When my partner walked out on me for some micro skirted eye candy he left me with a problem. I had a big mortgage to meet on my own, added to which I'm a woman with expensive tastes. I was short of cash and running up debts. Fortunately I had a steady job in admin at the big head office of a multinational company but it was hard to make ends meet. But the chain of events which changed everything started when I got a move to another department. Just after I'd started in my new job one of the other women took me aside and gave me some advice.
"Don't ever find yourself alone in a lift or an office with Mr Dawson, and if you're in a meeting with him keep your knees together and make sure you're wearing clean knickers."
I got the message. I thanked my new friend and assured her that as a woman just turned thirty I knew how to look after myself.
"And don't think he'll take any notice of that," she added, pointing at my wedding ring. "He goes for experienced women."
I didn't tell her I wasn't married but wore my ring just for show. But I was certainly experienced!
One of the women pointed out Mr Dawson to me. He wasn't what I'd expected. I'd imagined a dirty old man who doesn't accept he's past it. Mr Dawson was late forties with a hint of grey in his hair, slim and quite good looking. He was also quite a senior manager well above my lowly grade. As I walked past him his eyes locked onto me. I wasn't wearing anything provocative, just an ordinary white blouse and a dark blue skirt just on the knee. As his eyes followed me I felt as if my clothes and underwear had evaporated and he was seeing me nude in some erotic pose. Even from a distance I could feel his lust. "Phew!" I said to myself, but I had to admit I enjoyed it, though of course I didn't say!
While I sat at my desk that afternoon an idea came to me. As far back as I could remember men had been after my body. If I had what men wanted, sex, and men had what I wanted, money, there was the basis of a business plan. Even better, with randy guys like Mr Dawson around who probably knew lots of others like him among the hundreds of men in our building I had a ready made customer base. Guys like Mr Dawson knew how to keep secrets and it would all be very discrete: I wouldn't have to strut my stuff round the building in a micro skirt and fishnets. My idea grew on me.
I must confess it wouldn't be the first time I'd offered sex for money. At nineteen, soon after I'd left school, my first job was in a little general store. The store manager flattered me telling me how pretty I was and how he was interested in portrait photography. But I wasn't fooled. I was a "big girl" for my age, boys were always after me, and I'd seen the pictures of girls in my dad's secret stash of porn magazines. I knew what men wanted.
In a back room of the store he'd taken lots of pictures of me. He liked to photograph me stripping, especially from my school uniform white blouse, grey pleated skirt and white schoolgirl knickers, and in nude poses I could hardly believe. He liked to masturbate squirting his cum over me as I posed nude, and wanted my used knickers to play with. He taught me how to give a man a hand job and suck his cock off, skills I perfected and made much use of later! Perhaps sometime I'll tell you another story about all that. The money was very welcome, but even better was the erotic thrill of secretly doing something very raunchy! Perhaps there's always been something of the whore in me.
I've got a 37-24-36 figure which I keep trim in the gym, neatly styled dark shoulder length hair, big boobs which are still firm, decent legs, a round bottom with sexy cheeks and a little bush of trimmed dark hair around my pussy. Up in my bedroom in front of my wall mirror I stripped and practised the nude spread legged and thrust out boobs poses I remembered from my store girl days. I decided I still looked good doing a striptease or nude, and I hadn't forgotten what men wanted!
All I needed was the opportunity. It didn't take long to arrive. I was standing by the printer waiting for a print job to finish. The printers were in a little secluded bay down a corridor so the noise wouldn't disturb people. Again I wasn't dressed provocatively, just in a pretty red sleeveless summer dress which buttoned up the front and ended just above my knees, though perhaps my dress clung rather to closely to my curves and I had been worried the outline of my panties showed through the thin cloth. As it was summer my legs were bare. I had my back to the entrance of the bay and I was bending over the printer gazing into space with my thoughts miles away.
Suddenly I felt a hand on my bottom, fondling my bum cheeks, then a finger following the hem of my panties across my bottom through the thin tight material of my dress. I froze, then I heard Mr Dawson's voice:
"You've got the sexiest backside in the department Patricia. I bet it looks even sweeter when you're just in those sexy little panties."
I spun to face him and stood there leaning back against the printer for a moment composing myself while he grinned lewdly at me. Then I spoke, keeping my voice calm and level.
"Mr Dawson. I can do one of three things. I can slap your face. I can report you for molesting me, or ...," I paused for effect, "or if you pay me a fee we can negotiate I'll do all the filthy things you've never dared ask your wife."
His jaw dropped and his eyes bulged. It was his turn to be shocked. The office whore had arrived.
"Are you serious?" was all he could find to say.
