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  • Petty Cash Ch. 03

Petty Cash Ch. 03

12

Dean

I sat naked in the darkened den. The only illumination in the room came from the soft glow of the computer screen. I gazed at the computer screen, staring at a pair of fake tits.

Those fake women never did anything for me. Their hair extensions with their fake orange tans and fake tits jiggling as they faked an orgasm. They never could turn me on. I slid the mouse up to the X and closed the browser window.

I needed real women with healthy, realistic bodies when I was looking at porn. Women who had bodies like Sarah's. I was always looking for stuff like that.

Her boobs weren't small, but they weren't the huge fake double D's men are told they're supposed to like. And she had two cute little moles about three inches beneath her right breast. I loved Sarah's moles. They were one of my favorite things about her body. But now with every Joe Schmoe having a copy of Photoshop, they would airbrush away all women's interesting eccentricities, removing any mole or birthmark, anything that made them unique or alive.

I heard a ping noise and the chat window started flashing. I clicked back over to it, continuing the conversation I'd been having .

"So how long has it been since you two last had sex?" M asked.

"About two weeks, I think." I responded. M was kind of like an online pen pal. We met in a Yankees baseball chat room a few weeks earlier and quickly struck up a friendship. It was easy, since he had almost the exact same interests as I did.

As conversations often go among anonymous internet chatters, the topic quickly turned to sex...talking about our wives, the porn we liked, etc.

"Why so long? Are you in her dog house?"

"I don't think so. But I can't figure out any other reason," I typed.

"So that's why you've been online so often as of late," M typed.

"Yeah."

"Here, I found a website you're going to love."

"Send it over," I typed, praying it was something good. I was starting to get frustrated. I'd been sitting naked at my computer for almost an hour and my penis was still flaccid.

The link popped up in the window and I clicked it.

"A buddy of mine sent it to me. Apparently it's some hidden footage of some married chick screwing her boss," M typed.

The website loaded...the banner across the top read "Wife Isn't Getting Enough At Home, Cheats With Her Boss in His Office!"

I immediately felt the warm flow of blood rushing into dick, slowly growing stiff.

There were dozens of photos on the screen. I clicked on the first picture and it immediately filled my computer screen.

She was standing there, naked, in the middle of the room, her hands planted on her hips, leaning slightly on her left leg. Her nipples protruded noticeably and her legs spread enough that I could see her vagina glistening with moisture.

I'm usually suspicious of these types of photos. Often they're just professionals pretending to be amateurs. But these photos did seem to be security cam footage, good quality, and of a real office. They seemed real.

Pixilated patch of nothingness covered her face. Her face was blurred out. So was her boss's.

But she had a nice body. She was exactly what I was looking for. In good shape, a healthy, realistic body, but clearly not someone who was able to spend hours everyday at the gym. A real woman with a real body. And her breasts even looked a lot like Sarah's.

I examined her up and down. Actually, a lot about her looked like Sarah. The hair and skin coloring were almost identical. Her nape curved in a very similar fashion. Wait...was this my Sarah...?

But no, this girl had no moles under her right breast.

Still, she was pretty hot--the next best thing to Sarah herself.

I wrapped my hand around my still hardening dick and slowly stroked up and down, shuffling through the various photos on the site.

I clicked back to the main page and then on the next photo.

It was a photo of her leaning back in an armchair, splayed out naked. Her legs hooked over the arms of the chair, her head leaning back and her skin flush with arousal.

Her hands were near her crotch, fingers extended. Her left pulled back her clitoral hood giving her right easy access to the clit itself. She was masturbating. Frigging herself for her boss in the middle of his office. Letting him take pictures of her and post them on the internet.

I noticed something shiny on her left ring finger. It had also been blurred out, but you could still tell what it was-- a wedding ring.

"Hot isn't she?" M typed.

"Yes," I typed with one hand.

"She sort of looks like my wife," he replied.

"Yeah, she looks a bit like my fiancee!"

I paged through some more pictures. A photo of her with her eyes closed, hands behind her head, standing naked in the middle of the room. Having her hands behind her head forced her tits to thrust outward, displaying her erect nipples for her boss. She wore an unusual look on her face...a mixture of fear and ecstasy.

Her boss was clearly telling her to stand like this and she was submitting completely to his commands.

I started stroking faster.

"Are you jerking?" he typed.

"Yes."

"Me too."

I moved on, clicking through photo after photo, easily jerking myself toward orgasm.

After the tenth photo, I got to one of her kneeling down between her boss's legs. I quickly clicked through the next several photos, watching this slut slowly reached into his pants, pull out his big, hardening cock, gently lowering her hot mouth around his thick dick head, and sucking it lustfully into her mouth.

That's it, baby, I thought as I quickly stroked my hand up an down my dick. Suck on your boss's cock real nice. Yeah, you like that, huh? You don't blow your husband like that, do you? You're hubby ain't giving it to you good enough, is he?

"You gotten to the blowjob pics yet?" M typed.

"Just did."

"Hot, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"Her boss has a big cock," M typed.

"Yep."

"Bigger than mine."

"Bigger than me, too," I confessed.

I kept stroking, watching this wife give her boss a blowjob. Watching from picture to picture. He was getting more and more aroused, the muscles in his neck flexing. His legs tensing, his hands clenching tightly on the armrests, knuckles turning white. Wifey continued bobbing her head up and down on his big hard cock, slurping, sucking. Getting turned on by her boss's big cock in her mouth.

God, I can't believe what a little slut this girl is.

I stroked faster.

My head was starting to feel light. My skin tingling. Legs tensing, pushing against the wall beneath the computer desk.

A heavy fap, fap, fap noise filled the room. I felt my ass muscles clench as I quickly charged toward the point of no return.

"I'm really close to cumming, you?" M typed.

"Yep," I typed, quickly clicking back over to the photos.

I was stroking furiously. I saw the end in sight, and I really wanted to get there.

Click, new picture: His cock was swelling in her mouth as she continued sucking him closer to the edge, his orgasm about to gush forward...

Strokestrokestrokestroke.

Click, Boss's body tenses, his head drops backward.

Strokestrokestrokestroke.

Click, Boss's orgasm erupting, spraying his cum into Wifey's mouth.

My cock swelled. Balls tightened. Ascended. Eye lids heavy. Here it comes. Here it...

Suddenly M typed:

"Imagine she's your fiancée."

Looked back to the photo. Try to push the thought out of my brain, but it was already there! Sarah, my fiancee, sucking her boss's cock, swallowing his cum! I didn't want that thought in my head. I tried to regain control, to keep my self from cumming, to hold it off...to just hold it....

Spurt!

I watched the first shot of cum erupting out the tip of my cock, flying through the air, landing just below my neck! My eyes closed and I saw images of Sarah sucking his cock! Spurt! Sarah swallowing his cum! Spurt! Her fucking him! Another spurt! And another.

My ass clenched and released, clenched and released. Breathing ragged. My stomach muscles were flexing, contracting, pushing out as much of my cum as possible.

I felt my head fall back onto my shoulders and heard my self groaning loudly as images of Sarah doing all sorts of dirty things shot like lightning through my brain.

Dirty, depraved things. Bent over naked grabbing her ankles while being plowed from behind. Being gang banged by three masked men. Dressed in leather, latex and wearing a corset.

My head spun.

After a minute, my orgasm slowly subsided. I lifted my head back up and looked at the chat window. M had typed some more:

"I am. It's hot."

I stared, trying to regain my mental faculties. Then I typed:

"That's a strange thing to put into a guys head when he's jerking off."

"Yeah, but it made you cum real hard, didn't it?" It had. It had been one of the top five orgasm I'd ever experienced.

I stared at the blinking cursor, not knowing what to type.

After a moment, I looked up and saw the clock. It was almost time for me to leave for work.

"Gotta get going, talk to you later," I typed.

I quickly signed off before he could respond.

***

Sarah

The elevator ride was both the longest and shortest of my life. I felt my heart beating in my throat as I slowly ascended to the 16th floor.

Finally, the elevator doors glided open and cool air massaged my legs before wafting up the inside of my thighs and planting its cold kiss on my uncovered labia. My body shivered as a I felt a rush course through my veins.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I thought.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward into our office. My hands were shaking.

The receptionists weren't in yet. "Calm down, Sarah," I thought to myself. "It's not like this is the first time you've worn a skirt without any panties."

But I'd only ever done it in public...what, maybe three times?...and each of those times I had been drunk, and on vacation in another city. And Dean had been around to protect me incase anything went wrong.

Now I was completely sober and not only was Dean not around, he didn't even know what was going on.

I'd had to alter my normal morning routine, getting dressed in the bathroom instead of in the bedroom so that Dean wouldn't see that I was wearing a skirt with no panties and a blouse with no bra. Luckily Dean worked the second shift on Friday's, so he wasn't even awake by the time I left.

I suddenly snapped back to the present. It felt like I'd been standing in front of the elevator for hours. I began to walk casually toward my desk, or I tried to look casual, anyway.

I couldn't help but look down as I walked. There were two small bumps pressing prominently against the fabric of my blouse, My erect nipples.

"Wow my nipples are hard," I thought. "Is that because I'm cold, or because I'm..." I couldn't bring myself finish the thought.

I looked up to see if anyone was looking at me, noticing that I wasn't wearing a bra, the funny way I was walking...

Luckily I was a bit early, so the office was still mostly empty. There were a few people over on the far side of the floor, but they already had their heads buried in their work.

Getting to my cubicle I quickly sat down at my desk and exhaled a huge sigh of relief. MAking it from the elevator to my cubicle without getting noticed was a victory as far as I was concerned.

I looked up over my cubicle wall. Munroe's door was closed. That meant he was already in.

I had expected Munroe to call me into his office immediately first thing in the morning. That prospect hung over me all morning like the Sword of Damocles. I calmed down after an hour of hearing nothing.

Once I got past my nervousness, I was actually incredibly productive. I got two days worth of work done in about two hours.

I began to wonder if this was all some strange psychological ploy by Munroe to get me to be a better worker. Is it some new managerial strategy? Is he going to do this to all the employees? Am I going to start noticing all the women of the office nipping out, crossing their legs very self-consciously?

It was right around noon when I saw Munroe exit his office and the panic suddenly gripped me again. I hunched down in my seat, hiding behind the walls of my cubicle. Maybe he wouldn't notice. Maybe he would forget--

"Come on, we're taking the rest of the day off," he said to me.

Munroe's car was very nice. All leather interior, slick, European design. It smelled incredibly good. I didn't know a thing about cars, but I could tell this one must have cost a pretty penny.

I watched him cautiously as he slid into the drivers seat next to me, put his keys in the ignition and started the car. He turned around to look behind us as we backed out of his parking spot. Then he put the car in Drive and drove us to the exit of the parking lot, turning left onto Archero Road.

My panic quickly subsided once we started driving. I don't know what it was, the comfortableness of the car, the lulling white noise of the road, Munroe's quiet confidence, something just made me relax.

As we drove through the city, I waited for Munroe to speak first. But he didn't. We sat there in silence, weaving through traffic, getting on the expressway, off the expressway, turning all sorts of directions.

After 45 minutes, I was completely disoriented, and a little bored. My curiosity got the better of me.

"So where are we going?" I asked.

"To get you some new clothes," he said gently. I looked down at my outfit. I was wearing one of my favorite skirts.

"What's wrong with these clothes?" I asked.

Munroe, just looked at me, then patted me on the leg. "Nothing, they're just not right for the occasion."

"But I did what you said, I wore what you said."

"You did fine. I'm just going to buy you some new clothes."

We pulled into the parking lot of a mall I had never seen before and parked. Munroe got out first and walked around to open my door for me.

My nervousness briefly returned, but once we got into the clothing store, things seemed to shift. It was like we were on a date. Or like my husband was taking me shopping for my birthday or something.

I gave him my dress size and entered a dressing room. He brought me all sorts of different types of dresses, then waited in the dressing room area, having me come out and model each one for him. It became sort of fun after a while, once I stopped thinking about how I was naked under the dresses and basically putting on a show for my boss.

We were definitely drawing the attention of the female employee who was attending the dressing room area. She kept eyeing my wedding ring, then Munroe's lack of a wedding ring, raising her eyebrow at me. She even winked at me once, as if to say she approved, I guess.

"Pick one out that you like," Munroe said.

A lot of them weren't my style at all. Much too low cut, or the skirts too mini. A lot of halter-top mini-dresses. Some were so short that they barely covered my butt. If I moved the wrong way or bent over, they would ride up, exposing my labia to anyone watching.

I was able to find one dress I liked though, and after about an hour I stepped out of my dressing room and handed the dress to him.

"I like this one," I said, looking at the price tag. It was much more than I'd usually pay for a dress. Munroe took the dress from me and turned to the employee.

"We'll take this dress and these three," he said, picking up three dresses that I had discarded as too slutty for my tastes. The employee took the dresses and walked over to the counter.

"Hey!" I said to Munroe.

"I said you pick one dress that you like. I didn't say that was the only dress I was going to buy you."

He paid for the dresses and we left the store.

We spent another hour shopping, he took me to a fancy salon and had my hair done. Then he took me to Sephora and got me a makeover. Thick, black eyeliner. Dark, smoky eye lids. Lots of mascara. He also bought me hundreds of dollars of new makeup.

We'd just finished at Sephora and we were standing out in the mall, when he took out one of the skimpier dresses and handed it to me.

"Go in the bathroom right there and put this dress on. Then meet me over there in that restaurant," he said, pointing to some nameless chain restaurant located not far from us. "I'm hungry."

Luckily there was nobody else in the bathroom. I stepped into one of the stalls and quickly slid my clothes off, the clothes I'd worn to work that morning. I pulled on the dress that Munroe had given me, making sure not to mess up my new hairdo, then bundled up my clothes.

Stepping out of the stall, I looked in the mirror.

It was one of those halter-top mini-dresses. It fit very tightly, hugging all my curves. Anyone looking at me would have no illusions that I was wearing a bra. The thick eyeliner, the new hair, the short dress.

I looked like a slut.

I walked nervously into the restaurant. It was after lunch, so it was pretty empty, but there were probably six or seven employees, all men. And all their eyes were immediately on me, on my body. I felt them all undressing me with their eyes, imagining what I was like in bed...

"How many?" the host asked me, though he was looking directly down at my breasts.

"I'm meeting someone," I said. I spotted Munroe on the backside of the restaurant and quickly walked over there, plopping down in the relative safety of the booth.

As I sat, my dress rode up, exposing my ass, my vagina. I unsuccessfully attempted to pull the bottom down, but it just wouldn't cover everything. I resigned to crossing my legs and hoping no one noticed.

I looked up at Monroe. He was smiling so broad it looked as if he was about to start laughing.

"I ordered us some shots, have one," he said, motioning to the table.

I picked up the shot glass in front of me, filled with a light brown liquid, and quickly slammed it. Whiskey.

"I can't believe you're having me wear this," I said.

"Why not? That's what every man wants you to wear. It's a man's fantasy outfit."

"Not Dean. Dean doesn't like it when I wear stuff like this." Munroe laughed loudly.

"Yeah, right. You don't know your man very well," he slid the shot sitting in front of him over to me. "Here, you can have this one, I'll order another."

I picked it up and quickly slammed it too.

The alcohol calmed me down quite a bit. We ordered food. I had a couple glasses of wine, got a little drunk. We ate, we talked. It was like a first date or something. He was actually quite a sympathetic listener. We exchanged lots of small talk and questions about each other's backgrounds. I even reciprocated on the questions.

When we got back into Munroe's car, it was 5 pm and I was drunk.

"Are you going to take me home now?" I asked.

"What time does your husband get home?" he asked.

"Well he works the second shift today so not until 8."

"Good, I feel like dancing."

With that, he leaned over towards me, reaching his hand towards my bare thighs. Instinctively, I recoiled, waiting for him to place his hand on the inside of my thigh, gently caress me there, slowly move up my leg towards my crotch, my panty-less crotch. I looked down. I could see the bottom of my pussy hanging out. It was glistening. I was wet.

But instead he reached for the glove box. He opened it and pulled out a small rolled up baggie. Inside the baggie was a long, thin piece of white paper. He opened the baggie and pulled it out and placed it between his lips. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit it, taking a few deep puffs and exhaling large plumes of smoke.

"Ever smoked weed before?" It was a joint. He was smoking a joint.

"Of course," I lied. I'd never done a drug before in my life. "I went to college."

"Well you're going to smoke now." He handed the joint to me.

Nervously, I held it up to my mouth, wrapping my lips around it. He re-lit it for me and I inhaled. The tip glowed red as I drew the air through it.

12
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