I was depressed, and when I'm depressed I like to assemble the sluttiest outfit that won't get me fired and wear it to work. That day it was a black button-down shirt with a white collar and cap sleeves (funny how only women know the words for those clothes that leave men speechless), a short white pleated skirt, intricately embroidered black lace stockings, and two-inch black patent leather pumps. I combed back my shiny black hair until it fell in waves at my shoulders and I applied slightly muted red lipstick.

Yes, I like black. Why do you ask?

I have big boobs. Not bragging, it's just reality. Most of the fun is in seeing guys' eyes pop out when they finally get to see them naked. The boobs, that is. For the guy it's as if he's nine again at the ice cream sundae shop. You mean I really get to lick that?? Women don't seem so impressed. I guess they see my 42Fs and think back pain and stretch marks, rightly so. But I don't feel I should have to hide my beauties -- neither do I show them off excessively. But that day I wore my pushup bra -- yes, they make 42F pushup bras. My breasts were twin white globes straining at the black fabric of my shirt, not even contained by the shirt's darts. I unbuttoned the top two buttons to heighten the effect and show just a little black lace bra. I looked at myself in the mirror. My body screamed "ejaculate into me, and nine months later, a healthy baby bearing your genetic material will pop out of me." Good.

My boss, Ralph, wasn't what anyone would call hot. He was about fifty and greasy, often sweating. The sleeves of his dress shirts were always rolled to the elbow, exposing meaty forearms matted with long dark hair. He had not much hair at all on top of his head, and what remained was a dingy-looking black mixed with enough white to show but not enough to look distinguished. His cheeks sagged, his eyebrows were like black caterpillars, and he never looked happy. But he'd been divorced three times, so clearly he had something to offer a woman, but not enough humility to get her to stay. I didn't care about staying, though, I just wanted a wet piece of meat sliding between my legs.

Ralph seemed angry at women, and although I'd never want to date a guy who had that much bottled-up resentment towards my gender, I sensed that Ralph might channel his anger through his cock if he were given the opportunity. If he could let that anger turn him into a sledgehammer driving, drilling, boring into me until my cervix is shoved up into the top of my uterus, making my womb a deflated tennis ball, and continuing to ram his pole through the wet entrance into my body until that soft pinkish-red mass gets shoved up through my throat and out my mouth, I might gush enough liquid to overflow the Bonneville Dam. And he would probably tell me to go pick up that quivering, gleaming organ where it landed and clean up the carpet underneath it, too, which would make my vulva even moister.

I'm Ralph's secretary, and I'm not a very good secretary. I've never really enjoyed doing anything I was expected to do, which is why I have a master's degree in public health but am at the latest of a long string of clerical jobs. I was also past the end of a long string of lovers. I wanted a guy who would treat me like a condom, a guy to fill me up with his cum and throw me away. Sometimes a girl just wants to take a man's erect penis down her throat and suck and lick it, snaking her tongue up and down the shaft and around the coronal ridge, speckled with its tiny papules, until he heaves a great shudder and semen comes out her ears.

It was late in the day and I had to bring some papers to Ralph for him to sign, which I'd managed to avoid all day. I couldn't put it off any longer.

"Sheryl, I've been meaning to talk to you," Ralph said, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on the desk, fingers interlaced at neck level.

"Yes, Mr. Wheelwright?" I said, hands crossed behind my back so as to lift my tits a little higher, legs crossed at the ankle and standing on one toe.

"Your work hasn't been efficient lately, Sheryl. It seems to me that you could do better, but if you can't or won't, then I'll have to fire you."

I'd been here so many times before. But Ralph hadn't heard any of my stories yet, so I unleashed them all: shadowy fatiguing health problems, family members' constant demands on me, my noble extra-vocational charitable commitments, the crushing depression caused by all of these. All were at least half true.

"What do you want from me, Sheryl? It seems like you just want someone to listen to you sobbing like a little girl and say 'I hear you, you're okay.' Is that what you want?"

"I was only trying to explain why my work has been so bad --"

"No, really, that's what you want."

"Isn't that what everyone wants?" I asked.

"If what you're after is sympathy, you can go to your friends for that. You come here to work. And why would you come to me for sympathy?"

"Why are you mad at me when I just want the thing everyone wants?"

"That's the problem with people like you," he said, looking off to the side. "You know, all you want is for people to listen to your problems and tell you that you're a perfectly good person regardless."

"But all you're saying is that I'm just like everybody else. So you're not saying anything at all." I stood back on my entire foot, uncrossed my ankles, and crossed them again. Nothing seemed to land with him. I was still standing. His eyes slid over the full solidity of my thighs and calves, which are filled out from years on my bike, and down to my shoes. Sometimes I wonder "who notices shoes, anyway?" But I was glad I'd bothered to wear these shoes today, the ones that caused so much pain, all for the benefit of advertising that my vagina was open for all to enter.

"Do you want my sympathy, or do you want my penis in your ass?" he snarled.

I wasn't expecting this to be so easy and he had to be pretty confident to say that to me when he didn't know whether he'd be getting an orgasm or a sexual harassment lawsuit out of it. My clit got hard at the thought of this commanding man using my anus for his pleasure.

"Well, duh," I said, drawing out the second syllable. "I want your schlong in my bottom."

"Here's the Vaseline. Grease me up." He stood up and unzipped his fly. A thick beer-can cock, seven inches long and with lots of gray hair at the base, sprung out. I took the jar of Vaseline and began to massage his erect penis. I thought better of it and sunk to my knees. I had to taste that slab of man-meat before it was to prong my ass, not to leave until his spermatozoa were swimming across my transverse colon. The thick, hot cock felt so good inside my throat. He grabbed the back of my head and pushed it into his pelvis to get more of his cock into me.

"Enough fun and games." With the grace of a dancer, he grabbed my left hand, pulled me to standing position, and had me bent over the desk with my skirt flipped up in one move. He pulled down my black lace stockings, spread my buttons apart roughly, and then his cock pushed into my rectum like a sword stabbing into a side of beef. At this moment, being owned by him, feeling every move his penis made pushing in and out of my bowels, I wanted nothing more than for him to twitch, spurt and spray hot semen all over the inside walls of my anus.

"Fuck! Is that what you wanted, you little whore?" he asked, punctuating it with a particularly forceful thrust into my butt. I moaned.

"Yes, sir," I began, "it's what I've wanted ever since the first time I walked into this office. When you asked me where I saw myself in five years, I had to stop myself from saying 'riding your dick until you blow cum up my cunt.' I live to service men like you. They remind me of my dad, but my dad was too good a man to fuck girls he had power over. But you're not, are you? You love to use your little sluts and then tell them to change the toner in the fax machine?"

"Fuck yeah, I love hiring whores and I love to fuck them. It's even better when they're whores who can also type my letters for me. Take! That! You! Fucking! Slut!" He fucked me so hard that I marveled that he still hadn't blown his load. The sensation in my ass was like shitting in reverse. It was divine.

"My cock feels dirty. Clean it off." Abruptly, he pulled his condomless cock out of my ass (like any good slut, I take PrEP, so I didn't mind that he was fucking me bareback) and spun me back around. I dropped to my knees again and licked his shitty dick. It wasn't really shitty. I eat a lot of fiber. But nothing makes my pussy wetter than a guy who doesn't mind shoving his dirty dong down past my tonsils. I reached my hand under my skirt and finger-fucked my own cunt while I sucked his cock. "That's it. Take it all, slut."

"I bet a whore like you has a pussy that's loose as fuck," he speculated.

"Fuck around and find out," I said.

"Get on the fucking desk and spread your legs."

I rose up and sat on the desk, grabbing my knees and pushing them wide apart so he could see my gleaming, bald beaver. He entered my hot cave. I gripped his dick with my cunt muscles. I know men love it when a bitch squeezes their dick with her cunt.

"Fuck, that's good. I'm going to give you my cum. I'm going to put a baby in you."

"Breed me, Ralph!" I screamed. It was good that most of the other people in this company worked from home. I have an IUD, of course. But the fantasy of being used by some guy who doesn't care about me, just about spreading his genetic material around as much as he can, is irresistible.

"Does my pussy feel good wrapped around your cock?" I asked him.

"You're as loose as I thought, but you're so fucking wet, you little bitch. Do you like fucking old men? Do you get off on ugly hairy guys shoving their cocks up you until they fill you up with cum and you leak all over my nice hardwood desk?"

"I'm just a whore for your cock," I exclaimed. Ralph was hanging on to my knees and sort of sailing backwards and then leaning back into me, which kept his upper body out of the way so that I could rub my little clitty. Which I did.

"Ralph, I'm going to cum. I'm going to cum all over your cock because of how hot you're making my pussy feel."

"Good sluts need dick up their ass before they can cum," he replied. "Turn around." I obliged. His cock, so wet from my pussy juice that I didn't need any more lube, returned into the home my anal canal made for it. It felt like he was tearing me apart. I loved it. I fucked the edge of the desk with my clit and I came hard, squirting all over my boss's mahogany desk. The feeling of his cock in my ass as my muscles spasmed around the long schlong was amazing.

"I'm going to fill up your ass with my cum now," he announced. He fucked me a few more times, and it felt like the head of his dick was going even deeper into my intestines. Then he let out a grunt and ejaculated in my butt. He pulled me in until he was balls-deep in my ass, pumping semen into me like he was squeezing frosting into the middle of a chocolate fudge cupcake. I thought about how if I got into a car accident on the way back from work and died, the autopsy would reveal that I had semen in my rectum.

He pulled out. I felt his slimy cum seep out of my ass and down my legs. I love that feeling, like I'm just there to soak up a man's spunk. I reached behind me and rubbed the fingertips of my right hand in the dripping pool of man-juice, then brought it to my mouth and sucked. The taste of cum is a reward for a job well-done. I'm a lot better at extracting cum out of men's penises than I am at typing. Ralph was wiping my vaginal and anal secretions off his tool with an old newspaper.

"Do you still want to fire me?" I asked.

"Not if you keep letting me fuck the shit out of your whore ass, no."

"Ralph, there's no way a slut like me could resist. My ass is yours anytime you want it. I live to get cummed in."

As he zipped up his gray wool pants, he said, "That's good, because if you take my dick out of your mouth at the wrong time, you'll have to file for unemployment." So now my job depended on whether I was willing to take my boss's fat cock all the way down my throat and feel his abundant pubic hair penetrate my nostrils. That was kind of hot.

"Get out of my office." I imagined walking down the hallway and leaving a trail of Ralph's cum like a snail. As sexy as that would have been, I opted to pull my white panties back on instead. I walked out of the office without looking back, then down the hall to the ladies' room. I sat down in the stall and took off my panties again, then sucked the remnants of Ralph's cum out of the gusset. My clit was hard again. I leaned back, the metal toilet flusher digging into my lower back, and made a "V" shape out of my index and middle fingers and let my clit fuck it. My orgasm rolled through me like a truck.

I pictured myself underneath Ralph, his hard cock railing my mouth while his scrotum sat on my upper lip, cushioning my nose. I'd have to get him to try that. I thought about his sperm swimming through my intestines, fruitlessly searching for an egg to fertilize. I wondered how long they were able to live in there. One of the hot things about getting fucked by a man is that you get to take a part of him with you and he's never going to get it back. I breathed hard. I put the cummy panties in my purse and walked out to the parking lot, my ass bare underneath my skirt and swaying flagrantly due to the fuck-me pumps on my feet. I was putting on a show for anyone who cared to watch. I didn't mind. I drove home fast so I could fuck myself again and fantasize about that slob of a man using me as a scumbucket. I believe in equality, but my vagina always keeps me begging for more from guys who see me as no different than the socks they used to jizz into in their high school bedrooms. Unlike those socks, I'm never going to be clean.