Cindy let her boyfriend control her. She was naturally submissive, and nothing gave her more pleasure than having a commanding male voice tell her what to do.

Her boyfriend’s favourite toy (at least for now) was the remote-controlled internal vibrator. He made her wear it every day – a thick plastic pellet, wedged just inside her fuckhole, making her feel pleasantly full as she went about her daily business.

He could make it buzz, no matter how far apart they were, using an app on his phone – but he rarely did. Not out of any sense of mercy, but because he wanted it to be a genuine surprise when it went off – a surprise she could neither anticipate nor plan for.

He would pick the most embarrassing moments to activate it – when she was talking to a friend; when she was making a purchase in a shop; when she was meeting someone for the first time. The vibrator would start humming in her pussy, and her face would go red – embarrassed, surprised, guilty – and she would desperately try not to gasp and moan as her pussy began to wetten and her nipples harden.

The vibrator was quiet. It was barely audible even if your head was quite close to her pussy.

Cindy was less quiet. When the vibrator went to work, her breathing became quicker, more erratic. She made slutty little whimpers. And eventually, when she orgasmed – and Cindy orgasmed quickly and often – she found it impossible not to make a loud, whorish sound, half moan and half scream.

“You’ll want to work on that,” her boyfriend said. “It’s in your interests to learn how to cum without anyone noticing. But don’t worry, I’ll give you plenty of practice.”

She tried hard. When she orgasmed in the changerooms at a lingerie shop, she was pretty sure the store clerk had heard her, and chosen to say nothing. When she orgasmed in a taxi, she was quieter, but she was certain that the driver knew what had happened anyway, and she felt lucky she wasn’t raped.

At her friend Jasmine’s birthday dinner, she orgasmed at the restaurant table with her mouth full of pasta, and although people asked her if there was anything wrong, they seemed to believe her when she said that it was just a very good meal.

And when she orgasmed on a crowded train, packed so closely between two anonymous men that one had his hand brushing her thigh, she thought she might have completely concealed her sluttiness, had she not spent the rest of the trip blushly wildly and convulsively squeezing her thighs together against her pulsing, dripping pussy.

One day, Cindy found herself attending a job interview. If she was successful, it would be a substantial pay rise, so she studied hard for the position and did hours of prep for the interview.

She picked out a dress to wear to the interview, but her boyfriend said no, and picked her another one. And to be fair, when she put it on, it *did* look better – but it was also just a little bit sexier. Where the other dress had come up to her neck, this one showed a wide arc of cleavage. Where the other skirt had come down to her knees, this one stopped an inch or so below her pussy.

And, of course, she wore the vibrator.

Her boyfriend hadn’t activated the vibrator for a whole week before the interview, so when it started to buzz as she was walking into the interview room and shaking hands with the panel, it was a surprise. (Although, she thought, knowing her boyfriend, it probably shouldn’t have been.)

She tried to keep her composure, even as her eyes widened and she bit her lip. She finished shaking hands, as a pleasant warmth was beginning to spread through her pussy, and then sat in the indicated chair, pressing her legs firmly together, trying to muffle the sounds coming from her cunt.

“So tell us a little about your work history,” said the man at the head of the interview panel.

Cindy began to talk. It was the hardest thing she had ever done. She had to focus on providing a sensible, coherent answer to the man, even as she felt the wetness grow in her pussy. Half of her mind was occupied with scanning the panellists for signs that they knew what was happening to her. Could they tell she was aroused? Could they see that she had a vibrator in her pussy? What would they do if they noticed?

She finished the answer. Another question came. And another.

She could feel her cheeks were red. She was blushing – and there was no reason to be blushing. Her nipples were rock hard. Were they visible, poking through the fabric of her dress? She didn’t dare look down to check. Maybe they thought it was just interview nerves? 

Her pussy was so wet she was worried she would soak through her panties. She was worried she would soak through her dress. What if she stood up and they saw a wet patch on the back of her skirt? What if she stood up and there was a puddle on the chair?

What if they could *smell* her pussy, from all the way over there where they were sitting?

The vibrator buzzed remorselessly, relentlessly.

She kept talking. Her tongue felt thick and stupid. She was stumbling over words. What was she saying? Had she just said that she liked to be fucked, instead of that she liked to be productive? Or had she imagined that? Had she just admitted that she liked to be a “good slut” instead of a “good colleague”? In fact, had the word “cunt” just come out of her mouth, just because it was running through her head non-stop as the only thing she could think about? What context had she used it in? 

She tried to think, but it was her pussy that was doing the thinking now.

The vibrator buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed.

“One last question,” said the man at the head of the panel. “What would you say is the most valuable asset you bring to the office?”

She opened her mouth to reply – and then the orgasm hit.

Her whole body bounced in the chair. Her legs shuddered, and spasmed, and twitched wide open for a second before coming tightly together. Her face burned a tortured, humiliated, degraded red, and she made a noise – a slutty noise, not the noise of a human, but the noise of a female animal in heat.

Afterwards, there was silence. The panellists were just looking at her. 

They knew what she had done. They must know. Didn’t they?

Finally, the man at the head of the panel spoke. “I think that will be all. Thank you, Cindy. We’ll be in touch.”

They watched her as she left. There *was* a wet patch on her dress. And they surely saw it.

===

She thought that was the most humiliating moment of her life. Except that it turned out to be more than a moment, because she got the job.

They called her back and asked her when she’d like to start. 

And she accepted, because she wanted the job – needed the job.

But even as she did, she knew that she was always going to wonder *why* she had gotten the job. She was going to suspect, and think about it every time she looked into the eyes of a co-worker. She was going to wonder what was written on her employee file, and what the panel had written about her interview. 

But she would never know.

And to her boyfriend’s delight, that meant she didn’t even *need* the vibrator at work anymore – because every time she thought about how she had gotten the job, she got sluttishly soaking wet, all by herself, no matter who was watching…

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Enjoy this story? Then you’ll love my e-book A Woman’s Work – Stories of Workplace Degradation, available for only $3.99 USD from AllTheseRoadworks.com! (Click here to view.)

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