Khani junior's penis. I had swallowed his semen. I had agreed to be his whore! They had tattooed ‘Whore94' on my arse, taken photographs, cane-spanked me… Was that lucky?

"Elizabeth? Hello? Are you still there Elizabeth?"

"Yes, sorry…" I managed. "I'm just a bit taken aback by it all…"

"Understandable," he said kindly. "You've made some tough decisions. But you should feel proud of yourself Elizabeth. And just think of the rewards…"

"The CEO caned me…" I spluttered.

"Yes, I've seen him cane a few girls in his time. Well done Elizabeth."

"Well done?"

"Yes, well done!" He affirmed. "The CEO is paying you to whore for him, and judging by some of the pictures I'm looking at now, you were a very good whore."

What!? He was looking at the pictures? Oh God.

"You've got the…" I gasped.

"Of course," he said, voice still bright. "I get all the pictures. I decide which ones we use."

"Use?"

"In the catalogue."

What!? No. Surely not. They were going to use the photographs of me holding my pussy-lips open while having my bottom tattooed and caned… in some kind of catalogue!?

"Don't worry Elizabeth," he tried to reassure me. "Clients won't know it's you, they'll just see a beautiful girl with ‘Whore94' tattooed on her bum, and that's the number they'll use when they place their order."

"Place their order…?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Of course," he said. "Clients book their girls in advance. They pick the whores they want, specify what they should be wearing, how they want them to behave, that kind of thing. That way there is no chance of them being disappointed when they turn up at ‘The Scrava'. How else do you think we always managed to arrange Whore80 for you?"

They had booked Whore80 for me? They had booked her to be my table-whore? To worship my feet and lap at my pussy?

"I just kind of assumed she was, well, always there…" I said feebly.

"Well actually, she is always there," he responded. "She lives there - if that's what you mean – but she still has to be booked so she can be prepared, her make-up fixed, and so she can be dressed as required."

Whore80 lived there? At ‘The Scrava'? People could live at that place?

"An advantage of the booking system is that it allows us to monitor demand," my boss went on, "so we know which whores are the most popular, attracting the most prestigious clients, bringing in the most money – you know. The best whores get the best rewards, obviously… Oh! This is a splendid photo, you have a truly delightful pussy Elizabeth…"

I wanted to die. How could he be so callous, so cruel? I imagined him sitting there, receiver tucked under his chin… my pictures scattered across his coffee table as he thumbed through them…

Bastard.

How had it come to this? Images whirled through my mind of rich, privileged people, instructing their servants to place their ‘order' for me… pointing to a picture of me bent over displaying my sex, saying: "That one… I want ninety-four, and that one… and that one….."

Shit. Why hadn't I resisted? Why was I a whore?

"I'm not sure I want to do this anymore…." I stammered.

"Don't be silly Elizabeth," he said smoothly. "It will be just fine. Ah – this is a good one too…"

Shit. How the photographs must have made me looked so consenting, willing, keen even. I hadn't resisted, had I? Why not? Why hadn't I put up a fight? It would have ruined their pictures at least.

"If these photos are anything to go by," he said suddenly, "I am going to seriously enjoy fucking you."

Enjoy fucking me? Had he said that? Fuck me? Who said anything about him fucking me? He was my boss – he wouldn't be allowed to fuck me would he?

No. No way.

Were they expecting another Laura? Laura the coffee girl – office slut. My coffee girl. My slut. They couldn't make me an office-whore could they? Was that part of the deal? They hadn't said that, had they?

Would I be one of their fuck-girls from now on?

No: I was different. Mr. Khani had picked me out – I was special. They couldn't make me another Laura. I was above that. Better than that. Better than her. Wasn't I?

How could I turn up for work every day knowing that anyone might fuck me at any time? I had agreed to perform for Mr. Khani – that was all. Just because I was a whore, that didn't mean I had to fuck everyone, did it? Could I refuse a fuck? Or did I have to fuck anyone at anytime from now on?

What was I thinking of!? Of course I could refuse a fuck! I was still a human-being after all – wasn't I? Not just a piece of fuck-meat. Of course I could refuse. I would refuse. I would definitely refuse.

"You still there Elizabeth? You keep going quiet on me."

"Yes I erm…" I answered weakly, not able to articulate the words I didn't want to hear myself say. "Will you… I mean… will you….you know…"

"Will I fuck you?" he guessed. "Is that what you are trying to say?"

"Yes," I sobbed.

"Yes, I will fuck you, Elizabeth," he said. "In fact, when you arrive at the office on Monday morning, come straight up to my office."

I broke into tears. He was my boss! I had worked for him for all this time and he had never laid a finger on me. In fact, he had acted so gentlemanly, so kindly. Hadn't he been supportive and caring that day the CEO had raped in the lift?

"But you're my boss…" I said.

"Yes," he agreed, "which is precisely why I will be fucking you from now on."

I couldn't believe it. That was illegal, surely? Even if it weren't, I didn't have to put up with it. I just wouldn't go back to the office. Ever.

"You can't force me," I bleated.

"Well actually I can," he snorted. "But I won't have to. Your chauffeur will pick you up first thing on Monday morning and bring you straight to the office."

My chauffeur? Ah yes. My chauffeur. That was one of the ‘benefits' wasn't it? What about the maid? They had mentioned a maid too. When would the maid arrive?

"All senior staff will be informed of your new role," he said ominously.

"I'm not going to do it," I retorted.

"Oh you will," he said airily. "Because that is what we are paying you to do."

"Then I quit," I said.

"No you don't," he laughed. "Enjoy the rest of the weekend, Elizabeth, and see you on Monday."

With that, he hung up.

Bastard. How dare he talk to me like that? Bastard.

I wouldn't do it. I would quit. I would get another job. Even if it didn't pay very well. Anything would be better than the prospect of being treated like an office slut-whore.

I would tell the police. This was illegal, wasn't it? Or was it? They had documented my consent… the evidence was on my left-buttock… and in those photographs…

God.

What would the law make of all that? I would be laughed out of court.

Should I tell my parents?

"Daddy, look what they did to me…"

No.

I couldn't do that.

My friends? Could I tell my friends? What friends? All they ever talked about was what was happening in the latest TV drama. I couldn't tell them about this, could I? They all thought I was doing well in my job, that I was successful. That's what I wanted them to think, wasn't it?

No. I had to deal with this alone.

I couldn't quit, could I? I had been doing so well in the job… one promotion after another… not to mention the pay-rises… and the other perks… those whores down on their knees lapping at my feet, worshipping me, making me feel like a Goddess… I couldn't give all that up, could I?

Wouldn't it be me down on my knees soon though? Wouldn't it be me doing the worshipping?

So stop then. Stop NOW.

Why didn't I stop?

I wish I knew the answer to that.

But on Monday morning, when a gleaming black Rolls-Royce eased to a halt in the street outside my home and sounded its horn, I was ready.

Ready. Ready for whatever would come at me; ready to be their fuck-girl, if that was what they wanted.

Why not? Why the fuck not? Just do it. Let them use you. Use them in return. Take their money. Take their chauffeur and their maid. In the end, I win. Don't I? It wouldn't be forever, would it? Just until I have enough saved up never to have to work again…

Then I would show them. All of them. I would be free. Not a wage-slave. Not a whore. Not a dogsbody. No more dictations, phone-calls, polite laughter…

The driver – my driver, my chauffeur – held the passenger door open politely for me…

I would play the game. This game. Their game.

…My bare legs felt the cold of the leather seat interior…

Yes. I would play, and I would win.

…We purred… glided… floated… through the streets of London…

Fuck them all. Life was too short to be a good little office girl earning jack-shit money. Do that and then die of old-age. No thanks. Not me. Not this whore.

…the silent movie projection of the city winked at me through the one-way glass…

London looked so vivid, enticing, alive that morning. It had never looked that way before. Was I alive now? Was that it?

…and suddenly I was in the office…

Were they staring at me as I trotted by?

No. Just paranoia.

They didn't know, couldn't know, could they? How could they possibly know? They were wage-whores. Whores and slaves. All of them. Sold out. I was going places. Let them stare. Fuck them. Fuck them all. What did they know?

I knew before I clip-clopped into the CTO's office that simply being there was by itself an act of submission: He had told me what to expect. He was going to fuck me. That's what he had said. He was going to fuck his new whore. And his new whore had arrived. On time. Ready.

But he wasn't there.

I looked around the vacant office, half-expecting him to appear suddenly from behind a filing cabinet.

Had he changed his mind? Had he been joking?

Was I too early? Too keen?

"Elizabeth!" a female voice called out with considerable urgency from the office doorway.

It was Laura. My coffee girl. My slut. She was out of breath, her cheeks flushed.

"He told me to tell you to get ready," she panted, "and that he'd be along soon."

Get ready? What did 'get ready' mean exactly?

Laura turned her head suddenly, nervously, as if making sure no-one were watching us.

"I heard," she whispered tensely. "I'm sorry."

"What did you hear?" I snapped.

"Ssshhh," she urged, looking around nervously again. "I should have warned you, but I was too scared."

Too scared? What was she talking about?

"Always do what they want," she said quickly. "Always. Otherwise they'll..."

Otherwise what? What was she saying?

"We can't talk here," she said, her eyes darting left and right. "They can listen."

She backed off a few steps.

"Get ready for him," she insisted, speaking more audibly. "We can talk later."

Why was she acting so strangely? There was nothing to be scared about was there?

"What does ‘get ready' mean exactly?" I wondered aloud.

"Didn't he tell you?"

I shook my head.

"He wants you to strip, turn and face the wall, bend over, hold your – you know – hold it open for him," she said. "And be quick, he'll be here anytime now."

She turned and sped away, looking around herself anxiously.

God. He wanted me to present myself to him like that? It wasn't enough that I had come willingly to have him fuck me. He wanted me to offer myself to him, give myself to him. Bastard.

How had Laura heard about me? And what had she heard exactly?

Why was she so scared?

And why hadn't she curtsied for me? She was my coffee-slut wasn't she? Had she forgotten herself? Had she forgotten who I was?

He wanted me to undress… and face the wall? And bend over... and wait for him... No. Please no. This is an office for fuck's sake! How could I do that?

I closed the office door. If I were going through with this, I would at least do it with a modicum of privacy, of modesty.

God. Should I just go home? Never come back?

I peeled off my blouse. Just do it. They were going to pay me, weren't they?

I unclipped my bra and draped it over the back of a chair. Topless in my boss' office… Well... I had danced for the CEO wearing less. Not a big deal. Just flesh. Reveal it, Expose it. You're used to it now.

I unzipped my mini-skirt, pulled it down to my ankles and kicked it aside. My bottom tingled, still sore from the caning.

How I had whored for them. I was a whore, wasn't I? Get those knickers down, whore, I told myself.

I was naked, apart from the heels. Leave them. They like the heels.

Was I ready?

No.

Turn and face the wall. That was what she had said he wanted.

Shit. What a slut I was.

Naked. Facing the wall. Trembling.

Should I bend over now? Or wait for him to arrive? Was he watching me? A camera, or a peephole, or something?

I had better bend over. Just in case.

He wanted me keen, didn't he?

Better be keen then.

I bent over, keeping my legs straight, and stuck out my bottom. Whore94. Ready now. Ready to be used.

Where was he? How long would I have to wait?

How many more times would I stick out my sex and wait to be fucked? No-one was forcing me to do this, were they? So why did I do it? Why?

The office door rattled open. Oh God. This was it. Time to be fucked.

Suddenly I remembered that I was supposed to hold myself open for him. I reached my hand hurriedly between my legs and felt my moist, swollen pussy lips. Oh God. I was aroused. How was that possible? This wasn't arousing, was it? This was... embarrassing... humiliating... No. Please no. Please don't be such a slut...

I parted my sex and listened to the footsteps cross the room behind me. I didn't dare turn to look at him. Instead, I clenched my eyes shut and tried not to think. Some papers rustled. Then the footsteps made their way back over to the door. There they seemed to hesitate. Was he watching me?

A little cough, then the door clicked shut.

Oh God. It hadn't been him, had it?

It had been someone else. Someone else had just seen Whore94 bent over facing the wall waiting to be fucked. How shameful.

When would my boss come and fuck me? He had said he would fuck me, hadn't he? So where was he?

The door rattled open again. I quickly parted my pussy-lips a little wider and held them open.

It must be him this time, surely?

No.

High-heels.

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

Getting nearer.

That perfume... reminded me of... Laura.

What did she want this time?

I twisted my neck round and looked at her quizzically, wondering why she was undressing.

"He wants me too," she sighed.

In hardly any time at all she drew alongside me, facing the same wall. Like me, she bent over and parted her sex, offering it to the room behind us. I imagined our whore-arses lined up like that. Whore67 and Whore94. In that order. Both our arses owned.

I stared at the wall and tried not to think.

I was one of them now. One of the whores. I was another Laura. Another slut. God. I had spat in her face. Why had I done that? No-one deserves to be treated like that do they?

"Laura?" I stammered. "Why are you here?

"Because he just told me to," she said quietly.

"No - I mean - why are you here at all? Did Mr. Khani choose you? Are you paid well?"

Did I hear her sniff? Sob?

"I can't talk about it," she said.

"What do you mean you can't talk about it?"

"I can't. I just can't." she whimpered. "Please - you'll get us in trouble."

Trouble? What kind of trouble? Why was she so reluctant to talk? Was she embarrassed? Ashamed?

The office door swung open noisily. I parted my pussy-lips almost instinctively and I imagine Laura did the same.

"Ah, good girls," the CTO's voice rang out proudly.

He was here. Finally.

Shit.

He strode across the room towards his desk.

We continued to hold ourselves open for him.

He started whistling nonchalantly, tunelessly.

Was he provoking us? Showing us his power?

"Why don't you warm each other up," he said finally.

Before I could work out what he meant, I felt Laura's palm on my bottom. The tips of her finger-nails probed towards my pussy, and when they found it, started to circle my sex delicately… God! She was masturbating me... and it felt… good... No… awful… Not here… She was a coffee-girl slut! How could I let her manipulate my sex like that in front of my boss?

I reached my fingers for Laura's sex and mimicked her caresses. She wasn't aroused like I was. I played with her teasingly, determined to make her moan with pleasure.

"I'm glad you decided to stay with us, Elizabeth," he said, as Laura found my clitoris and turned it in her fingers. "You're going to make a wonderful whore ninety-four, I'm sure of that."

I panted as Laura found my spot. Mmmm. God. How shameful.

"That's enough girls," he said, his voice approaching. "Spread nice and wide for me now."

I shifted my feet apart, my left ankle pressed up against Laura's right. A couple of fuck-girls. Lined up.

When Laura gasped suddenly I knew the CTO had penetrated her. When she half-screamed I knew he was pushing himself into her roughly.

"When I say I want you ready, that means I want you READY," he barked. "Next time make sure you are READY."

She whimpered and cried out as he forced himself into her again.

After a few more thrusts, it was my turn. His strong hands gripped my hips. I felt his penis pushing up against my pussy. This was it. He was going to screw his senior PA. His new whore.

He was inside me and I was panting and squealing like the slut I was fast becoming. He withdrew almost the full length of his cock and then BANG he was back inside me.

So this was what it felt like to be an office-slut.

"Good girl," he said. "Glad someone round here knows what ‘ready' means."

His thrusts were long and smooth. My breasts shook to and fro as he pumped me. I was his fuck-girl now, wasn't I?

He withdrew and started banging Laura again.

I wanted him back inside me. No I didn't. How could I? He was my boss! I had never wanted him to fuck me before, had I? Or had I?

He was inside me again. I gripped the wall with my fingers as he thrust up me vigorously.

"Good little sluts," he breathed.

SLAP SLAP.

He was slapping Laura's bottom and fucking her hard. She bleated and moaned.

SLAP SLAP SLAP.

It was my turn. His slaps fell on my sore, caned buttocks. His cock felt like it was burning a hole in the base of my womb.

Did I imagine it or did he spend more time with me before swapping back to Laura? He was enjoying me, wasn't he? He would remember this whore. He would remember the first time he fucked Whore94.

The next time his cock came back I tightened myself around it and wriggled on it. When he slapped my bottom I wriggled it even more.