There is a lot of talk these days about sexual harassment. I am a case in point, but with an odd twist. My male heterosexual boss sexually harasses me, another male heterosexual. How could that be? It all revolves around my wife. Let me explain.
With one exception, I’ve been a failure in life. A below average student, not athletic, no special talents, not much to look at, and barely able to hold a job as a salesman. All my life I’ve been called an underachiever. My one achievement has been landing my wife, Marie, a truly gorgeous woman. Marie has a face and body men dream about. She has deep, brown eyes and chestnut hair, a naturally lightly tanned complexion, and a full, buxom figure of the hourglass type–a small waist but ample hips and round, inviting breasts and ass. Her feminine beauty is matched by her warmth and an animal magnetism that she exudes. Men have always been drawn to her, and watching men admire and desire her has been my greatest source of pride. Needless to say, I worship the ground she walks on.
My boss, Karl, is a crude, loud, arrogant bully. I admit that he is an effective salesman, part of his natural aggression and self-confidence, but I can’t stand him. He is also very intimidating, and I have always been especially timid in his presence.
I had the fewest sales of anyone in the company, and simply wasn’t pulling my weight. I was on probation and on the verge of losing my job. In a last-ditch bid to keep my job, I thought I might invite Karl over for dinner at my apartment. The only reason I thought he might accept the invitation was because I had noticed him eyeing my wife once at a company party. I worked up my courage to invite him, and, to my great relief, he did, in fact, accept.
Marie has many fine qualities, as I’ve already indicated, but cooking and cleaning are not among them. On the day of the dinner, I left work early to buy wine and groceries, clean the house, and cook a nice dinner. Marie could see that I was very nervous. In the hour before Karl’s arrival, I asked Marie if she was going to change her clothes. She looked surprised. She was wearing her usual, somewhat conservative clothing. “What’s wrong with this?” she said. I told her that I would really like it if she could wear something just a little bit sexy.
I nervously told her that I thought Karl was about to fire me, and that my only hope was this dinner, and the thought that somehow Marie would be able to persuade him to let me keep my job.
“If you think I can help, Howie, then of course I’ll do whatever I can,” Marie said.
We went upstairs, and I helped her pick out a tight-fitting, button down knit sweater. Although she only owned one really short shirt at the time, I asked her to put that one on. Marie also generally wore little make up, her natural beauty really needs no enhancing, but I asked her to put on lipstick and eye shadow for the occasion. She could tell that I really wanted her to make an impression on Karl.
As the doorbell rang, I took one last look at Marie, and took one little action that probably changed the rest of my life. I reached up, and unbuttoned two more buttons on her sweater, which revealed her deep, rich cleavage. I gave her a kiss before opening the door and greeting Karl.
Karl hardly glanced at me. His eyes lit up at the sight of Marie, and, crude person that he is, he stared openly and lustfully at Marie’s breasts. Although Karl disgusted me, I also couldn’t help but feel immense pride in Marie. As I mentioned, I have always enjoyed watching other men admire Marie’s beauty; it makes me feel lucky at least in one–I would say the most important–part of my life.
Dinner went well. I am not much of a conversationalist, especially with Karl. But Marie kept up a conversation, and I ran back and forth to the kitchen, bringing dishes back and forth, fetching wine and refilling their glasses. Karl spent most of dinner ogling Marie’s breasts. At least he seemed to be enjoying himself. And she did too.
After dinner, Marie invited Karl to join her on the sofa. I went to get another bottle of wine. When I came back, I could see that Marie’s short skirt was hiked up very high on her thighs. Karl was playing with Marie’s fingers, telling her she should really wear nail polish.
They kept chattering on. I sat in a chair, sipped my wine, and watched. Their conversation turned to me, as though I wasn’t even there. Karl told Marie what a bad salesman I was and told some admittedly amusing stories about my various failures that got Marie laughing. He told her, “I was just about to fire the little wimp, and I think I still will.”
Marie rose to the challenge. “What if we invited you to dinner same time next week? You wouldn’t fire Howie for the next week, would you?” As she asked the question, she leaned toward Karl, and her breasts almost spilled out of her sweater entirely.
“Just to see them juggs again would be worth keeping the little wimp another week,” he said. So, without even a glance to me, Marie invited Karl to dinner the following week.
As he left, Marie stood at the doorway, telling him what a fun evening it was. She gave him a hug, and I thought he held it a bit longer than proper, but then he left.
I fretted all the next week. Prior to the next dinner, I took Marie out to shop for nail polish. We couldn’t afford a proper manicure, so I told her I would learn how to be her manicurist. So I studied up on manicure. I started by practicing on her toes, giving her a pedicure. I found that I particularly enjoyed preparing her feet, especially kneeling before her and pampering them. I worked on her fingernails as well, and by week’s end, I had learned a new skill that I very much enjoyed.
I also worried about what Marie should wear for the next big night. After many tries, we settled finally on a silky, cream-colored translucent button-down blouse. Under it, we chose a low cut, creamy, front-clasping bra that pushed up her breasts a bit. Again, I was in charge of buttoning the blouse, and saw to it that it revealed plenty of cleavage. I chose a longer, wrap-around skirt that tends to fall and split very high up on Marie’s thigh whenever she sits down and crosses her legs.
The dinner was pretty much a repeat of the week before. I was amazed at what a good actress Marie was. She was absolutely convincing in pretending that she was entranced by Karl. She laughed at his jokes, hung on every word, her eyes twinkled at everything he said, and she took every opportunity to brush against him or touch him.
At one point, Karl asked Marie what she saw in me. She commented on my “sweetness,” and my devotion, how I would “do anything for her.” Karl, laughed. “You’re shittin’ me.” He said. Marie insisted that I would do anything she asked because I worshipped her. She was right of course, but I wish she hadn’t said it.
Karl wanted a demonstration. So Marie said to me, “Come here Baby Doll.” No one before had ever heard Marie’s secret pet name for me, I was surprised and embarrassed that Marie had used her pet name for me in front of my boss. Karl guffawed. I blushed and came toward Marie. “On your knees, Baby Doll, come to Mama.” I was mortified, now she had said not only her pet name for me, but her most intimate pet name for herself when we are making love. Probably remembering all the care I had taken during the week in pampering her feet, Marie said, “Mama’s feet are tired and dirty. Take off my shoes and lick my toes
clean and massage my tired feet.” With Karl roaring with laughter and thinking this was the funniest thing he ever saw, I began licking and massaging Marie’s feet as she sat there at the table.
After it no longer seemed to amuse them anymore, Marie told me to stop. She told me to serve the next course, and the dinner continued.
As they became more animated, I became more and more withdrawn and quiet. That didn’t seem to bother them any. They pretty much ignored me, except to ask me for more food or wine. They again wound up on the couch and, indeed, Marie’s skirt fell away, and she made no effort whatsoever to cover herself, allowing it nearly to reach her crotch. In fact, I suspect that Karl–who made no secret of looking–caught at least a glimpse of her panties. He admired the nail polish, holding her hands, and playing with her fingers all the while. He said he liked redder nail polish, and that with her coloring, she should wear red lipstick too. Ugh, I thought to myself, Karl the cosmetologist/fashion consultant.
Again, Karl told Marie how badly I was doing at work, how worthless I was, and how he really needed to fire me, and, again, Marie got him to hold off for another week by inviting him to dinner again.
So started our own little 1001 Nights. The only thing that kept me from being fired, was my wife’s promise to continue her seductive dinners.
Life at work was miserable. Karl would make crude comments about Marie’s body and lost no opportunity to belittle me, even in front of my co-workers. He even started calling me Doll Baby in sales meetings, not even getting the name right. He would say, “Doll Baby, go get me a pack of cigarettes.” And I would go get them for him.
With each dinner, Marie became successively more sexy in her dress and make up, and each week the goodnight hug became a bit longer. I was amazed at Marie’s willingness to play up to Karl given what a horrible lout he is.
Even on our limited budget, we devoted what money we had to buy provocative blouses and sexy bras that accentuated the fullness of her breasts and the depth of her cleavage, and skirts that would be sure to show plenty of creamy thigh.
One dinner, Karl returned to the question of what Marie could possibly see in me. He said, “He’s such a loser. He’s a total failure, he’s not good looking, he has no sense of humor. Does he have a really big dick, or what?” Marie laughed and told him that no, on the contrary, I had a very small penis. She said that because I would do anything to please her and had so little ego, I would lick her anywhere she liked, and that she particularly liked that when I was pleasuring her down below with my tongue, I would lick her both fore and aft, something that none of her previous lovers would do. Karl thought that particularly hilarious.
Again, I was embarrassed that Marie was so open with our little marital secrets.
After that revelation, at work, he would make remarks about me being an “ass kisser” and a “brown noser” and other tasteless comments relating to my oral fixation on my wife’s bottom. He also discovered that Marie gives me the honor of buying her panties and picking out which pair for her to wear each day. Karl made it a point every day at work to ask me to describe what panties Marie was wearing that day. Although it was humiliating to answer, I couldn’t resist describing them in great detail, and found myself getting an erection every time I described the panties she was wearing back home as we spoke.
Another evening, Karl let it be known that he liked the idea of garter belts and stockings, so later that week we went out and added them to Marie’s wardrobe. We got a whole ensemble, a sexy black bra, and a tight V-necked plunge blouse that was so small it left much of her waist exposed, and a very small black mini-skirt with a slit on one thigh. Underneath was a black garter belt, string-bikini, stockings set, topped off with a pair of high stiletto heels. It made Marie look like the classic French prostitute.
After dinner that night, I sat in my chair watching them sitting on the sofa when Marie’s allowed her skirt to hike up so Karl could see where the stockings attach to the garters. Although I had watched his hands casually touch Marie’s legs before, this time he said he wanted to feel if they were the silky kind. So Marie slid over and put her legs across his lap, and he began stroking her legs. He got his hands up to the tops of the stockings and even touched her bare thigh “to compare” the silkiness of the skin and the stockings. That was bad enough, but then Marie encouraged him to compare how much softer the inside of her thigh is than the outside. I couldn’t believe the sacrifice she was making for me. When he tried to move his hand up to feel her panties–we had picked out a matching black string bikini, though I had no idea Karl would ever discover it–she finally brushed him away.
That night, when Marie bid Karl goodnight at the front door, the hug became much longer. I stood some distance away, but I could see them. They were kissing. It wasn’t a good-night peck. Their mouths were open, and they were devouring each other. I was petrified. Should I break it up to protect Marie? If I did, would I lose my job? I just stayed watching. After about five minutes of kissing, Karl’s hands really started working on Marie’s derriere. Soon the skirt was hiked up over her ass, and he was kneading her bottom through the string bikini. Marie was putting on a good act. She was moving into Karl, not away, as would be anyone’s natural reaction. She actually seemed to be grinding her body against him. They continued groping and fumbling in the doorway for some time. And I quietly watched, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.
When Karl finally left, Marie walked back into the living room. Her hair was mussed up, her lipstick smeared, her skirt was hiked up high on her hips, and she walked unsteadily in her high heels–she looked incredibly sexy. As she came close to me, I saw a hickey on her neck, and a big wet, spunk spot on her blouse. I immediately started apologizing to her for putting her through this humiliating experience. I fell to my knees in front of her and hugged her. In doing so, I wiped my face on Karl’s spunk. I guess it
was a way of sharing the humiliation. We didn’t even get to our bedroom. I began nuzzling between her legs, and unsteady on her feet as she was, we both fell back on the sofa, where Karl and Marie had just been sitting. I continued rubbing my face between her legs, mixing her sweat and moisture with Karl’s cum and my tears and saliva. Marie had a shuddering orgasm, and pulled me up to finish making love to her. We fell asleep right there on the sofa in each other’s arms.
One night that week when we were already in bed, the phone rang. It was Karl. He wanted to talk with Marie. As I lay next to her in bed, I listened to their conversation. Marie kept telling him how she was fantasizing about him all the time, imagining his big tongue filling her mouth and wanting his big cock there too. He apparently was trying to get her to come out to a motel or something, but she kept refusing, saying that they were both married and couldn’t be seen to go out together. She said he was welcome in our house as a guest, but she reminded him that she was entertaining him because he was my boss, and she wanted to keep him happy. Then it sounded like he was asking her for sex. “I’d really like that too, Karl,” she said, “but think about poor Howie.”
There was a long pause, as Karl talked on the other end. “I told you before, Karl, that Howie will do whatever I say.” Another pause.
“Howie, crawl between my legs, I need to cover your ears,” she said. I did as I was told and started lapping between her legs. I heard her say, “Fill me up, Karl, I want you, big and hard.” Then, she pressed her thighs against my head, so I couldn’t hear much, but as she orgasmed, she loosened her grip, and I heard her still talking into the phone, “Oh, Yes, Karl, yes, do me.”
It looked like the next dinner was going to be a real date. Marie made Karl promise to bring her a present, and said if they were going to start really having sex, she wanted a present from him each time, as well as a $100 bonus for me in my next pay envelope. Karl seemed to agree, and they hung up.
I thanked Marie for being so self sacrificing for me and for being so dedicated to our marriage, and I apologized for putting her in a position where she had to pretend to find Karl attractive and now that she would actually let him possess her sexually and have him pay money for it, as though she were a…., I couldn’t even say the word to complete the sentence. I told her it was the greatest proof of her love for me.
Karl continued to be unbearable at work. One day, in the meeting of a sales meeting, he said, “Hey, Doll Baby run down and get me a candy bar.” I went to the vending machine and got him something in a colorful wrapping. When I came back, he said, “What kinda fag candy is that? Get me a real candy bar.” So I went back and got him another. All the other sales associates watched me kowtow to him, and I again felt absolutely humiliated.
In preparation for the next dinner, I again applied nail polish to Marie, this time a hot pink color, and helped her with her hair and make up (which seemed to be applied heavier and darker with each visit). I also helped her pick out her wardrobe. That night, we picked a pair of tight little pink spandex short-shorts cut high on her bottom and low on her waist. They hugged her crotch area, outlining everything, and making it clear that there was nothing underneath. Before dinner, I helped trim and shave her pubic area, because the shorts were more revealing than most bikini bottoms.
For the top, instead of the usual cleavage-revealing shirt or blouse, we chose a loose halter top that tied at the nape of the neck and across the back. With no bra underneath, Marie’s breasts were left to swing and sway with the slightest movement. Her nipples poked at the thin cotton material.
Karl did indeed bring Marie a present, a tasteless negligee, the kind sold in adult book stores. To my surprise, Marie bought Karl a present as well. It was a pair of slippers. She had Karl sit on the sofa as she knelt in front of him, took off his shoes, and slipped his feet into the slippers. Then, Marie jumped in his lap, and they started kissing and fooling around. I went back into the kitchen to make final preparations for dinner. When I called them in for dinner, they came with much giggling. The ties to Marie’s halter top
were undone, and she asked me to help re-tie them.
By now, I had lost my spot at the dinner table. Karl had complained that it was a drag seeing my scowling and glum face while he ate. At Marie’s suggestion, I had prepared the table for two with candles to give it a more romantic feel. Marie had also put some thought into my wardrobe. She had me dress like a waiter, black slacks and white shirt. I spent most of the dinner in the kitchen.
When not preparing the food, I sat listening to them by the doorway, and waiting for them to call me to serve them.
After dinner, as Karl and Marie walked into the living room, his hand was squeezing her ass. I have to admit that her bottom never looked lovelier than in those tight, spandex short shorts, and it was understandable that anyone would want to grab her ass, especially the bottom third, that delicious round part where ass meets leg, that was exposed by the pants riding up her buns.
Marie pretended that she was enjoying Karl’s dirty paws all over her. Again, I was amazed by her devotion to me to allow him to act that way for my sake. As I cleared the table, I saw them making out on the couch. Marie was sort of on top of Karl, kissing him and running her fingers through his hair. Karl’s hands were planted on Marie’s ass, which was pointed ever so fetchingly in my direction. I watched as he kept slipping his fingers inside her pants. As he worked his hands, her shorts covered less and less of
her bottom.
Her bottom was so beautiful, I couldn’t help but be mesmerized and aroused, despite my jealousy. I would have loved to have sucked on her bottom right then and there, but knew that I couldn’t because Karl wouldn’t like it.
Marie called me over. “Baby Doll, we’re getting uncomfortable on the sofa. Will you be a good little baby doll and put fresh sheets on our bed, and light some candles in the bedroom for Karl and me?”
I prepared a nice little love nest for Marie and Karl. We had some scented candles, and I found our softest sheets. Finally, I put some soft, romantic music on the CD-player, a touch Marie hadn’t even asked for. I was looking forward in a perverse way to kneeling at the foot of the bed and watching my beautiful wife having sex with my horrible brute of a boss.
But the evening didn’t go according to my plans. When I returned to the living room, to tell Karl and Marie that our bedroom was ready, Karl looked at me like I had just interrupted them, and as though I had no business being in my own apartment.
Karl told me he wanted an after dinner cognac and cigar to go with his new slippers. He handed me some money and told me to get lost. I wanted to stay. I thought it my rightful place as Marie’s husband to stay a the foot of my marriage bed and watch my beauty being ravished by the beast, but orders are orders, and, grudgingly, I had to leave.
“Oh, and Baby Doll,” Marie added, “when you get back, I want you to shine Karl’s shoes. They’re all scuffed up, and we can’t have our big boss man walking around with scuffed up shoes. I want you to be a good shoe shine boy make them all nice and shiney.”
When I came back from the liquor store, Marie and Karl were in our bedroom. The door was closed, and Karl’s shoes were sitting outside the door, waiting for me to shine them. Also, on the sofa, were Marie’s pink spandex shorts and halter top. Karl must have stripped her naked before they even got into the bedroom. As I often do when I am alone with Marie’s dirty clothes, which she usually leaves lying around the house for me to pick up and wash, I rubbed my face in the still moist crotch of her shorts, inhaled
the aroma, and played with myself a little bit.
But then I realized I needed to get to work. I had a job to do. I got out the shoe brush, polish, and buffers, and sat on the floor outside my bedroom door and began shining Karl’s shoes. While doing that, I listened intently to every rustle, giggle, and moan emanating from my bedroom. The worst part was hearing Marie exclaim, “Oh Karl, fuck me good. Oh, God, you fuck so good. Yes, yes, fill my pussy, Oh God, your cock feels so good. Yes. Harder. You’re so hard. God, YES.”
I recognized her voice, so I knew it was her. But I had definitely never heard anything of the sort from her in or out of the bedroom. I had never heard a bad word out of her mouth before, and yet this stream of profanity issued from her pure and beautiful lips.
After too long a wait, the door opened and Karl came out. He bent to inspect the shoes. “Not too bad,” he said, “maybe we’ll find a use for you yet.” He sat on one of our chairs and said, “Come here, Baby Doll. Take off my slippers and put my shoes back on me.” Shaking with hatred and fear, I knelt in front of Karl and put his shoes on him. He looked at the cognac and cigar I had laid out for him. “Save ’em for next week,” he said, “I gotta get home and give my wife a good fucking too.” He got up and left without
another word.
I crept into the darkened bedroom with the candles still flickering and soft music playing. “Do you love him more than me?” I whispered, my voice cracking.
“Oh, baby doll, you know Mama wuvs her widdle biddie baby,” Marie said in the baby talk voice she knows that just melts me.
“Come to Mama. Come and kiss Mama where Big Bad Boss Man made me all sore with his big bad penis.” I crawled up onto the bed. “Mama wuvs her widdle biddy baby doll,” she said again. “Bad Bossy Mahn made Mama all wet and huuuhrting and duhrrty.”
I snuggled between her legs, and started lapping and cleaning her inner thighs and the whole jismy and slick area in between.
“That’s a baby,” she purred. “Mama’s pussy wussy all sore fwom big bad man.”
I brought Marie to a slowly building, warm and glowing orgasm with my tongue. In the process, I was intent on sucking and licking away every trace of Karl. After her orgasm, she pulled me up. “Let Mama feel baby’s widdle peenie inside me.” I wiggled inside her inviting wetness and warmth. “Ooooh, baby’s widdle biddie peenie feels so nice and comfy womfy. Not like that big bad boss man who hurt Mama with his BIG, HARD, COCK.”
Her voice completely changed tone on the last three words, and as she gasped with what seemed to be the memory of Karl’s penis pounding inside her, I came with a little squirt, not having been inside her more than 10 seconds.
As I lay in bed cuddled in the inside spoon position next to Marie in the dark I realized that in one way Karl was a better lover than me, and that on one level he satisfied Marie in a way that I couldn’t. I felt bad about that, inferior as usual. But I also realized that Marie’s love for me was genuine, and that she found sex with me satisfying in a way that I knew Karl was incapable of serving her. I became resigned at that moment to the idea that having us both was not only a career saver for me, but probably best for Marie as well.
Karl continues to come for his weekly dinners. He continues to humiliate me at work and at home. I could quit my job and find another that probably would be no worse. But I stay there despite the harassment. I recognize that I like being a wimp and a cuckold. Karl is disgusting and doesn’t really matter. What matters is Marie. My life revolves around her. What I love the most is knowing the power that she has over me. Karl may think he’s in control. But I know better. Marie is the one in the middle who controls everything. I still, and always will, worship the ground she walks on.
Proudly signed,
Willing Wimp.