Whore 94

-------------------------------------------------------------

Ch.03: The Promotion (She signs off her rape)

---------------------------------------------------------

I didn't get any work done that morning. I spent most of the time huddled in a corner of the ladies washroom, crying my eyes out, trying to make sense of what had happened.

I had been raped, hadn't I?

I washed and scrubbed myself furiously, trying to clean the CEO off me, desperate to purge every trace of him from my body. I tried to rinse the foul taste of his thumb from my mouth, the taste of my own shit, the taste of my own sex.

I had been wet for him hadn't I?

I saw the red glow of my buttock-cheeks in the mirror, compounding my shame. He had spanked me into submission. I had let him fuck me like a cheap slut. I had thanked him and lapped at his fingers. I had curtsied for him. Oh God. Why? Why had I done that?

I still felt filthy dirty, so I washed again.

How incredible to reflect that within a few hours I would be signing a piece of paper declaring my willingness to dance naked for him. How could I have allowed it to come to that? How did I end up signing an agreement that would have me shamelessly presenting my naked flesh to the man who had just raped me?

My boss (the CTO) eventually found me curled up by the lavatory, head buried in my arms, leaning up against the white enamel of the toilet bowl. He didn't seem to notice that he was a foreign body in the ladies' washroom.

"I know what happened," he said tenderly, crouching down beside me, sliding an arm around my shoulders.

I sobbed, sniffed, blinked at him through watery eyes.

"The CEO told me about the promotion he wants to give you,” he said.

I sniffed again, tried to speak, but no words came out. I had wriggled my arsehole onto the CEO's thumb, hadn't I?

"Come on Elizabeth," he said encouraging me to get up. "Let's go to my office. I'll have coffee brought in, and we can discuss your promotion. I promise, it will cheer you up. It's an incredible offer."

He took my arm and coaxed me to my feet; I wobbled awkwardly on my heels as he led me through to his office. He gestured to the coffee-girl as we entered the office - another short-skirted, high-heeled beauty. He sat me down on the settee and told me to make myself comfortable.

I fiddled nervously with the hem of my skirt while he perched on the corner of his desk, observing me intently. Oh God, my legs! I remembered suddenly, tucking my knees together hastily. I had forgotten that I had taken off my dirty knickers. I couldn't wear them again could I? They were stained forever with the CEO's semen.

"Elizabeth,” my boss started earnestly. “You have to trust me. Listen to the offer. I am pretty sure that once you hear the details, you won't want to turn your back on us. You have a chance of really being someone here. “

I sobbed into my sadly disintegrated tissue.

He stood up, paced across to the far end of the office, and then paced back. He made as if he were about to say something, but then he stopped, turned around, paced away again.

"You earn £30,000 at the moment," he said finally, "but the CEO and I both think you could earn a lot more than that. We think you could earn as much as £50,000."

I gasped. £50,000 - That was a lot!

"Basically, we have a proposal for you to consider," he continued, perching back on the corner of his desk. "Before I tell you about it, I want you to know that this really is a genuine offer - I mean - well what I mean is - it really is an offer as opposed to anything else - you can turn it down without prejudice - although of course we are hoping that you will want to accept it."

I squirreled my tissue away up my blouse sleeve. What on earth was he talking about?

"It is new territory for us,” he went on. “The CEO and I, that is, I mean. It is not something we have done before, and we have had to look into the legal implications, company law, human rights and so on."

He flicked nonchalantly at some loose sheets of paper lying on his desk, as if suggesting they were evidence of some of the research that had been undertaken.

"Well, anyway," he went on, "We think we have come up with a package that is both fair and advantageous to us, but more significantly, to you. As with all contracts between an employer and employee there has to be a certain degree of trust and cooperation in order to ensure the agreement works to the benefit of both parties."

He paused again, still watching me intently, as if he were reading the thoughts right out of my eyes. He had become uncharacteristically businessman-like.

"What I am about to offer you" he went on, " - were it to be offered to a less intelligent, less scrupulous, less loyal, less trustworthy employee - would leave me personally, and possibly the company as a whole - vulnerable to legal action. That is why before I go on I need to know - and I need you to be entirely open and honest with me - that I have your trust."

I looked at him squarely. What on earth could be so unusual about whatever it was he was about to offer me that could make him say something like that?

"So," he prompted. "Can I?"

"Can you what?" I asked stupidly.

"Can I trust you? Can I go ahead and explain our proposal to you?"

"Yes, of course," I said uncertainly.

“Well that's excellent Elizabeth,” he said, “because we would like you, in addition to your current responsibilities, to, well, to take on the role of Senior PA.”

At that moment, the coffee-girl arrived. She strutted over to the coffee table and placed down two mugs, treating us to the sight of her trim bottom as she leaned over. She wore black lace net stockings, the tops of which were clearly visible below the hem of her skirt. She looked such a trollop! She should have been ashamed of herself, turning up at work dressed like a slut.

Did I look like that?

She wiggled towards the door, her task complete.

"Laura -” My boss called out to her sternly, before she could reach the door. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Laura wheeled round on her heels. Her natural blondish-brown hair hung neatly conditioned around her shoulders. Her makeup had been applied meticulously; it must have taken her hours. She looked inquiringly at the CTO before seeming to recognise something in his expression.

"Sorry sir," she apologised, and strutted back to the centre of the room. She turned towards him and curtsied neatly.

That was strange, I thought.

But then, stranger still: She turned towards me, dropping her knees politely to form a respectful curtsey.

"Assuming she accepts,” my boss announced, “Elizabeth is to be promoted to Senior PA. You will be making coffee for Elizabeth too from now on, Laura"

Laura's gaze remained fixed on the floor at my feet.

"You may thank Elizabeth for accepting you as her coffee-girl," the CTO said.

"Thank you for letting me be your coffee-girl miss," Laura said meekly, curtseying for a second time. She stood motionlessly before me in her tiny skirt, lacy net stockings and heels. Laura would be my coffee-girl? She had called me 'miss'! The little trollop had called me 'miss'!

"Laura will serve you well, Elizabeth." my boss said, seemingly enjoying himself. "Won't you Laura?"

Laura curtsied for a third time and uttered a small "Yes sir."

"Turn around and show Elizabeth why you want to be her coffee-girl", he instructed her.

Laura turned obediently, displaying her rear to me. The backs of her thighs looked delicious... She leaned forwards a little, keeping her legs perfectly straight. She then reached and pulled the hem of her skirt up over her smooth white buttocks.

I saw it instantly: ‘Whore67'. The tattoo was unmistakable. Laura was a whore. A whore!

"You don't think we would hire someone just to make the coffee do you?" The CTO laughed. "We have made Laura available to all senior members of staff - which will include you, when - if - you accept the promotion we're offering."

My eyes rolled. I was speechless.

"Now Laura," my boss broke into my thoughts, "I want to talk to Elizabeth about something that doesn't concern you. Get down on your knees and show her what a good whore you are."

Laura knelt on the floor at my feet unquestioningly. I was sitting cross-legged. She reached forwards, stuck her tongue out and began to lick hesitantly at the stocking-wrapped toes of my dangling foot. I couldn't believe it. Was I dreaming? I gave her face a little prod with my foot. She was real alright: A real whore.

“Now, where were we?” My boss wondered aloud. “Ah. That's right. Now, as I mentioned, we want to pay you £50,000. Obviously we would expect you to undertake certain extra responsibilities in return, to justify the increase. What we have in mind is..." His voice trailed off, apparently distracted by the sight of Laura flicking her tongue over my toes.

"Look,” he went on finally. “The CEO finds you extraordinarily attractive Elizabeth. I think you already know that... And, well, so do I for that matter.” He seemed to stumble over the words, as if he found giving the complement difficult.

“We would like you," he tried again, "in addition to your current responsibilities to - well, basically, erm, on occasion, to… to dance, - dance for us - in private, of course”

Dance! Dance? Why?

"The, erm, performances, shall we say,” he hurried on, “will be at times of our choosing, but within normal office hours, and no more than twice a week."

Dance? What kind of dancing? Not like in the lift earlier this morning surely? No way. I would never agree to anything like that.

He watched me carefully.

“Let me make one thing very clear from the outset,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “It would be strictly dancing only. No, er, contact, if you know what I mean. We have coffee-girls for that kind of thing!”

He chuckled, enjoying his own joke.

Laura sucked deeply on my toes, taking them in and out of her mouth. The little tramp was fucking her face on my toe. Good. I deliberately turned my ankle, making her chase my toes with her tongue.

“There is though, one important thing I have to tell you before you make up your mind," my boss went on. "You will be expected to dress as the CEO pleases for the duration of each dance, including, at his discretion, full nudity."

There. He had said it. He had said it quickly, directly. I knew it. They wanted me to dance naked for them.

"Naked...?" I checked.

"Well... It's a possibility," he said. "But please know that it will likely be the exception rather than the rule. And of course, in recognition of your continuing efforts, we will be increasing the number of invitations for you to join us at 'The Scrava' – you will additionally be extended the occasional weekend and evening invitation..."

What were they offering? A £20,000 pay increase. A more senior role. A whore-girl to make me coffee on demand…. And of course there were those visits to ‘The Scrava'… I would have whores slurping at my pussy on a Saturday evening - I would practically own Whore80…

In return I would be obliged to dance for the CEO twice a week, possibly without clothes. But wouldn't that be insufferably humiliating? Dancing – wiggling – wearing who-knows-what, for the private entertainment of the CEO? It would mean displaying my body to the man who had raped me! Wouldn't that be like saying I was grateful for what he had done? – That there I was, ready and willing to dance naked for him - as if I were glad to have the opportunity to squirm for him, to thank and honour him.

£20,000 a year extra though… That's a lot of money: I would be able to take a mortgage out on a flat in Kingston… I could get a new car… I would be senior PA. A senior role at last - I deserved that didn't I? Didn't I just have to take one of those ‘risks' the CEO had mentioned?

“What are you thinking Elizabeth?” The CTO asked quietly.

Laura had started working her way up my ankles, lapping at my stockings like a well trained puppy.

“I'm not sure,” I said, fidgeting in my seat, feeling my spanked-sore bum-cheeks.

“You won't ever get another chance to join the elite, Elizabeth. Look at you now! You have a whore on her knees worshipping your ankles. You have been invited on an ongoing basis to visit ‘The Scrava' – don't take that too lightly – it is a rare privilege.”

Laura had started trailing her tongue up my shins.

“And don't forget the money,” my boss went on. “- And the increase in status. All for the sake of a few dances for the CEO in his private office. Don't miss this, Elizabeth. If you don't take this opportunity, someone else will...”

His words charmed, cajoled, persuaded. This was my big chance - wasn't it? I had to take it, didn't I? So what if I would have to dance occasionally for the CEO? So what? Think of all the whores that would in turn dance for me…

Laura lapped at my knees. I enjoyed the sight of her eager little tongue darting back and forth across the stretched latex of my stockings. I couldn't turn this opportunity down. I just couldn't.

"Where do I sign...?" I heard myself ask.

"Oh that's wonderful!" My boss responded brightly. "Really excellent!”

He picked out a piece of paper from his desk, stepped gingerly around Laura (still lapping at my knees) and slid the piece of formal headed paper in front of me on the coffee table. I ran my eyes over the document:

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

* I declare that I have given my consent to perform private dances for my superiors within Bowyer & Lake Technology Enterprises

* I understand that I have consented to attire myself as directed by my superiors for the duration of performances.

* I understand that I should present myself for up to two (2) performances per working week, the timings of which shall be at the discretion of my superiors.

* I understand that I am to continue to carry out my normal duties and responsibilities to the best of my ability.

* I understand that in view of the additional responsibilities outlined above, I can expect a salary increase of no less than £20,000 and promotion to the role of Senior PA.

* I declare that I am a trusted employee of Bowyer and Lake Technology Enterprises and my confidence can be relied upon in all matters relating to this agreement. I understand that any attempt to breech this trust shall result in immediate dismissal from the company and legal proceedings may be initiated against me.

* I declare that in signing this agreement I do so of my own free will, and that now and on no previous occasion have I been subject to threat or obligation, and nor have I at any time been forced to act against my wishes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The last clause, I knew, would effectively sign off my rape.

But so what? What difference did it make? The CEO had screwed me. So what? I could live with that. I was just about to become one of the elite. I would have whores available on tap from now on. I was getting a good deal, wasn't I?

Laura's tongue had reached the elastic hold-ups of my stockings. When I unfolded my legs she was staring right into my exposed snatch. I was sure she could smell me at that distance. Get used to it, bitch, I thought.

"Splendid!" My boss exclaimed as I scribbled my signature happily at the bottom of the agreement. “I knew you wouldn't let me down Elizabeth.”

We watched Laura's head bobbing up and down as she ran her tongue around the inside of my thighs. I opened my legs wider. I knew my boss could probably see my pussy – but to be honest I was too turned on to care – and besides, he must surely have already seen it during those long lunches at ‘The Scrava'…

“Laura,” The CTO said firmly. “Eat.”

Laura ate. She buried her head in my pussy and sank her tongue busily into my sex… What it must be like to be one of these whores, I mused. To spend your days worshipping your superiors… Did they enjoy whoring themselves for the pleasure of others? Were they grateful for the employment? Was Whore67 flicking her tongue obediently at my clitoris because she was glad of the money? What money? Who paid these whores? And who trained them? They were all so well trained. They all knew how to curtsey the same way. They all knew how to, well they all seemed to know how to be well behaved little fuck-whores….

I felt like a princess, holding Whore67 by a clump of her hair, forcing her face deep into my snatch, suffocating her, wanting to her to understand well her coffee-girl status.

The CTO watched, evidently pleased with what he was seeing.

“You know Elizabeth,” he said, “If I so wish, I can snap my fingers and Laura will crawl over here on her hands and knees and start sucking my penis. She'll hold open her pussy for me while I fuck it. If I clap my hands together, she'll strip and dance for us. She's a well trained whore-girl. “

I drew breath sharply as Laura nibbled on my clitoris.

“She went to university,” my boss continued. “She used to work in PR. One day she came complaining to us that she could make more money than we were paying by working as a whore – so we decided to take her at her word – we made her a whore.”

“You made her…” I managed, not really able to speak with Laura sucking at my sex so eagerly. I yanked her face away from my sodden pussy and held on to her like that, bending her neck sideways like a rag-doll.

“Oh yes,” he asserted, “we made her a whore. We took her down to ‘The Scrava' and put her to work.”

“You did what? She didn't mind?” I breathed, heart thumping. I had been close to climax.

“Well, no-one wants to be a whore at first…” He laughed. “But in the end every girl can be bought. Every girl can be owned.”

“Owned?” I stammered, wondering what it must be like to hear your superiors – your owners - discussing you in this way, to be held in your new mistress' grip by a clump of your hair, chin dripping with your mistress' juices…. Knowing all the while that you were worthless, a number tattooed on your arse forever identifying you as whore67. Just another whore.

My God: It would be me soon. I would be Whore94. One of their whores. Owned. Labelled. Compliant.

“Yes, owned,” the CTO said proudly. “We own all our whores. And Whore67 loves being a little slut-whore, don't you Whore67?”

Laura peered up at me sheepishly, and nodded. Something in her eyes, however, seemed to be screaming: NO I HATE IT.

“You enjoying serving your owners don't you Whore67,” my boss tormented her further.

“Yes sir”, she whimpered.

“She has accepted her role in life, that's all,” the CTO went on. “She was born a whore. Don't believe all that socialist nonsense about how we are all equal, Elizabeth. Since humans first started living on this planet there have been the few that have and the many that don't. That's just the way it goes.”

“Is she paid?” I asked, seeing at the same time what could only be the start of tears welling up in the corner of Laura's eyes.

“Mmm. That's a good question,” he said. “Yes, well, I would prefer not to answer that for the time being if you don't mind, Elizabeth. You'll find out soon enough though, I assure you.”

“Why doesn't she, you know, just stop – I mean, why doesn't she just stop being a whore?” I wondered aloud.

“Mmm, another good question,” he shrugged. “I don't know the answer to that. I don't even think Laura does.”

Laura let a small moan escape. This was her life: To be Whore67 and nothing but Whore67. Whether she was paid or not, whether she wanted to whore or not, it didn't make a jot of difference. The simple fact was that she was a whore, and I wasn't. I thrust her face back into my pussy.

“Make me come, whore,” I barked at her.

Her well-trained tongue flicked frantically at my sex, eager to pleasure me. I scanned my eyes over her net stockings and heels, enjoying the view. I had almost felt inclined to ask her to strip for me, but had preferred her to remain dressed like a slut. I would have plenty of chances to see her naked, I was sure.

“Good, Elizabeth.” My boss chimed. “You certainly know how to treat a whore like a whore.”

I hardly heard him. My pulse was thundering, my breaths quickening. I arched my back, desperately trying to push my pussy deeper into Laura's face. I yearned to have someone touch my breasts, caress my nipples. I shot a glance over at my boss, had to restrain myself from barking an order at him to placate my desire. From that single glance I could see he was clearly enjoying the spectacle. It was as if we were performing for him; a couple of lesbians putting on a show. It should have horrified me, but for some reason it just didn't. I started to contort and convulse with pleasure and my entire body throbbed with the onset of ecstasy.

When I came, it was as if I were exploding. I couldn't hold back a moan of pleasure as the orgasm seized me and carried me with it.

“Good little fucking coffee-girl whore,” I half-whispered, half growled as I rode my orgasm to its glorious conclusion.

Laura, Whore67, obediently continued to lap gently at my pussy, mopping up my juices with her tongue. Tasting me. I remembered how just hours earlier I had tasted myself on the CEO's fingers. I remembered how he had made me thank him, curtsey for him.

“What do you say slut?” I demanded of Whore67, yanking her away from my snatch by the hair (I hadn't let go of her the whole time).

“Thank you miss,” she said feebly.

Then I did something strange – taking myself completely by surprise, and something I feel somewhat ashamed to own up to having done.

I spat in her face. I spat in the face of Whore67.

“Thank you, miss.” Laura said more audibly, my spit running down her cheeks.

I looked over at my boss, suddenly feeling self-conscious – almost as if I had forgotten he was there.

“Spit on her again,” he encouraged me. “I enjoyed that.”

I turned back to Whore67. She was trembling, seemed to be fighting off the tears.

I spat again, right in the middle of her miserable whore face. That would teach her to have such immaculate make-up, I thought.

“Excellent,” my boss congratulated me.

It felt strange. I had started off convinced I was using Whore67 for my own pleasure, but it had ended up seeming as if I had simply been performing for my boss all along.

“Let her go now Elizabeth,” he said - ordered?

I released Laura from my grip. She scrambled to her feet and immediately curtsied politely.

“Thank you miss,” she said quietly, looking down at the floor. My spit still dribbled down her face. She looked pathetic.

“You can go,” the CTO told her.

She curtsied to him, then once again to me, before trotting towards the office door. I imagined her tattoo ‘Whore67' wriggling under her skirt above those tarty lace net stockings.

“Clean that spit off your face before going out there,” the CTO instructed her. “And bring more coffee. It's gone cold.”

She turned and nodded silently. She wiped my spit on the sleeve of her blouse, not daring to look at either of us. Then she curtsied again, and left.

“Elizabeth,” my boss said when she had gone, “I don't think you should walk around in that skirt without wearing any knickers, do you?”

I tucked my legs together hurriedly. Had I been displaying myself to him all this time?

“No, you're right,” I agreed.

I reached into my handbag and pulled out my knickers. They bore the CEO's semen, I knew.

“Put them on, Elizabeth,” he said.

I looked at my panties reluctantly, and then I turned towards him, unsure of what to do.

“You're the Senior PA now Elizabeth. You've got to dress responsibly.”

Slowly, still unsure of what I was doing, I stood, bent over and directed my high-heels into the tainted panties, and pulled them up to my knees. I paused, feeling my boss' eyes on me. As I pulled the knickers up around my hips I saw myself kneeling before the CEO, sucking his thumb, sucking his fingers, thanking him for fucking me. I was wearing his semen, wasn't I? I would have to wear his semen for the rest of the day – a constant reminder of what he had done to me. But it didn't matter anymore did it? It was over. It was all part of the agreement. I had to wear the CEO's semen around my pussy with pride.

“Good, Elizabeth,” the CTO nodded contently.

I was fast becoming a whore, yet I still had no idea.

I was almost ready to have Whore94 inscribed on my bum.

I was almost ready to kneel alongside Laura at my boss' feet, our knickers around our ankles.

I was almost ready to share his orgasm with her, to tongue-swap his come between us.

I was almost ready to peer up at him and thank him for fucking my face because I was a worthless whore…

It wouldn't be long now.