The Family Feud III

Chapter Twenty-One
Wendy's Work Day III

STAR COUNT:
WENDY: 36
Get out of jail cards: 1
JAMIE: 39
Get out of jail cards: 1

**Note to reader: Some of Wendy’s journal was altered to protect the name of the corporation and some of the employee’s identities. In order to increase readability, some of the dialogue exchanged was altered to appear in a ‘narrative’ story format.


FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: STATUS REPORT ON YOUR WIFE’S THERAPY

Hello Bill,

Your wife has once again made unremarkable progress in her therapy. As per our discussion, I have monitored what she wears, who she talks too, what she eats, and what she does at work. Her arousal and who she compulsively flirts with.

In the course of my supervision, she has committed the following infractions that I must bring to your attention:

-She has lost her phone, and claims she has taken pictures of herself masturbating on it, but I cannot verify that. You’ve instructed me not to take her at her word, but to verify everything due to her issues with deception and manipulation.

-She has violated speech protocols as usual, forgetting to call me Sir or willfully choosing not to at select times. In addition, today she referred to her cunt as something more complimentary. This goes against your aversion therapy, where she is to see her cunt as a source of pain for herself and amusement for others, and not as a tool of manipulation to feed her devious desires.

-She purposely let her anal plug drop in front of teenage boys at lunch, and fall onto the floor. She did clean it up, but only after begging that I punish her instead of reporting it to you. That is more evidence of her continued pathologic attempts at manipulation to avoid heavier punishments which I assume you will do when you learn of her attempts to cover up her mistakes.

-She was slow bringing photocopies as ordered by me, demonstrating laziness and a sloppy work ethic.

She will, I assume need to be punished. I will be dropping her off a little early today, because I have a date after work. Thanks once again Bill. I am glad you are so open minded about her use. As usual, I’ll drop her off wearing what you sent her out in.

~Steve

I hovered my mouse over the send button, considering very carefully before I pressed the button to transmit my ‘progress report’ to my husband as I did every day before I went home. I quietly contemplated how I had gotten myself into this mess and if life will ever go back to normal. Whatever “normal” is, I’ve started to question if I was ever really “normal”.

At the same time, I pushed back dozens of other worries about everything from if I lose this job, can we pay our mortgage, to what would happen if my family back home found out what I am doing.

We took “Affirmation” videos when this all began. The very first day, Jamie and I posed for very embarrassing videos and said things like “We serve the men of the house willingly.” and about how we know our place, and don’t hold them responsible for what happens to us. It is our choice.

The idea was that not only could Bill use these videos in case anyone was to ever accuse him of abuse or blackmail to prove we agreed to this without coercion but also to sort of blackmail and coerce us. - a clever use of killing two birds with one stone.

We had made custom videos for each of my family members. I talk to them by name in the videos and tell them how big of a brat I am, and how much I want to be controlled, humbled, disciplined. Bill can hold these videos over our heads, that if we did back out and quit, he could send them.

I should say how big of a bitch I am. Everyone at work knows it. Everyone at my house knows I was. I enslaved my son and husband without really thinking about the consequences. Jamie is a brat, and I am a bitch, that is the difference between her and I. That is the long and the short of it. I have to stop trying to sugar coat things and call it the way it is.

In a strange way, I can sense that this training is “Un-bitchifying” me. It is making me re-evaluate why I was ever a bitch in the first place. Making me appreciate things I took for granted. I think to a certain extent this is good for Jamie because she is probably not going to make the same choices about career first that I have, and to be more considerate. I used to be sweet like she was. I swear, honest. Somewhere along the way, I became a bitch.

Not any more, Wendy Taylor. Things are changing, some for the better.

In my heart, I knew Bill would never send those videos to my family or his. It would sabotage the mental image my parents and family have of me as a successful, caring mother and all around good, hard-working person. Yet, now every time I got ready to send him something like this through the internet account he made me set up for status reports, I had this paranoid feeling that this stuff would end up in their hands somehow.

Can you imagine my parents? The painting of the farmer and wife with pitchfork “American Gothic” could have been inspired by them. They were industrious, pragmatic, country people who knew only the simple farm life I was raised on.

My brother moved to the big city to be a realtor or a stock broker or something. He’d probably understand a little better the kind of deviousness I have subjected myself too. But even he, I think, would be disappointed in my behavior. You would think I know what he does, but he hasn’t stayed in touch and the few times I’ve talked to him he has been evasive. It is always some big wheeler-dealer kind of thing. I have my doubts.

I think my big sister, of all the ones in the family, is the one I am most afraid of finding out what I am doing, it has to be her. She was the popular girl in high school; the “Marsha” to my “Jan”. I have not talked to her since any of this started, I’d be afraid too. She is so caught up on appearances, and being a good Christian and having that perfect white picket fence, four-bedroom All-American Dream house.

I have the house, and I thought I had that all-American dream life. I used to rub it in her face from time to time. Not intentionally, at least I didn’t think so, until I found myself living this way and realizing I took a lot of things for granted. Stepped on a lot of people to get where I am, took shortcuts in life.

I probably shouldn’t get into all the reasons I would hate for my sister to discover what I have been doing. I am not talking about just my training or cuckolding Bill and Chris. I am talking about how I’ve had shallow goals, focused on the material and the physical. We don’t have the hearth and family traditional values that I am sure a good Christian like my sister is all about.

There is more to it of course. We have had a rivalry that goes back to our childhood. If I want to finish this journal before Steve comes back to check on me, I had better save that deep psychological stuff for another time when I am not so “tied up” at the computer (lol). Look at me typing “lol” like a silly teenager.

Okay, I am stalling. I need to click that report so I can get out to the car and go home wearing just the bath towel, ball gag and cuffs I came here in. I am sure Steve should be here any moment.

When I get home I’ll have to face the medicine when I get home for all the fuckups I did today. I have a feeling this is going to be a day where there will be at least one “Correction” doled out on me. Chris has been gloating about how clever some of his ideas are, and what he put in the fishbowl for me. Just thinking about it sends shivers down my spine. I only hope I get punished before Jamie gets home, because Bill tends to over-sexualize the punishments, and even though it probably sounds weird, there are some things I’d just rather Jamie not know that I’ve been doing.

I’ve just clicked “Send”, so there is no going back with today’s status report. It is on the way to Bill over the internet. Steve just told me I have a few minutes before he is ready to leave, so I will fill in my journal on what happened after I finished up in the gym today.

==

I was actually smiling as I walked out of the gym. It was my suspicion that Vicky assumed my strange new behavior was some new strategy to get ahead. That was unexpected. I assumed she would think I was a brazen slut in a mid-life crisis desperate for attention.

Heaven knows the women on my floor seemed to feel that way. At least half of them, the other half did seem to be a little jealous at the attention I was getting. The outcome was still the same. I wasn’t gaining any popularity slutting things up around the cubicles.

What choice did I have? I couldn't think of any way out except to keep up this charade that I was cock-crazy and that I accepted the fact I had a sexual addiction so severe I would willingly submit to any therapy no matter how bizarre or disgusting. In a way there was a little truth to that, this training was becoming a strange sort of therapy for me, adjusting how I viewed the world.

There is something primal about giving up control over myself. I am sure it goes back to the first cavewoman who got slugged over the head with a club and dragged back into the cave by the first caveman with the balls to do it. She started washing his clothes over rocks in the stream, cleaning and cooking for him when he showed her who was boss.

Steve and Bill were doing the same to me, and it was altering my perceptions of the world and the people in it. I had been inconsiderate in the past, now I started to empathize more with the petty problems of my staff by putting myself in their shoes.

I find myself different than I was when I began this adventure a week ago. I was giving it the “old college try” from day one, trying to be good and accommodating, don’t get me wrong. However, now I find that I’ve started to develop more patience and a desire to please others. I’ve found the punishments, both mental and physical have worked as some sort of incentive to get me to reconsider the priorities in my life.

I find myself wondering, if I should be thankful despite the hardships and humiliations I’ve endured, for the opportunity to see things from the bottom looking up, instead of the other way around. That is easy to say, I suppose it is like the star athlete who spends a few days on crutches who thinks they know how a person in a wheelchair for the rest of their lives must feel. In a week or so, I’ll be done with all this and free to go back to my old ways. It would be different if I had to keep this up forever and ever.

Obviously, some things will change, and I can’t take them back. I’ve enslaved my son and my husband, and even though I am going through all this for them, they may still never forgive me for the dark place I took things.

I will have the tattoo after this is all over as a permanent reminder of the hardships I’ve faced, and the fears I’ve met, and the ones I’ve had the courage to overcome. I suppose Jamie may decide to keep hers too.

I will also have the knowledge, I have slept with, kissed, massaged, and touched my daughter for the amusement of the men in the household in ways that may require extensive therapy when it finally hits me just how far I’ve gone this past week and still have to go.

I have jacked off my son, and sucked his friend’s dick. I drank their cum. I fucked strangers. I let them touch me in places that I would not have even let Bill have access too before the training. These are all things I think about, probably too much. I suppose while I wrestle with my thoughts, it helps me to feel a little less guilty about some of it. It may seem to my subconscious mind that since my mind isn’t fully made up about it all, maybe that means I don’t have to feel ashamed of everything I am doing just yet.

That probably doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I need to shut up and finish my journal for the day. I probably don’t have a lot of time to fill in all the details, so I’ll just include a few of the things that happened to me today.

I met back up with Steve on my way out of the women’s locker room.

“Hello Sir, may I go back to our office, and finish my reports, after I get myself comfortable?” I said flirtatiously. I gave him the look that seemed to imply I was looking forward to getting naked, filling all my holes with dildos, chaining myself to a chair and that was “comfortable”.

“How would you like to suck someone’s dick before we get back to the office?” He asked me quizzically.

“Sure, thank you Sir!” I pretended to love the idea of strange sex. I asked him who it was, despite the fact that as Wendy the uber-slut, I was supposed to have very few standards; cock is cock.

“Jerry”

“Jerry? From Accounting?” I clarified. He was a fat, middle aged paper pusher, who always seemed gassy. He was often shunned or even overlooked for invitation to company events simply because his ideas often seemed strange or pointless.

“The very same. Is there a problem with that?”

“No Sir, Cock is Cock” I sang the catch phrase I had been instructed to pretend I lived by when I was with Steve as if I was looking forward to this. In reality, I could count on one hand who else I knew at the office I wanted to suck off less than Jerry.

“Does he know about my therapy, Sir?” I asked sheepishly.

“Yeah, did you want to seduce him instead?”

I wasn’t sure how long it would be before someone told the upper level executive management once they found out about me. Hey, even Senior Vice Presidents answer to someone.

Every day Steve had me suck or fuck a co-worker, and he had told them the cover story as he understood it - that I am some kind of cock-crazy cougar who is being taught aversion therapy to get over my sexual addiction. Each time the person Steve picked has bought the story, usually with a big smile on their face as they see the former dragon-lady executive Wendy Taylor unzip and undress for them.

“No sir, I know I shouldn’t try to seduce men. I thought Jerry was a family man, who might not go for THIS sort of thing.” I apologized as we exited the elevator to my floor in the office.

“Your husband says you didn’t really take people’s marriage vows all that seriously.” Steve dismissed my question as we headed towards accounting.

I only nodded, not wanting to correct him that I took my marriage vows VERY seriously. If I didn’t, would I be here now walking to beg a man I neither liked nor respected to let me suck his cock? This is what amused Bill, and I had agreed to be his ‘whore’. What other choice do I have in this situation I find myself in?

Okay, I know I have choices. It is a damned if you do, damned if you don’t kind of thing. I am trying to pick the situation that benefits the most people and saves this family. If Bill and Chris get a kick out of taking down the girls a peg, well we deserve to be taken down a peg. This just feels like a LOT of pegs!

I was standing in front of Jerry as he looked me up and down. He seemed to be eye-raping me, appraising me. At the same time, I could sense he wondered if this was all a joke on him, or a trap of some kind. I could sense his apprehension as I took his hand to lead him back to my office. I still sometimes say “my office”, even though technically it is Steve’s office too. I’ve got to remember to stop doing that, even in my journal or I may slip and forget to say it when talking to Steve.

Steve smiled and waved good bye to us both as Jerry stood up to walk with me. He struck me as a bit spineless, easily cuckolded, even worse than Bill had been before the trainings started. Jerry had a sensitive look on his face, like someone who had been fucked over one too many times, and was afraid of being hurt again. It made me feel pity for him, I tried not to look at him as I walked him back to the office.

“You are really going to do this?”

It is funny to me that he asked if I were going to do “this” TO him. It reminded me of how Bill and Chris were before the trainings. To Jerry this is not an activity two people do together. It is something that is being “Done to him”. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of his life he feels “is done to him” that he is an active participant in.

“Yes Sir, thank you for agreeing to it.” I said curtly as we walked through the aisles in the cubicles as if I were answering a very routine question about accounting or business. Jerry had a way about him of asking things that should be obvious to anyone with common sense, which seemed to rub people the wrong way. He also talked at a speed that was just a little slower paced than most, making you wish he would just hurry up and finish his sentence because you already had the answer for his question.

It wasn’t that he was mentally slow. He was just one of these people who operates at a slower pace, and was oblivious how much it agitated people who moved at a faster pace to interact with him. I’ve seen people in meetings checking their cell phones, looking at their watches, even hold sidebar conversations while he was talking. He just put out a vibe that said, “It is okay to disregard what I am about to say”, even if what he was talking about may have had some value.

His point usually did not have value. It was usually a trivial detail. I think if Jerry had been the engineer on the Titanic, when the ship was sinking he would have gone around and made sure all the sinks were not leaking. If by now you haven’t realized why I’ve vented about him, it goes without saying that I was not looking forward to what I’d have to do with Jerry when we got in my office.

I have come so far. I’ve stood almost naked in a fair. I’ve let myself be locked in a pillory at the fair and have tomatoes chucked at me. I’ve fucked and sucked strangers at a motel and young teenage guys. I am not sure why each time, I go through this internal mental torture where I feel guilt. I haven’t found a way to desensitize myself to what I am doing- to disconnect completely and pretend I am not Wendy Taylor- to be someone else: Wendy the whore, Wendy the good slut.

I am envious that my daughter has a ‘special place’ she can go in her mind, where everything is safe and comfortable and hide out in there and tune out reality. I’ve managed that a few times with my husband and Chris, but most of the time I beat myself up about it. Usually after I’ve done it, this time it was before.

When we got to the office, I opened the door for him and offered him my chair behind my desk. He seemed surprised that I would offer him my own chair.

“Jerry, I am going to get naked.” I said after I shut and locked the door. “Will that bother you?”

“No” he stammered.

“Will you promise not to tell anyone else at the office, besides other people Steve tells you are okay with my therapy?” I had my hands on my blouse, about to lift it up for him. I knew any promise he gave was not likely to be kept, but it was worth a try.

“Yes” he awkwardly swiveled in my chair, adjusting his weight and lowering it a little. These kinds of fastidious changes would ordinarily have irked me. I realize they are petty and small, but at least I can say that at that moment in time, it was the least of my concerns.

I pulled my top off, and began to step out of my skirt. I could tell he was looking at my tits and the rings through my now rather engorged nipples. His eyes were wide, almost wider than that boy from the fair who was too afraid to kiss me.

“I have 15 minutes with you. I need to make you cum. When I am finished, would you mind taking pictures of me while I masturbate, it’s important, Sir?” I asked as I got on my hands and knees to stalk over to him like a panther in heat.

“Why?”

So far, no one had asked me too many questions during these sessions. They were happy enough to get their cocks sucked. Steve had cherry picked guys in the office who were probably the biggest perverts of all the males in the office for me.

I began to unzip his pants and seductively flick my eyes up at him, the way I had seen it done in pornos and love scene. “Jerry, if you ask me a lot of questions, I can’t do what we came here to do.” I flashed my smile.

He took his cock from me gingerly, it was already half erect. It was clear he felt intimidated and possibly nervous. His body language was telling me to take it slowly. If I didn’t make him cum and get the pictures, I would be punished though.

It isn’t like I would be hurting him. He should be thanking me for helping him to cum. I rubbed the head of his dick playfully and touched his balls, but he retreated a little. I had a feeling a guy like Jerry had a lot of practice with playing with his own dick and was very particular about how it should be treated.

“Okay Jerry, if you want to play with it. I don’t have to touch it. I just need you to cum in my mouth, alright, Sir?” My tone was pleading, but also hinted that I was really in control of the situation. He needed my guidance, my reassurance this was alright.

“Why?”

A week of punishments at the hands of my husband, son and Steve has taught me to control my eye rolls. I still felt the urge to shake Jerry and say “Shut up and let the woman who offered just suck your dick. Stop thinking so much!!” I could tell I would need to humor him, if he is going to let his guard down enough to cum.

“Did Steve not tell you why you were invited here, Sir?” I asked fluttering my eyelashes like butterfly wings.

“Yes, but I do not believe it. Why me?”

“Cock is cock, Jerry.” I said. The tone came out wrong. I had wanted it to sound like I was willing to fuck anyone, any time, any place, to continue the ruse. Instead, it sounded more like he didn’t matter. I could see his face reflect he had picked that up in my tone as well.

“I am sorry Sir. I didn’t mean it like that.” I apologized. I needed to make him feel like he was the only man that mattered in the world at the moment. I decided to tell him part of the lie that was told to Steve, if it would make him less guarded.

“I am a nymphomaniac, Jerry.” He didn’t believe me, his lips started to curl in a smile of disbelief.

“Jerry, look at me. I am on the floor, naked in my office on all fours!” I was getting flustered already with him. That was in part because of my preconceptions about him. I decided to take a deep breath and try to match the slower pace in how he spoke.

I put my finger behind me, to begin playing with my pussy and ass for him. “Would you like me to turn around so you can watch me play with myself, Jerry?” I had my cell phone with me, and I needed him to take pictures or I would get in trouble. This was a daily requirement and this was the usual time of day I did it.

“Not really, you are avoiding my question.”

How could he not fall for my obvious charms, I smirked to myself sarcastically as I continued to finger fuck myself. I guess I wasn’t as hot as my daughter, who might have had better luck. I have to accept I am getting older and not all guys will just fall all over themselves to do what I want, even in this situation.

“I find it difficult to control my sexual urges, Jerry, so I am going through therapy to address them. Traditional means haven’t worked, rehab, psychologists, sex camps.” I pretended to be an expert on such things. I was counting on how easy it would be to bluff him.

“How would therapy to control your sexual urges, require you to act upon sexual urges?” He was playing with himself, but not very fast. It was clear he was in a “hover” mode. He wasn’t trying to make baby batter, he was trying to just stay hard and probably just have something to do with his hands in this awkward situation.

It is funny to say “Baby batter”. I picked that term up from my Son this week. This week I’ve learned so many new things and words, and now I find myself using these terms instead of the habitual ones I’ve had close to forty years to get used too.

“It is complicated Jerry. I only have 15 minutes. Please let me suck your dick for you? I really want too?” I gave him my best “come hither” stare.

“I want to know. This doesn’t seem right to me.” He was looking around the office for the hidden camera that he thought might be there.

“Relax Jerry, there are no cameras here.” As far as I knew there wasn’t. I didn’t dismiss the possibility Steve and Bill had put one in I didn't know about, but telling that to Jerry would have made him bolt for the door I am sure.

“This is aversion therapy, Sir. I don’t get to pick my sexual conquests, they are chosen for me. They are done in humbling and submissive ways. This tattoo on my ass, the piercings, they are all intended to embarrass me about being naked. When I was at the bottom of the barrel with my addictions, it was the other way around, I was in control, or so I thought.” I was doing a good job of making this all up as I went. It even sounded believable to me.

“I don’t buy it.” He stated stubbornly, not even looking directly at me.

I was beside myself, how could he not buy it? What reason does he have to doubt things? I was naked, on my hands and knees willing to suck his dick and more, and he wanted to quibble over my reasons? A tiny part of me was planning to get him fired once I was back to my old role in another week. I felt I would be doing the company the favor, to get rid of this guy who would look a gift horse in the mouth. How could he possibly have the savvy to make a good accountant?

“I am learning to be submissive, Sir.” I continued after swallowing my outrage. “Something I am learning through all this. To submit to someone else, means to put them ahead of my selfish needs and desires. If I focus on pleasuring your cock, it is to amuse and please you. It isn’t to put another notch in my belt.” That was almost verbatim from something my son had made me say during an affirmation the other morning, except without the notch in my belt part.

“You?” he could barely contain a laugh. “Everyone gets invited to Company Birthday parties, except for Jerry. I bore everyone. You are one of the ones who I’ve overheard laughing at the water cooler, about how ‘lame’ I am!” If he was angry, he didn’t show it. Instead, it was more of a passive aggressive kind of anger that simmered. I remember my mom used to do that to me when I was growing up. I would have rather she just blew up and let it all out.

“Jerry I am SO Sorry you feel that way. I am really trying to make amends for what I have done.”

“And you think by sucking my dick for 15 minutes, that makes it all better?”

I really didn’t think anything at that moment in time. I was just hoping to get on with it and close this disgusting chapter of my currently disgusting life so I could move on.

You know the old Beatles song, how does it go;

He's a real nowhere man,

Sitting in his Nowhere Land,

Making all his nowhere plans

for nobody.

Mine could be;

She’s a real disgusting whore

Sitting on her disgusting ass,

Sucking all the disgusting cocks

for everybody.

Okay, I am no Paul McCartney, so sue me.

“What can I do to make it up to you, Sir?” I tried to maintain a seductive and submissive tone with him, keeping my pace in speaking as slow as his.

“You know in thirty years of marriage, my wife never once went down on me?” he offered. This came completely out of the blue.

“I am sorry to hear that Jerry. I am a good little cocksucker. Can I show you?” I really needed to watch the time and finish, so he could take pictures for my husband. If I didn’t show that I had cum in my mouth or on me, he would still punish me.

“Now my son won’t talk to me. Even he thinks I am a weakling, and pathetic. I am the office joke. I’ve lost my house, my truck, my wife, my life.” Just as he hadn’t registered fully angry, he wasn’t crying either. His voice was somewhere between self-pity and whining.

“Sir, let me lick your dick, please? I don’t mind if you unload on me all of your troubles and worries. I almost lost my family too.”

“You? You have it all. You are an executive, you’ve got the life!”

He had to be kidding? Here I was on all fours begging to suck his dick, with a tattoo of whore on my ass, playing with my pussy because I am a slave to my husband and son. How could he think I had it better than him.

“My family held an intervention for me Sir. If I didn’t agree to this therapy, I was going to have a divorce and Bill had enough dirt on me, that I would lose everything.” That was technically true, although it also fit the pretense that I was a sex addict. I could see now that he could relate to me, he was able to hold my gaze longer.

As I told him it didn’t matter really about material things. I could buy new clothes, and a new house and a new car one day. I could not get the family back, so I was willing to do anything, to fix the hole I dug for myself. That was a realization that felt very right as I said it aloud. It was the god’s honest absolute truth.

I could hear him fap-fap-fap away with his cock as he pulled his pud. He wasn’t near cumming, his dick was soft. However as I spoke, he seemed to get a little more intense about stroking himself. He seemed to like to hear that I was in a worse hole than he was in life.

“What happens if I don’t cum or take pictures of you?” He asked rather plainly.

I was disturbed he was considering not doing either, after I had opened up to him. “They will punish me, Sir.”

“Who will punish you?”

I hadn’t really wanted to go “there” with him. This is one reason I hate lying to people. Once you start, you can’t keep your lies straight and you begin to forget which one you just told and which one you told last week. I had already given him some details I hadn’t even shared with Steve and I probably only had five minutes left.

Why did he have to push this? There’s no way I can reveal my REAL personal life to him. Not Jerry! Doesn’t he see how difficult this is for me? If I do tell him what really goes on at home I risk everything from him calling social services to him wanting to stop by as an uninvited guest, like Mrs. Waxerman.

How horrible it would be for Jamie to have to deal with him? I mean, we've been embarrassed in front of strange men, but there is something so off-putting about Jerry.

How could I face him again around the office after I confess what a slut-slave I am in all the gory details? He already thinks I am a nymphomaniac, and that is supposed to be the better alternative to the truth?

This was all too embarrassing and way to personal. I have to think of my daughter too. I have no right to drag her into this. Perhaps if I just play it cool he'll leave it alone.

CRAP! I've really done it this time!! I don't really want the whole fuckin' world to know what I really am, or am becoming, or my hidden desires. There HAS to be some limits to all this, doesn't there? I mean if I end up in the papers, even my parents in Indiana who are so backwards they video tape the weather channel might find out.

I need to hold some things back. Why does holding things back feel even more tense then having to admit all these awful things? I don't know if I was feeling an adrenalin rush the way I do sometimes during the more intense affirmation or training sessions, or if it was just the nervous pulse of an ulcer starting to form from all the worrying I was doing about this. I can't let one person at the office make me doubt everything. I need to keep calm and carry on. That is the old saying isn't it? The one the English used in world war II? If not, it should have been.

I'll just have to do my best to answer him in ways as a man, he may believe, but that don't express all the anguish and internal fears I am hiding from him.

“Jerry, you are a nice guy. If you believe me that I will be punished, why not just let me help you cum in my mouth and take some pictures. Then I can tell you all about it later, Please Sir?” I begged.

I knew many of my answers had been evasive, but even Steve hadn’t pried this far into my life. I was trying to be careful not to volunteer any information about myself I didn’t absolutely have to. I sometimes did, like earlier in the day when I couldn’t leave it alone about why Steve brought up Jamie during the morning affirmations. I wondered if it was my subconscious forcing me to admit things and get them off my conscious or that I was just a glutton for piling on humiliation. It felt like the latter sometimes, because what could I possibly get from being this open with Jerry at this point?

I wasn’t very good at begging. This was something my son and husband had made abundantly clear. I ‘negotiated’. My begging was more of a desperate quid pro quo. I couldn’t help myself, I think it was something I had picked up here at work over the past few years in bargaining employee contracts and new account pricing structures.

Their guidance was paying off, because I started to cry. I think that was a real emotional response to so many things that had happened, and all the conflicts about what I was doing that I usually over-analyze in my head.

“Please Sir? Steve will tell my husband I didn’t please you. They will see this as a stubborn streak on my part, because I didn’t make the arrangements for this on my terms. That I must have stalled you or not done a very good job and focused on my pleasure. He’ll see that my cunt is wet, and know that I was getting off. The only reason I am supposed to do this is to amuse my partner, not to please myself.”

“So why are you?”

“I don’t know Jerry” I boo-hooed to him. I was facing towards him, so he could not even see me masturbating, yet I had continued to do it without even thinking. I was so used to playing with myself in front of others when I was like this; it had felt natural, comforting to do it.

“I could say I was hoping you would watch, but it’s probably because I am a kinky slut, who would rather stick her fingers in her twat than anything else, Sir.” I was lathered up and wet, through and through. I was starting to wonder how much of my story was truth and how much was fiction, because things had just become a lot more gray.

“How will you be punished?”

Jerry true to his pedantic nature was asking questions all the way up to the end of our time together. Even if I could convince him to let me wrap my lips around his dick, at this point we probably didn’t have time to seal the deal and let him cum all over my face so I could get photographs to satisfy Bill’s requirements.

“When I get home, I will draw from a fishbowl for infractions. I won’t know what the punishment is until I draw. It could be a spanking; it could be getting tied up.” I continued, “They may attach clothes pins to my tongue, clit and nipples for the entire night” which was one particular correction I had etched into my mind as one of the more insidiously simple yet effective punishments.

“Don’t you have kids at home?” He could see pictures of Chris and Jamie on my desk, in happier more carefree times.

I swallowed as I considered my answer, licking my lips out of nervousness.

“Knock-Knock” Steve’s familiar voice came through the door checking on me. I suppose I should be thankful for small miracles that seem to crop out. Jerry’s question was going to be difficult to answer for so many reasons.

“We aren’t finished with our interview; can we have a little more time?” I called back through the door to him as if this was all a routine everyday meeting here at work.

“Aren’t done with our meeting, what?” He asked coyly.

I didn’t want to scream “Sir” through the door. The rules were unclear. Okay, they were clear, I was to call Steve “Sir” at all times. I stood up, unlocked the door for him a crack, and whispered “Sir” with a smile. I thought that was a creative solution to the uncomfortable problem of shouting Sir loud enough it may be heard by people passing by my office.

I retreated behind the door as Steve opened it to let himself in. “What seems to be the problem?”

If Jerry had been even close to masturbating himself to orgasm, all hope for that evaporated when he saw Steve standing there with his boyish grin. Jerry started to put his dick back in his pants.

“It was no problem. We were just talking. I should go.”

“Failed to close the deal, Wendy? That isn’t like you. You are a shrewd negotiator. Perhaps it was just you didn’t want to close it with Jerry?” he hinted that it may be that Jerry’s oafish manners were behind my reluctance.

“No Sir, it isn’t that, please. Just give us a little more time?”

“Sorry, you are wanted at home. Thank Jerry for giving you this chance and let’s get you packed and ready to leave a little early today.”

Standing naked in a small room with two fully dressed men is a very new and awkward experience for me. I felt so vulnerable to them, but at the same time, I can’t deny there was this naughty, sexual tension about standing in front of them fully on display and with the smell of my sex in the air.

As I sunk to my knees to thank Jerry, he stood up. “I don’t want her punished for this.” He stammered at Steve.

“I don’t think it is up to you, Jerry.” Steve flashed a confident smile. He was everything Jerry wasn’t. He was youthful and full of swagger, and Jerry, well if you ever saw the movie “Office Space”, he was slightly above the guy who said “I believe you have my stapler”.

“She is doing the best she can!” Jerry said slowly. I wondered if part of his defense of me, was more projection about himself. This was probably something he wanted to say to his wife and people who he felt he disappointed in his own life.

“How do you even know she will be punished?” Steve looked down at me with disgust.

“She told me, it’s part of her therapy.” Jerry was calm, but defensive.

“Did she tell you she wants to be punished if she does wrong?”

Jerry shook his head as if he did not understand why anyone would want punishment.

“Go ahead and tell him what you tell me every day, Slut.” Steve knew that I was aware of what he was referring too and he didn’t need to elaborate further.

“I deserve to be punished, Sir”. I choked out the words from my knees in front of Jerry. “If I fail, then I should face the consequences of my actions. I will never learn to be a good person, if I do not answer for my indiscretions and shortcomings. I am by my nature deceptive and manipulative. It is up to Steve to supervise me here at work, and report on my misdeeds. I bear him no ill will, nor you Sir. No more than a bank robber should be angry at the detective who caught them doing dirty deeds. When I go home, I will admit all of the things that I did today, and beg forgiveness and ask for correction Sir.”

“Why does it have to be so sexual?” Jerry seemed uncomfortable, as he fidgeted with my camera phone, looking at the screen instead of down at the naked woman pleading with him.

“The hair of the dog, Sir.” I pouted out a lip even though he wasn’t looking at my face. “My shortcomings involved using my body to pleasure myself, and further my career.” I lied. The central theme to my ‘therapy’ was focused on this lie. “Like Karma, my punishments are of a sexual nature, because my transgressions are of a sexual nature. If my cunt gets spanked, I am less likely to see it as a source of amusement and more as a tool I can be controlled with.”

“Controlled?”

He had a way of asking one word questions that really infuriated me at times. It seemed obvious to me where I was going with my explanation but he seemed to want to dig further into things. Every time I had to answer, I had to not only think about how to spin the lie I had started this out with at the office, but what I could live with co-workers knowing about if I expected to continue in the office much longer.

He had brought up the question about Chris and Jamie right before our time ran out together. I knew this was a huge can of worms about what my kids know about, and how involved they may be in my corrective therapy (Such as it is). I was relieved beyond words that I hadn’t had my feet held to the fire to answer that question and the inevitable ones he may have asked so far.

I was playing my cards as close to my chest as I could, but all the while it had been a white knuckled experience for me. If anyone but me is reading this, I suppose you won’t know all the butterflies being bounced around in my stomach as he questioned me and I struggled to come up with half-truths and plausible lies to answer his questions.

I was actually looking forward to getting home for affirmations where I could just be as honest as possible. I even thought that I may try to be even more forthcoming and honest in future affirmations, simply because I preferred the honesty to this cat and mouse game with Steve and Jerry.

They were waiting for an answer “Yes Sir, I controlled men with my pussy. The desire of it, now I am pulled around by my cunt lips for their amusement.” He didn’t seem to be getting my ironic allegory, so I pulled my own clit ring with my fingers to pantomime being pulled around.

“You could just come and be my wife. I would never expect this of you, nothing like this.” He had unexpectedly taken things into a completely different direction than I even suspected he might. He had gone from curiously detached to clingy and offering me a new life with him from zero to sixty. His desperation didn’t endear him to me.

“I am sorry Sir, but I have a husband and a family.” I offered him as politely as I could. “Thank you for the offer?” My words sounding more like a question.

“You bitch!” He finally got angry. “You would rather suck dicks and crawl around naked, and get your pussy spanked, than be with ME? I would never treat you like this. No matter what you did. A good husband would care for and protect his wife, not whore her out this way!”

“But she was already whoring, Jerry.” Steve smiled calmly. “Let’s keep our voices down. This therapy is weaning her away from her sexual addiction. Cold turkey just does not work. You can’t tell me you don’t know that?”

“Shut up, Steve!” Jerry stood up furiously. “I’ve been sober for over three years. You know that.” There was clearly something between these two, probably Alcoholic’s Anonymous meetings.

“You are sick, lady” He looked down at me with disgust and stormed out of the office.

“Well, that was awkward.” Steve had a way with understatement. I looked at him to smile, but then found his hard cock in my mouth as I turned to face him.

“Don’t talk. You can take dictation”. He let the word dictation linger as a double entendre’ insisting I type out the report I just emailed to my husband a few minutes ago as I sucked his dick. He told me what to type and when he discovered my phone was missing, added that to the list of infractions.

Jerry must have left with it. I wanted to beg to go ask for it back, but it was no use. We were leaving shortly, and he seemed to enjoy the idea that I would be punished severely for this.

At least he didn’t ask if my son and daughter would be party to any of this. I could at least count on Steve not to dig too deeply into my family life.

He is here now. I’ve got to get dressed. All so I can get in the car and change back into the towel, cuff and gag myself to be dropped off at home for corrective measures.

Oh boy, what a day.