The Price of Promotion - Fuck for promotion
The Price of Promotion - Fuck for promotion
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My wife, Chloe, is 28 years old—a walking fire hazard of a woman. Standing at 5'3" and weighing 120 pounds, she possesses an hourglass body that turns heads wherever she goes. Her breasts are incredibly round and heavy, her ass arches perfectly like a ripe peach, and her skin is as flawless as porcelain. Working in the HR department, she frequently wears tight, body-hugging button-up shirts that put her cleavage on full display and pencil skirts that embrace her full hips. Every time I look at her, my cock immediately stands at attention, demanding to take her.
As for me, Ethan, 32, I was just a low-level team lead stuck in a corporate rut. Recently, the department director position opened up. I wanted that seat so badly it was driving me insane. But in a cutthroat corporate jungle like New York, without connections or a powerful backer, that ambition was nothing but a pipe dream.
The Indecent Proposal
The Indecent Proposal
One evening, after throwing back a few heavy glasses of whiskey, my brain was buzzing. I decided to lay it all out for Chloe: "Chloe, I'm losing my mind over that director position, but I have no leverage. Arthur, the senior VP, is a horny old bastard who has been eye-fucking you for months. What if you sleep with him just for one night? Secure this promotion for me."
Chloe’s eyes widened in utter disbelief, and she immediately lashed out at me: "Ethan, are you even a man? You’re asking your own wife to go and get fucked by that bloated old pig?"
I softened my voice, whispering sweet promises about how this one night would change our lives forever, lifting us into the upper class. She gritted her teeth, her eyes flashing with a mix of fury and intense conflict. Finally, she nodded sharply: "Fine. Just this once. But you owe me for the rest of your life!"
The following night, I escorted Chloe to Arthur’s luxury penthouse. The man was in his late 50s, completely bald, with a heavy beer gut. The second he laid eyes on Chloe, his gaze locked onto her heavy breasts, practically drooling like a stray dog. I made a few minutes of polite small talk and then slipped out, leaving my wife alone in the lion's den. Walking out of the building, my heart was hammering against my ribs. I was terrified, yet intensely hard—the image of that old man pinning my wife down and drilling her made my cock stretch painfully against my jeans.
Chloe didn't crawl back home until three in the morning. Her hair was a wild mess, her silk blouse wrinkled and torn, and the zipper of her skirt was dragged all the way down to her thighs. It was blindingly obvious that Arthur had absolutely wrecked her. Without a word, she rushed straight into the bathroom, the sound of the shower blasting for a full hour. I sat on the sofa, smoking cigarette after cigarette, my chest tightening with a volatile cocktail of jealousy and pure, unadulterated lust.
When she finally stepped out, wrapped tightly in a towel, she sat across from me. Her voice was ice-cold: "That miserable bastard kept me pinned down for over three hours. He pounded my pussy until it was raw. But your promotion? He signed off on it."
Hearing her words, my heart did a violent flip, and my dick hardened like stone. I licked my lips, letting out a dirty whisper: "How did he fuck you? Give me every single detail, baby. It's driving me crazy."
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