The Birth of a Whore 3

I walked down the corridor towards the meeting room door. The click of my heels accompanied every step. It felt like everyone was looking at me. And no wonder—the sex appeal of my look was off the charts. A classic office slut… or secretary? "I'm not like that," flashed through my mind. "It's all Margo's doing…" "Yeah," came the immediate mental reply, "this is the same Margo who just came out of the boss's office, where she gave him a blowjob and spread her legs without much hesitation? And your stockings tore all by themselves, right?" I blushed mentally. There was nothing to argue, even with myself. All that was left was to follow my friend's advice and simply accept

what had happened. I only had time to tidy myself up a bit, wash my face, refresh my makeup, and change the torn stockings. Margo gave me new ones. Although, upon opening the package, I discovered they weren't stockings but fishnets, and with a fine mesh at that, but I had no choice.

I walked, clutching a folder with documents to my chest.

Opening the meeting room door, I saw a very distinguished middle-aged man in an obviously expensive suit.

— Hello, you must be waiting for me?

He rose from the chair.

— Hello. Probably. I was told an employee would come to discuss the contract details. But they didn't tell me the employee would be such a beautiful woman.

I became flustered.

— My name is Angela, I'll be your personal manager.

I noticed he barely held back from commenting on my phrasing.

We settled into the soft armchairs opposite each other. And only after sitting down did I think that in such a miniskirt and such stockings, I shouldn't have done that. The lace top of the stocking immediately peeked out from under the hem. My interlocutor clearly noticed.

But it was too late to do anything. So I turned to the documents.

At some point, I caught myself thinking it was hard to focus on what was happening and that I was imagining my interlocutor, instead of continuing the negotiations, laying me out on the small table where the documents now lay, throwing my legs over his shoulders, and using me to the fullest.

I just bit my lip, chasing away such thoughts. What nonsense is getting into my head?

— Of course it's nonsense…" immediately sounded in my head, "the table is low, uncomfortable, and flimsy. The armchair would be much more comfortable.

I immediately imagined him taking me from behind, kneeling in the soft armchair, leaning against the high back. I even closed my eyes. And the stockings won't tear; fishnets are better suited for that. Or maybe better another way. I pictured a scene where I, setting the documents aside, walk over to him, hike up my skirt, move my panties aside, and sit on his lap, impaling myself on his hard cock. And then I ride that cock, unbuttoning my blouse and letting him grope my breasts. No, better to take the blouse off, then I can remove the bra and give him a chance to play with my tits. I vividly imagined strong fingers stroking my breasts, kneading them, caressing my nipples. And better to take the skirt off beforehand. It'll be more comfortable, and the hint is more than clear. I imagined standing up from the chair, unzipping my skirt, letting it fall to the floor, then the panties following. And I'll take off the blouse and bra while sitting on his cock. I imagined him entering me, sending waves of arousal. But I won't take off the fishnets and heels. Such a common fetish. I think he'll enjoy fucking me like that.

What is wrong with me? I'm dripping like a bitch. And my thoughts are like a slut's. I can't be like this. But I couldn't help myself. I was already carried away.

It's a good thing the boss had just fucked me thoroughly, so I managed to cope with the arousal and return to the discussion.

But my interlocutor was clearly distracted, periodically glancing at my legs, then at the edge of my skirt and the top of the stocking, then at my cleavage, quite daring due to a missing button.

Why not? I suddenly thought. I should use the situation. Slowly, almost demonstratively, I crossed my legs, achieving that the stocking top almost completely showed from under the skirt. Needless to say, my interlocutor's attention was directed at my thighs, not the papers. At the same time, I lightly bit my lips. But a little later, I decided to finish him off when, handing him some papers, I leaned over in such a way that allowed him to look into the blouse's neckline and see everything the bra was supporting. I was openly flirting with him. And I liked it. But most importantly—I easily convinced the client to sign the necessary papers. And I even enjoyed the blatant flirting.

— Oh!" — the papers they were holding in their hands scattered on the floor and got mixed up.

— Sorry," the man muttered.

— Oh, don't worry, I'm so clumsy.

— I'll gather everything now.

He started picking up the scattered papers.

I knelt down beside him. At the same time, perfectly aware that from this angle, my cleavage would attract maximum attention.

Meanwhile, the papers were gathered.

— I'm afraid they're all mixed up," the man said.

— Maybe we should sort them out then?

I noticed a characteristic bulge in the stranger's trousers, indicating a powerful erection.

— He's really turned on," I thought.

— I see we have some difficulties?

And noticing his puzzled look, I added.

— Sorting the papers is a piece of cake. But you can't go on like this in this state.

With these words, I placed my hand on his crotch, feeling his cock through the trousers.

— What on earth is happening? I'm behaving like the worst slut." — but these thoughts quickly flew out of my head.

— We need to do something about this, and I think I can help you.

Here I pressed myself against him with my whole body, letting him appreciate the firmness of my breasts and rubbing against his erect cock. Our lips met in a hot kiss, and his hands gripped my ass, immediately finding their way under my skirt.

I sank to my knees, unbuttoning the stranger's trousers.

Soon my lips enveloped the head, leaving traces of lipstick on it. For several minutes, I demonstrated my skills in oral sex. I took the entire cock into my mouth, and soon the already strong erection turned into a rock-hard stand, and from the practically crazed man, I heard a drawn-out moan.

Then I pushed him towards the armchair. And when I approached, I was no longer wearing a skirt or panties. And from him, I pulled down his trousers and, climbing onto his lap, impaled myself on the mast-like standing cock.

Oooooooh…. a huge bolt penetrated me. I wriggled, getting comfortable, and immediately took off my blouse and bra, remaining only in my fishnets and heels.

I moved up and down, feeling the heated flesh entering me.

OOOOOOO…. I impaled myself on him again and again.

My tits bounced in rhythm, and soon his hands squeezed the firm mounds, adding even more pleasure. I loved it when my breasts were fondled.

A wave of orgasm washed over me, making me moan loudly. Then he lifted me off him and stood up from the armchair, positioning himself behind me. Grabbing my hips with his hands, he pulled me onto his cock, pounding harder and more actively.

YEEEEES yeeees moooreee

He fucked me, bringing me to another orgasm. The cock inside me pulsed, and I twisted, slid off the shaft, and offered my mouth, enveloping the head with my lips. I felt him pumping me full of cum. They stopped, exhausted. Swallowing the cum, I licked the cockhead with relish.

— It seems we managed to solve your problem, didn't we?