Mom's New Job Ch. 06

CHAPTER 6: EXHIBITIONISM

I knew my second Monday morning in the Executive Services position was going to be different than the first because at least I didn't expect a gang bang to start the day, but this one held some potential for something new, too.

Last Friday night, during what the executives called their Friday Night Club gathering at which I acted as their naked hostess, the conversation among them had turned to puzzling over why I should be expected to wear any clothes at all. It wasn't so much that a debate and arguments were posed for or against as much as posing the idea in case there really was a reason. The Senior Executives of Emmon Corporation had exclusive offices on the top floor of an office building in the center of downtown. It was exclusive to the point that a special access badge was required to reach the top floor by the elevator and again to unlock the massive solid wood door of the office. Only seven people, besides building security, had such access and one was me. The other six had spacious offices within the larger office area.

Hence, the office was very private. I was hired to fill the newly created Executive Services position which had never been more than the proverbial wet dream of the executives. That is, until I came along and opened up all sorts of potential. Along with normal office duties, I had extra office duties that included fucking and sucking the six executives. That became reality only after Mr. Bartels, the CEO, uncovered my submissive side which I had kept deeply hidden throughout my career, but when released by Mr. Bartels, he opened me to not only the position but also submitting myself to him.

The conditions he presented to me was that I would never wear underwear while adding to my wardrobe short skirts, sheer and semi-sheer blouses, and lots of thigh-high stockings. Those skirts and blouses routinely found themselves discarded on chairs of the various offices when I was asked for a fuck. It also became something of a habit that multiple men expressed interest in a fuck at the same time leading me to walk naked from office to office ... and sometimes even a third office.

Which was all the point of the conversation. Since I seemed comfortable in moving about the office naked, especially with it being secure and private, why bother with clothes for me. It only meant I had to remove them and put them back on. That was their argument. I had been uninvolved at the time as I was being brought to orgasm while sitting on Mr. Bartels cock in front of the other men.

But, I knew that the decision of my being dressed in the office or not was to be decided by the executives that morning. And, that, was the new potential for me.

Upon entering the office, I saw that Mr. Bartels' office was the only one lit. I tried to get into the office early to be prepared for the men's schedules. It wasn't unusual, though, for me to find Mr. Bartels already there. I tapped on his open door.

"Aw, Mary. Good morning, dear," he cheerfully welcomed me as I entered further and took a visitor chair upon his gesturing offer. Though this skirt was full, it was short. I opened my legs and crossed them slowly, a maneuver I had practiced to flash my bare pussy. He noticed, of course. "I wanted to ask you if you had any thoughts regarding the proposal we will be discussing this morning."

"No, Sir. Except ...," which grabbed his attention, "it might have some bearing on how you consider the discussion. When I got home Friday night, the boys told me they had made a decision."

A smile grew on his face. "You're kidding. Really?"

"Yes, Sir. When I am home and we are alone, I am to be naked. They expressed their decision before I was able to tell them about my activities as hostess."

"Imagine, a possible 24/7 naked."

I laughed. "Not quite, Sir. I would still have to get from there to here and back there."

"What a bother, huh?" he laughed. "Oh," he continued after a thought came to him, "did the boys help you with that other thing?"

I smiled. "Yes, Sir. Actually, they were quite insistent that I practice frequently. Would you like to see ... er ... feel my progress?"

He stood up and opened his slacks without another word. His cock hadn't grown to the 8 inches I knew it to be when hard but it was getting there. I stroked and sucked on it until it was the full 8 inches. I sat back on my heels and looked up at him. "Ready, Sir?" He simply nodded. I could see and feel the anticipation in him. I began sucking, again. My mouth working down and up on his cock and each time down went further into my mouth to my throat. When the head of his cock passed into my throat, he gasped. I pulled back and pressed again and again and again, each time taking another inch.

Finally, my nose bumped his pubic hair and I pressed a bit harder, clenched my throat around his cock and heard his deep, guttural moan. I pulled back up and off him.

"Would you like to fuck my throat, Sir?"

"Fuck ... your ..." he stammered which had to be the only time I knew him not to be in complete control of himself.

"At first, I was ecstatic just to get the boys in my throat. My boys were quite persistent, though, Sir. They are such good boys, don't you think so, Sir?" I teased.

"I ... yes ... you know I ... how much I like them. Yes, very good to ... ah ... insist on helping you."

"You can imagine, Sir, how ecstatic I was last night when they both managed to fuck my throat. They were very intent on satisfying the favor you asked of them."

"Yes ... I can't believe ... yes, I would like very much to be the first after your boys to fuck your throat." I started lowering my mouth over his cock, again. He stopped me and raised my chin to look into my eyes. "Have I told you lately what a magnificent submissive you are, Mary?"

I smiled at him, "Not nearly enough, Sir." I took his cock into my throat and he began humping into it.

Only moments after all the executives had arrived, I was called into the conference room and informed of their decision. I immediately stripped naked, except for stockings and heels, of course. The conditions were established but could always be amended. I would strip upon arriving at my desk. I would wear stockings and heels at a minimum. At a maximum, I was allowed to wear negligees if they were extremely sheer so my body was on display. It was agreed that if new items would be required from the boutique it would be at company expense. Thank goodness for discretionary budgets.

As I stood next to Mr. Bartels naked, it occurred to me that I might have been wrong about not being gang banged on my second Monday morning. With a pat on my bare ass, however, Mr. Bartels excused me. I returned to my desk carrying my clothes as they resumed the rest of their staff meeting.

I was having some difficulty concentrating on the items left for me to review and edit while the men continued their meeting. The change generated by their decision was surprisingly profound. What seemed like such simple logic expressed from their point of view became dramatic from mine in practice. Sure, moving from office to office naked might seem justification for a clothing policy change but what took minutes (or less) was now day-long. And, I felt that difference immediately.

I sat at my desk perusing the emails possibly containing attachments for my review and action and I am naked. This wasn't naked under revealingly short skirts and semi-sheer blouses. This was naked. I hadn't really noticed the air vent over my desk area before but now the soft movement of air hardened my nipples. My bare thighs and butt on the faux-leather chair seat was cool to the initial touch and quickly turned warm. My arm pressed against a breast as I leaned to the side for some simple effort like reaching for the stapler. Simply standing to retrieve a document from my personal printer would have me seeing my reflection in one of the glass-walled offices. I was naked. I was naked at work and that was my new standard.

I might not have been gang banged in the conference room but a close facsimile did occur immediately after. Mr. Jones, the originator of the my clothing discussion, stopped at the side of my cubicle upon leaving the meeting. The only word I could use when seeing his face was leering. He didn't need to make a gesture or utter a word, I stood from my chair after quickly saving the document I was reviewing. I followed him to his office. He didn't go to his desk but to one of the chairs in front of it. He opened his slacks, pushed them to his knees, and sat down.

Why did that feel so different? It wasn't really. The only thing really different was that I had followed him already naked. Before, I would still have known I was going to be fucked or be sucking him when I entered. The difference was mental. And, that difference was highly erotic. It was as if my being used and availability for use was a foregone conclusion. I was the naked office slut. Period. Come and use me. It was curious to me that it should be so much more stimulating. But, it was.

Clearly, the mental was high for Mr. Jones, too. His cock was hard before I could consider if I wanted to take him into my throat. He quickly shifted us, me kneeling on the chair and him pressing into my pussy which required no additional stimulation.

When he pulled his spent cock from my pussy, he informed me that Mr. Thomas wanted to see me next. That was the way the morning went. The morning wasn't a gang bang in the way that six men fucked me in a group, but I moved from one office to the next, each time being directed. Did they draw straws, choose numbers, or what? It had no meaning to me as I exited one office and moved next door or across the open space to the next office. Each fuck added another load of cum to my pussy mixed with my orgasmic juices which nearly matched the number of climaxes of cocks.

After the fifth executive, I slowly stepped to my cubicle but came to a dead stop before entering. Where were my high heels? I retraced in my mind but gave up and went in reverse order to find them on the floor in Mr. Abbott's office, my fourth fuck.

With the mixture of cum and pussy juice leaking from my pussy and coating my inner thighs, I stood at my desk. Mr. Bartels? I was not told to go to Mr. Bartels at any point in the morning. I slipped my heels back on and pulled the stockings back into place. I ran my fingers through my long hair and, for a moment, considered going to the restroom to touch up my makeup but accepted the reality that I was his submissive slut that had just been used by all the other executives.

I softly knocked on his open door for the second time that morning. Again, he greeted me with a warm smile.

"Sir," I inquired, "I was directed around the office but not to yours."

"Relieved or disappointed, dear?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Disappointed, Sir." I glanced at the open door and moved deeper into his office and spoke more softly, "Of all the men here, Sir, you are the one I most desire." I watched his reaction which was controlled. "It isn't just your larger cock, Sir. God, what a slutty thing to say," as a blush of understanding washed over me. "Not to say I don't desire you cock, Sir ..." I stumbled which brought a smile to his face. "Stop, Sir, you know what I mean and I've just been fucked by five men, none of them you. You know my desire to please you is only partially the fucking. Pleasing you is a reward of its own, Sir."

He rose and walked around his desk to take me in his arms. "My God, Mary," he softly said next to my ear, "I marvel at my good fortune that you came into my life." He parted just enough to kiss me hard, a passion that belied a submissive's expectation. "It is similar for me, Mary. You receive reward by knowing you have pleased me. I have a similar reward when I see you energetically fucking those men."

"For you, Sir," I clarify.

"I know that and that is why it is a reward for me. What you will do for me, you see? Using you as part of a group thing isn't the same for me. It is why last Friday I was intent on exhibiting you before the men while bringing you to an orgasm without really fucking you."

"That was intentional, Sir ..."

"It was. And, how did it make you feel?" he probed.

"Amazing, Sir. Even though I had fucked each of the men previously in front of everyone, when I was sitting on you with your cock stuffing my used pussy in full view of them and you exerted your effort at masturbating me to a delicously satisfying orgasm with my g-spot and clit being rubbed was ... it was ... yes, what I said ... amazing." He turned me back toward the door and playfully swatted my bare butt, "Back to work with you. You know I will use you, Mary. In my time, though."

I paused at the open door and gazed back at him. He was back behind his desk but watching me. Damn, I thought, I'm horny all over, again.

* * * *

It sometimes seemed Mr. Bartels was training me or preparing me. For what I didn't know, but soon I would come to understand. He often used the boys as his tools for taking me step by step into slut-hood. He had the boys fuck my ass, first. He had the boys take me deliberately into achieving deep-throat.

Exhibitionism seemed to be different. Mr. Bartels talked about exhibitionism with me. Almost taunting me with the idea. He described it as mental, psychological in its impact for arousal. His handling of me at that first Friday Night Club. He had displayed me with his cock buried in my pussy facing the other executives as he fondled me, groped me, teased my nipples, and took me to heaven by penetrating his finger into my pussy alongside his cock to stroke my g-spot and clit at the same time. He was correct, of course. Somehow, the display had added another level of arousal.

I never spent an entire weekend with him without the boys. But, there were nights that I spent alone with him at his home. At first, I thought it was about the sex. Although, it always was, when we were alone, it was different. He showed me how slow, concentrated attention to a partner can take any sexual act to another level. Emotion. Mental. He was turning me into HIS ideal sex partner. I learned what he liked most and how he like to use me. I learned how to use my pussy and anal muscles to enhance the pleasure ... both of our pleasures. Our few evenings together in retrospect seemed jammed with learning but at the time it never felt that way. It was later, when I was away from him and considered what we had done, that I came to realize how much of a dominant he was and how much of a submissive I was. I sometimes felt that we had to have been made for each other, the perfect ying and yang for each other, but separated until recently found, again.

Exhibitionism was one of the lessons that I didn't understand to be a lesson at the time. He asked how it felt to be naked or nearly so in the office. How it felt being naked at home with the boys. When at his home, he asked how it felt when I was taken outside naked in the pool or in the yard. How it felt to be fucked outside in his private yard.

It culminated about two weeks after that first Friday Night Club hostessing.

Mr. Bartels asks if I could spend the day and night on Saturday with him. The boys were mildly disappointed but it had happened before and they understand. When I arrived on Saturday early afternoon, he told me we were going to a local music festival being held along the river. As nice as that sounded, I knew better. I was sure it would be nice but he and I aren't dating so there is something else in his mind, too. It had nothing to do with trusting him or not. Of course, I trusted him. But, my mind was working on what else was going on. Ultimately, I knew to stop thinking and wait. Whatever it was would present itself. Whatever he had in mind for me, I knew I would do for him regardless.

I didn't understand at first but he was ramping up the exhibitionism nature of sexual stimulation with blatant exposure. He started out slow. First, he has me dress in an outfit I had never seen before, a super tight, clinging exercise short (butt-crack hi-lighting the view) and small, thin sports bra. It is not my common dressing but, I remind myself, this is Mr. Bartels. After all, I am always naked in his office and home.

As I squeezed myself into the outfit, I tried to envision going to a gym in it ... and I couldn't. But, apparently, I would be walking through the crowds of a music festival. We walk through the festival in no particular hurry enjoying the music and vendors. I am surprised and disappointed when he wanted to leave later in the afternoon. We aren't going back to his house, however. As we pulled to a stop at a nondescript home in a nondescript neighborhood, he tells me to be flexible and trust him.

It turns out the home belongs to an artist ... of sorts. Mr. Bartels knocks, identifies himself, the man answering the door studies me in the tight workout clothes, and lets us in. He pulls out his phone and takes pictures of me front, back and side. After transferring them to his tablet, he turns to Mr. Bartels.

"Exactly as she appears now?" the man asks.

"Exactly," Mr. Bartels responds.

The man led us through the house to a side room filled with framed photos, paint equipment, and paints. The floor was covered with tarps and he flipped a switch that turned on an air-filtration system. By just glancing at the photos on the walls, I saw what kind of artist this man is: body painting.

The man led me into the center of the room and calmly said, "Naked, please." I look at Mr. Bartels but I am here by his choice so I pull off both tight pieces. I am standing before this man completely naked trying to remain calm like this happens all the time. Of course, I am making the effort for Mr. Bartels because inside I am anything but calm.

The man glances at the tablet frequently as he uses a fine brush to outline the edges of his painting to duplicate the clothes I had been wearing. As he focused on what would be the top, I relaxed. He outlined the thin straps that crossed in back and the smallish cups in front. Once outlined, he made the straps heavier with another brush before switching to a small spray paint gun to fill in over my breasts. He pulled back occasionally, presumably to gauge the thickness of paint he had applied. Then, he seemed satisfied and turned to Mr. Bartels.

"Perfect," he said with a please smile.

Then, the man moved to outline what would be the shorts. Hell, even the real shorts were so explicit I was self-conscious being out in public. Maybe they were okay in a gym but in public they seemed explicit. Apparently, I had much to learn, though I accepted it all.

I was self-conscious as the man again used the fine brush for the outline of the shorts, especially when he told me to open my legs to outline the inside. As he outlined the inside of my thighs, he was right there ... right there at my pussy and I just knew I was turned on and that he could tell.

He looked up at me and smiled. Yep ... he could tell.

He turned me around to begin the spray paint on my backside. Damn, he even spread my ass cheeks to spray deeper inside. When he turned me, again, to spray the front, I visibly shivered and flinch as he worked the spray lower and lower to my mound.

"You need to hold still," he admonished, "or you'll ruin it."

I didn't dare glance at Mr. Bartels.

He had my thighs covered and my mound to my clitoral hood when he calmly said, "Spread your legs, dear and show me your beautiful cunt."

I gasped as his glove covered finger pressed a pussy lip open to center the spray. Then the other side. Then, I was to spread wider and he sprayed over my pussy. I wasn't done, though. A brush was used to stroke into my pussy for full coverage.

He carefully guided me to a full-length mirror. I gasped. Mr. Bartels was behind me nodding and very pleased. I stared at my image. At a glance, I was dressed. Under careful examination, my nipples and pussy lips gave it away.

I looked at Mr. Bartels through the mirrored image. "My God, Sir, what ...?"

"Back to the festival, dear," he said with a smile.

After paying the man and waiting for the paint to dry sufficiently, we were back in the car for the festival.

I am completely naked except for paint. We walk, hand in hand, through the same festival at dusk and into full night darkness. At several times, women and couples boldly come up to us to be sure of what they are seeing. They always exude wonder and appreciation, wishing they had the confidence to do that. Single guys stare but keep their distance. When some patrolling police show up walking through, two giggling young women provide a visual screen.

I can't believe I spent over two hours at a crowded music festival completely naked except for some body paint. On the way back to the car, I can't stop talking about it and I feel an even deeper bond in the process and as a result. I see how pleased he is that I did it and that alone makes up for all tension and anxiety and embarrassment. He tells me how proud he is of me and I feel like I am about to burst with joy.

On the way back to his home, he can't resist and stops at a local park with a walking trail lit with foot tall coveredlights to only reflect on the trail. It is dark and probably impossible to tell how I am dressed even as we pass several more people closely. When we are nearly all the way around the lake, he pulls me off the trail for me to suck him. I do so greedily, as I am incredibly stimulated.

I dropped to my knees in the dirt, lower his slacks, and engulf his cock. I am not surprised that it is nearly hard and becomes completely hard in my mouth. I suck him, lick him, and suck him more. I bob my head on his cock until I press his cock deeper and deeper until he is in my throat and I press more so his cock is fully in my throat. I hear him groan and moan. Are there other late night walkers close by? I certainly don't care. I fuck my throat over his cock until he cums. Then I suck every drop from him and lick his cock clean.

"Sir," I say urgently, "I want you to fuck me here." He laughs, "Then you shouldn't have made me cum in your throat."

Frustrated for a moment, "Sir, how about if we walk back the other way. Maybe by then ..."

He laughs, "Okay, my slut. We'll give it a try." It works. I get my outdoor fuck.

Arriving home late Sunday morning, the boys, as always, insist on hearing everything that happened. Of course, once entering the house, I strip completely which isn't stripping much since I only had a short sundress on with no underwear. We are in the family room with them sitting on the sofa and me on an arm chair opposite them. As I begin to describe the body painting, Mark adds a new twist for me.

"Mom," he interrupts my story telling, "hook your legs over the arms and stroke your pussy while telling us."

I gasp and glance to his older brother, by only a few minutes, to find Paul with a smile and a subtle elbow to Mark, "Good one," he utters.

As I resume the story in detail, the way the boys insist, I am also stroking my cum-filled pussy from a fucking by Mr. Bartels just before my leaving his home. I wonder if the boys can see cum leaking from my spread pussy as I finger it, stroking over the length, probing inside, and stroking my clit that feels so engorged.

After, it seems that my stories recounting activities with Mr. Bartels will sometimes lead the boys to trying to match what had happened. They consider that reaction to being a mentoring benefit from Mr. Bartels and Mr. Bartels fully encourages that as it seems to deepen my submissive response to him. In this case, they do take it to another step. That afternoon, the boys drive us out to the Interstate. Mark and I are in the back seat of the boy's old Prius while Paul drives. Once Paul merges onto the Interstate and passes out of the city, Mark begins to undress me and he joins me naked in the back. I am nervous. It is still fully light outside and, even if we are traveling at 65 miles per hour, the windows of this car are not darkened and we are quite visible inside it.

I fucked Mark cowgirl style, bouncing on his big cock, my breasts bouncing and swaying, with truckers and other drivers honking as they pass. I had earlier wondered why Paul was driving at 65 rather than the 75 mph speed limit. He wanted increased exposure of what I was doing. I glance down at Mark as I fuck him aggressively and out the side window as another pickup truck came alongside and matched our speed for several minutes that I realized I am the one really exposed.

After we both cum, Paul pulled off at an exit with no other cars behind us. Paul and Mark exit the car, Mark pulling on shorts and tee shirt while Paul quickly strips. They change places and I dutifully wait for Paul to get positioned before straddling him and sitting abruptly on his equally thick, 10 inch cock. Despite just orgasming on the identical cock of his brother, I moan lustily as my pussy slides down his cock. We are still stopped at the stop sign on the exit ramp as Mark restarts the car. Paul looks up at me as I begin rising and falling on his cock.

"I think Mr. Bartels, is right," he says with a smile as he flexes his hips up to meet me. "You are a slut, mom."

I rise up slowly on his cock, smile down at him, and drive my pussy down to take his cock as deep as possible in that constrained position. He moans in response.

"And how does ... that make you ... feel, son?" I ask between aggressive fucking. "Are you disappointed, ashamed, or embarrassed by me if that is true?"

He pulls my head down and kisses me hard and long, his hips rising to meet my fucking him. When we separate, "Mom," he starts, "you being a submissive slut to him and sharing it with us is the most amazing thing possible. A mom-slut. We love you beyond words. We always have and always will."

Mark drives us back to the city with a duplication of public exposed fucking.

Wait until Mr. Bartels hears, I think to myself as I awkwardly shrug on my tee shirt as we exit the Interstate onto city streets. I need to be at least partially covered within the city. The boys, though, are discussing possibly having me make a naked dash from the garage to the house with the waning light of day. God ... between these two and Mr. Bartels, I never know for sure what might be coming next. No, I think with a giggle that causes the boys to glance at me curiously, I am pretty sure whatever it is that it will involve and orgasm and more semen in my cunt ... or ass ... or throat.