8 comments/  32610 views/  31 favorites

Zoe's Awakening Pt. 01

By: nothinglefttoburn



The first day of any new job is nerve-wracking. No amount of preparation or confidence in your abilities can ever really quell the nerves. Mostly, for me, it's about meeting new people. I hate it; it's so fake and forced and just awful. Sure, I might make a few friends eventually. But that first day - it's the worst. 

So, when I walked into Goodman and Stern on that sunny August day, I was trying to hold my head high, look approachable, friendly. The opposite of how I felt. I smiled and shook hands with people as I met them, then began setting up my desk next to who I supposed would become my new cubicle-buddy, an older woman named Cindy. Churchy, judgmental, trying-too-hard type, I could tell right away. She gave me a tight little smile and a perfunctory handshake, looking me up and down with thinly veiled distain. As the day wore on, I was taken on tours and given names of people to call for help should I need it. I felt overwhelmed by all the information, paperwork and training manuals and by lunchtime I needed a break, so I sat in my car and trying to do breathing exercises, to no avail. I went back inside and tried to start in on some of the training papers that needed to be turned in by the end of the week. 

Then I saw him. I couldn't remember his name, wasn't even sure I had ever known it. But you know when you just know a face? The set of a jaw, the shape of the eyes. I knew I had met him somewhere, he was so familiar to me. But I just couldn't place him. I'd been staring for a few moments when he approached me. 

"Hi. Samuel Page. I'm the manager of this department. And you are...?" He stuck out his hand, cocking his eyebrow at me. Handsome, boyish good looks, dark hair and blue eyes, tight body, obviously worked out... I struggled to speak, as the realization of who he was dawned on me suddenly, like a sucker punch to the gut. I felt the blood drain from my face and my entire body tense. I couldn't tell if he recognized me yet. If he did, he was good at hiding it. Oh, but I bet he'll remember after a while... 

I sucked in a deep breath and shook his hand with as much warmth and enthusiasm as I could muster, given my intense reaction to his presence. "Oh, Hi...Mr. Page. I'm Zoe. Zoe Wallace. It's very... nice to meet you." I said, thankful that my voice sounded level and only slightly shaky, which could be passed off as typical first day jitters. Everyone gets 'em, right?

He let go of my hand and smiled congenially. "Welcome to the team, Zoe. We're glad to have you. Please let me know if you need any help as you get accustomed to everything here. I'm just over there in that office," he said, waving an arm behind him to indicate a corner office with windows facing into the main hub, blinds currently pulled up. 

"Great. Yes. I'll...do that." I sputtered, sounding more and more idiotic as the conversation wore on. I smiled, my most charming smile, and continued, "Thank you, Mr. Page. I guess I'll just finish getting set up here." 

"Of course. I'll leave you to it." With a quick smile, he turned and walked to his office. I noticed that he closed the blinds when he went in this time. I hoped he wasn't in there, thinking about where he knew me from. 

+++

I'd met Samuel Page a lifetime ago. Well, met is a very loose term. I'd seen him. He'd seen me. That was about it, but it was enough to make me rethink this job for fear of recognition. 

It had been 8 years ago, when I was 19, at a frat party. I'd dragged my friend along, despite her protests, in hopes of scoring some weed and sucking some guy's cock in the basement. I'd gotten a lot more than I'd bargained for. The air had been thick with testosterone, with drunken cries and smoke and thudding music blaring from cheap speakers. I hadn't had anything to drink, in fact, I was stone-cold sober the whole night. Totally aware of what I was doing. I had teased a lot of the guys, with little grabs and pets here and there. A promise of more to come. Oh, and how it had come. By midnight, I'd been stuffed full of cock. I was dick-drunk. Fucking, sucking, unable to stop the whirlwind that had somehow consumed me. I'd always fantasized about it, being used by multiple men, their come on my face and tits, drying there, marking me as a whore. Somehow it had all just unfolded. There was a guy, on the periphery, I could tell he wanted a turn. Wanted a ride on the fuck machine, so to speak. But he'd been a bit shy about it, and retreated to his room for the night at some point, I'd assumed. I'd been wrong, though, because later he had reemerged to join the party once more, this time armed with a polaroid camera. I'd been so far gone, I hadn't cared a bit. In fact, I remember giving him a thumbs up for one picture, one cock in my mouth, another in my pussy, and another guy pouring beer all over my tits. 

Samuel Page had been the guy with the camera. I knew that with sickening surety. 

+++

On the ride home, I try to calm myself. Rationalize. It's fine; I'm different now. A new woman. Married, with a house in the suburbs. No kids yet, but Mark is adamant that we start trying. I keep taking my pills, though. I'm just not ready yet. 

What could Page do? There's no way in hell he'd actually kept the pictures, all these years. And they'd been taken long before Instagram and Facebook and Tumblr and whatever other online nonsense you can think of. So I'm safe. It's ok. Nothing to worry about, nothing to see here, folks, move along. 

I just can't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe... he had kept the pictures. 

+++

My first week goes fine. No major mess-ups or embarrassing moments. So far, no sign that my boss remembers me. In fact, he's friendly. Charming. And, yes, a little cute. According to all the other girls in the office, that is. I'm happily married, not looking at other guys, not wondering how big their cocks are or how much they come. No. Not me. Definitely not. 

As Friday comes to a close, I allow myself to relax a little. I was just overthinking things; he never even suspected anything. All I am to him is the new girl, nothing special, nothing interesting. The thought makes me feel calm. 

Cindy, my new cubicle mate, approaches me as closing time rolls around on Friday. "Zoe, we thought it might be fun to go out for a few drinks, celebrate your first week?" She says, her voice too high pitched and whiny. The woman just irritates me; I don't even exactly know why. Something about the way she wears her hair and makeup, the tight little smile she gives the younger guys in the office, as if she's trying to say, "Yeah, I've still got it. I'm sexy. Right?" 

I try not to grimace at her when I reply. "Aw, thanks Cindy, but I have plans. With my husband. Maybe next week?" I ask, trying to be cordial, friendly. No need to make enemies within the first month. She accepts my rejection with a little pout which quickly turns to a fake smile. "Of course, you enjoy! See you Monday, girl!" Girl? I think irritably. Neither one of us is a girl, Cindy. Time to face facts. I smile back and tell her to have a nice weekend, then, shouldering my purse, I turn to leave. 

I'm halfway to the elevator when I hear someone shouting my name. "Zoe? Hey, Zoe!" Page. I stop dead in my tracks, heart hammering in my chest. I slap a big, insincere grin on my face before wheeling around to face him. I jump. He'd gotten much closer to me, and I almost run smack into him before I catch myself. In the calmest voice I can command, I reply, "Yes, Mr. Page? Is there... something you need before I go?" 

He has an apologetic look on his face, and gives a small shrug. "I'm really sorry, Zoe, but yeah, I could use a little help before you leave for the weekend. I have a really big meeting coming up - we're looking to acquire a massive account - and I need to ask you something before the clients come next week." He smiles, looking sheepish and almost schoolboyish. But there's something in his eyes that makes me wary. A certain hungry quality I've seen before. 

I sigh, not really trying to hide my disappointment at having to stay. "Yeah, of course. I'll help in any way I can. I just have to text my husband, he was expecting me." I go to pull out my phone and notice the way his eyes dance with mirth at the mention of my husband. Interesting. 

I follow Page to his office after texting Mark a quick heads-up that I'd be staying late. He'd be fine with it, we're looking to save up to get a dog sometime in the near future anyway. I'd always said I needed a pet before a kid, so that's the next step. A puppy. Maybe a Corgi, or a Puggle. Something cute and sweet and cuddly, not too big or slobbery. I'm lost in thoughts of my future pet when I sit down in the chair opposite Page's. His office is a decent size, but sparse. No pictures, no personal touches. Just a large desk, his computer and some file cabinets in the corner. Not even a plant. 

We're both sitting, staring at each other from across the desk, and there's a weird tension in the air. I have a sick feeling in my stomach. He smiles, a wolfish, feral grin. Wicked. Evil. Hungry. 

"Ah, Zoe. Our newest employee. You know, I've been watching you. And I think you're going to excel here at Goodman and Stern. I just... have a feeling. A hunch, if you will. So, I've decided to go with my gut, as the saying goes, and offer you a promotion." 

I'm genuinely taken aback. I can't believe I'd let me nerves get to me like that. A promotion? Seriously? I let out a long sigh of relief. "Oh my gosh, wow... I don't know what to say," I begin, laughing a little at my own silliness. 

Page holds up a hand to stop me. "Now, hold on, honeybunch, I'm not done. I wanted to go over the job duties before you accept. This position will involve considerably more... work... on your part." He says, placing his elbows on his desk, leaning forward. 

I nod, enthusiastically, ignoring the pet name, and start again: "Oh, of course, but I'm totally up for it..." 

He laughs and cuts me off once more: "Oh, I've no doubt about that, Zoe, none at all. Let's go over the duties, though, shall we?" 

He reaches down into a desk drawer and pulls out a thick envelope as well as a small, fancy shopping bag. Very feminine. The label on it says La Perla. As he arranges the items on his desk, he starts talking. 

"Ah, Zoe. On your first day, I knew I'd seen your face somewhere. It took me all week to place it - but it finally came to me one night while I was at the gym, on the treadmill. It was so crazy I had to go home and check, just to make sure. Dug out the old treasure chest in the back of my closet. By golly, I was right. I've never been so glad to be a pack rat! Now, I already know the answer, but I'd like to hear you say it: Do you know who I am?" 

My stomach is churning and I feel like I might puke bile. My face is numb from all of the blood leaving it so suddenly. So I was right. He does know. He remembers. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can't lie, it's written all over my face. I've never been known for my ability to hide my emotions. I try to summon my voice, but all that comes out is a squeaky whisper: "Yes." 

Page smiles, that same wicked grin. "Good girl. Oh, Zoe. I never got my turn. I can't believe how fucking perfect it is. I mean, fuck, sometimes life is so goddamned good." 

He chuckles to himself, delighted with this turn of events, and continues: "So. Your new duties as my PA. Well, first off all, I want you to stop wearing that prudish church goer shit. Get some new pencil skirts. Short. Thigh high stockings, with a backseam. Heels. Good ones, at least 4 inches. Sexy. No Payless shit either. As far as your job duties, they will be... strenuous. I can fuck you whenever I want. However I want. Ass, pussy, mouth - they're all mine now. I own them. Anytime you're on the clock is a time I can have my way with you. And you will never turn me down or deny me in any way. Is that clear?" 

I'm shaking all over, and it takes all the courage I have to speak. "Fuck you. I don't have to do shit. You don't know anything about me, and you don't have any proof even if you did. I have money," I lie, "How much do you want?"

He just laughs, heartily, like I've just told the most charming joke. "I don't want your fucking money, and I already know you don't have any to give." As quickly as it started, the laughter is over and his tone is clipped, completely serious as he continues. "I'm going to get what I wanted all those years ago, at that frat party. You're going to give it to me. And you want proof? Here ya go, bitch." With that, Page reaches into the thick envelope on his desk and extracts a polaroid, sliding it across his desk so that it's in front of me. 

I snatch it up, wishing I had a lighter to set it on fire. The color hasn't even faded from the picture, it looks as if it was taken just yesterday. In it, I'm on my knees, sucking an enormous cock, spit and cum hanging off my chin in sticky ropes. The image repulses and intrigues me. I had forgotten how it was. How I was. I feel sick, and I shove the polaroid into my purse, intent on destroying it once I get home. 

Page laughs again. "Keep it, honey. I've got more where that came from, and all of them scanned into my computer, as well as backup USB sticks and other prints. So, about the rest of your job duties. I want you wearing lingerie everyday, too. I bought you some to get you started. I had a feeling you probably married some lame ass dickwad who says inane shit like 'sweatpants are sexy.'" He says this with a derisive snort and passes the La Perla bag to me. "I want you to wear the red thing on Monday. Give me a little show to start off our new working relationship." 

I feel like I've been nailed to the chair I'm sitting in and someone has placed sandbags on my shoulders. I slump, utterly defeated. If I could take even the slightest risk of Mark finding out, I would refuse Page, tell him to shove his stupid polaroids up his ass. But that's not an option. Mark knows nothing about my secret slutty past, still believes (God bless him) that I was a virgin on our wedding night. And I'd like to keep it that way. 

I look Page in the eye, wishing that looks could, in fact, kill. "Fine." I spit between my teeth and grab the La Perla bag, getting up to go. 

"Ah, wait one more moment Zoe. I'd like you to say, 'Thank you for this opportunity, sir. Is there anything else?'" When I don't respond immediately he makes an impatient gesture and prods, "Go on, say it then..." 

Through gritted teeth and a painfully clenched jaw, I manage to say the words. "Thank you for this opportunity... Sir. Is there anything else before I go?" 

Page smiles and claps his hands like an eager child on Christmas morning. "Actually, slut, there is one more thing." His smile fades and his voice turns steely. "Give me your panties." He holds out his hand expectantly. 

My cheeks burn with humiliation but I shimmy out of my underwear quickly, dropping them on the desk, avoiding his outreached hand, and then turn quickly to leave. As I walk out the door, I hear his voice behind me. 

"See you Monday..." 

+++

For the first time since we got married, I'm actually glad when Mark tells me he's agreed to work overtime this weekend. I need time alone to think, to process the events of this evening. And apparently, I'll need some time to shop for new skirts, lingerie and heels as well. 

When I arrive home on Friday night, Mark is waiting with dinner and a glass of wine. As well as a beautifully wrapped gift, sitting right in the middle of the kitchen table. I rush to him, arms outstretched, and he wraps me in a warm embrace, making me feel for a moment as if everything will be ok. It has to be. Right? 

We sit down for dinner and I make a gesture at the gift. "What's that, Mark?" I ask, genuinely interested. Did I forget someone's birthday, or anniversary? I wonder for a moment. 

Mark's face splits into a wide grin. "It's for you. For finishing your first week at your new job. Go on, open it." He's as eager and sweet as a golden retriever. 

I smile, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach at the mention of my job. "Oh, honey, you didn't have to do that.." I trail off as I tear off the paper and stare, completely taken aback. "Oh my god. Mark. What the...how did..." I'm so excited, so surprised, I can't even finish my sentence. In my hands is a brand new MacBook Pro, a laptop. I've been wanting a new computer for over a year, when my college one finally went to the great electronics recycling plant in the sky, but when we bought the house, we had to sacrifice a lot of material wants. I stare at my husband, completely slack jawed. 

He's grinning like the cat who ate the canary. "I've been saving for a while. I'm so proud of you, Z, you really deserve this. And now you can write that book you've been wanting to write forever!" 

I had almost forgotten my passion for writing in the years since college. I'd been an English major, had loved reading the classics, writing papers and poetry, dreaming of the day I'd write and publish my own masterpiece. I can't help the tears that well up, the gesture is too much after a day like I've had. It kills me to lie, even if it's a lie by omission, to this sweet man. I feel like I've hoodwinked him, betrayed his trust. Like I'm not worth the dirt in our yard, let alone this expensive and thoughtful gift. 

Mark brushes my tears away tenderly. "Z, I'd give you everything if I could. You are so precious to me." I'm sobbing now and I'm sure he thinks I'm crazy. Dinner is officially abandoned, and we practically run to the bedroom, where I thank him thoroughly and repeatedly, until we both fall asleep, tangled together in a heap of sweaty limbs.

I dream of being tied to a large mahogany desk and choking on my own underwear.

Zoe's Awakening Pt. 02



On Monday morning, I walk into work at 8 A.M. sharp, holding my head as high as possible, considering how incredibly inappropriate I feel. The skirt I've worn is about 4 inches shorter than the ones I wore last week, baring quite a lot of thigh for an office environment and the heels are distinctly stripper-y, not professional in the least. 

My husband was certainly not on board with the new dress code. While getting dressed that morning, he kept looking me over, one eyebrow cocked. Finally, he had come out with it over breakfast.

"Uh, honey? Zoe? I think you look beautiful, of course, but that skirt is a little... tight...and, uh, short...don't you think?" He'd said, practically choking on the words.

I tried to look surprised. "Really? You think so? Do you think I've gotten fatter?" I put on my poutiest face and looked as sad as a kicked puppy dog.

He had looked incredibly embarrassed, a furious red blush creeping up from his collar. "No... no of course not, sweetheart. You look amazing. Sexy. Perfect." He'd swallowed, hard, and gone back to his toast.

I hadn't said another word, and left the house feeling like a total slut. But what the fuck else was I supposed to do? Tell my husband what I had been in high school and college? Make him hate me? What good would it do? No, much better to go along with the program and do what Mr. Page asks. He'll get bored eventually and everything will just... go away. The nightmare will end.

When I reach the office, Page beckons me in and motions for me to close the door. "The heels are good, but the skirt isn't tight enough. Let me see the underwear," he says, with absolutely no preamble, not even a simple good morning. 

I stare him in the face and hike the skirt up over my thighs, exposing the tiny red scrap of fabric he'd given me on Friday. He sucks in a breath and gives a low whistle. 

"Turn around," he says, and I comply, showing him my ass before quickly yanking the skirt back down. "Oh, fuck yes. That ass. I'm going to have a lot of fun with that thing...Show me the bra now." His voice is low and ragged. 

I slowly unbutton my blouse and expose my bra to his burning gaze. The set, I have to admit, is gorgeous. Thin, lacy fabric in a shocking red that compliments my skin tone perfectly. To be honest, I had quite admired the way it looked when I'd put it on in the mirror this morning. 

This time, a low moan escapes Page's throat. "Perfect," he murmurs, and I can see him trying to gather himself. "Well, first thing's first, go clear out your desk and move all your stuff to the desk right outside my office. You're my PA, after all, and I need you within arm's reach..." He smirks as I arrange my outfit so that I'm once again totally dressed. He hands me an empty banker's box and motions me out the door, his eyes never leaving my ass as I walk out. 

I walk quickly back to my desk, where I begin clearing it off, putting things haphazardly into the box. Cindy notices my packing and rushes over to me.

"Oh my God, Zoe, what on Earth is going on?? Have you been let go? After just one week?!" She practically squeals. I hate her so much and her outburst is not helping my opinion of her. Stupid bitch.

"No, nothing like that Cindy. I'm actually going to be Mr. Page's... personal assistant." I say, between gritted teeth, spitting out his name like poison.

Cindy's eyes grow wide and her mouth forms an exaggerated 'O' and she exclaims, "Oh, girl, you are so lucky! He is soooo hot... I mean, I would not kick him outta bed, if you get what I'm saying!" The obnoxious woman winks at me, like we're sharing some fun girl talk. I hate her even more.

"I don't see it, personally. Plus, I'm happily married, Cindy." I say, which is pretty evil of me considering Cindy's recent and painful divorce, which I heard was office gossip fodder for months. Cindy gives me a little half smile and walks back to her desk, clearly pissed.

Oh well, I think, I won't have to see her too much from now on I guess.

I finish moving by lunchtime and am settling into my new desk, trying to get some work done, when Page sticks his head out of his office. "Zoe? Can you come in here? And bring a notepad, I'll need you for a bit," he winks at me and ducks back inside. 

Heart hammering in my chest, I stand up and walk as calmly as possible into the office, shutting the door quietly behind me, feeling like everyone outside in the office knows our secret. I feel dirty, slutty, and, as much as it pains me to admit it, more than a little excited. 

Once the door is locked, Page sinks into his big leather chair and faces me. "I didn't get a good enough look at you earlier. Strip for me. And make it pretty. I want to inspect my new property." 

I roll my eyes and start unbuttoning my shirt, slowly, but with no apparent enthusiasm. My hands shake slightly and I hope he doesn't notice. I shrug out of the shirt and pull the pencil skirt down, kicking it off once it's around my ankles. 

"Come here," he says, his voice daring me to disobey. 

Of course, I don't, and I walk boldly over to where he sits, determined to continue holding my head high, even when I feel I can sink no lower. 

"Turn around and put your arms on my desk, stick your ass up in the air for me." Page murmurs, his hand running from the back of my knee all the way up my thigh, gently squeezing my ass. I comply quickly, just wanting to get whatever he's got in mind over with. Suddenly he spanks me, hard. "That's for not undressing pretty enough. You looked bored. Next time I ask you to strip, I want you to give it some effort. I know what you can do..."

I try to remind myself that I hate him, hate this, should take absolutely no pleasure in the feel of my boss's rough, warm hands on me. My body isn't listening though, and my nipples are painfully hard, my pussy throbbing already, seeking out pleasure in the face of this terrible wrongness. 

He's still rubbing my ass when he takes his other hand and slaps the inside of my thighs, hard, making me yelp. "Spread your legs apart, slut," he whispers. I obey, biting my lip to keep from groaning. 

He takes his hand away from my butt and uses both hands to grab my hips from behind. Suddenly, I feel his face pressed up against my ass, nose buried in my crack, mouth almost right over the entrance of my pussy. He licks once, on the outside of my panties, a long, slow, teasing lick that lights every nerve of my traitorous body on fire. This time I can't help but moan. It makes him chuckle, a low, dark sound that has little humor in it. 

"Oh, my little slut likes that, does she? Hmm." With this, Page pulls aside my panties and shoves a finger into me, meeting no resistance whatsoever. In fact, it feels like my body welcomes him in, sucking greedily, using some secret feminine muscles to pull him deeper. 

He adds another finger and uses his other hand to rub tight little circles around my clit. It's insane how good it feels and soon I'm writhing and bucking on his desk. He slows down, probably wanting to prolong the torture. He leans down and whispers in my ear, still fingering me excruciatingly slowly: "Tell me about the biggest cock you ever sucked, my little whore. Tell me all about it, and I'll let you come..." 

How easy it is to slide right back into the slutty mode I lived in for nearly 5 full years. So long ago now, but so simple to just let it take over. A few slaps on my ass, Page's fingers touching my pussy, and I'm panting like a bitch in heat, knowing I would do just about anything now. 

Goddamnit. I hate myself in this moment, but can't stop.

The image floods my mind suddenly, of a guy I had picked up in a sleazy bar when I was 21. He was a skinny dude, bordering on scrawny, and I remember how incredibly shocked I was later that night when he dropped his pants and revealed the biggest cock I'd ever seen outside of a bad porno. It was huge, about 9 inches by my estimation, thick and veined, the head so enormous it wouldn't fit in my pussy until he used about a gallon of lube. Even then, it was a tight, painful fit. But sucking it was glorious. Choking on it, sticky ropes of spit and cum dripping from my mouth to the floor. I tell Page every single detail, including how the guy came all over my face and made me clean every drop off and swallow it before he fucked me. Telling him this while he fingers me slowly is killing me, emotionally and physically, and tears leak out of my eyes as I realize that I haven't changed at all since high school.

As big an asshole as Page is, and as much as I hate him right now, he's true to his word, and as I finish my story, I feel the tempo of his fingering increase. His hand leaves my clit and he flips me over, directing me to sit on the edge of his desk and lean back. He continues sliding two fingers in and out of me, then lowers his face to my pussy and licks, slowly at first, then faster, sucking my clit and fluttering his tongue over it. It only takes a minute of this before I'm bucking my hips into his face, panting and writhing and moaning, a constant stream of "don'tstopdon'tstopdon'tfuckingstop" spilling from my lips unbidden. He definitely doesn't stop, and I come, biting my lip so hard I taste blood in my mouth as my orgasm crashes through me. 

I collapse back on his desk, chest heaving, my heart hammering in my chest so hard it feels like it could burst out of my ribcage at any moment. Page wipes his face on the inside of my thigh and stands, adjusting his erection in his pants, tucking it up under his belt, saying, "I have a meeting to attend. I'll be back in an hour. Make sure the Henderson account notes are typed and ready to go by then." And then he's gone, without so much as a backwards glance. 

After he leaves, I try to gather myself in some semblance of normalcy. I try to remind myself of my new life; my husband, the home we share, the dog we will be getting together, how happy this all makes me. How happy this all should make me. 

I know deep down that I'm not normal. There's something wrong with me, something fundamental missing from my genetic material. I'm supposed to enjoy making love, being held and cuddled and stroked gently. I should want sex less than my husband and be ready only when he desires me. My sexuality should fit into a nice compact little box, readily available when required, easily stored away when deemed unacceptable. That's not really how I've found it to work, though. 

I get the notes Page requested together, concentrating on work as hard as possible, hoping to push all of these thoughts from my mind. He strolls back into his office exactly one hour later, as promised, and crooks a finger at me, signaling me to follow. I realize that he hadn't gotten off earlier. I guess this is it, then. The moment of truth. I sigh and follow reluctantly behind him, my shoulders slumped, face neutral. 

Entering the office, I feel like I'm suddenly inside the tiger cage at the zoo. Electric, hungry energy is pouring off of Page in waves, I can feel it as solidly as the ground under me. I'm surprised when he doesn't pounce on me immediately. Instead, he situates himself rather calmly behind his desk, placing his elbows on the flat surface and forming a steeple with his fingers, staring at me. I can tell he's fighting some sort of inner battle, making a decision. He takes a deep breath, and reaches into a drawer, pulling out an official looking envelope. 

Handing it to me across the desk, he says, "These are the details of your raise. You're also entitled to increased medical benefits and two more weeks paid vacation as my PA."

I must admit, I was prepared for almost anything but this. I'm caught off guard, and I keep looking at the envelope and then at Page, back and forth a few times, not sure what to believe, how to react. 

Pages speaks again, and this time his voice is a growl, reflecting the wild hunger I'd sensed when he first walked in: "Now get on your knees, and suck my cock. I want to see you demonstrate your intense gratitude."

I hear what he says, but his voice sounds like it's floating from miles away. I'm already wet. My lips tingle and my mouth salivates in anticipation. A Pavlovian response, impossible to un-condition. I walk over to Page with as much decorum and confidence as I can muster at the moment and sink to my knees in front of him, trying my hardest not to look too eager. But I can't help it.

My hands tremble a little as I unhook his belt and unzip his slacks, reaching in his briefs for his already hard cock. It springs free, throbbing and angry looking. I wonder if he was hard throughout his whole meeting, looking forward to this. His cock is incredibly thick and I worry that my mouth isn't up for the task, being so out of practice.

Turns out, sucking a thick cock is like riding a bike. You just don't forget how. I look up at Page from my kneeling position and stick out my tongue, taking one long lick from the base to the head. I'm rewarded with a little twitch, and, deciding to commit wholeheartedly (the little slut in me can't deny how much she loves this), I swallow the whole shaft in one motion, gagging a little when the head touches the back of my throat. I work up a rhythm, making sure to use my hands to play with his balls and hold the base of his dick firmly. Soft wet sounds come from my mouth and a mixture of spit and precum leaks from my lips. I feel his balls tighten and suddenly he grabs my hair, first shoving my face into his pelvic bone, crushing my nose to his body and causing me to choke. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, smearing my makeup. Just as quickly, Page yanks me back off his cock and up to a standing position.

He roughly shoves a hand up my skirt, slapping the insides of my thighs, hard. "Open your legs, slut..." he snarls, and I shudder a little as I spread my legs, leaning back on the desk a little for support as I do. 

Page pulls down the thin red thong I'm wearing, and slides two fingers into me easily, using the other hand to yank my head back by my hair. I hate how hot and wet I know I am, but I can't help it, it's like he has some roadmap of my inner workings, pointing directly to the places that set me on fire. 

"You want it, don't you, you little slut?" He snarls, pinching my nipples over the top of my clothes, fingers working relentlessly inside me. I'm already starting to shiver, my breath quickening, I'm really close to coming, the sex crazed slut that I apparently am making herself known.

He pulls his fingers out of my pussy, and brings them to my mouth. "Lick me clean." Taken over by some wild lust, I grab his wrist and hungrily slobber all over his hand, sucking the taste of myself off of his fingers enthusiastically. 

"Back on your knees." He shoves me down and starts to ruthlessly fuck my face. No subtlety, no finesse, just selfish need. I comply, opening my throat as much as possible and letting his hard length fill my mouth, breathing through my nose and concentrating on keeping my teeth covered. He comes then, deep and achingly hard, pumping spurt after spurt of hot come in the back of my throat, so much that I struggle to swallow it all. Page leaves me heaving on the office floor, zipping up and walking out, leaving the office for the evening.

"See you tomorrow, bright and early," he says as he closes the door. "Wear the black mesh stuff tomorrow, with the garters." 

+++

After the blowjob in the office, I knew there was no turning back. 

Page had seen me for what I was; I had utterly failed at burying my true nature. All the trappings of my perfect suburban housewife, vanilla-sex enjoying life are a farce, now exposed to his ruthless gaze. I cried the whole drive home, mostly because I had to admit that I had fucking loved every second of that little encounter earlier.

I pull up to the home Mark and I share, thanking my lucky stars that he wasn't home yet. Rushing to the master bathroom, I tear off my clothes and the slutty lingerie, chucking it in the laundry room. For the first time ever, I'm thankful that Mark doesn't do laundry. I turn the shower on the hottest setting my skin can take, hoping the water with somehow wash away the fact that I'm a whore now. In fact, it does the opposite. I can't stop thinking about having my face fucked by my boss. The sounds he made, the way his cock had thickened in my throat, his hands in my hair, crushing me, tears leaking from my eyes. And I had been so close to coming when he was fingering me... I can't help it. The showerhead is there, I'm fucking keyed up. I have to get off. I turn the detachable showerhead on "pulse" and lean against the tile of the shower, holding the stream of water about 6 inches away from my clit. It only takes about 30 seconds before I'm shaking all over and coming, my legs giving out. I feel worse instead of better. Not only am I letting Page fuck me, and enjoying it, but now I'm thinking about him when I masturbate. I'm in over my fucking head, I think as I turn the shower off and step out into the bathroom.

I give a loud scream as I realize I'm not alone. For a moment, I think it's Page, that he'd somehow broken into my house to completely ruin my life. Maybe he said, fuck the blackmail plan, I've fucked her, I'll still tell her husband. My heart thumps so hard it feels like it will pound through my chest.

"Honey? Are you in here? It's so foggy!" Mark's voice calls from the doorway.

I swallow, hard, trying to make my voice steady. "Yeah, sweetie, I'm here. I just needed a hot shower. You scared me!"

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to say hi," he says, sweetly. That's Mark. Always. So. Fucking. Sweet. I sort of hate him in this moment.

"Oh. Well, hi." I say, lamely, walking into our bedroom, drying my hair with a towel. My phone is on our bedside table and it buzzes. I stand at our dresser, putting on yoga pants and a tank top. It buzzes again, impatient for me to check a new message. Mark lifts an eyebrow at me as he unbuttons his work shirt.

"Gonna get that, Z?" He asks.

"Hm? Oh, yeah." I walk over and pick up my phone, and see Page's cell phone number with the message to meet him outside my house in 15 minutes. All of the blood drains from my face. Mark, of course, the sweet and attentive man that he is, notices.

"Everything ok? Looks like you've seen a ghost!"

I try to laugh but it sounds like I'm wheezing. "Ha. Oh. No, it's fine. It's... Cindy. From work. She wants to grab a drink. I'm gonna just tell her I'm busy tonight." I try to give Mark a playful, flirty smile. It feels like a grimace.

I lose the texting war with Page, trying to say no, but after several back and forth messages, he says he's already on his way and that I'd better be outside waiting. The whole time it's happening, I pace the bedroom like a caged animal. Mark, luckily, has taken an interest in online poker lately and retires to his office to play some Texas Hold 'em. While his wife fucks her boss. By the side of the house, in plain view of any neighbors who would care to look.

Then I'm outside, pretending to take out the trash, which has approximately 4 cotton balls and some dryer lint in it. I see Page pull up and get out of the car, looking especially predatory in this personal setting. "You seriously cannot be here," I whisper frantically, "this has to end. Please..." My pleas are cut off when he grabs me and takes me to the side of the house by force, crushing his mouth over mine once we're in the darkness of the small alley next to my garage. I don't resist. I don't really want to resist. I want him to fuck me like he hates me, which I don't verbalize, but seems to intuitively know, and he's certainly up to the task. 

He turns me around, yanking my yoga pants down to my knees, pushing my head into the wall, thrusting into my pussy in one fluid motion, meeting no resistance, my warm, wet depths inviting him, driving him to fuck me relentlessly. The idea that sweet, gentle Mark is sitting at his desk inside, barely 4 meters away, while my boss fucks me relentlessly, pumping me full of come, sends me over the edge. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he made me come, so I bite his hand but give no other indication. Page orgasms violently then, muttering about filling me with come and sending me back to my husband, but I barely hear him. He slips out of me and I stand, yank my pants back up and walk away, without a single backward glance. 




Zoe's Awakening Pt. 02



I walk inside and go back to the bathroom, where I rinse off quickly, making sure there's no evidence of what's occurred. I go to bed, my mind still spinning with the images of what just happened. Mark comes up to join me in bed, wrapping his arms around me, nuzzling my neck, kissing my earlobe. All signs indicate that he wants sex. The idea that I would turn him down for the first time ever because of what Page has turned me into disgusts me. That would mean he wins. So I have sex with my husband, slow and gentle like he likes, and I don't come. I turn over in bed after and cry, wondering what the everloving fuck I'm going to do about this fucked up situation.

The next day, I wear the black mesh set with garters. And the tightest, shortest skirt I own. And the sluttiest blouse I can manage without it being a totally inappropriate outfit. I want Page to know he hasn't won.

Maybe by convincing him, I will somehow convince myself.



Zoe's Awakening Pt. 03



I walk in to work the next day feeling confident that I can take some control back here. I can play this game, and possibly win, if I work it just right. So, I sashay in, hips swinging, knowing how incredible my ass looks in this skirt. 

It seems to work, as Page's jaw practically drops when he sees me. He's pretty good at keeping his face neutral, though, and his surprised look vanishes as quickly as it came. He motions smoothly for me to come into his office, shutting the door behind me, barking orders immediately. 

"Spread your legs wide, put your hands on the desk and arch your back. Really stick your ass up for me," he says, his voice edgy and just the slightest bit shaky. 

I comply immediately, sneering a little, a hint of the defiance I feel on my face in knowing I caused him to lose a bit of that steely control he seems so proud of. 

He leans forward then, peeling my skirt up to my hips, exposing the black thong and garter belt I'm wearing. I hear him groan, and feel his hands digging into my ass cheeks, squeezing greedily, spreading my ass apart. Then, he sinks to his knees behind me and licks, long and slow, his heavy tongue sliding along the outside of my panties, causing me to writhe and moan. 

Then, his voice: "You want me to fuck you, don't you?"

I bit my lip and nod, reluctant to admit it, but unable to deny it. Page stands suddenly, pushing my soaked underwear aside, sliding two fingers into me from behind, using slow, firm motions, working deeper, pressing into me, feeling the incredible wetness and heat there. 

"Say it," he growls into my ear, pausing his ministrations to wet his thumb in my pussy before sliding it into my ass, then slipping three fingers into my dripping cunt. 

"Yes..." I hiss, my teeth clenched, feeling myself on the verge of orgasm, his fingers and thumb working in perfect circles inside me, hitting every sensitive spot at once. 

"Say please," Page taunts, and my knees give out a little, a moan escaping my lips unbidden. 

I clamp my mouth shut, unwilling to beg, and he pulls his fingers out of me, then walks around the desk and shoves his hand in my mouth. 

"Suck my fingers clean, and say 'Please fuck me.'" Page commands, his voice cold and hard and uncompromising. 

I suck his fingers and look him in the eye, determined to win somehow. "Make me," I whisper. 

His eyes narrow to slits as he stares at me. Then, suddenly, he grabs me, hauls me up onto his desk, pulling open a drawer. From it, he pulls several lengths of soft cord. Within moments, he has me hog tied, ankles, wrists and knees tied together. Simple, but effective. He's definitely had practice, I think wildly, not really processing what has just happened. 

Another cord gags me, and Page finished by looping a last cord around my knees, and over my neck, leaving me completely trussed up and helpless on the desk, knees pulled up around my shoulders.

"I gave you..." he sneers, slapping my ass hard with an open hand, "A chance." Another slap, each one punctuating his speech. "You could've been good." SLAP. "You could've said 'PLEASE'" SLAP. "You could've asked to be fucked..." Another slap, on my pussy, making me jolt and flood with wetness. "But..." SLAP, my ass burning now... "You tried to be clever."

He smacks my tits again, setting them shaking, my nipples getting harder and harder as the slaps increase in savagery. Then he plunges three fingers back into me, rhythmically pumping them, the squishing and squelching noises seemingly spurring him on. 

"I was going to give you what you wanted. I was going to fuck you hard, over this desk, I was going to use you like I know you've been dying to be used. Like a slut, like a worthless goddamn whore whose only fit to be fucked full of come and dumped at the side of the road..." he says, voice rising as his anger becomes more apparent. 

Abruptly, he stops pumping his fingers inside me, probably sensing how close I am to coming. A tiny whimper escapes my gag.

"Now you can watch instead whilst I give someone else all the cock you would've gotten."

He dumps me unceremoniously onto the floor under his desk, throwing my crumpled blouse and skirt on top of my prone form. I can hear him pick up the phone and dial, then a nasally female voice answers. 

Page's voice, again, low and cool and inviting, sensual even. "Hello, Cindy? Can you come into my office please? Bring a notepad, I'm going to need you for a while..." 

+++

So, here I am, tied up, turned on beyond any rational thought, and shoved under my boss' desk. And I think he's going to fuck Cindy. Cindy. It makes me shudder with a combination of hatred (of him and her, equally), envy, anger, and, Jesus Christ it's true... lust. I wriggle around under the desk so that my face is pressed to the floor. There's a slight opening that I can see out of, and I have a decent view of the two chairs that sit opposite Page's. I hear footsteps approaching and a rap on the door.

His voice, calm, inviting. "Cindy? Come on in, lovely." Fucking bastard. She already wants to fuck you, I think, stop playing it up so much. I roll my eyes, although no one has the benefit of seeing it.

Cindy's voice now, annoying. High pitched. Nasal. Eager, breathless. Stupid cunt. I think spitefully, though I'm not sure why. "Oh, um, hi Mr. Page. What can I do you for? I mean, do for you?" A nails-on-chalkboard giggle escapes her mouth, like she's a 16 year old school girl rather than an almost 50 year old divorcee.

She's actually not that bad a person. For some reason, though, I just find her unbearable. She'd gotten a divorce a while back due to her husband cheating on her, and I felt bad enough for her, but her constant woe-is-me attitude never sat well with me. I'd overhear her talking to another divorcee in the office, saying things like "Well, Joe just wanted oral sex all the time, but I'm sorry, I can't do that sort of thing every three days! I guess he needed to get it somewhere, so he ruined our lives over it." I'd hear shit like this and feel a sense of exasperation. I'd kill to get my husband to fuck my face, I'd think, angry. It had created an irrational sense of hatred that was bubbling over at the moment.

Page's voice again, smooth as a hot knife through butter: "Please, Cindy, sit down. I'd love to talk to you about some opportunities within the department."

Opportunities my fucking ass, I think savagely. He sits at his desk and Cindy sinks into a chair in front of me. I can see up her skirt a little. I look away, not quite ready to deal with what's about to happen. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my lower back. Page kicked me! Fucking asshole, I think, turning my head slightly and nipping his ankle. I'd love to see his face right now. But he give no indication that he felt it, so I turn back and continue watching the show.

He makes idle small talk with poor Cindy, who's a hot mess from what I can see. She's squirming in her chair and looking all kinds of bothered. I wonder what sort of bedroom eyes he's staring at her with up there. Suddenly I hear the conversation turn to Cindy's divorce. He's all sympathy, saying "if you ever need anything, anything at all...I'm here for you." God I could throw up. Damn if it's not working, though. Cindy makes a joke about being friends with benefits.

I realize then that Page fucking made her come on to him. At this point, I have to admit... he's pretty fucking good at this. A real mater manipulator. I wonder if that's what makes him so angry, so spiteful, when he fucks me - that I didn't exactly offer myself up for this. I wonder if my reluctance, my defiance has anything to do with the way he grabs me and slaps me and treats me like a whore. I guess I'd better not stop being reluctant, I think, or the best sex of my life will end. It makes me a little sad to admit it, but fuck, it's true. I've never come so hard, in all my slutty years.

I realize I was lost in thought as I hear and feel Page leave his desk and cross the room, standing next to Cindy's chair. I can see up to mid torso, and I notice the bulge in his pants and wonder idly if it's really from dear old frumpy Cindy or from the knowledge that he has a little fuckslave tied up and gagged under his big mahogany desk.

"Well, Cindy, does this answer your question?" I hear him ask, placing her hand on his erection.

Cindy's breath is ragged, coming in random bursts. She lightly runs her fingers over Page's crotch outside of his slacks. I can just see her face, and it looks like all her dreams have come true. Christmas has come early, sweet little Cindy, I think randomly, and have to choke back a wild little giggle.

The rest of the build up is a blur. Soon, though, his shirt is off, Cindy running her fingers through the smattering of hair on his chest, looking dazed. He's really going textbook on her, complimenting her figure, kissing her neck and ears, playing with her breasts. Slowly, he gets a little rougher with her, and when she sinks down to give him a blow job I can tell he's pushing her head. Ah, but sweet Cindy hasn't had much practice it seems and she gags on that big cock. Not a pretty gag either. I swear I'll laugh hysterically if she pukes. She doesn't but she seems a little disgusted and he finally hauls her up, bends her over the desk in front of me, and eats her pussy and ass like a dog eating a bowl of oatmeal. Cindy, probably never having experienced such finesse, is a writhing mess. I can see her legs shaking and starting to give out and I hear her come with a loud "Oh my GOD!"

I have to admit that knowing he's making her come is doing some fucked up things to my brain. I'm throbbing all over, not just my pussy but every part of me it seems. The ropes are starting to get uncomfortable. All I can think about is the fact that I'm so hot right now, I'll let him fuck me after he's come in Cindy. It disgusts me, really, but I know I will. That's how bad I need it at this point.

I'm shaken from my reverie again by the unmistakable sounds of animalistic fucking. Cindy's bent over the desk, I can see both pairs of legs in front of me. Page is plowing her from behind it looks like. I can tell his hand is shoved in her mouth because my oh my our little Cindy is a squealer! He's whispering in her ear, but I can't make out what he's saying. It seems to be igniting Cindy's nerves, though, because she moans and pants after everything he says. I can tell he's gonna come soon, the pace has picked up from luxurious to frantic. I hear it moments later, the muffled "Hhnggghhhh" of satisfaction as he fills Cindy up with come.

The rest of the time is a blur, I can't think anymore. A haze of lust has clouded my thoughts, every single ounce of my brain power now focused totally on being fucked in every hole. I didn't realize it but a low moaning sound has been coming from me, for God knows how long, as the images of all the things I want Page to do to me flood my slutty brain: him, fucking me like this, trussed up or hogtied, using a hitachi on my clit while he fucks my ass, me, laying across the bed, head hanging off the side, as he fucks my face like it's my pussy and uses a riding crop to slap my tits and clit relentlessly. I'm shaking all over when Page finally leans his face down to look at me. Cindy is apparently gone to clean up.

He smiles at me and I start crying.

+++

I don't really know why I'm crying. I don't have the presence of mind at the moment to examine any deep emotions or thoughts, all I know is that I'm totally overwhelmed. I have the distinct feeling that some imaginary line has been crossed. A line I drew in the sand between my former self and my "new and improved self". I'm right back to where I started - depraved slut. Begging for more, getting off on pain and humiliation. Except now I've upgraded from a frat house to a corporate office, with the added problem of having other people in my life who could be seriously hurt by my actions.

The worst part? I don't actually care. Mark is just a buffer, a nice guy I sunk my hooks into in order to give myself some semblance of normalcy. To project a perfectly crafted image that I had thought up, packaged with a pretty bow, and claimed as my own. But that image is certainly not me. Not now. Not here, a crumpled mess under my boss' desk, tied up and enjoying the humiliation of having to listen to and watch him fuck someone else. But now it's over, Cindy's gone, probably dick-drunk at her desk, unable to complete the simple tasks required of her for the rest of the day.

Page is in front of me, his cock still out and covered in her juices, and his own cum, and it's semi-hard and he's telling me to clean it off and I'm doing it, eagerly, little noises coming from the back of my throat that I didn't even realize I was making. I barely register the taste, not caring, just wanting to feel something. I suck his dick like I'm trying to suck a bowling ball through a straw, licking the balls too, lost in my utter depravity. I can feel his cock coming completely to life, filling my mouth, and it excites me even more. I want to feel it in the back of my throat, choking me. Punishing me. All too soon, he's hauling me off, telling me to get dressed for a meeting. I dress quickly, in a daze, feeling like I exist somewhere in that twilight between sleep and wakefulness, the only reminder of the here and now a dull ache between my thighs, reminding me that I'm alive and I need to come and I'm a fucking whore.

We get in Page's car, an expensive little two seater that I'm sure Mark would have a much greater appreciation of than I do. I almost laugh out loud at the thought of Mark in this moment, but bite my lip hard to keep it from escaping. Instead, I give a strange little sob. I feel like I might actually be going insane. We pull up to a health food store, which baffles me. But, in my daze, I'm unable to comment, instead just sitting passively in the car as he runs in for whatever it is he's buying. Before long he's back and we're driving again, the drive becoming more and more familiar. I realize we're headed to my house. The one I share with my husband. No no no no no I think, not able to process this on top of everything else that's occurred. 

Page pulls into my driveway and I stiffen, looking at him with quiet fury. "What is this?" I ask, not really expecting any response. I was right. He just stares at me, and offers me the choice between leading him inside nicely or walking naked around my neighborhood, finishing with a nice cumshot on my chest for all the neighbors to see. I know he's bluffing, that he would just force me in the house regardless, but I'm sure he's enjoying the thought nonetheless, and so instead of acknowledging it, I lead him inside as calmly as possible when my heart feels like it will beat through my chest.

I try to rationalize this. I'm being forced. Blackmailed. What am I supposed to do? Some part of me, the tiny little decent part I have, replies, quietly "Call it off. Tell your husband. Come clean. Apologize..." but I shake my head, not willing to damage my pride, not willing to give up the intense pleasure that Page has been able to give me, that physical pleasure mixed in with the heady excitement of wrongdoing. I am such a fucking bitch, I think. The thought doesn't arouse any particular emotion one way or the other. It's just a statement of fact, pure and simple.

Once inside, Page shoves me toward the stairs, urging me to lead him to the bedroom I share with my husband. The thought of fucking him there - in our bed, where Mark and I had our first time, where he sometimes makes me come (but only if I'm thinking really hard about what I'd rather be doing) - makes me wet, the horrible slut that I am. He kisses me then, invading my mouth with an expert tongue, claiming me, making sure I obey. But it was never really a question. I turn silently and open the door, then undress as directed. We're both standing now and my heartbeat quickens as he opens a jar of coconut oil - So that's what he purchased at the health food store - thinking of the filthy mess we'll end up making all over my lovely king size bed makes me salivate. Knowing he will be able to make me come again and again in a way that Mark never could makes my knees weak.

I wonder what makes Page's cock harder, the idea of violating me in the bedroom I share with my husband, or the sight of me as he smears coconut oil all over my tits, stomach, arms, making them shine and look almost luminous. His touch as he rubs me down is almost gentle, and if I close my eyes I could imagine someone who cares about me doing the same thing. But I don't close them, I stare at him, the knowledge of his - what is it exactly? - hatred, lust, anger, all of the above? - actually making the pleasure stronger, more primal. He leans down and takes one of my nipples into his greedy mouth, sucking and biting gently at first, then much harder, making me twitch and moan and ache with need. His mouth leaves me as he grabs another scoop of solid oil, which quickly melts when it meets the flesh between my thighs. He takes his time, covering every inch of my pussy with the now warm oil, fingers sliding along my slit, feeling like they're everywhere at once, until I'm shaking and about to come. He senses my closeness and quickly flips me over to my stomach so he can focus on slathering oil on my back and ass. Once I'm totally covered, I feel him start to work his fingers in and I realize he's going to fuck my ass. He's warming me up now with the oil and fingers, but soon enough, he will replace them with his thick, hard cock. The idea makes me hungry, needy. I haven't had a dick in my ass since college.

I want it. I need it. I don't want it. I don't need it. I hate it. I love you. I hate you. My thoughts are a psychologist's wet dream of cognitive dissonance and I squirm and writhe on the bed as his fingers invade me, now in both my ass and pussy, filling me up, tearing moans unbidden from my throat.

Then, it's my turn. Page pushes the other jar of coconut oil into my hands with the order to oil him up and I'm more than happy to oblige. All sense of decorum, of reluctant shyness I may have been clinging to, has vanished with the knowledge of what's about to happen, of what has been happening. My hands shake a little as I scoop some of the oil out and start to slather it on him, starting with his broad chest, feeling the hair underneath my fingers and suddenly, violently overcome with the desire to lick every inch of him.

I haven't had time or inclination until to get a proper look at his body, but I can certainly appreciate it now, and as I work the oil into every inch of his skin, I'm aware of how incredibly sexy he is. I hate him and love him all over again. I worship and revile him simultaneously. I finally reach his cock and eagerly coat it in oil, working both hands over the shaft, exploring every single centimeter of flesh. 

We're both completely coated in the oil, our bodies warm and slick and wet and shiny, and then Page yanks my hair, directing me to get on all fours on the bed. I hear his voice, stern and commanding, from behind me: "Beg me to fuck your ass. Tell me why you want this thick cock to use you and fill you to the brim with come..." A low keening sound, almost like an animal in pain, escapes my lips, as I try to gather my thoughts and explain the depths of my depravity, beg him to satisfy some seemingly unquenchable thirst within me.

"Please. Please fuck my ass. I want... no. I need to be used like a filthy fucking slut. I want you to fuck me in every hole, fill me with come, make me your fucktoy..." I continue begging quietly, subtle, whimpering pleas as he starts to invade my ass.  

As he enters, he seems to lose whatever modicum of control he had previously and rams the entire length of his hard cock into me, causing me to shriek in a glorious combination of pleasure and pain. I don't know what I'm saying anymore, only know that I'm still talking, like he's my fucking therapist and I need to tell him every sick and depraved desire that's ever crossed my mind. Soon, he's flipping me over on my back, reaching for something out of sight.




Zoe's Awakening Pt. 03



Soon enough I see what he was reaching for: a dildo, large, shiny, black, too thick to even consider putting inside me. But oh, he's definitely considering it. 

"It's too big, no, don't, please..." I'm crying out, begging you not to, and in the same breath, as you slide it into me slowly, I'm begging you to keep going: "God, yes fuck, fuck mefuckmefuckpleaseplease..." Random strings of words tumble from my lips, begging you to stop, pleading for you to keep going, unable to decide whether it's the most pleasurable thing I've ever experienced or the worst.

Page works the length of the toy into my pussy slowly and then begins a rhythm, plunging it in and sliding it out, over and over, picking up momentum, until once again I feel myself on the precipice of climax, begging him to continue fucking my ass, asking for his cum. The final imaginary, invisible wall between depravity and normalcy has been demolished. Obliterated. I beg, I plead, I urge him to keep fucking me, fuck me like he hates me, like I've taken something precious and sacred from him. Like he's taken from me.

I feel the hot jets of cum filling my ass, and hear his ragged moans and animalistic grunts. The sensations drive me over the edge and I come harder than ever before, feeling like every nerve in my entire body has been lit on fire. After a few moments, he slides out of me and I feel come spilling out, onto the bed and my thighs and I can't even move or think or do anything but just lay there. I'm surprised when Page kisses me - a tender kiss, like we'd just made love, not fucked like wild animals. I stare absentmindedly at the ceiling while he goes to take a shower, deep within my own mind and thoughts, wondering what I'm going to do about Mark. Planning how I'll clean up and make sure that no trace of our frantic fucking is discoverable.

After he leaves, blessedly giving me the rest of the day off, I find the energy to shower and clean myself up, although it's going to be difficult to walk for the rest of the day, as my ass and pussy feel like they took on a battering ram. I strip the bed and stick the sheets in the washer, then vacuum my bedroom, light candles, clean the shower, and generally try to clean the smell of sex from the air. I'm hoping it works, or that Mark won't notice. I'm guessing the latter.

Mark pulls up in the driveway at 6pm, right on time. Never late, Mark. Always the gentleman. I glance at myself in the mirror. I look normal, I think, although I can see the guilt reflected in my eyes. I hope Mark remains as oblivious as I think he will. I've made his favorite meal, made sure the fridge was stocked with his favorite beer, and even baked a pie. A fucking pie. I went from getting my ass fucked by my boss while he slid a a huge toy in my pussy to baking a goddamn pie. The thought is so insanely odd that I can't hold in the insane giggle that escapes my mouth. I recover just as Mark walks in the door, shucking off his jacket and shoes, grinning broadly at me from the door.

"Hi honey, what smells so good?" He asks sweetly, leaning to kiss me. I have to suppress a shudder, I feel so incredibly dirty.

"I baked your favorite. Peach pie. Your mom's recipe." I say, trying to inject a lighthearted tone into my voice. I feel I'm failing miserably, but Mark doesn't seem to notice anything, so I guess I'm ok for the moment.

Mark grins at me like a schoolboy. "Wow babe. Thank you. You're amazing." He leans over to kiss me again but I shy away, turning as if I didn't notice. I turn toward the kitchen to put dinner on the table when I feel Mark's hand grab my wrist. "Babe? Come here, I want a kiss." He says, a confused look on his face.

I try to smile. "Oh sorry, of course." He kisses me, deeply, passionately, running his hands up and down my body. I shiver with revulsion but he takes it as excitement.

"God, I don't know what it is tonight, Z, but you look so beautiful. I'm not even hungry for dinner right now," Mark whispers in my ear. I bite my lip to hold in the cry that wants to escape.

"Mark? I'm sorry, I just don't feel up to it right now," I say, turning my husband's advances down for the first time ever. I'm a filthy slut, but I just can't bring myself to let Mark have sex with me right now. I just... can't do it. I'm too lost in the emotions still churning within me from earlier. I need more time. To think. To do something.

Mark is hurt, but takes it better than I had expected. He certainly would never force me like you would, which is part of the reason I don't even want him. I'm so fucked up. When dinner is over and I head to bed, Mark heads to play online poker and I find a text from Page on my phone: "Bring your sluttiest bathing suit to work with you tomorrow. I have a surprise." I know I should hate him, should text back "No. Fuck you. This is over." But I don't do any of that. Instead, I walk to my dresser and rifle through my swimsuits, passing up the retro style bikini with the high waist that Mark favors and grabbing the skimpiest black tie-side bikini I have, which I wore on our honeymoon. Mark had blushed when he saw me in it and insisted I couldn't wear it on the beach, only in the hot tub with him. I would have preferred to be naked in the hot tub, but... I shake my head to clear the thoughts away and stick the tiny scraps of fabric in my purse for tomorrow. I brush my teeth for the third time since you left, trying to scrub the taste of your parting kiss from my mouth, wishing that cleansing my mouth and body would somehow also cleanse my fucked up soul. I stare at myself in the mirror before I head to bed, where I fall asleep wondering what Page has in store for me tomorrow. And the next day, and the next...

That night, I sleep like someone drugged me. Dreamless and deep, my sleep stretched out in front of me as calm as Lake Michigan on a clear spring day. I woke suddenly, though, 2 hours before my alarm, the memories of everything that had happened between me and Page invading my perfect slumber and jolting me to life.

Mark sleeps soundly next to me, quiet snores punctuating his deep breathing. I sit up, pulling the comforter tightly around me. I feel my clit start to throb as I get lost in thoughts of yesterday. My boss fucking my ass and pussy, right here on this very bed. I can still smell the coconut oil, even over the scent of the candles I had lit after he left. I feel like touching myself, bringing myself off right next to my sleeping husband, but I can't do it. I'm already ashamed enough. What would I do if he caught me? No, I can't do that. But I can wake him up... rid myself of a little of this guilt by bringing him some pleasure... maybe I'll get off in the process, too, if I concentrate hard enough on remembering the way you fucked my ass with wild animalistic abandon.

I peel my tank top off and throw it in the corner, then roll over, hugging Mark from behind, my naked breasts pressed against his back. Slowly, I start sliding my hand down his body, brushing his hip, then his stomach, till finally, I rest my hand on his cock. Not hard, but that's ok. It will be soon.

I whisper softly in his ear, "Honey? I feel better this morning... wake up..."

I'm rewarded with a sleepy sigh of contentment and can feel him stirring under my hand. I squeeze his dick gently while kissing his neck. Constantly thinking of Page the whole time. His fingers, slick with coconut oil, fucking my ass and pussy simultaneously. His voice, demanding that I beg him to fuck my ass.

I rub more insistently, needing some release, needing to believe I can somehow make this up to him. I need to believe that I can be the good girl again. That I'm not a whore. That I can be whole without what Page has given me/taken from me.

Mark wakes up more fully and rolls to face me. "Wha...?" he starts to say, but I stop him with a gentle kiss, and bring his hands to my breasts, letting him feel how hard my nipples are, silently hoping that this time will change everything for me. For us. His cock is fully erect now, and I make my way down the bed until my face is level with his erection. Slowly, slowly I take the head into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tip, then engulfing his whole length in my hot mouth. I'm rewarded with a groan of pleasure from Mark. I keep going until he's rock hard and I'm scorching hot, wet, ready. I wish he would grab me, tell me what he wants to do to me, fuck my brains out until I can't stop coming.

Instead, he smiles sweetly at me and makes a move to climb on top of me, as usual. I know I won't come that way, so I grab his arms and push him back, signaling for him to lay back down. I place my legs on either side of his hips and sink down onto his cock, savoring the way it hits all the right spots inside me. I close my eyes and start to rock back and forth, my clit rubbing Mark's pelvic bone, feeling my orgasm already building as I think of doing this to Page. Riding his thick cock while he hold my hands behind me and pounds away from underneath. Or maybe he'd pull my head back by my hair and tell me to make him come, keeping his body completely still and making me do all the work, fucking him and using my hips to grind down on his dick, making us both come... Or maybe he would even grab my neck, applying only light pressure but making me feel totally overpowered even while being on top... him, slapping and pinching and biting my tits... the thoughts are tumbling through my mind faster and faster and my hips are moving of their own accord, small circles that cause Mark's cock to hit my g-spot, and then I'm coming and I'm thinking of Page the whole time and Mark is coming and I hate myself again when I realize I used him like to masturbate, getting off while thinking of someone else. Of someone I should hate. 

I roll off of him and head straight to the shower, leaving my husband bewildered in our bed. I let the hot water pour over me, just trying to brace myself, wondering what new depths of slutty depravity I'll sink to today.

I get ready quickly, give Mark a quick kiss and head out the door, swim suit in my purse. I arrive 10 minutes early and sit in my car, not wanting to look too eager. I walk in to see that Page is already behind his desk, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

"Good morning, Zoe. Sit down, I have something I'd like to discuss with you. An assignment of sorts..." Page says, barely able to contain his excitement over whatever announcement he has in store.

I take a deep breath and reply, with as much dignity as I can after what he's seen me do and say, "Of course. What is it, sir?"



Zoe's Awakening Pt. 04



Ten minutes later, I'm back in my car, Page's address punched into my GPS, following the nice British woman's soothing electronic voice to his apartment. I'm told he's invited over some friends for me to entertain for the day. 

I'm sure when he told me, he was expecting shock, maybe even outrage, that I would beg and squirm and plead - "No, please, I don't want to, it's too wrong" - well. He'd been wrong. I'm gone now, down the rabbit hole, so to speak, and like Alice before me, I've found myself in a very strange world indeed. A world in which I accept - nay, embrace - my true nature. The slut. Willing to risk the (fake) life I've created in the constant pursuit of pleasure, hedonistic in the extreme. 

I think about my current situation as I drive, how strange it is, how... freeing. 

The reality is that I'm my boss's fucktoy. And today, he's decided that he wants to lend his toy out to some others to play with. Fine. I know what I'm after, what I can get from guys. Oh yes, I remember it all too well from those early days, chasing that high. Getting drunk on beer and vodka and dick. Coming over and over till my legs stopped working and I blacked out from a combination of too much to drink and too much sick pleasure.

I think about everything that's happened between us on the drive. The fucking, the humiliation, the total claiming of my body for his pleasure. Weirdly, in being controlled by him, I feel freer than ever. Free to indulge in the side of myself I had locked up for so long. I feel amazing. Bulletproof. Perfect.

I get to Page's condo and let myself in with the key left for me, taking a few minutes to look around the place. It's modern and comfortable but a bit sparse. I go into the bathroom to freshen up, change into my bikini and the heels and apply more makeup. I use the cheapest stuff I have, as I know it smears easier. I think the types of guys he's invited over would enjoy a messy, sloppy, tear-stained, mascara-ruining blowjob. Hell, who doesn't like that? I think to myself. Half of the bathroom is a wet room. The other wall has a huge floor to ceiling mirror. I grin, wondering how many women Page has fucked in here. And when will it be my turn? I look in the mirror, imagining him behind me, hands roaming my body while he fucks me from behind. I take a deep breath, trying to shake the image from my mind and trying not to acknowledge how much I suddenly and painfully wish he were here.

I head into the kitchen, where there's a tub of coconut oil identical to the kind we used just yesterday waiting for me on the counter with a note. I remember how much of the stuff he had smeared all over my body and ass and take it with me into the living room.

The doorbell rings moments later and I answer it to find five reasonably attractive young men - quite young really, I think all younger than me, at 27 - and I smile invitingly, welcoming them in and asking what I can get them to drink. After they're all settled with beers, an awkward hush settles over the group, no one seeming to want to make the first move. Finally, the least attractive of them, a gangly boy with a goatee and wife beater, commands me to suck his dick. Although command seems too strong a word. He would have liked to have commanded me, but his voice was too wavery and high pitched to feel very imposing at all. Nevertheless, I comply immediately and sink to my knees in front of him, pulling out his still flaccid dick. I go to town anyway, sucking and licking and coaxing it to life. At half mast, he asks me if it's the biggest cock I've ever seen. I have to bite my tongue to keep from shrieking with wild laughter, and in the most serious voice I can muster, insist that I think I might choke on it.

Surprisingly, the "compliment" seems to work, and Alex's (I'd learned his name by hearing the other guys refer to him) dick grows a bit harder, so I continue sucking, holding the base of his shaft firmly in my left hand, bobbing my head in a steady rhythm, flicking my tongue against the underside. As unimpressive as Alex's dick is, I still find myself getting wet at giving him head with 4 other guys watching with rapt attention. I felt tentative hands exploring my ass and I turn around to see one of the more handsome of the guys, Chad, I think his name was, touching me, exploring the curves of my butt with wide, eager eyes. I need more. I know these guys must have it in them to really fuck me, as lame and stunted as some of them seem.

I turn back around and look Alex in the eye, deciding to see how fast I can make him blow his load. I look straight into his eyes as I kneel between his legs, pumping his cock in my right hand, and say "Do you want to come all over my tits? Or on my face? Or maybe even down my throat? Hmm?" He groans loudly. I use my free hand to pinch my nipple through my bikini top, biting my lip while looking up at him like he's some kind of sex God that I'm lucky to be touching. It's the other fucking way around, though... I think, as I bend my head back down to take the head of his cock back in my mouth. As expected, my filthy words have gotten him close to the edge and it only takes a few quick flicks of my tongue before he's crying out "Fuck, fuck, fuck" and spurting come across my lips and cheek.

I smile sweetly at him. "It's ok, honey, most guys don't last very long during their first blowjob. Maybe I'll let you fuck my pussy if you're ready later." Before Alex can process my insult or come up with some snide response, I turn abruptly to Chad, who has been touching and stroking my ass this entire time, with something like a look of religious reverence on his face.

"Do you like my ass, Chad?" He nods, seemingly unable to form a string of words that would comprise a response. "You know, you can fuck it, if you want. I don't mind. But you have to warm me up first," I say, indicating the coconut oil. Chad stares at the jar, like if he looks at it long enough it will open itself. I sigh, hoping that some of these guys get on board soon. I'm not a fucking babysitter.

I take the jar and open it, scooping a healthy amount onto my fingers, then I pass it to Chad. He looks as if he's waking up from some sort of trace and eagerly unties the tides of my bottoms, and starts rubbing the oil on my ass, working the warmed up oil into the crack and cautiously spreading me open to apply some to my anus. When he touches it, I moan loudly, letting him know that it's all good. This seems to encourage him, as he presses a finger into me, then shortly after, a second finger. As he works up a rhythm, sliding his fingers in my ass, one of the other boys stands in front of me, fishing his cock out from his jeans. It's the other cute one, Brad maybe? I can't remember and don't actually care. I lick my lips when he takes his already hard dick out. It's much nicer than Alex's. Not too big, not too small. Just right. Like dirty fucking Goldilocks.

He's much more adept at being dominant than his pathetic friend, and as he steps closer to me he bends down and grabs a handful of my hair. "Page said you love cock. Prove it." And with one decisive motion, he hauls me by the hair onto him, my open mouth suddenly filled all the way to the back of my throat. I gag a little out of sheer shock, but recover quickly and begin sucking his dick as eagerly as I ever have, making small moaning whimpers in the back of my throat, which are met with extreme approval by the cock's owner. "Fuck," I hear him hiss above me, "Jesus. Page wasn't lying. Her mouth is like a fucking pussy with suction." Aww, he said that about me? I think, as if this guy had just said that Page had told him I had beautiful eyes or a talent for music. Maybe I have beautiful eyes, I've never cared enough to ask anyone, and I certainly have no talent for music, but I know I can suck a dick with the best of 'em.

By now, Chad has worked in three fingers and I'm meeting him thrust for thrust, moaning at the feeling of having a cock in my mouth and a guy fingering my ass. I stop sucking Brad's dick long enough to turn to Chad and beg him to stick his cock in my ass. Violate me. Fill me up. I wriggle around, swaying my hips invitingly. He can't seem to rip his pants of fast enough. Soon, he's got his cock pressed up against my anus, pushing the head slowly into my tight hole. I push back against him slowly and after a minute or so he's all the way in, his pelvic bone right up against the meat of my ass. Lost in my own pleasure, I had barely noticed the two other guys joining us, one of them standing next to Brad with his dick out, the other just kneeling next to me, reaching under me to play with my tits, occasionally smacking my ass, fingering my pussy a little, circling my clit. I'm now going back and forth between Brad and his friend in front of me, sucking one then the other, until I suppose they mutually agree that they are secure enough in their heterosexuality to go whole hog and force both their cocks in my mouth at once. Obviously, I can't get much of them in, but I think the forbidden quality of this act has more of an effect than my mouth and soon enough, Brad is spurting come on my face, mostly coating my lips. I focus on his friend's dick now, Brad's come lubricating my mouth and lips even more. I take my mouth off of him long enough to beg him to come on my face too. That seems to push him right over the edge and he happily obliges, spurting long sticky ropes of semen on my lips and cheeks as well.

Something about my face being covered in three different guys' come drives me to new levels of sluttiness. I grind my hips back onto Chad's cock, looking over my shoulder at him. "God your cock feels so fucking good. Do you want to come in my ass? Or on my face, like all your friends have?" Chad seems to be unable to make such an important decision, so his body goes ahead and does it for him. He thrusts into me once more and starts shuddering and muttering obscenities as his come floods my ass.

The fifth friend, who has been patiently playing with my tits and pussy this whole time, finally gets a turn. "I want to fuck her ass, too, man," he says eagerly to Chad, practically hauling him off of me. His cock is already swollen and hard, and looks quite a bit bigger than any of the other guys. "Go slow," I say, looking warily at his huge dick. "And get more coconut oil first," I add. He obliges, smearing more of the slippery oil on my asshole, barely able to contain his excitement. Lucky for me, he seems to know his way around a pussy. As he slides his cock into my well-lubricated, freshly fucked hole, he reaches around to play with my clit, making tight little circles that have me bucking and shaking within minutes. He keeps it up, at the same time pounding relentlessly into my ass, and soon I'm coming hard, moaning and whimpering. He's not far behind and he continues fucking me until I feel his come flooding me too.

I realize I've taken 5 loads of come in less than an hour, as I look up at the clock and notice that it's barely 12:30. This is going to be quite the afternoon, I think to myself as I notice that most of the guys are hard again and ready for more.

+++

It does turn out to be a long afternoon, and by 4 o'clock, the guys are finally exhausted, all but stumbling out the door, utterly drained. I'm spent, too, a come-stained heap on the living room floor, unable to think. I feel like I've just been let off a roller coaster that wouldn't stop running. My legs feel like jelly and every inch of my body is tender, my heartbeat feels irregular and too fast. I head straight for the shower, letting the almost-hot-enough-to-burn-me water slowly bring my sanity back. I scrub myself, feeling exhilarated and incredibly guilty all at once. By the time the shower is over, the hot water is running out and my skin is slightly wrinkly and I feel utterly spent.

I go into the living room and fish my cell phone from my purse and see a text from Page saying that he's left dinner in the oven and will be home soon. After all that has occurred today, from having multiple guys' come all over me, in me, to being double penetrated, to coming over and over from the pain/pleasure, this text shocks me the most. It seems casual, but I smile a little at the knowledge that he was thinking of my needs. That he went to some lengths to plan this, and make sure I would be comfortable afterwards. After I finish eating and clear up, I hear his key in the door. I'm not sure what to expect, but it isn't Page, sweetly kissing my forehead and leading me to the bedroom.

He's so much gentler than normal, the knowledge of how I've been used roughly and mercilessly all day by 5 guys (well, 4 really, since Alex fizzled out early on), seeming to make him less likely to abuse me in the ways I know he typically prefers. Once in the bedroom, which is, like the rest of the condo, simple but comfortable, he gently tugs the towel away from my body. I blush as he drinks me in, looking like he's having some difficulty stomping on his animalistic urges. Instead, we lay on the bed together, both naked, side by side, facing a large flat screen hung on the wall opposite the bed. With the tap of a few buttons, the TV comes to life with multiple images, all of me from various angles, clad in my skimpy bikini and heels, ushering the boys into the condo. I had assumed he'd documented it somehow, but the visual confirmation of my suspicions is thrilling. I feel incredibly dirty all over again. I feel guilty, too, my brain struggling to battle years of societal pressure to conform to some ideal of female sexuality; to be sexy within the acceptable parameters, which I've now knocked down and totally violated in every way. But the overriding emotion I'm experiencing is arousal, as I see Page's cock stiffen in his hand.

"...Tell me what you did" I hear him say, reaching for my hand to place it on his now rock-hard cock. Leaning closer to my ear, he lowers his voice to a whisper and says, "Tell me what you did to those guys, what they did to you. How it made you feel. Every filthy detail, while you stroke my cock. But don't make me come until the end. I want to last the whole fucking time. Watch you get totally lost in it. Like the filthy fucking slut you are." He licks my neck after, making my entire body shiver. A whimpering moan escapes my lips and I think it pushes him over some edge, because immediately he grabs my face and presses his mouth against mine, his tongue invading me, teeth grazing my lower lip. He gets a hold of himself after a minute, though, and breaks the kiss, both of us breathing hard, staring at each other with twin expressions, clearly reading "What the fuck just happened?"

Page turns abruptly back to face the TV, breaking the moment, and fast forwards just a bit, to the part where Alex finally gets the nerve to initiate a blowjob. I hear him chuckle a bit and then he says, "So, good ole Alex put his big boy pants on and tried to dominate you, huh?" the amusement is clear in his tone. I laugh a little, too, and tell Page how pathetic Alex had been, asking me if his dick was the biggest I'd ever had. We both laugh at that, and I give his cock a little squeeze and look up as I say, "I didn't want to tell him that yours is the thickest. And my favorite."

I lean down and give it an appreciative lick, which earns me a guttural moan, then a yank of my hair. Reluctantly, I sit back up.

"Now, now, little fuckslave, wouldn't want to make me come so soon, now would we?" Page says with a wolfish grin. I smile sweetly and continue stroking his erection, slowly and gently, as we turn back to face the TV once more.

On the screen, Alex is already blowing his load on my face. I hear Page mutter a "tsking" sound under his breath. "Oh, Alex, you're going to be the laughing stock of the gym," he says quietly. I'm almost moved to feel bad for the kid, and I would if he weren't such an insufferable dickwad. Page seems to take a lot of joy in my snide comment to Alex, though, and laughs so hard that for a minute I wonder if he'll recover. After a a few moments, he's serious again, as he watches the screen with rapt attention, eyes glued to Chad fondling my ass.

"Tell me what you were thinking here. Of Chad." Page says, his voice barely a whisper.

My eyes are glued to the screen too, and I reply in a similarly hushed voice, "He was kind of hot. In a boyish jock kind of way. Like the star of the high school football team, ya know? He seemed to love my ass. I wanted him to fuck it as soon as I saw him handling it. I could tell he really wanted to, which made me want it more."

On screen, Chad is working the coconut oil all over my ass and into the opening, slowly sliding two fingers in. A moan escapes me onscreen as Chad's fingers press into me. "You fucking loved that didn't you? A total stranger sticking his fingers in your slutty ass?" I hear Page mutter.

I swallow, hard. "Yes." He responds to this with a sharp, quick slap to my face, which makes me gasp. He reaches down between my legs and feels the wetness there. "Fucking slut. Keep jacking me off." I oblige and once again we watch the screen to see what other depraved acts I'll perform, my heart beating much faster than it was a moment ago.

Soon enough, I have Brad's cock in my mouth while Chad works his fingers in my asshole, rhythmically, in and out. Brad is saying how good of a cocksucker I am, relaying Page's compliment, and I look at him. "Did you really say that? Do you think I'm that good at giving head?" I sound too eager, like a neglected child practically begging for attention and praise. Fuck I hate myself right now.

Page looks at me and smiles, brushing my cheek with his hand in a surprisingly tender gesture. "Of course, Zoe. Those fucking lips." He adds, almost an afterthought.

Then, roughly, he grabs my jaw and runs his thumb along my full bottom lip. "Ugh. I'm trying to go easy because I know you're sore and probably a bit uncomfortable, but Jesus, I want you to suck my cock so fucking bad." Every muscle south of my belly button clenches into a painful knot at the sound of his voice, thick with desire. I lick my lips, and lean down to take the head of his cock in my warm mouth. I look up into his eyes, which are half shut with pleasure. "Like this?" I say innocently, then I lick the entire length, from base to tip, getting it covered in my saliva. "Yes, exactly like that. Fuck." He hisses, and I can hear my voice coming from the TV, begging Chad to fuck my ass. I sound slightly crazed, like an addict looking for a fix. 

Page's eyes snap open to watch the action unfold, and he seems to come to, as if waking from a deep sleep, hauling me by my hair off his dick and saying, "Stop now. You can finish later. I want to see this." He watches as Chad fucks my ass and I suck two guys dicks at once, first going back and forth between them, then letting them try to stuff both in my mouth at once. Page's breathing is heavy, I can feel his heart beating from where I sit next to him. He groans, low and animalistic, hearing me beg Chad for his come. "Tell me. About this." He says, in clipped syllables, unable to form more complex sentences.

I try to remember what I was feeling and thinking at that point. "Uhhh, I just wanted their come. I was fucking crazed at this point. I couldn't wait to feel Chad's semen filling me up. Wanted the other two to come in my mouth, on my face, I didn't really care. I just felt totally, utterly lost in some lust-filled haze." I say, trying to sum up the feeling of being drunk on cock and fucking and objectification. "It's hard... hard to describe." I finish lamely. Page doesn't seem to mind my inability to verbalize my intense emotions, because his eyes are plastered to the screen, where Chad is coming inside me, and the fifth friend is clamoring for his turn.

"Damn, I didn't know Eggers was packing so heavily," I hear Page say, as the fifth, most well-endowed friend settles himself behind me to pound my ass.




Zoe's Awakening Pt. 04



I wince at the memory of his huge cock and make a face. "Yeah. Packing a little too much if you ask me," I say. Page snorts with laughter and continues watching, his cock harder than ever at the sight of my come-covered face, twisted into an expression of undeniable ecstasy, on the screen. "You came then, huh? You loved feeling him fucking your ass and playing with your clit at the same time?"

"Yes." I reply succinctly, not really having much to add to that. No use denying it; the pleasure is written all over my face. My pussy is throbbing now, with new arousal as well as soreness, and I wish I could finger myself, but fear retribution if I tried.

We continue watching, for a few minutes so caught up in the action that neither one of us speaks. Then, on the screen, I see Brad and Dave begin fucking me at the same time. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of it, remembering the insane fullness, the way their cocks had hit every nerve inside me, giving me one of the most intense orgasms of my entire life. Page looks at me, my chest heaving, my hand shaking, still gripping your cock.

"How did it feel? Having your cunt and ass used like that? Tell me everything, slut." Page's tone is stern, leaving me no choice but to obey, to open my mouth and let the words tumble out clumsily.

"God, I don't know. Fuck. It was like... painful. And wonderful. I felt so full. And I could feel their cocks rubbing together, and that was fucking hot. And they were pressing against every sensitive spot inside me. It's the hardest I've ever come, I think." I add, as, on the screen, Dave starts to finger my ass. Then I come. I look like I'm in pain, my eyes shut tight and my jaw clenched. Soon, Dave is fisting my ass, and Page's cock is like iron in my hand, watching me be completely violated in every way, two of his friends buried in my pussy and ass, another standing over me, slapping my face like I've done something to personally wrong him.

I continue jacking him off, feeling his cock grow harder and thicker, swelling to its biggest size ever. The head is purple and angry looking now, and precum is leaking all over my hand, which, with my small fingers, strains to circle the whole girth. Page's hips start bucking to meet my strokes and he reaches over suddenly to pinch my nipple, so hard I yelp. "You're gonna make me fucking come..." He says, eyes still fixed on the screen as Chad finishes slapping me and starts fucking my pussy, come from the two previous guys leaking out around his cock. The image pushes you over the edge and he starts coming, spurting long ropes of sticky come all over his stomach, thighs, my hand, and even a bit on my face. He shudders as I finish pumping, then fixes me with a level gaze. "Clean me up," he says simply.

I comply immediately, licking every inch of him, cleaning the come off his body and my hand like it was honey and not semen. I lick my lips. The video finishes up within 5 minutes and he turns off the TV, turning to look at me.

"Well. That was...riveting. I have another assignment for you, though, lovely," Page says, with a wicked grin that makes him look like the devil himself. 

+++

He sighs heavily. "But... you're exhausted. It can wait until Monday. Go home to your husband, have a relaxing weekend. I'll see you at the office," you say, and I can hear a slight reluctance in your voice, like it's taking a lot to let me go now. 

After giving me a quick kiss on the forehead, Page gets up to shower and I put my clothes back on. It's strange how I'm wearing the same outfit as several hours ago, but feel like a totally different person. My body still hums with a sexual undercurrent and I am hyper aware of every sensation, from the thin fabric of my bra rubbing my nipples, to the tight fabric of my skirt hugging every curve of my ass and thighs. I feel electric and jittery and guilty and perfect all at once.

Page emerges from the shower just as I'm slipping into my shoes, ready to head home. To my husband. My stomach clenches at the thought of Mark. Page approaches me, seemingly to kiss me goodbye, but the kiss quickly changes from casual to needy, charged. Even though he just came spectacularly not half an hour ago, his cock is stiff and ready within moments, his towel dropping to the floor, hands pushing me downward. I'm on autopilot now, and I grab his cock without thinking and take it into my mouth. I suck and lick and stroke, bringing him off faster than I even thought possible, considering how recently he came. Soon he's muttering that he wants his come coating my mouth when I go home to my husband, and it sends him over the edge and makes my pussy clench and ache with emptiness. He finishes, I swallow every drop of come and leave, shutting the door quietly behind me.

+++

In the car, everything seems to hit me at once. I feel panicky, and for a minute I wish I would have just stayed with Page for the night, insulated from the reality of what I've become. Or always was, I suppose. I plug the auxiliary cord from my radio into my phone, hoping to get lost in some music, let it fill my brain and stop the weird buzzing, gnawing guilt from overtaking me. I tap open my music app and hit Shuffle All and start driving towards the home I share with Mark.

I'm lost in thought when I realize that Wolf Like Me by TV on the Radio is playing: "...feeding on fever/ down all fours/ show you what all that/ howl is for..." The lyrics hit a bit too close to home, and I hurriedly punch the "next" button on my iPhone, praying the next song is a little more lighthearted.

Phantom Planet's Geronimo blares out of my speakers: "...just one touch/ that's enough/ and it's like pushing comes to shove/ I think you like this way too much/ I think you're way fucked up..." Again, the song is... too apt. Too reflective of my current situation.

I hit "next" yet again and it's like a punch to the gut. "No One's Gonna Love You" by Band of Horses. The song I walked down the aisle to at my wedding. A song that makes me think of Mark, my sweet husband, whom I thought I loved. Who I thought had somehow changed me. "...anything to make you smile/ you are the ever-living ghost of what once was/ I never want to hear you say/ that you'd be better off/ or you liked it that way..."

I tear the cord out of my phone, cutting off the music abruptly, irrationally angry. I want to hit something. Instead, I pull over into the next gas station and park, then lean my seat back to try to get myself together. I feel like crying but no tears come. I just sit, breathing heavily, wishing I had the strength of character to just fucking stop. But I can't. And I know it. So I sit up, push my shoulders back, and drive home. To Mark. To whatever awaits me.

The weekend seems to drag on forever. As much as I hate to admit it, I miss Page. I miss being treated like his personal sex toy, to be used as much or as little as he pleases. I miss feeling like an object, a doll to dress up and play with and fuck. I clean the house neurotically, driving Mark crazy the whole time, dusting every knick knack and ceiling fan and bookshelf and demanding that he help me clean the air vents and shampoo the carpets.

It keeps me busy, though, and more importantly, keeps me from calling or texting Page. I feel tempted a few times to slip on one of the many pairs of extremely scandalous underthings he purchased for me and bend over in the mirror and send him a picture, teasing him relentlessly. Somehow I manage to avoid it, and by Saturday night, just over 24 hours after I was utterly violated by 5 of Page's gym buddies, I'm horny and in need of release.

As usual, Mark doesn't notice. He's watching the game in the living room, (it's March Madness, after all, dontchaknow?) I bring him a beer, his favorite, in his favorite glass. Chilled, even, to the perfect temperature. 43 degrees Fahrenheit for a Pilsner. I'm the perfect wife, really. Except that you have secret gangbangs and serve as your boss's depraved little fucktoy... I think in the back of my mind. Yeah, well... there's that.

I've worn a tiny little black lace thong and one of Mark's flannel button downs into the den, and I casually lean over to set his beer on a coaster, making sure he gets a peak at my breasts. 

"Thanks, honey," he says, absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the screen as some incredibly tall Asian man scores a point or three or five million. I don't much care for basketball, personally. 

"Sure," I reply, my voice dripping with honey, promising something very sweet indeed. 

"Mark?" I ask, sitting next to him, my thigh brushing his. 

"Uh huh?" comes his distracted reply. I start to unbutton the flannel, slowly, staring at him, willing him to look at me. If he'll just look, he'll want to fuck me... I think. The whole shirt is unbuttoned now, and I shrug out of it, my tits looking ripe and inviting, if I do say so myself. Mark must have noticed from the corner of his eye because his head snaps around to face me. But instead of joyful surprise or desire, I see outrage and confusion on his face as he stares at me.

"What are you doing, Z? What if someone sees through the window?" He asks, stupidly. 

I shoot him a venomous look. "We have blackout curtains, Mark. No one can see in. I'm sorry I was trying to seduce my own husband in my own home!" I'm angry, the sting of rejection worse than I could have ever imagined. I feel horrible, disgusting, shameful, ugly. 

Disgusted with everything, myself, this whole situation, I quickly put the shirt back on and hurry out of the den and upstairs, Mark sighing resignedly, but making no attempt to come after me. I brush my teeth and fall into bed, where I try to masturbate but wind up crying and falling asleep instead.

Sunday morning, and Mark is gently shaking me awake, whispering my name softly. I wake up, trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes, fumbling awkwardly for my glasses. I hate them, but I can't see without them, and my contacts are no where nearby at the moment. Shoving them on my face, I see Mark sitting on the edge of the bed, breakfast tray in hand. I look at him, feeling numb and cold, and try to smile. "Thanks, hon. You didn't have to do that." I say, as I bring the tray over my lap, a slight smile at what's on the try. A banana and black coffee. My breakfast of choice, what I've eaten almost every day for my entire adult life. I peel the banana and eat it slowly, then savor the coffee.The elixir of life, I think to myself, enjoying the aroma and taste and warmth of the cup in my hands. I am a coffee addict. I love it almost as much as cock.

Mark has been sitting quietly the whole time and seems like he's holding something back. I set my cup down on the bedside table and move the tray to the floor. "What's wrong, Mark?" I say, trying to be a good wife. To make up for how incredibly bad I actually am.

"I don't know, Z. I feel like... maybe I'm losing you. Am I crazy? Or do you feel it too?" His eyes look wild, like he's seen some horrible apparition.

"No, Mark. I'm not going anywhere," I say, placing my hand on his, reassuring him as I lie through my fucking teeth. "I love you."

He breathes a sigh of relief. So easily appeased. So trusting. So naive.

I squeeze his hand again, and then rub up and down his arm, gently, invitingly. He looks at me, at my mouth, and leans forward, kissing me deeply. I respond in kind, sinking into the kiss, crawling toward him and curling myself into his lap like a kitten. We kiss for a while, his hands roaming all over my body. We have sex, missionary, how Mark likes it. Sweet, simple, vanilla, sex. It's fine. My clit tingles briefly but I don't come. I can't come now, I don't think, without what I know Page can give me. The sweet pleasure/pain that comes from humiliation, abuse, roughness. The rest of the day passes uneventfully, and as night falls, I find myself twitchy with the anticipation of seeing Page again in the morning, my craving for him only intensifying as the hours pass.



Zoe's Awakening Pt. 05



Monday morning my eyes snap open at 6:00. I shower and take care dressing and making myself up, knowing by now what kinds of things Page likes to see me in. I slip into the sexiest piece of lingerie he's given me, a garter set that is reminiscent of bondage gear. Sexy, strappy, with all kinds of extra suspender attachments, and expensive. Agent Provocateur, according to the label. $600, according to the price tag. You like your cheap whores looking quite expensive, I think, bemused. 

At precisely 8:00 am, I saunter into the office and immediately sense some excitement. Sexual, yes, partly - but there's more. Page is absolutely bursting to tell me something, so I sit down, crossing my legs so that he gets the faintest glimpse of my underthings. I settle myself in the chair and look at him, waiting for the news. He tells me about getting a promotion, moving to New York, and the opportunity for me to go with him. Then: a proposition. To tell Mark. To reveal my - our - dirty little secret together. A few weeks ago, I'd have been outraged. Scandalized. Today, a new me sits in this office. Sexually liberated. An exemplar of sluttiness. I smile, slowly, resembling something feral and feline when I do. "Should I expect you to arrive at around eight thirty, then?"

+++

Throughout the day, Page fucks me once, with me on my back on his desk, frantically rubbing my clit while pounding into me, his hand shoved in my mouth to keep me from screaming; I suck him off once, me, kneeling below his desk while he chats on the phone with a client, clenching his jaw so hard I swore that he was going to crack a tooth; and he eats my ass and pussy twice, bending me over the desk the first time, spreading my legs wide in his big leather chair the second time, pumping three fingers rhythmically in my ass while his tongue flutters over my clit. I lose count of the number of orgasms he gives me. It's like a reunion of sorts. After two days without one another, we're suddenly like horny teenagers, constantly pawing at each other, unable to get enough.

When 4 pm rolls around, Page tells me to leave early so I can go get the supplies for tonight. I take his offer and head to the nearest adult toy store to buy some simple handcuffs (not something Mark had ever had any interest in), and some new lingerie, nothing too expensive or intense, like what I'm wearing now. Well... what I was wearing. Before he tore it off me. Now it's laying in a crumpled heap in one of the drawers of his desk.

After purchasing the necessary materials, I head straight home to get set up. I shower, making sure to shave and pluck and exfoliate till I'm shiny and luminous, irresistible. I slip into the new lingerie I purchased, a simple bra and panty set from Victoria's Secret in a pretty shade of pink. Something that will seem incredibly scandalous to Mark but still look sexy for Page, if not a bit tame. We'll call it subtle.

It's 5:45 and I know Mark will be home at exactly six. I made a romantic candlelit dinner. Wine is chilled. I put on a robe over my lingerie and wait for him by the door. At 6 pm sharp, he walks through the door, looking as eager and wholesome as a golden retriever when he sees me.

"Wow, Z, you look gorgeous, babe." He says, sincere and sweet, as always.

I look up at him through my lashes and manage to blush a little. "Aw, thanks, Mark. I made you some dinner, and thought you might like some wine after a crazy Monday..."

"You're the best," he says, and I can tell he really means it, the poor bastard.

Once we finish dinner, I decide to broach the topic. Setting up for the part of the evening I look forward to most, when Page joins us. I sigh heavily and look at Mark from across the table, putting my napkin and fork down gingerly. "Mark? I have to... um, I have to talk to you about something," I say, and the sincerity in my voice is so convincing that it even fools me for a second.

Mark instantly looks concerned and stares at me. "Anything. What's wrong, Zoe? Tell me..."

I take a deep breath and say the lines I've been practicing over and over since Page and I came up with them in the office earlier. "Mark, I want to try some new things. In the bedroom. I feel like we're in a rut. We've been married, what, 5 years now? We're too young to be having any issues and there are some things I want to try with you." I nail my lines perfectly, I sound desperate and needy and perfect. Little does he know that handcuffing him to the bed is just about the tamest thing I'll have ever done.

Mark raises an eyebrow, looking bewildered. "Really? Z? I thought... I mean, I thought our... ya know, sex life, was good..." he trails off, unsure of how to continue. He starts again, and I can tell he's sincerely caught off guard. He sighs heavily. "Well...if you really feel that way... I want to make you happy. What kinds... what kinds of things did you, uh, have in mind?" His voice goes unnaturally high and I can see a flush starting to creep up from under his shirt collar.

I smile, relieved that the plan is working. "Oh, well... I sort of stopped by a store earlier. I wanted to see what you thought about... being handcuffed? Ya know, to the bed? By me?" I look up at Mark, all big innocent eyes and pouty lips and he smiles.

"Well, that doesn't seem... so bad." he says, rather lamely. "I think I'd like that, actually. Could you, uh... ya know, give me head?" He asks, his attempt at talking dirty coming off very awkward.

"Of course," I say sweetly. I glance at the clock. It's 7:45 pm. Almost time.

By 8:15 pm, I've got Mark on his back in our king size bed, hands cuffed above him to our headboard. I'm clad in the lingerie I bought, which Mark seemed so overwhelmed by he was left quite speechless. I'm kissing his chest, teasing him gently, but mostly listening for Page - I gave him a spare key with the instructions to let himself in at 8:30.

Almost showtime.

At exactly 8:29, I hear the key in the lock. Every muscle in my body goes rigid and my heart immediately starts thumping. My pussy twitches at the knowledge of Page's presence.

I wait.

+++

Mark hears footsteps coming up the stairs and starts panicking, yelling at me to untie him, yelling that he's gonna call the police, that whoever's out there had better leave right away!, staring at my incredulously when I ignore his pleas and simply get up off the bed, crossing to the door to welcome my boss into our bedroom. Mark is looking back and forth between us, a look of utter confusion and shock on his face. 

Page strolls in, casually, like he's walking into a coffee shop to meet a friend, big, cocky grin plastered on his face, Mark's laptop in hand. I guess he stopped to grab it from his office on the way up.

Mark looks petrified, his cock shriveled sadly against his thigh, spread eagled on the bed, wrists secured with handcuffs, ankles tied with silk scarfs looped under the mattress so he can't buck or kick.

"Zoe, for God's sake, do something..." Marks voice is shrill and irritating, but I don't take my eyes off of Page, as he walks into the room like he owns the place, which he might as well, considering the number he did on me in here.

Page holds a finger up to his lips and smiles at Mark, making a shushing noise. "Hello Mark. I thought we could have a little chat." As he talks, he pops the laptop up on a dresser, and pulls out a pico projector and a USB stick containing the edited highlights of my extracurricular activities on Friday.

"I don't know who you are, but you'd better get out of here before I kick your ass -" Mark sputters, thrashing against his bonds, looking wildly from me to Page, head snapping back and forth so quickly it looks like he might give himself whiplash.

Page looks supremely annoyed, holding up a hand for silence. "Shut the fuck up Mark. You're tied up with your cock out. You don't get to give ultimatums or make threats." Mark shuts up, and now his bluster is gone, all he can do is look worried, his gaze continuing to shift between me and Page, as he tries to puzzle out the strange silent tension.

"Zoe..." Page's voice is soft, imploring, as he turns to look at me: "Lose the bra. I want to see you play with your tits while I have a little chat with your hubby, okay?"

I shed my bra quickly, pulling and pinching my nipples as Page turns to Mark again, a cheerful smile on his face, Mark looking quite flabbergasted at the events unfolding. 

"Zoe? Babe? Zoe! What the hell are you doing?" He shouts, bewildered, upset.

I can feel myself flush a little, but my breathing is fast and shallow, I'm already wet. 

Page snaps his fingers at Mark impatiently. "Focus, buddy. Right here." Mark's head snaps toward him, like he'd almost forgotten that Page was still here. Page continues: "I want to show you something Mark, something that's going to answer a lot of the questions you must be having." His tone is jocular, friendly, like a little league coach or a favorite teacher.

"But first, I thought it'd be fun if we have a little look through your browser history together, see what fun things we discover," Page chuckles darkly. 

I didn't think it was possible for Mark to look more scared than he already did, but his face goes totally ashen. My eyebrows furrow a bit as I wonder what he's so worried about. What's in his browser history, anyway?

Page uses couple of leads to connect the laptop to the projector, and focuses the image of a browser window on the wall. "Looks like you play a bit of online poker I guess, but look, the bulk of the pages appear to be..."

A video loads, a buxom young woman bouncing on an oversized cock, a morose looking man looking on from the side of the bed. "Ohhhhh Fuck..." the actress moans, all stereotypically exaggerated porn acting. "He's so much bigger than you babe..."

Page clicks again and a similar video loads, this time of a girl taking a fat long cock deep in her ass, purring with probably feigned pleasure, looking back over her shoulder at another schlubby onlooker to tell him "Mmmmmm, he fucks so much better than you do honey..." 

I'm honestly dumbfounded and I stare at the image, then at Mark, then back again, over and over, unable to process what I'm seeing. 

"Looks like you've got a thing for wives fucking other men there mark..." Page says, unable to restrain the chuckle in his voice. "This is going to make this so much better."

"Honey, I can explain, this doesn't mean anything..." Mark splutters, but I ignore him, looking at the screen as Page open a bunch of browsers at the same time, various women with fake breasts getting fucked, including a trans girl, her dick swinging in a weird helicoptering motion as she's railed in the ass, her tits bouncing in time.

"I'll assume you clicked on that last one by accident, shall I Mark?" Page teases, before shutting them all down. He slot the USB into the pico projector, then he catches my gaze.

"You can go ahead and lose the panties now Zoe, thank you." He tells me, and I can see that he's rock hard, his black sweat pants tented as his erection strains against the thin fabric. 

"No, Zoe, stop this, you don't have to do this, I don't understand..." Mark pleads. 

Page chuckles again, low and vicious sounding. "You don't understand Mark, because you're too much of a coward. I wouldn't be here if you had the balls to fuck your wife the way you wanted - the way she wanted - instead of jacking off in your fucking den."

I stand in front of Page now, poised like a dancer, underwear dangling off of my finger, and Page points at Mark, behind me on the bed.

"Jam those in his mouth, I'm tired of his whining." Page says with a casual wave of his hand. My eyes flick over my husband lying there on our bed, and I feel a mixture of scorn, shame, anger and pity all at once. I happily shove my underwear in his mouth, effectively stopping his blabbering.

On the wall, the video of my gangbang starts to play, Mark staring unblinking at the footage, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling quickly. The images blur together, of me taking load after load of come from 5 different guys. On my face, in my mouth, pussy, ass, everywhere. 

It's really almost too good to be true, the perfect look of horror and outrage on Mark's face as he watches the footage of his perfect little wife's gangbang adventure. I'm trying to enjoy the moment, but the recent revelations of Mark's own... proclivities... has, to be perfectly honest, thrown me off. I can't help but feel a twinge of irritation at Page for keeping this knowledge from me. Although, I suppose, someone who blackmails their employee into sexual slavery isn't exactly possessed of a working moral compass. I'm sure he delighted in the idea of humiliating me and Mark at once - two for the price of one. A real bargain.

Recovering quickly from the shock of Mark's porn watching habits, and the triumphant revelation of said habits, I relish the opportunity to treat him to what I now know to be his favorite kind of show. I feel dirty, and angry, and powerful. I want to take out all of my frustrations on Mark, and the electric current between me and Page only intensifies every depraved desire in my heart. So he likes cuckholding? He likes watching wives humiliate and degrade their husbands while getting fucked by someone else, someone stronger, sexier, more well-endowed? That is something we can definitely deliver...

Mark is continuing to struggle against his bonds, insisting that we can still work it out, when Page commands me to suck his cock. ("Show him what he's missing, Zoe. Show him what a talented little mouth you have, slut...") I'm more than happy to oblige, as following Page's every order has become something of a second nature to me at this point. I lean down and lick Mark's cock, feeling it twitch to life, and swallow his shaft in one movement, really giving it all I've got. Within seconds, he's hard, and I can already feel his hips moving up to meet me, his body responding to the intense pleasure. Soon, though, Page is hauling me off by my hair, not wanting him to come yet. He must have something in mind, because his cock is straining against his sweatpants in a way that makes my mouth water and my knees automatically buckle, as if knowing that my rightful, natural place in life is to be kneeling in front of him, looking up, begging for his thick cock.

Then, Page is telling me to fuck Mark. I'm disgusted by him at this point, his sniveling, whining voice grating on my nerves. The knowledge of his true desires is repulsive. I want to punish him. I want to punish myself. So I climb on and ease his (pathetic) cock into my pussy and grind down, thinking the whole time of Page's cock, the way it fills me perfectly, the animalistic sounds he makes each time he sinks into me. Not like the whimpering sounds Mark is currently making, which make me want to slap him across the face.

I'm jolted back to reality by Page's hard body sliding up behind me as I ride my husband. I feel his fingers, coated in coconut oil, push into my ass from behind. The feeling is exquisite. Then, the fingers are gone, replaced with the head of his thick cock, which feels as hard as an iron bar. I lean forward to allow him better access and moan as I'm completely filled, stuffed full, two pulsing, hot, hard cocks sliding in me, setting me on fire from the inside out. Once he's in all the way, he starts fucking me in earnest, not holding anything back, punishing me the way that he knows I want. Need. I'm tilted all the way forward now, my breasts sliding on Mark's chest. I feel like I'm about to explode. I look straight into Mark's face and, in a perfect mimicry of the ridiculous women in his favorite porn clips, say, "Oooooooohhh, he's fucking my ass so hard, he's so much bigger and harder than you, babe." My voice is mocking, sarcastic. I would laugh, too, if I weren't so close to coming. It certainly seems to do the trick for my poor husband, though, because I instantly feel him tense up and seconds later, he's spurting hot come into my pussy, which immediately starts leaking out, running down my thighs.

Page is now fucking me harder than I thought possible, like an absolute machine. The feeling of Mark's come, Page's cock, and all the other sensations crash through me, and I come, my pussy clenching around Mark's cock, my ass getting even tighter around Page. My thoughts are an incoherent jumble of utter filth, I want everything in that moment. I would do anything he asked, be anyone you wanted, anything to keep this feeling going.

And soon, he's asking me for something. To tell Mark. Everything. What I am, what I've done, how much I've fucking loved it. And in my orgasm-haze, sex-crazed frenzy, I'm more than happy to comply. I lean forward again, and I can feel how wild my eyes must look, how insane with lust and glee, and look Mark straight in the eyes.

In a voice I barely recognize as my own, I begin: "Honey? Remember that day I came home late from work with some new skirts, new heels? And you thought I seemed a little... off? Well, that was because my boss here" - I toss my head back to indicate Page - "my boss called me into his office and gave me a little promotion. Based on some... sensitive knowledge he had of my past... he made me agree to be his fucktoy. To use any time he wanted. At first I was really upset, I mean, I thought I loved you... But really? I fucking loved it" I pant this last sentence as I feel Page's come filling my ass and I push my hips back, grinding into him.

"Fuck yes, I can feel your come in my ass. I fucking love it..." I say, looking over my shoulder at him. I hear Mark moan loudly under me and realize he's hard again, his dick still in my pussy since I hadn't moved.

Page stays lodged inside me, too, and as I move gently on top of Mark I can feel his cock is still hard. He just stays still and fixes me with a stern gaze. "Keep talking, slut. Tell him more." I nod and continue talking, turning back around to face my husband.

"So, I'm his slutty little fuckslave every day at work. Mark, he makes me come so fucking hard. He loves eating my ass and pussy. Usually at least once a day, bent over his desk, or spread wide in his chair..." I moan as both cocks stir at my words and Mark and Page both start moving slowly, hitting every sensitive spot inside me. I continue my confessional monologue, seemingly unable to stop now I've started. "And he was kind enough to set up a gangbang for me at his condo. Five guys at once, Mark. I sucked their cocks, they even shoved two in my mouth at once... they came all over my face, in my ass and pussy..."

I feel Page grab my hair and yank, hard. Then, his voice, strained: "Tell him about what happened right here in this bed. Don't leave out any good details either, Zoe..." he chuckles maliciously.

"God, how could I forget? Yeah, so, one day we came here during work hours and did some very dirty things right where you're laying, actually," I say, with a strangled little giggle. Leaning down close to Mark's face I drop my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "My boss oiled me up from head to toe, spread my legs and fucking tore my ass up. He fucked my ass with his big, thick, perfect cock, and while he was doing that, he also slid a huge dildo in my pussy. It was so fucking amazing... I didn't think it would fit... I begged him not to... but then I begged him to keep going...I just love being double stuffed like that." Mark's expression is one of extreme pain, but from the way his cock just thickened inside me, I know that he's turned on beyond belief. I start the rhythm back up, sliding back and forth ever so slowly, easing both cocks in and out of me slowly. Sitting up slightly, I'm able to play with my clit a little as we fuck and I can feel myself getting closer every second. Mark sounds like he's sobbing but he's definitely close to coming, I can tell, and so is Page, his strokes getting faster and longer.




Zoe's Awakening Pt. 05



I explode, spectacularly, suddenly, unable to think or feel anything except for the hot blood coursing through my body and the incredible release that makes me feel like I'm high and drunk and actually on some other plane of existence. I'm not aware of when they both come again, but they do, and soon I feel Page's arms tugging me off of Mark and laying me down on the bed with surprising tenderness.

+++

I wake up late the next day, and there's no sign of either of the men I fucked last night. I head into the bathroom to shower, feeling as if last night was just a dream, but the soreness between my legs is a painful reminder of how very real it all was.

I let the hot water restore some of my sanity and with it comes clarity.

I get out, dress and pack a bag with some clothes, favorite books, my iPad and a few other important items.

As I walk through the foyer, I spot a note stuck to the mirror. From Page, his familiar handwriting catching my eye from across the hall. "Zoe - meet me at my flat at 2pm. I need your help finding a place in New York."

I rip the note off the mirror and crumple it in my hand, then pitch it on the floor, a lyric from one of my favorite songs suddenly filling my mind: "When there's nothing left to burn... you have to set yourself on fire..."

I walk out the door and never look back.