SHE'S THE BOSS Part 2 By Thalaxian

Monday arrives.

Maddie gives me a look when we pass in the corridor leading to the lift. A smug insider smile, eliciting a briefly shared blush. Somehow, it feels like the world knows what I've done, twice over. It's...neither good nor bad. I don't think I care, but at the same time, this whole thing's left me thoroughly confused.

The boss's office is on the top floor, among the executive rooms. Irina told me nine o' clock sharp, so here I am, at eight-fifty-five. Best not to be late for a life-changing promotion appointment.

It's all quiet up here, despite the number of offices. At one end of the long corridor is a great plate window, looking down on the town below. The building's only six storeys tall, but in this part of town, it's one of the tallest. A custom build, on company-owned land, belonging to Ms Blackwell's family.

At the other end is Irina's office. Two doors lead into a large room that takes up more space than the offices on either side of it, an expansive realm not dissimilar to a lounge. She calls me in before I knock on the glass door, and I find myself paralysed by the interior.

A great window made of three independent panes covers the far wall, spilling warm morning light upon leather and mahogany. There are statuettes and busts, oil paintings by Gogh and Turner, a veritable library of books and a bar at one side. The central desk, a huge and intimidating thing, is vacated. I find Irina sat in the lounge area by the bar, on a sofa before a coffee table, sipping a morning Martini.

She sets her emerald gaze on me, following up with a glossy smile. 'Theo. Good morning.' The boss gestures to the seat opposite, and crosses her arms over her impressive yet largely concealed chest. Her formal blazer, dark navy with gold trim at the collar, hides the doubtlessly form-fitting white blouse beneath. 'How are we, this morning? Well, I hope?'

Irina Blackwell is divine, as always. Her eyeliner has a vaguely Egyptian styling to it, and her full-lipped mouth, emerald-green eyes, and darkly crimson hair all combine to make her alluring features really pop.

But despite her beauty, she continues to scare me a little. Not as much, not as she did -- I know on some level where I stand with her -- but Irina remains intimidating.

'I'm well, yes, thanks,' I say, lingering in the centre of the room, still taking it all in. 'And you, Irina?'

'Always, after a Friday night conquest.' She smirks, with lips of lacquered darkness. The tall woman lifts her drink and sips, then places it back on the short table. She studies me with those gorgeous yet predatory eyes. 'You were eager to please me. You put on quite a show, for Maddie and I both. One might even think you something of a natural performer.'

I'm blushing. I can feel it, the heat on my face. I did what I had to do. Did what was most conducive to guaranteeing some modicum of success.

But she is right, isn't she? I was eager to please. I did put on a show.

'What do you want me to say, Irina?'

'Nothing is fine,' my boss says, that smirk upturning the corners of her lovely mouth. 'Come, Theo. Sit with me. Let's talk about this promotion.'

I nod, and look to the sofa that mirrors her own seat. But when I step towards it, Irina shakes her head. 'Aren't we beyond that?' My gorgeous, ever-intimidating boss pats the seat beside her. Spacious enough for two, but I can't imagine she expects me to sit out of her reach. 'Here, honey. Let's go over this contract.'

As usual, I'm weirdly obedient in her presence. I justify it -- I haven't got the new job yet -- but even so, Irina Blackwell, under any sane conditions, would be seen as a sexual harasser. But I've set a precedent, haven't I?

I sucked her cock on Friday night, for a better role here.

Why would she suddenly expect me to keep my distance?

'Of course,' I say, blush deepening. I go to her, go around the front of the coffee table. Upon it, at the least, is a formal-looking document. It's not a mere ruse. Or it's not just a ruse.

Passingly I eye her crotch, hidden by the lip of her skirt and the placement of her knees. Back in the belly of the beast, in a sense. It should fill me with unease, knowing the power she has here, in her den. It certainly did before. Strangely...I'm not scared.

I plant myself down beside her, getting a whiff of her scents. Pine-needle gin, a far more distant note of expensive Vermouth. Her perfume, which I can't quite place. And something faint, familiar, in the form of her fertile virility, that tang of something uniquely hers.

Irina smiles at me in profile, and rests a hand on my thigh. She strokes along the top, then dips her fingers onto the inside, provoking a tremble in me.

'Still so uncomfortable in my presence,' my boss says, eyes all power and prettiness. 'You'd think after such an affectionate blowjob, there'd be nothing left to worry about between us.'

'Look, about what happened on Friday...'

Suddenly her hand is on my crotch, a warm firm grip. A lump forms in my throat, which I promptly swallow. 'Theo, you made the right choice. What happened was a beautiful thing. I hope it made you realise how good a future you can have here, if you stay in my good books.'

'...stay in them?'

Irina gives my clothed cock a squeeze, and with her other hand lifts up the contract. 'There are two versions of this. The genuine, which is before you, and the "public" version, which will be on the company's database.'

I scan the page, eyes widening in places. Words and phrases leap off the page, things that would not be there if this were anything other than a dirty deal between a lascivious futanari and, to be fair to myself, a desperate fool.

Oral relief, and the consumption of semen, to be provided twice a week. Anal relief, to be provided once per week. A weekend meal, paid for by Irina, every Saturday. Two additional weeks of holiday, all expenses paid, to be spent in Irina's company, every July and December. A performance bonus, for exceptional service, above and beyond the wording of the contract, to be discussed personally with Irina Blackwell.

I grow steadily more bug-eyed, building a picture in my head tantamount to a kind of sexual servitude. Oh, the salary is in fact seventy-five-thousand pounds, but for what? For signing away...my body? My life outside this place?

Irina is watching my face, chewing on the lovely fat of her lower lip. There's a hunger in her gaze, the way she looks at me, dominating my thoughts without a word. God, this excites her. She gets off on everything she does to me.

I grimace, because the kneading of her fingers and palm against my cock has provoked a response below.

'Irina...you said we were done?'

'Oh, I did, honey. I did. But...then you gave me that divine suck-session on Friday and I absolutely loathed the thought of never receiving one of those blowjobs again.' Irina grips me so firmly that I shudder, and let out a small moan. 'I'm not evil, baby. I just want to nurture this thing in you, to sculpt you into the lovely young man you're so in reach of becoming.'

I glance down as she drops the contract and pushes her now-free hand upon my chest, its sibling expertly tackling my belt and fly. 'I'm offering you so much, Theo. I'm accelerating your career by at least a decade, if not more. I'm even willing, because I'm just such a good boss, to get you your own personal assistant. One with a contract that might, if you play your cards right, look a lot like yours.'

My traitor cock is up, a spring of decently-sized thickness. Irina has her hand about it in an instant, the other cupping my chin, making me face her. She's excessively good-looking. Tall and athletic, heavy-chested, some easy mortal rival for Aphrodite. A Galatea.

And I know this isn't right. I know I shouldn't be letting her do this.

I know that, and do nothing.

'An...assistant?'

Irina nods. 'A plaything, yes. But honey, there's no way I could dirty my hands further without you accepting your place here. Your new role will, naturally, come with new responsibilities.'

She's stroking me, tending to me with her soft yet large hand. The nails of her fingers are sharp, coated in crimson varnish. Every now and then, on every fourth or fifth tug, she'll expertly tease their hard edges upon the underside of my dick.

I can't believe I'm considering the revised contract, despite it being so vulgar.

Friday was meant to be the last. A blowjob I gave, with that in mind. Yes, I didn't hate it. More than that, even. I...definitely enjoyed it, as much as I shouldn't have done. I don't understand how my sexuality works with this, but even if I did, the way Irina has treated me is repugnant. In the light of day, in this well-furnished office, with a seventy-five-kay contract dangling ahead of me like a golden carrot, it's easy to forget that she raped me.

But even recalling that word, that detail, and shoving it to the front of my thoughts...

'How's this meant to--ugh--work?' I say, breathily.

Irina pauses her stroking, and rubs my tip as though it's a genie lamp. 'There's plenty of room beneath my desk for you,' she says. 'You're not exactly large, in height or width.' The beautiful terror strokes my chin, smile broader now. Her white teeth are perfect behind those voluptuous burgundy lips. 'You don't need me to explain the mechanics of sucking dick, Theo.'

I shiver, part-pleasure, part-trepidation. I am actually thinking about it, aren't I?

Where the hell else am I going to get a job like this? In this economic climate? With my qualifications? In my twenties?

And...and maybe it's her hand, doing its teasing and playful kneading, but the one person who I was most worried about judging me knows, intimately, what's up. Maddie knows. And Maddie's reaction was nothing like I imagined it to be.

God, I must be insane. Worse, given that...given that the -- let's be fucking blunt -- cocksucking duties don't jump out at me as some awful thing to be hated and avoided.

'The rest?' I say. 'The anal? The meals? The holidays, and performance bonus?'

The taller woman leans in, resting her chin upon my shoulder. She plays with my cock, teases at my face with affectionate fingers. 'I've a private bathroom, and you'd look especially handsome being railed over my desk.' I tremble, and she laughs. 'So cute, honey. So easy. You're such a slutty boy, aren't you?'

I shut my eyes. 'The rest, Irina. What does that entail?'

'Exactly what is written on the page,' she says. 'I so rarely go on dates, you know? So on Saturdays, you'll be my date. And in July, when I visit my beachside estate in California, you'll come with me. And in December, across Christmas, you'll stay with me in the Swiss Alps.'

'That's--ugh--extra sex, isn't it?'

She must shake her head, because I feel her chin wiggle. 'No, baby. You can even, if you're fine with the awkwardness, sit there in silence, or coop yourself up in your room. It'd be a shame, but you'd have fulfilled your end of the contract.'

'Why?' I say, opening my eyes, and tilting my blushing face towards her. Her breath has alcohol to it, but her speech, and expression, and manual dexterity, show no hints of intoxication. 'Why are there no strings?'

Irina lifts her chin, brushes my cheek with her nose. She practically kisses my ear, hot damp breath tickling my earlobe and the skin of my throat. 'Look, honey, I love having a contract that tells you what to do. But you're not a stupid boy by any stretch. The opposite, in fact, or I wouldn't be so interested.

'But Theo...I don't think you'll last until Christmas. I've got my fingers crossed for July, but that's three months, and you might just hold out,' Irina says. 'But you definitely won't last until Christmas.'

The pressure is building now, even with such light brushes and motions. Her voice, her smell, the heat of her breath, the softness of her skin. 'W-hat do you mean? I won't--ughn--last?'

'I mean, honey, that by Christmas the sexual responsibilities of your job won't matter.' Her voice is sultry, perfect in its enunciation, no syllable produced with miserliness. 'You'll be doing everything I want, whenever I want. I imagine you'll spend most of Christmas Day on your knees.'

Irina chuckles, and kisses my cheek. That, and something darkly desirable in her words, pushes me over the edge. I grunt, and spill my seed.

'Fuck.'

I'm distantly aware, comparatively, of how small my cock looks. How little the volume of my load. A few white strings, spilling across the dusky skin of her hand. Thoughts I never had prior to Irina opening my eyes, which now I cannot so swiftly dismiss.

The pleasure is divine, all the more so for her affectionate kisses upon my cheek.

'Let it out, sweetie,' Irina says. 'It's so cute that your balls try so hard, and produce something that mine will always so easily outperform.'

'Ugh.'

I tremble, shudder, cock pulsing against her yet-moving hand. The load Irina shot in my mouth on Friday was immense, and this one is paltry, isn't it? Mine, compared to hers, is nothing. And the thought should be repulsive, should be awful, but it only seems to stir some perverse part of my animal brain further.

'Such a good boy, baby.' Irina milks the last spurts, letting me dirty her pretty hand. 'Mummy's good boy, aren't you?'

'Irina...'

'Am I wrong, Theo?' She brushes her nose against me, lowers her head, nuzzles the side of my neck. 'Do you really think, with the way you react to me, that you'll hold out? Would it really be so bad, to belong to me?'

Irina lifts her soiled hand up to my face. I...I think I understand the purpose, without her bothering to tell me. 'What are you doing?'

'You dirtied my hand, honey,' she says. 'I want you to clean it. And in cleaning it, I want you to realise how incredibly generous that contract is.'

My cum, on her hand, is a series of gooey white ropes. The smell is faint, nothing like Irina's potent musk. It bothers me, how instinctively I compare myself to the futanari, but it's the first place my brain goes to.

Irina is a gorgeous, insanely beautiful woman. And, somehow, more of a man than I am.

'I don't want to.'

Irina raises an eyebrow, more mockery than anything. 'Oh? Should I tear up the contract?'

I shake my head. 'No. I...I want the job.'

My boss pokes at my lips with two seed-tainted fingers. 'Then clean me up, baby.'

Fuck it. I...I let her feed me my own jizz.

It's inoffensive. Bland, if anything. Mostly tasteless, a little bit salty. There's enough to smear across my tongue, but no more than that. I'm quite eager to finish the task, really, by licking the back of her hand, by sucking on her outstretched fingers, but even so, it just doesn't have much about it to make it stand out.

Not...not like Irina's semen.

'Done,' I say, weakly. 'Can I sign the contract?'

'You may, but do you realise how good a deal you're getting?'

A good deal? Seventy-five-kay? Of course that's a good deal, at my age, with my experience, with my qualifications, in this market.

But that's not what she means, or she'd not have just made me lick up my own load.

'I...I do.'

Irina chuckles. 'You realise that my conditions are, if anything, perks of the job?'

I nod.

'Good boy.' She kisses the side of my head, and dips down to collect up the contract. 'You can start immediately. I'll have your salary upped for the coming payday.'

I put the document down on the short table, but when Irina hands me a fountain pen, it feels almost like a deal with the Devil. Like in some way, by doing this, I'm signing away my soul.

She must notice my hesitation.

'It'll be okay,' Irina says, putting a hand on my shoulder. 'You know this is for the best, Theo. Before you know it, you'll see the sexual relief clauses as perks of the role. I'm sure, before long, we'll lose track of how many times you visit my office in a given week.'

I want to reject her words, but I want the job. I want to go up in the world.

And as I press the ink to the page, I realise something else.

On some dark, primal level...

...I want Irina, as well.

*

My new office is a thing of beauty. Wood panelling, a desk of my own. A bookshelf. A big window that overlooks the quiet Windsor byroad leading up to the Blackwell Limited company building. It's fairly big, though nothing on Irina's. Sufficient that, if she honours that suggestion of an assistant, I could easily fit another desk in here.

Theodore Michael Brackley, Senior Editor.

That's what it says on the door. On the little wooden placard on the desk.

I don't feel it. On my first full day, the Tuesday, I do less work than I've ever done here before. I seem to do the final edits of things, after everyone else has all but cleared up the typos and grammar errors. And yet, at the end of the month, I'll be seeing a tripling, or thereabouts, of my paycheque.

And all I had to do was commit what amounts to my sex life to my beautiful rapacious boss.

I'm hardly active on my online dating apps anyway, but I go ahead and delete them. I can't put someone through this, and I can't exactly handle polyamory either. There's enough money in this role that if I invest wisely, if I just do the time, save effectively...I won't be here forever. I'll be free of Irina Blackwell.

But at the same time, I have to confront her gleeful prediction: I will not last until Christmas.

A shiver runs through me, picturing some future Theo, giddily gorging himself on the gorgeous futanari's manhood in some Swiss chalet on Christmas Day, when usually I'd be with family. I can see it with terrifying vividity, Irina all smug and proud in some armchair by the fire, snow falling outside on the mountainous Alps. And all that beauty is lost, irrelevant, because Irina is going to shoot another doomed load of seed, be it the first or the third or the seventh, right across my slutty tongue.

The vision leaves me erect. She's already had such an impact on me.

Irina Blackwell, sans penis, might well be the most beautiful woman I've ever met. Her height, her sculpted build, her immense breasts, voluptuous curves, heavy buttocks, shapely thighs. That dyed crimson hair, a veritable mane, always up in some Amazonian braided ponytail. Her exotic makeup, lovely lips, sharpish features that mix womanly appeal and a certain degree of intimidation.

But the penis isn't the problem anymore, is it? We're past that.

The problem is that this entire situation began with rape. And now it continues via coercion, via a series of gradually enacted traps. Attraction be damned. I should be better than this! I should've gone to the police on Saturday. I should've...

...I should've done things differently. So many things.

Life is like that. Things happen fast and we react, never taking a moment to remain still, because there's no such thing as stillness. Even in a peaceful forest, where not even the wind is whispering, all things are in motion.

If I had managed to stand still, to consider the events of that fateful Friday, I could've acted. I could've at least prevented reaching this new low, this signed contract, this selling-out of my soul and my body for what? More money?

I hate that thought with sublime passion, yet I hate the alternative more.

Thankfully, Maddie interrupts my thoughts.

'Senior Editor,' she says, entering with a smile. No knock, but then again, it's not exactly an established rule. 'Whose cock did you have to suck for that one?'

Maddie winks at me, blue-eyed, effortlessly pretty. Not like Irina, not this towering succubus of a woman. Maddie is gently curvy, her breasts small yet ample beneath the clinging contours of a baby-blue blouse. Her long legs are on display, the black skirt going halfway down her creamy thighs. Lovely face, button nose, vaguely heart-shaped, framed by shoulder-length golden curls with a parted fringe.

Her joke is part of the issue. I'm in too deep, aren't I?

'You know full well,' I say, mirroring her smile, failing to be as authentic. 'Come to gloat?'

She shakes her head as she steps up to my desk, delicate fingers fondling the wooden placard. 'I'm jealous, if anything.'

I can't forget the way she looked at me, the way she looked at Irina's cock. That kind of thirst -- what else can I call it? -- now seems to occupy a permanent place in those pretty blue eyes.

Like an after-image, having stared at the Sun.

'I've not spoken to her yet, if that's why you're here.'

Maddie gets this odd look to her, kind of wistful. 'I've been a little bit too much of a bitch, haven't I?'

Maybe it's the new office, or the senior role, but I hold my tongue. A polite smile, inauthentic, is the best she gets on that front. 'What makes you say that?'

'We used to have fun downstairs,' Maddie says. 'To talk, and joke. But it feels like every interaction we have now operates within the shadow of the way I've behaved.' She runs her eyes up me, then frowns. 'I know you, Theo. You're really uncomfortable here.'

I let the smile die. 'Look, I don't hold any power over your career. If that's why--'

'See? That's how badly I've done. You jump straight to that.' She shakes her head, and sighs. 'Answer me honestly, Theo. If there was no gossip downstairs, if everything was just as it was before, if I hadn't been awful...would you have blown Irina for this new job?'

It says a lot that the answer is immediate, doesn't it?

'No.'

And the word hangs, effortlessly, like some bad air between us. No. Final and irretractable.

If I could've forgotten the whole Irina rape thing, if I could've just let it fade into memory, knowing precisely my boss's rapacious appetites, I would've been fine. I could've avoided Irina like the plague. I could've gone on as normal, some unwanted if at least interesting -- though I'm not yet seeing any long-term damage -- event relegated into the annals of memory.

But Maddie, and the others -- but it hurt most being her -- prevented that.

'I see,' she says, at length, breaking the silence. 'I'm going to hand in my notice. If...if you want me to back you up in a police report, I'll do it.'

'Why the change of heart?'

'You look so out of sorts, Theo. You're like a bird in a cage.' She shakes her head, blonde curls bouncing. 'I don't doubt you wanted this role, but I can't imagine it's satisfying to get it the way you did.' Maddie shuts her eyes. 'And I can't escape the fact that I helped force your hand.'

'Maddie,' I say. 'What's done is done.'

She nods. 'Right.'

Maddie turns, the tautness of her skirt highlighting the contours of her backside. I never exactly crushed on this woman, because she was always a bit too...mundane, maybe? But something about her little showing here has triggered something. An upset. A point of bother.

It's not even that I don't believe her. It's not that I can't imagine, given time and thought, that she'd change her view of the situation.

It's that when I needed her, in the moment, to be on my side...she wasn't. She was, if anything, actively against me.

And Irina's offer, dirty and illicit, comes to mind: a personal assistant.

One with a contract that might, if you play your cards right, look a lot like yours.

'Maddie,' I say, as she's halfway out the door. The blonde pauses, curls bobbing. 'Irina suggested that I might look for an assistant. It'll be another fifteen grand on what you're on down there.'

She blushes, though not for anything hinting at sensuality. 'Why me?'

'If you're feeling so bad, you can always do most of my work, right?' I smile truly, though the source is the mental image of her on her knees. 'What's done is done, but that's not necessarily bad. There are...perks, to this job.'

'You'd be doing me a favour,' Maddie says. 'I don't understand. Why?'

Because Irina is a bad influence.

'Because I'm on seventy-five,' I say. Her eyes widen. 'I may have been pushed -- and I'm sure I look unsettled right now, because I am -- but in ten years I'm going to have a hard time regretting one little blowjob, don't you think?'

She doesn't trust me. I don't exactly blame her. It must seem too good to be true, and I suppose that's because it is.

I don't want to reward Maddie. But if I'm here, if there are strings in me, why shouldn't there be strings in her?

Is it possible that Irina's woken more than just a submissive side?

'I didn't come up here to butter you up, Theo. I didn't have an ulterior motive.'

'I believe you. But you'd be doing me a favour with the workload. I'm just saying, if you do feel so guilty, why not consider it? It makes my life easier. As much as I appreciate your support...I mean what I say. I have to look on the bright side. I'll play the cards I've been dealt.'

And Maddie, after a long moment, nods. 'I'll do it. It'd ease my conscience.'

I smile warmly. 'Great. I'll talk to Irina later.'

My main question being: how are you going to get her to sign?

*

Irina is sat behind her desk at five, when the work day is ended.

She eyes a laptop screen, reflected light upon a pair of half-rimmed reading glasses. They add some further appeal to the already appealing decade-older woman, who at once dominates the empty office and yet remains this out-of-reach Aphrodite. Her jacket is discarded now, revealing the white blouse beneath, the upper buttons undone to reveal the juicy roundness of her immense breasts. I know I shouldn't be attracted to this woman, this futanari, but I am. Strange, that what was my biggest reservation now lives in the shadow of its successors.

Irina Blackwell is a predator, and I am nothing to her but prey.

She smirks as I walk up to her desk, and lifts her startlingly violet eyes to mine. The plate-glass windows behind her look upon a late afternoon sky, muted in its brightness, and the office is dim with its lights off, yet still those interesting eyes seize my attention.

'There's my newest Senior Editor,' Irina says, with devious warmth. 'Here to thank me already?'

I stop a few feet before her vast mahogany desk. 'I want Maddie,' I say, plain and simple. 'Just like you have me.'

Irina chuckles softly, leaning her chin upon an upturned hand. 'My, my. Predictable, I suppose. Disdain is a powerful aphrodisiac.' She raps the fingers of her free hand upon the flat of the wood. 'Unfortunately, her record is clean. I have no blackmail. Without a stick, you would need a carrot.'

I nod. 'Something she wants enough that she'd be willing to do what I want.'

'Precisely.'

I smile. 'You?'

Irina raises an eyebrow. 'Oh, honey. No. Little girls like Mads aren't my type. I'm sure the little size-queen would be easily broken-in, but I'm just not interested.'

'I'd have thought someone as voracious as you would jump at the chance.'

She cocks her head back a touch, watching me down her sculpted nose. 'As much as you and I have something between us, don't presume that you know or understand me. Is that clear, Theo?'

The words aren't spoken harshly, not even loudly, yet I feel smaller to hear them. Her smirk, before and after the utterance, remains strong.

'I wasn't presuming,' I say. 'But I understand. Will you help me find something else?'

That devilish smirk deepens. 'Honey, the issue is that Mummy might well find Mads a tight little cocksleeve, but I just won't be attracted enough to her -- so residually and reluctantly bisexual as I am -- that I'll get it up in the first place.' Irina runs a sliver of tongue upon her lower lip. 'I would have to be, let's say, imagining something that would do the job. Because the idea I have -- that we get Mads hooked on what only I can give her -- won't be a one-off, now will it? You realise that you're asking me, in effect, to regularly fuck this silly little girl, for what is, ultimately, your benefit.'

It's all deals, isn't it? Each one dirtier than the last.

And maybe I'm getting better at understanding that, or more willing to accept it. Or maybe, just maybe, I'm less pleasant than I believed myself to be.

'For every act you have to do to ensure Maddie sticks to the contract, I will...I will do that thing with you,' I say, managing to meet her terrible gaze. 'With the caveat that this doesn't begin, on my end, until the contract is bearing fruit for me.'

Irina Blackwell leans backwards, crossing her arms beneath those weighty K-cup breasts. They shift, supported that much more, and the lacy cups of her bra black bra peek out from behind the white of her blouse, broad areolas hinted at. The dominant futanari licks her lips, smirk becoming a smile, smile becoming a devious grin. Her eyes are alight with intrigue, with a filthy appreciation.

'You know just how to incentivise your Mummy, baby-boy,' my boss says. 'I'll start working on Maddie this Friday, at the weekly outing. I'll let you know every little detail.'

My loins stir at the thought. Pure perversion it may be, but I'm going to make the most of this situation. Salary, benefits, illicit perks. Sometimes the only way out is through.

'Thank you.' I give her a polite nod. 'I look forward to it.'

But when I turn away, Irina clicks her teeth. 'Aren't you forgetting something, honey?'

She shifts her chair backwards, and upon looking her way, Irina is slightly out from beneath her desk. Her smile, full and uncomfortably seductive, is a look of pride and lust. I know what she wants. I know what I signed for.

'Today?'

Irina nods. 'All this talk has me a bit too excited, and I do have a little more work to do.' She twists her chair to the side, so that her legs are parallel to the desk. When I don't move, surprised at the swiftness of developments, my boss lifts an eyebrow. 'Well, Theo?'

I signed. Whatever protests, whatever bother this causes me, on some level, I signed.

My boss adjusts herself as I approach, and when I round her desk I find myself looking upon her raring-to-go cock. The dark member intimidates no less now than it did when I first beheld it, possessing wrist-like girth and more than a foot of length. Black skirt drawn-up so that its hem rests amid her wild black pubes, Irina's voluptuous thighs are clad in near-opaque stockings attaching to a garter belt at her waist, leaving an appealing gap of thigh-flesh between the two garments.

I move closer and Irina seizes my arm, guiding me about as she swivels her long legs back beneath her desk. My boss gives me a look, dominance and expectation, then pushes on my shoulders. 'Underneath,' she says. 'Right where you belong.'

And when my knees are firmly on the soft rug that sits below her desk, Irina moves forwards, legs spread as wide as they'll go, boxing me in against the front panel. I'm left in semi-darkness, noticeably warm, rich with the potent smells of her body. Junk scents, cock and pussy odours. Musky sexuality mixing with that interesting perfume, and her womanly sweetness.

Her cock rests up against the wooden roof, straining at it, more solid than I've ever seen it. This, beyond anything else, must be a perpetual source of arousal. If I knew that someone had to blow me, I think -- but maybe I'm just undersexed -- I'd be constantly looking forward to it.

Irina begins typing away above, face out of view. On some level I'm grateful to not be looking at her, beautiful as she is to behold, because there's something submissive in the constant eye contact.

But equally, there's something just as potent, just as gravid with mystique, as doing it this way. Being what amounts to, in all honesty, a mere outlet for her lusts.

'Funny,' Irina says. 'That doesn't feel a lot like a blowjob.'

'Sorry, Mummy,' I say, taking hold of her throbbing, straining length. 'I'll get right on it.'

A fumbling hand slides underneath and pats my head, makes a mess of my hair. 'Good boy. I expect nothing less.'

In the poor light, all things are dim and dusky. I can about make out Irina's hefty bollocks, sagging as they do upon the seat of her big office chair. Her cock, in my hands, has lost much of its detail for being in the gloom. It should make it easier, and yet in some crude way, I miss the specifics of it. And with visuals dimmed, my other senses are that much easier to focus upon.

I push down my reservations, and do what -- when I really think on it -- I'm being paid for.

Wet kiss, louder for the confines beneath her desk. My lips upon the side of her swollen hooded helmet, brought down from the wooden roof. I swirl my tongue around the folds, getting a preliminary taste of Irina's penis. Salty, bitter. Other tastes, dirty tastes, a sourness. But I don't hate it.

I do this thing, creeping up her length -- or down, I suppose -- with my lips attempting to grapple its sheer breadth and failing. The sloppy sounds, damp noises, bother me as I go, a constant reminder of my descent. Not so long ago I'd be thinking of the money, or thinking of anything else, but after Friday...I'm just thinking about the act.

One-hundred and four times. That's the number. That's the reason. In a given year, fifty-two weeks, two blowjobs a week. Will they all be under her desk? I don't know. I doubt it. But they're a certainty.

And if I can blow a little air into the budding fire of interest, it'll make blowing my Amazonian futanari boss a thousand-fold more pleasant.

'I half-expected to have to guide you,' Irina says, sultry voice dampened by the desktop that separates us. 'You always were on track for this job, you know? You're a fine worker, Theo. You--mhm--don't half-arse a thing.'

She says this with such ease, as if I'm changing wires or she's reviewing my day's labour, and not referring in some devious way to the fact that her bulging cum-vein is brushing upon my spit-slick lips while my nostrils tingle with the strong odours of her musky sex.

But the compliment, regardless, provokes feel-good chemicals in the brain.

'Thank you, Mummy.'

'Good boy.' Irina begins typing away again.

I stick out my tongue, tasting her faintly salted skin, so smooth against my tastebuds. There's such a mismatch, given the silkiness of the exterior coating, and the iron-firm rigidity of the tissue beneath it. A further switch of interesting textures again when I reach the base of her cock, a touch more light from above revealing the tops of her stockings and the place where her skirt's hem rests amid oily black pubes.

Silk-coated-hardness passes the short hairs around her base -- she at least trims those -- and then I'm tasting the thicker saltiness of her ball-sack, wrinkly and slippery and yielding, only to confront the solid lumps within its confines.

'Mhm.' Irina stifles a moan as I bury my nose between her testicles, sucking and gently nibbling on the voluminous folds of her scrotum. 'Such a good boy.'

Her praise is toxic, but so addictive. My mouth makes a gruesomely slutty sound as I suckle on the side of a bloated bollock, practically snogging the thing, kissing its firm plumpness and tasting the salty smooth skin of her sack.

She finds my head with a hand again, making uncaring patterns and swirls across my hair with one of those large, beautiful, domineering hands.

And my response, of course, is to take her left nut inside my mouth.

'Ugh, you're eager today,' Irina says, sharpness of her nails tickling my scalp. 'I'm sure you'll say it's just duty, just your contract, but--mhm--I think your mouth is most honest when it's tending to my needs.'

My boss kicks off a slip-on heel and rubs my lower back with a tights-clad foot. The sensation makes my cock ache, makes me arch my spine. There's an electricity to her touch, to both the degrading hand on my head and the defiling sole upon my back.

'Today is special, honey. The bin beside my desk is usually packed with used tissues -- an advantage of being so secluded up here -- but today it's--ughn--empty. I wonder if it's noticeable? My big balls should be especially full.'

They...they do seem larger. The hot heavy lumps, one bouncing against my face, the other firmly smothered by my dutiful mouth, possess an air of density to them that wasn't there on Friday evening.

The thought is gruesome in its implications, and yet my cock strains at my boxers.

Was Irina shooting such huge loads before and wanking herself off all day?

'From now on, on days when I plan to--mhm--make use of your services, I'm not going to drain even a drop from my stores,' she says. 'That'll be your job, and this is my way of showing appreciation for that sacred task.' Irina teases my head with her swirling fingers. 'You deserve Mummy at her--ughn--purest and fullest.'

Ego glazes her lovely sultry voice, this self-worship that I doubt I'll ever match. The meaning of this to her, the powerful satisfaction it must bring, surely goes beyond anything I can do to her cock, as well. How much of sex is in the mind, after all?

'Y-es, Mummy,' I say, drawing back from her balls, lips again gracing her shaft. 'Thank you.'

What else can I say? What can I do to protest her authority?

I didn't have to do this. I could've left this job. I could've...

...what's done is done.

She begins typing away again once I've exposed her musky gooey glans, and wrapped my lips around its hot spongy solidity. Irina is satisfied, groaning and moaning in a lady-like fashion, restraining herself as she apparently works. I can't imagine I'd get anything done, but I'm not her.

I'm nothing like her.

Her cock, try as I might to deny it, is incredible. Her body, its curves, its defined muscles, its scents and sounds, its beautiful canvas, is only enhanced for its presence. What scared me before was the body, when the mind is the threat.

Such a big fat thing, straining my lips, throbbing upon my eager tongue. I am eager, aren't I? Her salty-bitter precum oils the whole thing up and she so readily slides back and forth, my hands pressed into the pleasant plushness of her powerful womanly thighs for stability as I bob my head, urging her closer and closer towards orgasm.

I can't take it so deep, because it makes me splutter when it nears my throat. I'm sure that'll change, intimidating a thought as it is, but I do what I can. I worship the crown of her mighty sceptre with my lips and my tongue and my cheeks, suckling and nursing, massaging away, giving her the kind of blowjob I can only dream of receiving.

And then so suddenly, amidst the trembling of her knees and the wobbling of her thighs, Irina pulls back on her chair. She slides out from beneath the desk, throwing light into my sordid domain, and her immense saliva-slick weapon springs up above that pair of similarly shiny brown orange-sized balls.

'Irina?' I say, peering out from below.

She's watching me, smiling, a blush upon her high cheeks and a glisten to her violets. 'I'm going to change the contract,' my boss says. 'Going forwards, when you blow me, I want you to choose. Each and every time, you'll choose.'

'Choose what?'

One of her beautiful hands falls to her shaft, giving it a squeeze. 'I want you to choose to receive me, honey. I want you to come to want to taste me, for my orgasm to be as much a reward for you as it is me.'

'You mean...I don't have to have your cum in my mouth?'

She shakes her head. 'Not until you realise how right it is that it ends up there. Not until you realise the value of my genes. Not until you come to want that of your own accord.'

My eyes flutter. There's something dirtier in that. In the submission of choice.

'And if I never do?'

Irina smiles, demonically gorgeous. All white teeth and ideal exotic features. Dominant violet eyes ringed by Egyptian-styled mascara. 'You will, baby. It might not be today, it might not be this year, but you will accept that I am your superior. And you will want to savour what my superiority tastes like.'

She leans back in her big seat, resting her arms on the sides. 'But today...pull out the big load I've made especially for you, and mark yourself with it. Your face tells me you're not ready to appreciate my generosity just yet.'

What makes me happiest, as I hobble forwards and take her veiny broad weapon in both of my hands, is that some part of me still rejects this. Given the choice, there's not a hint of doubt. My superior? No. Twisted and wrong your mind might be, but you're not better than I am. Oh, you are a smoke-show of a creature, but your words are toxic.

I don't get off on the same weird animalistic hierarchy.

And...there's another hope, as well.

Even as Irina grunts, and I shut my eyes, and she utterly paints my face in the heaviest load I think she's ever released -- and this one is particularly sticky and thick, and it stinks muskier than ever -- I'm struck by a beam of light from the heavens.

What if she gets bored? What if I never submit the way she wants?

She'd have done better to force it all. She'd have done better to demand obedience.

Instead she expects me to choose. Hah!

I'm actually smiling beneath the mass of gooey heat, the semi-liquid mess that forms gruesome clumps in my hair and pools up in the indents of my eyes and splatters my lips. I'm actually smiling.

And it's so easy to ignore the fact that, despite myself, it feels good to be receiving such an immensely potent ejaculation upon my face.

It's easy to ignore that because there's hope.

*

When Irina is done and softening, I scoop the muck from my eyes and meet her gaze.

She playfully nibbles on the tip of a finger, grinning around the act. That my boss didn't get her way seems to have had no impact on her appreciation for the result, and I suppose in a sense she had enough of a victory. It's hard to not enjoy the afterglow of an orgasm, even if it wasn't the ideal you envisioned.

'The bathroom is on the right as you enter,' Irina says. 'You didn't disappoint, baby-boy.'

I nod, mouth thickly smattered in her seed. My boss makes room for me to rise, and gives my backside a firm squeeze as I pass on by.

Out of sight of her, back turned, I can smile and nurture the hope that now has bright embers in my soul. Yet my giddiness falters upon viewing myself in the mirror of her private bathroom.

What a mess. But more than that.

That perverse, lusty, depraved submissive in me says, in no uncertain terms: what if she's right? What if she's superior?

I stare at the cum-marked man in the mirror, all white with ropes and knots, all splattered and smothered in the absolute densest sperm I've ever witnessed. Irina has managed to outdo herself, and all it took was the self-restraint of not wanking for a day.

How? How is she so virile? How is her body this sexually potent?

And even when I'm all cleaned up, it's so easy to picture that mask of (futa) man-milk.

'Such a shame to see you without me on your face,' Irina says, as I pass back through her office. Has her smirk grown smugger? 'See you tomorrow, Theo. You're such a good boy.'

I go to my office and collect my things, and that smirk, and that mirror-image, are burned into my thoughts. Can I still smell her? Did I miss any? I lick my lips -- thoroughly cleaned -- and part of me wonders if that hyper-concentrated load is superior to the ones I've tasted before. The ones I vaguely, uncomfortably, found myself enjoying.

The embers falter a little. I shouldn't be having these thoughts. I shouldn't be having them at all. I should have such a clear path to victory.

All I have to do is not want what only she can offer.

All I have to do is not want to submit.

Why does that seem so...daunting?

———x———

I'd forgotten quite what it was like, to be fucked. To be royally seen to.

The desk shudders, and if such solid wood can squeal in resistance, how is that I'm holding up? God, it's at once wonderful and terrible. Like being utterly stuffed with a rod of steel that is somehow soft and silky, and doesn't actually hurt. But the vigour, the strength, the unbending firmness of the pole are suggestive of something inanimate rather than my terribly gorgeous boss's terrifically intimidating penis.

'Guh. Fuck.'

'Good boy,' Irina says, maintaining uncomfortable composure despite being halfway balls-deep inside of me. 'Mummy loves this sweet little bum, Theo. Mhm.'

She fondles my backside, squeezes, kneads the fat of my cheeks. What can I do but take it? Bent over her desk, staring at the office door, splattering my boxers -- she tore the back part, promising to reimburse me -- with a seemingly endless quantity of jism. I'm powerless here. And it's part of my contract, no matter my reservations.

The job is good. The job is good. The job is--

'Sh-it.'

I bite down, press my palms against the mahogany. Her cock is like a spear of radiant heat, throbbing so angrily, so needily. It demands that my body pleasure it. Demands that I submit to it. Demands that I blow my load again and again and again, making such an uncomfortable mess in my ripped-open boxers but I can't fucking stop.

'Mummy's good boy.' Irina exhales, drives herself into me, every hilting producing an ear-tickling thwup when her enormous balls slap against my badly-exposed buttocks. 'So deserving of--mhm--all this affection. All this wonderful naughty after-work special treatment.'

Her words are poisoned honey, some discomforting fusion of the pleasant and the perverse. I'd be insane, and a liar, to pretend as though this isn't enjoyable. As though being mounted, ridden, ploughed by my statuesque and gorgeous futanari boss, Irina Blackwell, is anything less than an experience to enjoy both in the moment and look forward to after the fact, knowing that it will be repeated time and again in my years here.

'Ugh. Jesus.'

Is it so wrong, to enjoy the act? To have gone from the man I was, a victim of my boss's sexual predations, to this current self, this one who signed a contract and agreed to this fate. Who agreed to become Irina's plaything, of sorts, and both service her cock and ride upon it. To service her and not taste her cum -- because to do so is now a carnal choice, a test of my strength of character -- and to ride her big dick to the point that she, inevitably and invariably, utterly plugs my backside with the thickest and muskiest of creampies.

I'm at her mercy. Those beautiful yet deceptively strong hands, gripping my hips, hold me steady while she pummels me. The thrusting goes from slow and steady to fast and forceful, driving more than a foot of futanari cock deep into my body, splitting my arse in the most guiltily glorious of ways.

'Such a sexy thing you--mhm--are, Theo,' Irina says, leaning atop me. Her breasts, bound as they are by a super-strength bra and behind the thin cloth of her white blouse, nonetheless have such intense weight to them where they fall against my back. 'I should probably be paying you more, shouldn't I? But then again, I do treat you so well.'

Her breath is sweet, faintly tinged by the tell-tale pine-bitterness of her characteristic Martinis. The act is vulgar and yet illicitly intimate, somehow threatening affection in these brief moments where she leans atop me and presses that overtly-endowed womanly form atop mine. That Mummy-play, such a thing of lusty perversion, nonetheless deepens the eroticism of this sordid submission.

It's unbecoming, to fall to her like this. To submit to her. Worse, to remind myself of the trade I made, the choice. That I picked work, picked my career, and in return gave away my pride.

'Ugh. Damn.'

I writhe, because how can I not? Her cock is incredible. A thing of heat and thickness, a weapon to be wielded both for bringing her pleasure and in the process forcing me to capitulate. To produce sweet sounds, whimpers and moans, a little chorus of noises that tickle her ears as she tickles mine with that sweet damp breath.

Irina kisses the back of my neck, tastes my skin with her goosebump-inducing tongue. 'I own you, don't I?' She chuckles, almost giggles, that perfect voice at odds with what it suggests. 'Years and--mhm--years of this.' Thwap go her weighty testicles, the fattest roundest pair of bollocks I can picture, as they slap against my backside. 'Years and--aah--years of enjoying one another's company. Oh, cumming again, baby? Perhaps you should be paying me, instead!'

I practically growl, deeply uncomfortable and yet awash in awesome pleasures. Irina really, really knows how to use her body. To use her words, to tickle at dirty desires and feculent fantasies that bubble up to the surface from the depths of my being.

I've got to survive. I've got to focus on the future, on the dream, on the way things have to be now so that they can be different eventually. The fleeting vision of Maddie, behaving for my sake much as I'm currently behaving for Irina, is a soothing complement to such wilfulness. The pretty blonde, in so many ways responsible for this fate, is going to have her comeuppance and put right more than one wrong.

'I-rina!'

She hilts herself in me, blowing a cock-shaped hole through my veil of thoughts. All the world is her penis, that broad length with its bulky head, a drilling impaling skewer of a thing, treating my body like some glorified cocksleeve. A means to an end, a source of pleasure, but not a person in and of myself.

I should find the thought utterly reprehensible, but surprise-surprise, I don't. The person I'm discovering through this, the true Theodore Brackley, is not who I imagined myself to be.

As my darkly delicious futanari boss ravages my backside, it's clear beyond doubt that the real reason I was so gloomy after she raped me was in fact nothing to do with the act itself and everything to do with what it unearthed. Like shifting a patio slab, finding so many creepy crawlies, when the garden otherwise seems beautiful.

'Who's your Mummy?' Irina says, lifting off of me. She squeezes my hips, fondles my bum. 'Tell me--ugh--Theo. Answer me. Who's your fucking Mummy?'

'Y-ou, Irina. You're my Mummy. Y-ou're--'

She thrusts like a beast, all of a sudden. Not gentleness, no consideration.

I'm slammed, again and again, into the desk. The wood whines, the world itself seems to creak, all the while I cum buckets and drool, completely and utterly cock-addled, her gargantuan girth hitting every spot inside of me as though she's in possession of some crude map that signposts every possible pseudo-G-spot.

'Damn--mhm--right, baby boy. Mummy's good, good--ughn--boy.'

I manage to glance back at her, to find her on the cusp of climax. Those beautiful lips strained, one at the mercy of her teeth. Blouse a mess, cleavage spilling forth, that overworked bra struggling as she pumps into me with primal potency. Sharp-featured good looks, Aphrodite-grade beauty, easily the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Tall and dominant, brilliant-eyed and vigorous in her lovemaking.

She hilts herself again, lifting my feet from the floor. I throw them about wildly on reflex as contractions ripple through her, as Irina rolls her head backwards and moans in relief. The force of her efforts, and the reverberations of her climax, drive my continual spasming all the further into the realm of self-obliteration.

'Ughn. M-ummy.'

Her cock swells in me, and those bloated balls pulsate against my smaller ones. Beyond the heat of her spooge, which comes in vast quantity, as thick as cream, I'm struck by a dirtily psychological notion.

That this beautiful woman is seeding me, that she's claiming me, that the stuff filling me up is unmistakeably hers and hers alone. This welcome sensation, of being completely loaded, my innards plugged with her richly potent semen, is something at once grotesque and divine.

'Good boy,' Irina says, gasping, sighing. 'My good, good Theo.'

Is it shameful, to love this? I don't have a romantic connection with this woman. I'm not here, going through this, because of something close to even a sex-friend situation.

She raped me, and then I signed a contract to get a better job. I signed over my body to my rapist, choosing wealth and a future over sanctity of self. And now this week alone I've sucked her cock twice, and on this Friday evening, she's ejaculating inside of my bowels. My rapist, who took me by force, who seemed to think that if anything she was doing me a favour, is now getting free use of my body because I agreed to it.

And worse, I love it. It's like nothing else. A degree of sexual bliss I've never before experienced. Something utterly and completely insane.

The opening of a drawer reels me back to reality. Something thuds atop the desk, and while Irina is still shooting, her faculties are returning. She watches me serenely, eyes afire, beautiful beyond reason. I should hate her, should be disgusted, but I'm not. Even as she licks her lips, viewing me as prey, as food for the hungry fires of her lust, I am too far gone.

'I want to be inside you for--mhm--as long as possible,' my boss says, picking up a girthy plastic plug from beside my hips. 'This is for you, baby. To keep Mummy's milk right up inside that--aah--cute little bum so that all that naughty cream doesn't make too much of a mess.'

Her glans still flares, spits. Less now, weaker, but the sheer bulk of the thing is unmistakeable, and the way it ripples heat throughout my insides is a thing of gruesome glory. Her semen, thick and musky and rich, sloshes about. If anything, given how messy this situation is, the butt plug might even be welcome.

'R-ight, Mummy.'

Her eyes shift when I say that word. That carnal title. Mummy. Her affection is venomous gold, a thing ultimately evil and yet somehow appealing. It provokes a fuzziness in the head, oxytocin of raw-dogged fucking helping things along.

Never submit. Never submit. Never submit.

But I can enjoy this. That's okay. It might even be healthy.

'Such a sweet mouth,' Irina says. 'On such a sweet boy.' She gives a gentle pat to my backside, one cheek and then the other. 'You're built for this, baby. Built to--mhm--make Mummy happy.'

'Y-es, Mummy. I...'

She cocks her head, a vicious veneer making murky her beauty. 'Oh?'

'I'm glad, Mummy. That's all. I...I'll do my job well.'

Irina chuckles. 'You will, Theo. So, so, so well.' Another pat, this one culminating in a squeeze. 'Clench down, baby. Don't let a drop spill out now.'

She winces gleefully as I grip her shaft between my cheeks, in the process wringing out of it any straggler sperm. There's a dirtily delightful schpop when the seal breaks, when at last her heavy helmet is free of me. It's so weighty that it notably thuds when it comes down against the desk, a noise both worrying and wondrous.

'Good boy,' she says. 'Let's seal up that tight little bum.'

The plastic makes me tremble, not from girth but coolness. An alien thing compared to the throbbing fire of her erection, but welcome insofar as it prevents leakage. And maybe I'm imagining it, but it feels as though there's quite a lot to leak, given how my guts slosh and shudder with copious quantities of her cum.

'Dinner tomorrow.' Irina pulls away from me, giving me one last playful pat. She sits herself down, breathy-voiced, eyes a little hooded. 'The first of many. Dress up nice, and I'll pick you up at six-thirty. Are you excited, baby?'

I steady myself, standing upright. The whole process is awkward, what with my backside wedged shut as it is. To do this in front of someone, besides, is all the worse. Her emerald eyes bore into me as I clumsily reach for my trousers, cold cum disgusting against my crotch. Grim.

'Y-eah, Mummy. Very.'

'You're a little shaky, Theo,' she says, quickly on her feet. A hand on my shoulder, squeezing softly. 'I'd be happy to give you a lift home, if you can wait a little while.'

'I'll be fine.'

I pull away from her, even though she's right. My body quakes, as if all those simultaneous orgasms are perpetuated and congealed, lengthened to the point of blissful engulfment. When I move my legs quiver, and my feet are unsteady, but I'm not going to drive just yet. I'll sit in my car if I have to, sit in the dark of the car park.

I'm not spending more time with Irina than necessary. It's bad enough as it is.

'Suit yourself, honey,' my boss says, a lilt of humour to her sultry voice. 'Six-thirty. Remember it. I don't want to be disappointed. You'd have to make it up to me.'

'Got it,' I say, reaching for the door, not looking back. 'Goodnight, Irina.'

'Goodnight, Theo.'

*

It takes the better part of half an hour to calm down.

I've never been so drained, except perhaps as on the first night, but today it's not knocked me into unconsciousness. Sex has never been so powerful before. I didn't know my body could reach such states, could leap from climax to climax to climax, but it can. And Irina's body is the ticket, the enabler of ecstasy.

I flip down the overhead mirror and look at myself. There's pride, of a sort, returning. I'm making good money, and as much as I'm degrading myself to do it, the price is right. The man in the mirror is still not me, but not in a bad sense. He's not a wretched shadow of who I was but some branching variant, twisted into another, newer shape. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to go backwards, but I can go forwards.

I will. I must.

The daydream, throughout the week, has been of Maddie. Maddie, as my assistant. My assistant, tied to a contract not dissimilar from my own, who'll suck my cock and let me fuck her and use her body just as Irina uses mine. A carrot, dangled, and slow to achieve. A work in progress, as Irina calls it. Something to look forward to but not here just yet. These things take time, after all, and particularly those that involve human factors.

I sleep easily, at least. I'm not exactly excited about the date tomorrow, but I'm not scared either. Did I call it a date? I suppose it is, though there won't be sex. I'm sure Irina will try, but she's not getting it like that. The contract is all. Two blowjobs, one bout of anal. That's it, that's her weekly ration of fucking. Nothing more.

It's bothersome, how readily I seem to embrace this new world.

The man in the mirror isn't frightful. He's not his best, sure, but he's far from his worst. Somehow, it's okay. So long as I'm doing well with my career, so long as there's a bright future ahead of me, I'm not all that concerned about the situation with Irina. I'm already tainted, after all. Already soiled. If I'm going to get all funny about prostituting myself, then it's important to remember that. To know the damage has been done.

And she is charming. Is good at doing what she does.

Irina Blackwell picks me up in a chauffeured Rolls Royce, its rear cabin extended to create some micro-lounge where we sit. She sips a Martini, as is her custom, wearing a revealing crimson dress that shows off what, ultimately, there's little point in hiding. With killer curves like hers, it's not like any amount of clothing is going to matter. Breasts that big are no less alluring and eye-catching in a blouse or a sweater, and some dirty part of me relishes the fact that they're on show.

I have to enjoy the not-so-little things, after all.

'You're quite fetching in that outfit, Theo,' Irina says, slinging an arm across my shoulders. She strokes me, warm weight of her body pressing against mine. Sweet smells, fruitiness, an acid note of Vermouth and a piney hint of gin. 'Will I get you out of it, I wonder?'

'If it's not in the contract, then no.'

She chuckles, kisses the side of my head. 'Oh, you make this so fun, honey. It's beyond attractive, this little wilfulness of yours. Blowing ten loads on my big fat cock and then having the wit to deny me outside of my own rules.'

I sigh. Sigh, because this is just so wrong. To think that I fancied this woman to such an insane degree, was so eager to leap into the bedroom with her. It could've been a beautiful thing, and instead is something sordid. Endlessly disappointing. To learn of Irina's true self, and my own as well.

Her, a depraved predator. Me, a money-minded slut.

'You'll get Maddie,' she says, speaking low, conspiratorial. A sultry voice, for a sensual woman. 'I'm already working on that little detail. We're in this together, baby.'

I nod, carrot leading me. 'Good. So long as we are.'

She spends the journey tight against my body, breathing and whispering dirty things into my ear, kissing my cheek and the side of my head. I don't hate it. It's the worst thing about it all, that I don't hate it. That somehow, I don't hate her.

To be at her side as we go into the Generous Gourmet, a three-times Michelin Star restaurant, knowing that whatever I ask for I'll receive, is insane. That she is so jaw-droppingly gorgeous, more woman than most can ever be, and that she's with me and I'm with her, imbalanced as our relationship is, is sheer lunacy.

And after settling in I talk. Answer her questions, speak about life, act as though she's not a predatory rapist. As though she doesn't have a sex contract with my name on it.

Is it just a human thing, to be able to compartmentalise like this? To separate, out of necessity, what is evil and what is not?

The woman is discomforting, but not because of what I know her to be.

Irina Blackwell is tall and resplendently attractive, her skin dusky and exotic, body insanely voluptuous with the mammoth size of her 44K breasts and the way her hips curve to suggest unmatched femininity. Her hair, dyed crimson and braided, hangs to the left tonight, asymmetrical. That characteristic makeup of hers, vaguely Egyptian around the eyes, lips bursting with ruby allure, is on-point.

And when she speaks, there's no hint of the dark nature of our bond. The jokes she tells, the stories, the questions she asks, are all bothersome in their genuineness. I actually enjoy conversing with her, dangerous as I know her to be, arrogant and entitled as she is, believing herself so fundamentally great that she had the right to rape me and that if anything our current state of affairs is some grand luxury I should be praising her for.

'You know that it's okay to speak your mind, yes?' Irina says, during a brief pause between topics. 'I'm well aware that your opinion of me isn't so great.'

'Are you a mind reader now, as well?'

She flutters her eyelashes at me, sips her Martini. The third of the evening, not including the one in the car, but if the alcohol affects her I can't possibly say. 'One doesn't require telepathy to be aware of the general low-grade rebelliousness that lines everything we do together, Theo. I appreciate that you likely hate me, and I'm glad that you do.'

Such a strange sentiment, provoking a kind of bubble of silence. Just around us, just here in our little corner seat, a round table with a candelabra upon it, the room dimly lit to create an atmosphere of romance and mystery.

'You're glad for it?'

Irina smiles, cocks her head to the side. The braid shudders, a winding length of beautiful hair. 'Don't they say that everything in this life is about sex, but sex itself is about power? It's true, you know. Sex gives me power over you, and I want that power like nothing else on Earth. I would trade all the wealth, all my possessions for that most delicious draught, but thankfully I don't have to.'

I stare at her, beyond the hungry flames of the trinity of candles. 'You already have power over me,' I say, tentatively reaching for my water. No booze. Not around her. 'The contract allows--'

'The contract is the furthest thing from power, Theo,' my boss says. She idly twirls the olives in her drink, the alcohol content -- only the strongest of gins, and plenty of them, for Irina Blackwell -- giving it a vaguely oily and distorted appearance. 'Real power is what kings of old have. What religious figures have. A contract can be removed, destroyed. Sure, you lose your job, but you gain back your freedom. The kind of power I want can never be taken away, just as the religious can never be free of their Gods.'

It's a perverse thing that I understand her immediately. That I know just what she wants.

Perhaps I was always wired to be receptive to such things. Perhaps she fucked it into me.

'I'm never going to just be yours, Irina. Not as you want. You're deluding yourself if you think I'll wake up one day and just serve you.'

She goes to speak, but our food arrives. Those emerald eyes show not a hint of doubt, and if anything suggest eagerness, as though what I'd just said was not a rebuke of her interests but rather a confirmation that she's soon to get her way.

Chateaubriand steak. Triple-cooked chips. A mixture of little sides -- mash, macaroni cheese, wild mushrooms -- to accompany the bulk of the meal. I got half a kilo of steak, but Irina got a whole one. The futanari, Amazonian as she is, eats at once with clean grace and beside it an appetite most men can't match.

And between bites, she talks. 'It doesn't say anything about calling me "Mummy", in that contract.' Irina's smile is a sickle thing. She cuts a neat chunk off of her steak and lifts it, pausing before her full lips. 'Yet you do it anyway, because you know it's fun.'

I chew slowly, on thought and food both. Is she right? Why am I doing something if the contract doesn't call for it?

'The fact is, Theo, that you enjoy our time together,' Irina says. 'I'm not stupid. And I'm not speaking about purely physical responses, either. Come on, honey. You know I'm gorgeous. I tick all your boxes, and some you didn't know you had. It didn't take anything to get you into bed that first time, after all. You wanted me just as much as I wanted you.'

'That doesn't change the present situation.'

'Doesn't it? You still want me, Theo. And that stubborn streak in you that so desperately wants to act all aloof and almighty, just to avoid admitting that maybe there's something special in submitting to someone like me and relishing all the pleasures that come with such submission, is not going to survive.' She slowly shakes her head. 'You're not going to quit, because the job is good and you know it. But I revise my predictions.'

'What predictions?'

'Where you'll be by Christmas,' she says. 'I think come July, come our summer holiday, you'll be mine. The contract won't matter, because you'll treat me with the reverence I deserve. Reverence you're already hinting at, and it's only been a week.'

I reach for the water, wishing I'd chosen something stronger. 'You're delusional.'

My boss smirks. 'We'll see about that, won't we?'

But the thought sticks, clinging like glue, making a mess of my evening. Irina is unbearably smug on the way home, but she does nothing more than put her arm around my shoulders.

It should be the easiest thing in the world to prove her wrong, but I can't seem to find a way. It manages to make Saturday the sleepless night, despite Sunday being a day all to myself. I'm unable to escape the awful possibility of Irina being right, and this being a temporary matter. That my rejection of her will, in time, wither and weaken. Fade to nought.

———x———

She knocks on the door on the Sunday we've chosen, at nine a.m.

Mads worked out her cycle, found this day to be the lowest chance of fertilisation. So low, in fact, that it's practically non-existent. You'd have to be so virile, have such ridiculously mighty sperm, that they'd not merely have the numbers but the endurance to survive until things looked brighter.

I find hope and a smile in that notion, even knowing I'm about to do something vulgar.

What, after all, is a day of sucking and swallowing a gorgeously evil futanari, if it means a final guarantee of victory?

Irina smirks smugly when I open the door, statuesque and sensual. She's in a knee-length black skirt with knee-high leather boots, her blouse-shirt purple and half-open to reveal her overflowing cleavage. Her crimson hair is done up in a high ponytail, eyes dark in their Egyptian styling, emeralds in her duskily beautiful face.

'Hello, honey,' my boss says. 'Might I come in?'

I nod, blush, wary of her and this and all that surrounds it. Irina steps inside and struts through to my living room, eyeing the place up with a kind of subtle judgement. Beneath her, and her grand wealth. A zoo environment, a cage for a human. She says nothing, yet her muted surprise -- people actually live like this? -- speaks volumes.

She wastes little time, however. 'God, I've been looking forward to today.' Irina unclasps her skirt and lets it fall around her ankles, stepping out of the clump of clothing. Her cock swings freely between her thick thighs, a length of dark and foreboding power. No underwear, but a lacy black garter belt and a pair of stockings that disappear into her high boots. 'Come on, Theo. Mummy's got ever so much milk for you.'

I tremble on the spot to behold her. My boss unbuckles her long boots and takes them off, curling and uncurling her tights-clad toes in the open air. She undoes her blouse, and removes her bra, freeing that enormous pair of appealingly saggy breasts, a set of insanely fat K-cup monstrosities with broad dark bumpy areolae and a pleasing heft to them I can't quite remove my eyes from.

This woman is my ideal, and yet the worst person imaginable. Dick or no dick, if she were simply sweet, kind, egalitarian, I'd be smitten. And yet if she were anyone else, she'd not be Irina Blackwell. Not my dominant boss.

Those emeralds swallow me, and Irina beckons with a finger. 'Come to Mummy, honey.'

Her cock twitches as I gingerly approach, a thing of delectable darkness. It's difficult, even with how much I dislike her, to not think her body a masterpiece, penis included. The size of it, the shape of it, the bronze gorgeousness of her silky skin. An impressive and undeniably appealing girl-dick.

But her balls, by contrast, are threatening. The mammoth pair of orchids are like balled fists, brutish and heavy, spilling out in their loose sack across the seat of the sofa between her womanly and muscular thighs.

Threatening because, as much as I'd have it otherwise, I'm soon going to taste their contents again. Threatening because, as much as I'd have it otherwise, their contents might potentially lay claim to the womb of my sort-of girlfriend. Threatening because, as much as I'd have it otherwise, I don't dread either of the possibilities anywhere near enough.

'Funny,' Irina says, resting a hand atop my scalp as I drop down to my knees. 'I don't know if you're doing this because you fear me, or because you want to. I'm not sure which is more flattering.'

'I'm doing this because I want to guarantee that I'll win,' I say, taking hold of her shaft. It pushes back, swells at my touch. Heat, heaviness. Her drooping foreskin, her vein-laced member, originating in that thick oil-black jungle of pubes, all suggest a primal eroticism to what should really be merely mechanical. 'Doing this your way is just...just how it has to be.'

I move quickly, acting before she can say something twisted or warped. A shrouded glans against my lips and then past them, warming my mouth, tasting the faintest bit salty and otherwise shower-fresh clean. Her cock continues to thicken, to grow further engorged within my mouth, a sensation that's darkly pleasant, rottenly interesting.

'It's okay if it's both, honey.' My boss tussles my hair, smirking smugly down at me. 'Such lengths you go to protest, and for what? To suck my dick under my desk, to--mhm--suck it in your flat's living room?'

Schlup. Slurp.

As I suckle, my cheeks grow flush. It's the heat of her body, yes, but it's something else besides. The way she begins to throb and pulsate, neediness coursing along her member, shuddering against my lips and cheeks and tastebuds while I dutifully take care of her cock.

'You're doing it so dispassionately, Theo, but the--aah--passion leaks through. I turn you on, honey. You don't call me Mummy for nothing.'

Her salty bitter precum begins to ooze forth, glazing my tastebuds. It comes consistently, in great quantity, as her arousal begins to hit its stride. Irina's cock, some more-than-a-foot-long terror, strains at my lips and dominates my mouth. Little by little as I bob my head, sucking and slurping, her foreskin rolls backwards.

And as much as I need to hate it, to hate her, I love how her bell-end feels, exposed to the ministrations of my suckling cheeks and lascivious tongue. Lustrous and spongy and ever so fucking fat.

Schlurp. Schlack.

'Are you really going to spend all day pretending you don't like this, honey?' She cocks her head, smiles viciously. Full lips, fully evil. 'Ugh. I'm seeing Mads at five, so you've got almost eight hours of this. You might as well enjoy yourself.'

Enjoy myself, she says. Enjoy sucking her cock. Enjoy sucking this venal creature.

No. Never. I won't. No matter how rich her pseudo-feminine musk is, how pleasant her penis feels in my mouth, how surprisingly tasty her salty-bitter precum. I can separate all of that from her, and she is evil. She is Irina Blackwell.

My hands go fap-fap-fap on her meaty member and my mouth goes schlup-schlap-slurp on her salacious shaft but my mind isn't in it. My heart's not in it. This is just a task, a role, a job, and it blows.

Not that Irina ultimately seems to mind, relaxing into my sofa as she is. Watching me with those hooded green eyes, gemstones surrounded by Egyptian-styled mascara with long lashes, effortlessly enticing. She says nothing for a while, content to merely observe. To let out little gasps and moans, trembling now and then.

'My morning loads are always--ughn--the largest, honey,' Irina says, eventually. 'You're in for a treat.'

I barely prepare myself for the eruption. My boss grunts, knees shaking with a singularly striking shudder, and then the floodgates open. I'd forgotten what it's like, to be on the receiving end of Irina Blackwell. To give my tastebuds front-row seats to the virile Vesuvius of her loins.

Thick ropes, dense strings. Shotgun splatters. Such alien heat and foreign texture, covering my tongue, drenching my mind in the fearsome flavours of the dominant futanari.

'You've got--mhm--permission to swallow, today.' Irina shivers, smiles with profound snark. 'Seeing as you want to--ugh--suck out as many competitors as possible...'

I can't escape her taste, so salty and tangy, so rich and slightly bitter. Her load is monstrously mucky, stupendously viscous, as if utterly packed with sperm. It tangles about, clings to everything, is bothersome to get rid of as swallowing such sticky spooge requires great effort.

Gulp, gulp, gulp goes the bobbing of my throat, working against the odds. Irina just keeps cumming, shooting rope after string after splatter, inhumanly productive. Gulp, gulp, gulp.

And it's just the first. Just the first of the day.

She remains hard as a rock, despite having been so thoroughly drained.

The taste of her semen, so rich and potent, seems to stir something in me. Causes my cock to ache as it throbs against my boxer shorts, provokes a passion I shouldn't have. What was robotic becomes, little by little, as the morning drags on, eager.

'Thought so,' Irina says, stroking my hair, as I slow my pace and give uncharacteristic appreciation to her juicy glans. 'This might be the last time you ever do this, honey. Would it be so wrong to make the most of it?'

I don't quite know what comes over me. Slowly, nervously, guiltily, I pull back from her swollen tip and stare at it, marvelling at the sight of it. So big, so darkly purple, so vigorous. Suddenly I'm smooching it, kissing its lustrous sponginess, treating it like royalty, like a lover.

Slurp. Schmack.

'Mhm.'

'You love my body, honey, so worship it. Worship that which you so clearly--aah--crave.'

I do, don't I? I hate that I do, shouldn't, but I do.

Her cock is as gorgeous as she is, a bronze length of dark deviancy, salty against my lips with all its juiciness, capable of producing endless quantities of healthy-tasting virile pride. I kiss and smooch, pressing my lips to the contours of her crown, sending out my eager tongue to brush beneath the rim of her bell-end and taste the concentrated flavours of her sublimely sensual dick.

I shouldn't be doing this. Shouldn't be doing this thing. As bad as it is, I like it. Bad as it is, wrong as it is, her cock feels so good against my lips. And if this is the last day...so be it. I've nothing to lose. I swallowed my pride a long time ago, and I've got to swallow hers or else risk Mads becoming some broodmare for her evil lineage.

Schlap. Schlurp.

'God, I hope I win,' she says, patting my head. 'You're a wonderful cocksucker, Theo. Better than Maddie by far.'

I shiver as she says it, half-ignoring her, slipping her glans between my lips and sucking eagerly on it. This is just mechanical, just a process. Nothing to do with her. I'm bisexual, or at least have a thing for girl-dick, and who can blame me? But it's nothing to do with Irina. I'm just making the most of it. Just...just doing my best not to hate what I'm forced into.

'You could--mhm--taste it, couldn't you? The quality of my seed.' She smiles salaciously, a succubus of dark designs. Irina cocks her head to the side, emerald eyes engulfing me. 'I just love the thought of my sperm swimming across your tastebuds, honey. All the more that you appreciate my taste. Ugh, you're so clearly meant for me.'

She rests her hand in a proprietary fashion atop my scalp, guiding me gently as I bob my head along the first few inches of her cock, working for that second climax. Working to drain her balls, that's all. Working to lower the odds, to give Mads and I an even grander chance of coming out on top.

Schlup. Schlip.

'Ughn. Good boy. Mummy's good boy.'

I know this helmet so well, it's almost chilling. My mouth recognises its shape perfectly, such that I can move my tongue on autopilot, always striking just the right spots to send her closer and closer to that creamiest of conclusions. I should dread the thought, but I don't. More and more it's clear that I hate nothing about this, only her. If she were anyone but Irina, I'd suck her off every single day and swallow every last mouthful of her dirtily delicious dick-milk.

And in time, she cums again. Fat ropes sloshing forth, the grand total of gooey jism no smaller than the last eruption. Ever so much spooge, spraying and shooting, dense and stringy, salty and tangy, ever so richly flavoured. This is semen, sperm. This is Irina Blackwell, swimming about my mouth.

God, the thought is perverse. It makes me tremble, elicits a deep discomfort in my cock and balls. I meet her gaze, as if to rebel against my inner demons, but find myself petrified by the terrible beauty of that stare.

So proud, so smug. 'It's okay if you like how I taste,' Irina says, smirking, voluptuous lips hinting at perfect white teeth. 'It's only me, Theo. Everything. My looks, my smells, my legs and my breasts. And my mind, my schemes, my victory.' She exhales, a particularly heavy burst slathering my cum-covered tongue. 'Mhm. I wish you'd chosen this back in the office, but--ugh--your eyes tell the truth. How much you appreciate what my body can produce.'

Gulp, gulp, gulp. I swallow, ignore her, sending billions of salty swimmers hurtling down into my stomach, the threat of them vanquished. How many more loads? How many more sperms? Gulp, gulp, gulp.

It just goes on. She stays hard, and I keep sucking. Another ejaculation, another series of swallowing, and I keep sucking. She stays hard. Over, and over. Like time's stuck, keeps repeating, flicking back to the beginning of things.

I find myself playing with her big balls and running my fingers through her black pubes, appreciating their silky ticklishness. And little by little, it becomes twisted. With time so vague, and no clock in sight, my lust overcoming reason, what should be mechanical and to the point -- drain her fucking balls! -- becomes slutty, serene.

Sucking on her testicles. Kissing her furry base, rubbing my nose into the musky coils. Taking my time, smooching her helmet and licking her cock like a big dangerous lollipop. I'm dimly aware of some fiendish part of me, growing encouraged by the filthiness of today's deeds, that whispers ruinous words.

It might not be so bad, if you lose. You'd have an out! You could suck this cock every day, without guilt! No shame, because you lost. Fair and square!

'I bloody knew it,' Irina says, convulsing, the fourth, or eighth, or twelfth fat ejaculation on the cusp of racing up that ridiculous weapon. 'Such passion, Theo. You want my--ughn--sperm so badly.' She licks her lips, grunts, as her cum-vein bulges against my hand. 'There's nothing wrong, honey. I'm deserving of this. I'm your fucking goddess. Mhm. You should be fucking honoured to taste my genes.'

Her dense glans trembles on my flattened tongue, and then erupts. 'Mhm.'

I moan around her cock, receiving something I can only consider delicious. It is, isn't it? It's strange, distinctly carnal, but creamy and salty and tangy and rich. And surely the first load, or the second, because it's ever so big. Ever so viscous and monumental in quantity.

God, I've still got a day of this. I'm wary of smiling but what a send-off. Sticky salty spooge, from a fat futanari dick and balls. Strong healthy virile seed, treating my mouth like a pussy, my tongue like a red carpet.