Office Slut Stories

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Office Slut Stories

Anonymous Story: There are many more


© 2021 The When You\'re Ready Project
The first time I was raped I was 16 years old. The night exists for me in a series of flash-bulb images that I can neither piece together nor erase from my memory, despite years of trying. I’m still not sure if it was my fault, even though I know it wasn’t.
I don’t think about it very often anymore, but every few years I revisit the spiral of shame, and guilt.
My last clear memory was stumbling away from the crowd, looking for a place to sleep. I was drunk… really drunk. I was being a typical teenager: acting out, rebelling – trying to distance myself from a goody-two-shoes image. Before that night, I had only been to a couple of parties, most of my wild stories were embellishments. My parents were known for being strict, so I didn’t get invited out very often. I w anted desperately to be part of the cool, older crowd who drank and smoked cigarettes. I was thrilled to be at the party, drinking cans of Coors and tossing them in the back yard of the kid whose parents were out of town. I realized m y ride had left without me, I was feeling sick and disoriented and needed to sleep until I could walk home. I found an empty bed, it was a child’s bedroom, I was going to lie down for just a few minutes.
I’m awake and it’s dark. He is inside me. I feel sick. Who is on top of me? “What are you doing?” He grunts. I try to push him away but my arms are weak. “I don’t want to.” I try to pull my underwear up, they’re around my knees. He pins my arm down. “Please.” “Shhh.” “I’m going to be sick.” “Shhh.” He’s getting angry. There’s a crack in the door and I can see wood paneling in the hallway. He finishes on the child’s bed, next to me. He wasn’t wearing a condom. He gets up and walks out. I want to run away, but I’m ashamed and I don’t want anyone to see me. I cry myself to sleep.
I’ve known my rapist since childhood. He was one of the cool kids at my school, a popular jock who was older than me. The next morning, his friend called me a slut and said “don’t worry, I won’t tell his girlfriend.” His girlfriend found out, and soon everyone had heard what a slut I was. Somehow I was more comfortable with being a slut than with being raped, so I accepted it.
And I never told anyone, until now.
I’m afraid to tell my parents. I’m afraid my step-father will read this, figure out who it was, and confront my rapist. I’m nervous about how he’ll feel when he realizes he inadvertently teased me about the events that happened after that night. I forgave him but I’m afraid he won’t forgive himself.
I’m afraid the people in my home town will call me a liar, and judge my parents. I live 3000 miles away now, but my family will have to deal with the backlash.
I’m afraid for my rapist’s wife and children.
But today I’m facing those fears, as much as I can handle at a time. Today, this blog is the beginning of an idea that may or not become big. It’s still anonymous, but that’s okay. It’s all I’m ready for, just yet.
When you’re ready, and want to share, I’m here. We’ll do this together.
When You're Ready.org is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories.
alert(‘HACKING IN PROGRESS!!! ^%$ I HAAZ HAXX (&&* 1337 ‘);
Sounds like a fake story. Sorry, pretty cliche.
I think it sounds pretty fake but even though it might not be fake, nobody has to experience that, but my real question is why would you feel ok if people call you a slut. If I were you I wouldn’t like people calling me a slut, etc.
The When You're Ready Project is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories and have their voices heard, finding strength in one another. When you're ready to share your story, we'll be here.


By Adrienne West
Updated April 27, 2018


By Adrienne West
Updated April 27, 2018

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Working with him was just an impossibility at this point. I needed to accept that.
Every morning I would get myself ready for work — find a dress that looked professional but also clung nicely to my curves, apply makeup, curl my hair, and spritz a small amount of slightly too sexy for work fragrance on the nape of my neck. I always wore heels so that I could be closer to his 6’4 frame. And then I’d arrive at my desk and try to do as much work as possible before my distraction arrived.
I’d started working at a large real estate company as a records clerk a few months ago. It wasn’t the work I imagined I’d be doing with my english degree but I’d graduated months ago and my job search had been very frustrating and unsuccessful, so I felt lucky to have a decent paying full time gig, even if it was nowhere near my dream. And the perks… well that would be the 30-year-old CEO, Jack Singer.
At first I thought I was imagining it, this handsome, impossibly successful man couldn’t possibly be interested in me. But his eyes lingered too long, and he trailed his fingers along my back when no one else was around. He found excuses for us to work late, alone together, and always ordered in a complicated dinner, so we’d be at the table in his office for quite a long time, just talking. Nothing had really happened yet, but it was only a matter of time. I was completely in lust with him, with his dark hair and eyes, his broad shoulders, with the way he talked about struggling to fit into his new lifestyle because he still felt like a kid from a working class family playing pretend.
And so I fell into a routine of mostly being enamored and distracted. Today, like most days he walked in and greeted me. His knowing smile elicited a familiar tug between my legs that floated up through my stomach. I wanted him.
As my attraction grew my dresses had been getting tighter, I was waiting for him to make the first move, but I couldn’t wait much longer. Today in particular was a creation I shouldn’t have purchased on my salary, but I was fairly certain it was going to do the trick. It was a long sleeved red sweater dress that hugged my curves but was loose enough to allow it to be short without looking obscene. I’d paired it with black high-heeled boots that hit just above the knee. It was the kind of outfit that would make a quick encounter very easy… which is what I spent most of my time fantasizing about.
Jack walked in the door looking as attractive as ever, he hadn’t shaved the morning and the dark stubble accentuated his square jaw. “Good morning Adrienne,” he called, locking eyes with me and smirking as his gaze traveled down my body to my thighs, exposed between my sweater dress and boots. My mouth hung open a bit in delight as I smiled back at him. “It is a good morning.”
I don’t know how he had even made it into his office to turn on his computer when I got an email from him:
I’m going to need you to stay late tonight and pull some records so I can prepare for the DRC meeting tomorrow.
I couldn’t stop the smile that spread throughout my entire body. This is it .
I’m sure it’s not the best idea in the world to start sleeping with your boss. But I couldn’t remember ever having such a strong physical and mental connection with someone, and I trusted him, he was going to act responsibly for both of us, if something bad happened and things weren’t great, he could help me get a similar job somewhere else. I didn’t want to say no to something so intoxicating for a job I cared very little about.
The day flew by because all I did was daydream about various fantasies I wanted to recreate with Mr. Singer. As people started to leave for the day, I was confused to see him, too, in his overcoat. “Adrienne, I’m sorry, you’ll have to pull the files without me, I’ve got a last minute dinner I need to attend.” I couldn’t hide the disappointment in my face, I’m sure he caught it, but I didn’t really care. I was all wound up… for nothing. “Sure thing.”
The minute he left I called a delivery service and ordered a bottle of wine. I may have to stay late and work alone, but I could at least enjoy myself.
Well, one glass turned into three and by the time I’d carefully organized and laid out all the files Jack would need on the table in his office, I was buzzed enough to make a very bad decision. What a shame , I thought, trailing my fingers along the edge of his desk, this is the perfect height .
I sat down in Jack’s expensive leather office chair for a moment, to rest a moment before I went home. I could see why he liked this chair, it made me feel powerful. Sitting behind his desk made me feel powerful. Jack’s smirk this morning made me feel even more powerful , I thought, and remembering the way his face looked as he stared at my legs made me feel excited all over again. I felt the same tug between my legs.
Carelessly I sat back and closed my eyes, running my hand up my thigh, pretending it was his large, masculine hand. I began rubbing higher, brushing the barrier of the black lace underwear I’d put on this morning, with high hopes for how it would be used. I could feel how damp they were, it had been a long day of build up and no release.
I deserve to be be a little reckless .
I reached my hand inside my panties and placed one leg on Jack’s desk. His view would be excellent if he had bothered to stay. I leaned back as I began to slowly finger my clit. It was so relaxing to think about Jack doing this, so perfect.
I jerked forward closing my legs and removing my hands from between them in one quick moment. Jack was standing in front of me. Oh shit , I thought before my tipsy brain realized he didn’t look angry. He was smirking. “I’m sorry, to interrupt, but you realize you’re using my office right now?”
“I’m so sorry, sir .” I said, the alcohol giving me the courage to emphasize the last word.
“Sir’ now, is it?” He asked, moving next to me, standing above me looking down with that look on his face.
He reached forward and caressed my throat with one hand, I stood frozen in my seat. His seat. He held my face in his hands, silently thinking for a long minute. He continued to rub my neck with one of his hands while the other traveled to my crotch where he felt how wet I was. “Good girl.”
That snapped me out of my stupor and I grabbed his hips and pulled him closer. He smirked again as I unbuckled his pants and found a full on erection waiting for me. “I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time,” I said, as I licked him from the shaft of his penis to the tip, watching his face react the whole time. “You’re not the only one,” he replied, his hands now stroking my hair.
But I didn’t just want to tell him how much I wanted him, I wanted to show him. I took all of his cock into my mouth and felt the familiar adjustment my throat made to accept it. I used to think this would make me gag, but practice told me it actually supplied more liquid from the back of my throat, making the whole process easier, and more pleasurable for him. The hand that suddenly tightened around my hair confirmed this.
“Get up,” he said, hurriedly lifting me up and spinning me around. He grabbed my breasts roughly, bending me forward over the desk. My only thought was, Yessss .
He lifted the small amount of material covering my butt and entered me from behind. His cock was perfect. It filled me on all sides, but it didn’t hurt. He thrust into me roughly, but rhythmically.
“You’ve been a very good employee, I thought it was time I give you a reward,” Jack said, his voice lower, hoarser than usual. With that, he gave my ass a hard smack. I screamed in surprise and he chuckled. This was even hotter than I imagined.
He began thrusting harder, using one hand to position my hips and the other the massage my breast, occasionally pinching the nipple. I told him I was about to cum and he moved his hand down to my pussy to finger my clit and guide me along. I felt his muscles tense up at the same time as mine. I couldn’t keep my voice down as pleasure took over my body, as my eyes rolled back into my head, as I felt him cum and collapse on top of my back.
We laid there for a moment before he spoke.
“Adrienne, I’m going to need you to work late every night this week.”
Best read in the bath. A girl with an imagination ought to do something with it. Find me on Twitter and Facebook.

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Don’t talk about bad things that happen at work.
Some people take this advice to heart while other bloggers write whatever they want to say regardless of the lawsuits that get slapped against them.
I think their main mistake is they identify the company and people by name.
Hello people! Why do you name names?
Didn’t you learn anything from Watergate and Clintongate?
I once worked at a bra manufacturer that was owned by a man.
Bra sales are good because women wear them to keep healthy circulation in the tissue of the boobs, sisters, gals, jugs, mama jamas or whatever you choose to call the breasts. Not only do women wear bras for the health reasons, but also to entice and turn men on sexually.
I promise I won’t talk about sex in this post.
Anyway, bra sales were great for this company. I worked in the accounting office and still reaped the benefits of reduced prices on products. Since I was a newlywed, the apparel was quite appreciated. That’s a subject I’m sure my ex-husband would rather I not explore too in-depth. Let’s just say it wasn’t boring.
One day the boss man said that everyone was going to get a free bra and would have a custom fitting to ensure we were getting the right size for our breasts. Whippee! A free bra is a great surprise, however, my thrill was short lived.
The next day, one lady at a time took turns going into the appointed room for the fitting. The first woman in my department named Sally (names were changed to protect the innocent) finally came back after her fitting and said, “ The boss is in the room the whole time. “
The cute brunette named Paula, who was ten years her senior said, “Are you fitted over your clothes?”
With her eyes wide, Sally said with embarrassment, “No! I had to take off my shirt and bra while he sat there and watched the whole time!”
“You’re kidding!” Paula exclaimed completely flustered.
“He told me to tell you it was your turn,” Sally said to Paula with almost a hurt look on her face.
Paula had the biggest boobs I had ever seen and was my boob hero.
We all watched as Paula left the room.
The two men in the department glanced at Sally and quickly went back to work focusing on their paperwork. This was the era before computers, so it was a whole different work environment with all calculations being posted in fat books.
Looking down at the green ledger pages filled with neatly written numbers, I knew that I was next to have the bra fitting. Being newly married, money was really tight and I couldn’t afford to lose my job.
The more I thought about the whole scenario, the angrier I got until I was filled with rage! No one except my doctor and husband had seen me naked and if I wanted to flaunt my boobs, then I definitely wasn’t going to do it for my boss or for just a bra. So I decided that no matter what the consequence, the boss man was not going to see my boobs.
When Paula opened the door, both men turned around to stare at her like there was going to be a scarlet letter “B” for “boobs” emblazoned on her shirt. She looked at me briefly and said, “You’re next,” and then went over to Sally’s desk and started whispering.
I looked at the two men and they stared at me with the look that said, “No way is she going to do this in front of the boss.” I was wearing an outfit that was basically how I always dressed…gray slacks, gray suit coat, black shoes and a burgundy, white and gray turtleneck.
If you have ever had the pleasure of watching the movie, “Somethings Gotta Give” with Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton, you will remember that Diane’s character always wore turtlenecks. Well, that woman was just an older me or maybe I was a younger her. I was ALWAYS covered. I NEVER showed any cleavage. The world couldn’t even tell that I had boobs because my shirts were baggy and hid them!
While walking to the bosses’ office I rehearsed what I would say to them if they asked me bare the boobs.
The lady, who was measuring and fitting the women for bras said, “Come in and close the door.”
The boss man gave me the up and down look which didn’t bother me at all because he couldn’t see a thing and I knew it!
The woman started telling me about the importance of having the proper sized bra and how the breast tissue should be COMPLETELY in the cup on the sides. Breast tissue that hangs outside the cup on the side doesn’t get the proper circulation and research has shown that it can cause health problems.
I already knew all of this information. I had been working there long enough to hear everything I ever wanted to know about bras and breasts.
The ENTIRE time that I stood listening to her speech, the boss man watched me. I couldn’t help but think about how perverted this man was to do this to all his female employees.
The bra fitter’s informational speech seemed to last too long because I just wanted this experience to be over one way or the other. I was by far the youngest employee at this company and probably had
the smallest boobs, but I was not going to be bullied by big boobs or a boss man who had boobs smaller than mine!
Finally, the bra fitter lady said, “So to get a proper fit, I must measure your breast without a bra on because it will give an inaccurate measurement, so please remove your shirt and bra.”
My palms were sweaty and I was very nervous even though I was angry. At this point of my life, I was still quite shy and never very bold in my speaking.
I looked straight at my boss man and said, “I will not remove my shirt or my bra.”
For one second there was shock on his face which brought me pure satisfaction, but he kept staring back at me.
The fitter lady looked at him for guidance, but his eyes never left mine as he said, “This is a requirement of the company.”
“I work in the accounting office and do not directly come in contact with any of the customers. If you want me to have a bra, then you must leave the room because I’m not going to stand here with my bare boobs in front of you,” I said without even taking a breath.
He actually looked angry when he spoke next saying, “Just measure her on top of all her clothes,” making it very apparent that he thought I was wearing enough layers to survive in the North Pole.
Inside I was feeling extremely proud of myself, but I didn’t even let the slightest smile cross my lips nor did my eyes leave his angry stare the entire time I was being fitted. The lady doing the measurements was extremely uncomfortable, but I was mad at her too for going along with such a shenanigan. It was female boob exploitation in the workplace!
With the measuring complete, the fitter lady reached into the box and pulled out a new lacy white bra and handed it to me without looking up from her clipboard of employee names.
“Thank you,” I said and br
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