SHE'S THE BOSS Part 1 by Thalaxian

Writing was my passion, but it never amounted to anything. Reality has a nasty way of catching up to you, shredding your desires in its wake. That cycle of saving up and living off those savings gradually proved to be untenable and now, at twenty-five, I've taken up an office job.

It's better than that agri-shit I was doing before; better hours, better pay, better environment. At the least, I'm putting my word skills to use, writing documents, emails, editing the work of others, making sure everything is functional in the English language. It supports a moderately pleasant lifestyle, though I'm forced to rent and my romantic life is non-existent (though that's hardly novel).

I work at this new editing company in Windsor, a place called Blackwell Limited. It's a nice place, actually, and the people are largely young and personable as colleagues. There's a lot of benefits, meals out, holidays, all sorts; a friend of mine worked at a place like this -- different industry -- and I didn't really think it'd be attainable for me.

Yet here I am, four days a week, earning thirty grand a year. The dream died, but at least a kind of nihilism didn't pop-up in its stead.

The boss, Irina Blackwell -- she founded the company using her father's wealth -- is a bit of an odd-ball. Friendly, but dominant; forgiving, but cuts to the quick of things. We're all passingly scared of her, though fond as well. She pays well, treats us well, is generally a good person to work for. Has great expertise, is very intelligent, listens when others know better. Can be extremely terrifying, when heedlessly and thoughtlessly defied.

What surprised me first and foremost is her relative youth and, I suppose adjoined to that, her imposing beauty.

Irina -- she's set on maintaining a first-name basis -- is about a decade older than myself. The woman is six-foot-two, but not in the least bit mannish; her legs are long and thick at the thighs, with muscular calves; her hips wide, waist narrow, breasts enormous. Irina is dusky and exotic, with dark skin that's not quite black but too dark to be mere tan, though her eyes are these emerald green things, and she keeps her hair dyed crimson red. Neat eyebrows, rounded ears with hooped earrings.

She's well-toned, of athletic build, with prominent cheekbones and a pointed nose. Her full lips rarely lack a coating of glossy burgundy, her eyes are often ringed with black mascara, forming a vaguely Egyptian-style curl away from each corner. Black is her colour, and she's often in a long, form-hugging dress, at once all business and all beauty. She keeps her hair back in a great ponytail, often braided, that hangs down to the small of her back, above a plump and shapely backside.

I'll happily admit I've a thing for her. She's striking and her lovely, sonorous, commanding voice hits the ear just right. An older woman, a dominant one...but I know as well as anyone that this is both a fever-dream and a foolish notion. Even if she were interested, what would be gained? I disappoint her, and lose my job? Not saying I'm certain to -- I'm plenty confident -- but that's the reality, isn't it?

Don't mix work and pleasure.

But sometimes I do kind of wonder. She'll smile at me in this funny way that I don't think I've seen her do to anyone else; Irina will pass my workstation, pat my shoulders while standing behind me, and give me something like a quick massage.

'Lovely writing voice,' she'll say, almost purring. 'I always love your sentences, Theo.'

And then she'll leave, and I'll be...more than a little "woken up", so to speak.

The months pass and these kinds of things accelerate, lengthen. On occasion she'll brush my chest, reaching below my shoulder. She'll put her mouth beside my ear and speak gently -- always pure encouragement, never anything lusty -- but the way she does it provokes a shiver up my back and puts hairs on their ends.

*

'You should be careful,' Maddie says. About my age, the blonde woman is a friendly if too-formal colleague. 'She's not like most women, Theo.'

She says this on one of our bar outings -- paid for by work -- when the others have moved to the dance-floor (I always linger at the bar, or the table). I've never thought Maddie to be the sort to fancy me, and judging by her gaze, that's definitely not it.

'Is this about Irina?'

Maddie nods. 'Of course.' She glances around, finding our boss absent for the moment. Irina's at the bar, on the far side of the room, ordering herself another top-shelf martini. Satisfied, Maddie turns back to me. 'Look, Theo...word gets around, okay? Irina's...she's not normal.'

I find myself staring at the not-normal arse-cheeks of the tall dusky woman in the tight black dress. 'Yeah, I can see that.'

Maddie rolls her eyes. 'She's got a penis.'

Irina looks our way at this moment, just a brief glance, a surveying. Her eyes set upon me longest of all, and a fleeting smile graces her lovely mouth. Then she turns back to the barman, who places down her latest martini. I make it the fifth of the night, and yet she's not the least bit inebriated.

Maddie's words hit me like molasses, slow and engulfing. I turn to her and blink twice, then open my mouth to speak and find silence in my head.

'Are you jealous?' I say, from out of the nothingness. It's a stupid sentence.

She just sighs. 'Of her? No. Of you? God, no. Look, Theo, the way I hear it, she likes men like you -- shorter than her, nerdy, malleable -- and those guys tend to lose their jobs.

'They find her alluring, play along, get fucked by her huge penis and then, having been broken by her' -- Maddie snaps her fingers -- 'they're gone. That's just how it is, just how she works.'

As Irina makes her way back towards us from the bar, Maddie quickly reaches over and seizes my hand with hers. 'Look, you're a nice enough guy, and that's why I'm telling you this. She's not what she appears to be, and if you don't want what she "is", then you can't let her seduce you.' Maddie frowns, and pulls away. 'Just take these as words from a friend, okay?'

And like that, Maddie downs her gin and tonic and re-joins the dancers.

*

Women don't have penises. That's what I tell myself. And it's true, isn't it?

Maddie must be misinformed, or -- despite her protestations -- jealous. Jealous of Irina, that I'd find myself drawn to her, rather than to Maddie, whose beauty and poise and elegance are far lesser in scope. At least, that makes more sense than anything else right now.

A penis is a male reproductive organ, attached to testicles. Testicles produce male hormones, which produce masculine bodies. That's basic biology.

"Lady-boys" and the like exist, but you can kind of always tell, right? And when you can't, when the female hormones have gone on for so long, those "shemales" become a fair bit less virile, sexually-speaking.

Plus, the transformation is imperfect: the breasts are fakes, the curves are fakes, the whole thing is fake. The bone structure is obvious, for instance. The hips can't ever grow all that wide, assuming the hormones were introduced late enough for the dick to grow properly, and thus...

'Deep in thought?' Irina says, swallowing a sip of her martini. She cocks her head to one side, smirking faintly.

...how can my boss have a penis?

'Something like that,' I say, turning my attention to the beautiful, tall, imposing -- undeniably, totally -- woman before me.

Irina rests her elbows on the table and leans forwards, in the process squeezing her impressively mammoth breasts together. The V of her black dress is a perfect window of her feminine collarbone and that ridiculously soft-looking valley of dark mammary flesh. She flutters her long eyelashes over those emerald-green eyes, and runs a fingertip around the rim of her martini glass.

'Not a dancer,' Irina says. 'I can appreciate that. Nietzsche believed that a day passed without dancing was not a day lived, but then, I doubt he grasped the difficulty of prancing around when supporting a pair of K-cup breasts.'

She temptingly narrows her elbows, ballooning out the already enticing shapes of her heavy breasts. It's clear just from a glance that she has large areolas, because the very rims of those darker bumpy regions surrounding her nipples are visible where the V-cut of her dress passes alongside them.

How can those be fakes? They sag a bit, they have that proper shape to them, they show no signs of implants. I realise I'm staring, but Maddie put that thought into my head. Irina...is smirking at me. Does she even care?

'Like what you see?'

'Sorry, I--'

'Theo, I didn't wear this dress to be ignored.' Irina presses her breasts together with her hands, rolling them up and down against one another. 'Not that these are easily hidden, but I did hope to garner some male attention tonight. Judging by your reaction, I think I have it? You're especially cute when you're flustered, I must say.'

My cheeks are indeed red, and my heart is indeed thumping away. The notion that his sublimely gorgeous woman is anything but a sublimely gorgeous woman vaporises like water on hot asphalt.

'Sorry, I'm--'

'Stop apologising,' she says, playful yet assertive. 'Say what you mean, what you think. I certainly don't mind.' Irina takes a sip from her martini, and teases the skewered stuffed olives. She leans back into the plush leather, tall and resplendent, and rests a crooked elbow on the back of the seat, hand hanging idly. 'I'm not your boss today, just another woman. I like conversation, not hearing apologies!'

Sorry. But I stop myself. 'I like very much what I see,' I say, despite the heat of my cheeks, despite the fear of speaking out of turn. 'Are they real?'

Irina smirks, disarming and demonic with mischief. 'You wouldn't think so, would you?' My boss squeezes her arms in again, causing her mammoth breasts to bulge together. 'When I was fourteen I started developing, and before long I had bigger boobs than the biggest boys had biceps.' She chuckles at herself. 'Bit of a tongue-twister, accidentally, there. Anyway, in a roundabout way, yes. Yes, they're natural.'

'They're gigantic.'

'44K,' she says. 'The band size was lower, but I started weight-lifting around your age and the little bit of bulking up actually helped out.' Irina slaps the side of her arse. 'Bum, too, but that's another matter. You're a boob man, unless I'm mistaken.'

'Do you talk to all male employees like this?'

Irina smiles up half her face, a look of diabolic mischief. 'Only the ones I'd like to fuck later tonight.'

All the noise in the room seems to deafen, killed from afar, replaced by monotone white noise. I blink, and then again, and then several times more. My boss...Irina...did she say what I think she did?

'What?'

'Oh, don't be coy; I want to fuck you, cutie. You're just my type. It's the only reason I'm out tonight, to be honest. I've had my eyes on you since you were hired. Are your interested?'

*

Her nipples are sweet large points, little protrusions centred on those massive brown bumpy areolae. Fragrant warm breast-meat engulfs my face, my nose, my lips. Irina strokes my hair, pulls me deep into her cleavage, into a nursing position against her enormous K-cup tits.

I'm in a hotel room, on the big sofa, motorboating my boss.

'I'll be your mummy, baby,' she says, sweet and sonorous and breathy. 'Suck on mummy's big fat boobies.'

'Mhm.'

'Oh, fuck yes.'

'Mhm. Slurp.'

'Knead them, grope them...ugh, that's it, baby, suck out all that creamy milk.'

There's no milk. Nothing comes out of her huge, motherly tits. My boss, Irina Blackwell, is practically suffocating me with her breasts, laying across the sofa in a suggestive, seductive way. To glance up is to find her smirking, naughty face, beyond the dark mountain valley of her enormous chest.

Her black dress is half abandoned, hanging around her waist. My shirt's gone, my trousers and shoes as well, my socks and boxers remaining. I kiss the undersides of her breasts, kiss her flat toned stomach, the top of her bellybutton, and she grips me with gentle strength.

'No,' Irina says. 'Just my breasts, for now. Don't rush, baby.'

'But I--'

'No.' Her voice is firm. 'Up here. Kiss me, Theo.'

She aids my ascent, grabs the back of my head, and pulls me in. Her green eyes, dark lips, exotic features, are a whirl of beauty. Irina's lips are plump, vivacious, sweet-tasting, hinting of her martinis and something else besides. Our lips tangle and our tongues follow and it's the most moreish, passionate kiss I've ever experienced with a woman.

She gropes at me, claws at me, with a kind of possessed lust that hints at masterful practice. Irina moves her tongue around mine, fences with it, plays and teases my lips. I'll periodically open my eyes and find her watching like a predator, relishing the redness of my cheeks and the wetness of my eyes.

This woman, taller than me by a half-foot, is stronger than I'd have expected for her femininity and curvaceousness. Her bare arms flex as they fondle me, revealing toned muscles and shoulders. She easily twists us both around, placing me on my back in the corner of the L-shaped sofa.

My boss drops to her knees and smirks at me. 'Want to fuck my tits?'

I nod stupidly, twice and thrice, and rush for my underwear but she gets there first. Irina skilfully retrieves my erection from my boxers and plays with it before me, staring down at it like it's some miracle of the divine. It's not badly sized, but she's quite the large woman; in her large yet feminine right hand, it looks smaller than I'd like.

'Lovely,' she says, pulling down my foreskin. 'Let's play...hide and seek.'

I can only watch as she leans forwards, her immense breasts drooping before her. Irina scoops one up with each hand, overflowing the limits of her palms and fingers, and devours my cock with them. It disappears into a hot damp place, a heavenly place, without a hint of its presence protruding above the top of her 44K mammaries.

I've always, always wanted a titwank like this. My boss smirks at me, flicks her head to one side, and stares down at my concealed member. In the light, the intricate veins of her oversized tits are obvious, and her nipples poke through her fingers on either hand. Irina starts to milk me with her milkers, the tightness of her oppressive chest greater than I ever imagined it to be.

'Ughn, fuck.'

'Like that?'

'Y-eah.'

'Good,' she says, glancing at me. 'I love putting my girls to work in milking cute young guys like you.'

I twist and turn, hot with the pleasure. 'M-ilk a-way...ughn.'

She brings her breasts up and slams them down, up and down, up and down. They're so heavy and they slap loudly, wetly, where they smack against my belly and groin and thighs. It's musical, hearing that divine noise and knowing the source; watching the source, as the giant pair wobble and shudder and bounce.

What on earth did I do to deserve this? It's like being a damned king, with a woman as fine as Irina Blackwell. To think that I'm...that I'm going to be fucking her...it nearly sends me over the edge. My knees shudder and I almost buckle.

'Cum when you want,' she says. 'You're young, so we'll just push on, baby.'

'Irina...'

My load comes quickly, barely needing encouragement. The tightness of her breasts and the beauty of her body are more than enough; I shoot a respectable volume and fall back into the sofa, woozy with pleasure. She keeps stroking for a little longer, then finally sits back on her haunches and scoops my jizz up into her hands, watching it form strings between her fingers.

Irina sucks a finger clean before my eyes, and licks her lips suggestively. 'Lovely healthy young sperm,' she says. Another finger enters her mouth, comes away clean. 'Mhm. God, I love how fresh it tastes.'

For a moment she seems little more than a succubus, intent on consuming my penile leavings, not missing a drop or dribble. Watching her intensity is erotic as sin, flattering to behold; that my millionaire amazon fertility goddess of a boss is so hungrily eating my sperm is, quite honestly, a huge boost to self-esteem.

She proceeds to kiss and slurp on my balls, and I recline into a kind of fuzzy post-orgasmic bliss. I watch, through half-shuttered eyes, as her mouth and tongue so masterfully work on my nut sack and its contents. It's perfect, it's great, but there's a slow-building guilt; I'm doing nothing for her.

'Irina...can I go down on you?'

I rise, but she pushes me back with one hand. There's mischief in my boss's gaze. 'Not yet, baby,' she says. 'But...if you want to please me, perhaps you'll do what I want?'

Maddie's accusations come to mind, but I shift them away. She doesn't have a dick.

'What'd I have to do?'

The dark beauty smirks. 'Ever had a woman play with your butt?'

She doesn't have a dick. Right? 'Uh...no?'

Irina lifts her fingers, and makes a show of moving them. 'I'm pretty good at it, if you'd like to try. I love making young guys cum buckets from their arseholes alone, honey.'

I blush, harder than before. 'Isn't that a bit weird?'

'Not at all!' she says, rising. Her massive breasts jiggle and sway as she moves, and the hanging front of her dress prevents me from getting a good -- nervous, stupid -- look at her crotch. The tall beauty turns quickly and goes to her handbag. 'I've got some lube, if you want to try? We'll stop the moment you want to, okay? Pretty please?'

What's the harm, I guess? I'll admit, I've always wondered. 'Where?'

She gestures to the bed. 'Go lay down on your front.' Irina searches her bag. 'I'll be with you shortly.'

I nod, and rise, and obey her. A moment after dropping down on my front, the bed shifts as she comes to sit beside me. With surprising strength, Irina pulls me closer to the edge, then rests a warm soft hand on my right buttock. She squeezes, and runs her thumb down the crack, chuckling sonorously.

'Let's get you ready.'

A plastic crack, and a cool oil spreads down between my cheeks. I gasp as she teases at my arsehole with a finger, tracing out the entrance through steady circling strokes. The tip pokes, prods, and then slips inside. Instinctively I clench, and she chuckles.

'Tight little bottom on you, baby.'

'Y-eah.' I glance over my shoulder, meeting her smiling beauty. God, she's divinely attractive, even dishevelled. Still, half her dress remains. 'Why aren't you naked?'

Irina slips her finger inside, up to the knuckle. The tip reaches a certain responsive place and brushes against it, provoking a shudder through me. 'In time, honey, in time. Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.'

Oh, no. 'S-urprise?'

'Oh, not those rumours.' She rolls her eyes. 'Nothing so sordid. Isn't mystery hotter, Theo? The slow reveal?'

'Ugh.' The spot she hits has my cock throbbing again. 'Y-eah. I guess. What are you doing?'

Irina slips in a second finger, and scrapes against that spot. 'Playing with your prostate. You're loosening up, but fingers aren't quite long enough.' She chuckles. 'Perhaps next time, we'll try a toy.'

'Next time?'

'Well, if you want to see me again. Privately, that is.'

'Y-eah. I do. I've...ughn. Jesus. I wanted this since we met.'

She flutters her eyes at me. 'Me too, baby. Me too.' A third finger. 'Almost there...you're very receptive.'

'Ugh. Thanks?'

Irina chuckles. 'Just rest your head, handsome. Let mummy do her work.'

Something about her reassuring voice, so lovely and sensual, urges me to obey her. I rest my cheek on my forearms, shutting my eyes, feeling the warmth of her fingers as they drag back and forth against an extremely pleasant place. Each brush provokes a pulse of tension, a building in my loins.

The resulting orgasm is blissful, like no other. It wracks me, destroys me, obliterates sense for a long moment. It's longer, sweeter, an expansive joy that spreads out from my backside to my front, spilling my seed but not diminishing my erection. I cry out, or must do, but it gets lost in the quaking ecstasy.

'Let it out, honey. Let it all out.'

'Ugh. Shit.'

'Good boy. Good, sexy, lovely boy.'

Irina must rise, but I'm too distracted to notice. In my periphery she drops the dress, straddles my backside, draws me closer to the edge of the bed. Something hot and heavy rests between my cheeks, and my beautiful boss leans down beside my ear. Those full weighty breasts press down warmly against my back, nipples brushing pleasantly. She kisses my cheek, breathes against my ear.

'Those rumours get around, sadly,' she says. 'It's good that you ignored them, though. Too many men get scared, for nothing.'

'Y-eah...they're absurd.'

The boss pushes down my shoulders. 'Oh, I wouldn't say that.' That heat, that heaviness, slides backwards and pushes into my crack. 'Just that I'm glad you ignored them. Because I've wanted to do this since I laid eyes on you, sweetie.'

It pushes, that presence, and splits my arsehole. Lubed and loosened, it doesn't hurt, but the radiant heat, the powerful solidity, makes me arch my back as it goes deeper and deeper. The shape pulses, angrily, needily, and it easily brushes against the entirety of that zone, forcing me to exhale sharply.

'Ugh. God, you're tight.'

'Irina...'

'Let it happen, baby. Let it happen.'

'Ughn, let...what?'

I glance back, and I can't believe it. No way. It's hard to make out, but she's moving her hips, thrusting, and with each thrust and withdraw, the sensation plumbs the depths of my body and retreats. Below her flat belly, her toned abdomen forms a vague V that meets her pubic mound, an absolute jungle of oily black hairs. And below that, barely visible, on her back-thrusts, is something dark and thick and clearly very, very long.

She leans down on me, pushing me flat against the bed, and grunts. 'Take it, baby. Ughn. Fuck yes.'

All I can do is stare at the wall, perplexed. Her mammoth breasts are dragging back and forth against my back, sweaty and amazing; her wonderful lips kiss my head, brush my ear; her...penis? It can't be, but...her penis excavates me so deep that the prostate sensation is building again. Building like a volcano, doomed to erupt.

'Ugh...you've...you're joking.'

'No, honey. No joke.'

'But...b-ut...'

'Shush,' she says, kissing my ear. 'Just enjoy it. Let nature take its course.'

Her powerful hips go faster, faster. The warmth of her thighs, the fatness of her hips, slams against my arse and the backs of my legs. Wiry damp pubes brush the cleft of my butt, skewered as it is by what can only be a penis. A human penis, but how? 'Ughn.' I...why does it feel so good?

No. Not just a penis. A penis, I can explain away. A dildo, a trick. Two heavy shapes slap down, sweaty and warm, against my balls. She's got balls, testicles. No strap-on does that, right? I mean, I don't know, but--

'Ugh. Shit.'

A panic sets in, and I try to throw her off, but God, she's so strong! Irina holds me down, gyrating, thrusting. She's slamming me, ploughing me, fucking my arse. I'm being raped, but...but my body...

I orgasm, again. The throes of pleasure, the perfect glory of that anal orgasm, blows my brains and my balls. All I can do is moan, grunt, bestial and beaten; Irina continues her efforts, slow and powerful, masterfully casual in the way she drives her hot meat back and forth between my cheeks.

'Good little slut,' she says, chuckling. The boss kisses my cheek. 'You can't deny it, baby. Ughn, if anything, you should be thanking me.'

No ejaculation, no act, has ever been so blissfully ecstatic. The way it radiates outward, centred on her thick length, that metal-hard heat that drives in and out, in and out. My eyes roll back as my semen spills onto the bed, wets the underside of my belly. Big balls slap against mine, big breasts slide back and forth across my back. It's such a paradox, such a confusion.

Should I love this, or hate it?

When some window of clarity returns I try -- with greatly diminished strength -- to push her away. Irina chuckles, effortlessly holds me down, and goes balls-deep inside me. Her nuts must be huge, the way they swallow up mine, engulfing them. Her length must be enormous, stupid, unreal. She's so thick, so hot, so powerful.

'Y-ou're raping m-e.'

'If that's what it takes,' she says. Irina leans close, brushing my ear with warm wet lips. 'Do you have any idea what it's like, to be a dominant heterosexual woman, with a body like mine? Ughn. It's hell, honey.' She gyrates her hips, withdraws and slams, hard. Her wonderfully bizarre flesh bounces against mine. 'Do you have any idea what it's like--ugh--to get naked with a perfect guy and have him turn and run away in disgust?'

The pleasure is building, anew. What the fuck? It's like I've got no refractory period, like I can just keep going. 'Ugh. S-top. P-lease.'

'No, I won't. It's not hurting you, you enjoy it, you're just so close-minded.' She draws back, and slams. 'You're going to--ugh--take it. Just like you're going to cum, again. Just like you're--ughn--going to take my load.'

'S-top...p-lease...ughn.'

But she goes on. I cum, again. Twice more. The second, the more powerful, comes as she does. Irina buries herself, hilts herself in me, and gyrates. A series of powerful contractions rock her body, and she gasps and groans. 'Ughn, bitch. Take it...take it all!'

The fat head of her member bulges, and a flood of heat spills out into my rear. My eyes go wide and the orgasm hits, mutualised with hers. We both grunt, gasp, but mine's the longer. A hot weightiness rolls about inside me, and Irina chuckles. She kisses my cheek, and straightens up. 'Cream-filled, honey. Just how I like my desserts.'

She spins me over and penetrates me again, this time in missionary. I reach to push her back but she braids her fingers with mine, leans across me, pressing her full breasts against my chest. My rapist forces her lips onto mine and she tastes so good, and she's so drop-dead gorgeous, and we're snogging as she pummels my ecstatic rear.

I lose myself in the pleasure, in the luxuriousness of her sweat, her perfume. She tastes good, smells good, feels good. My tongue rolls with hers as I cum, again. I'm not sure if she orders it, or some dirty instinct has me do it, but I wrap my legs around her back as she unloads, again, and pumps me full to the brim with hot, heavy semen.

'You did want to go down on me, didn't you?'

'Y-eah.'

Some sordid intermission has her sitting on my face, her simply enormous balls resting on my forehead. I must be mad, must be insane, because she's got the most wonderful vulva, the sweetest, most fragrantly musky pussy. I massage her enormous, hand-swallowing buttocks, grab her hips, bury my mouth against her snatch with reckless, pleasure-addled abandon.

The amazing, dominant, impossibly sexy man-woman grinds against my face, forcing me to breathe in some confusing mixture of vulvic musk and scrotal stench, which even in the latter case is more feminine than I'd expect, despite her balls making mine seem small. The huge grapefruit-sized lumps bounce against my face, strangely pleasant.

'Eat mummy's pussy, baby. Swallow down all those tasty juices.'

'Mhm. Schlup.'

'Ughn, such a good little bitch.'

'Schlup. Slurp.'

'Ugh, how'd those nuts feel, honey?' She chuckles. 'Bigger than yours?' I say nothing, and she laughs all the more. 'Give me your hands, boy. Do as I say; I'm your boss, aren't I?'

But any resistance on my part is futile. Irina is strong, too strong. She clutches my wrists to brings my hands up to her front and secures them around something hot, thick, bulging, damp. I shudder, and she drags my hands up and down, up and down. This is so awful, so wrong, but...I'm so hard.

It feels...good.

'How's that, baby? How's a real cock feel?'

All I can do is eat her cunt. 'Mhm. Slurp.' She tastes good, smells great. Salty, musky, a little sweet. Her lips are neat, a bit puffy, enough to nibble and suckle but not too much. There's no hair here, unsurprisingly; I keep brushing it with my hands, however, making clear where it persists.

'My tits don't produce milk, but another pair of fat saggy things do.' I shudder, panicking as she slides herself backwards, dragging her ridiculously fat bollocks down across my face, marking me with stinking scrotal musk. I gasp for air as her nuts drop down below my chin, and she chuckles as she bounces them against it. 'Seeing as you're a little coward, and this is our one night in heaven...we'd better make it count.'

The powerful futanari forces my hands down against the bed, and angles herself in a terrifying manner. I cannot find words, exposed as I am to the sight ahead; Irina's penis is something insane, fat and veiny, chocolate-dark and glistening, born of a jungle of oily black pubes and ending in an enormous purplish helmet the size of an apple, opulent and proud. It must be as thick as my wrist, her shaft, and as long as my forearm. Over a foot, easily.

'P-lease, d-on't.'

But she grinds the slick tip against my face, across my lips. It's salty, musky, bitter-smelling, nostril-flaring. Irina beams down at me, smug and filthy, gorgeous but terrible. She shifts her hips, and pokes the fat glans between my lips. I keep my jaw shut, but only just. She's strong, and her cock is like solid steel.

'Open wide,' she says. All I can do is stare cross-eyed at the evil, brutally fat helmet pressed against my mouth. Somehow the gorgeous woman, hourglass-figured, massive-breasted, is irrelevant. 'Open.'

'N-o.'

But it gives her the shot. Idiot. And then her fat glans is inside, so thick and strong that my teeth give way to it and my lips seize upon it. 'Ugh. God, I'm going to feed you such a big load.'

Her hot bell-end leaks and her precum is...Jesus, this is so wrong. It's...it's tasty. Her cock is tasty. Salty, and faintly bitter. I'm paralysed, but she's happy to do it all; Irina leans forwards on her knees, holding my hands above my head against the bed and slowly thrusts, using my mouth like a fleshlight.

I can't see her face beyond her big sagging breasts and all the world is her perfect dusky body, divinely feminine but for this trinity of strange shapes that are defiling and soon to utterly dirty my mouth. Struggling proves useless, again. My cock is stupidly hard, again.

Hers runs back and forth, pushing against my throat each time but never entering, so fat and full that its contours are felt across my tongue even without movement. It's like a plum, yet spongier, smoother, and very hot. All I can taste is her precum, strong yet pleasant, as it lubes up my mouth.

'Ughn, remember to swallow, honey. There's...ugh, there's going to be a lot. I'm so horny right now, and it's been too long. God, I've needed this.'

'Numph. Numph!'

But my protests are futile. My rapist futa boss just thrusts, slow and steady, inevitable and unavoidable. Her helmet slides back against my lips, its thick rear ridges momentarily bulging them out and its eyelet painting my tongue with tasty dick juice. Then it slides forwards again, grinding her frenulum over my taste-buds, and urging against the opening to my gullet.

I can't even meet her gaze, can't even move my hands. All I can do is shut my eyes and wish it were over, wish I were elsewhere. Her breathing quickens, and those fat drooping nuts contract a little. Oh God no.

'Fuck. Ugh. Shit.'

She pulls back, planting the tip as far against my lips as it will go, but I can't free myself of it. Her glans bulges, and spits. Hot cream floods my mouth, ropes of seed, lumpy and knotty, buttery thick. Saltiness prevails, edged in tangy bitterness, rich and musky and powerful. Semen. This is semen.

My boss's semen.

I can't swallow, because it'd be disgusting, but she produces so much. It's a flood, a pint of jizz, baptising my virgin tongue and filling my mouth to the point my cheeks bulge out and the stuff shoots out of my nose, stinging and making my eyes water.

'Swallow, slut. Swallow mummy's milk. Ughn.' She shudders, and arches her back. 'Swallow my sperm, honey. Fill your belly with my seed!'

So I do, despite myself. I gulp, and slurp, and swallow. Hot thick buttery cream, so thick it takes great effort, but it rolls down my throat, into my belly. Her sperm, her semen, going down inside my gut. She must be so virile...there must be so many little swimmers, gene-carriers, filling my stomach.

Her salty semen, tangy and faintly bitter and rich and musky, continues to flood my mouth. Irina knows what she's doing, keeping her glans where it is; she wants me to taste her, to taste her dirtiest, most carnal of fluids. And I am. And despite myself, despite how wrong it is, she tastes good. Her hot, ropey, lumpy load, packed with impregnating sperm, tastes good.

'Mhm.' The noise is shameful, but instinctual. 'Gulp.'

She chuckles. 'I bet, baby. You've got good taste, and I taste good.'

Another few gulps, and she pumps a fat finale straight onto my tongue. The ropey load clings to my teeth, gets under my tongue, joins together the roof of my mouth and my taste-buds. Irina draws back and I breathe in fresh air, shamefully scraping around my mouth to swallow her tasty nut-milk.

I barely have time to make sense of it before she draws back and sits herself on my throbbing cock, driving my six-incher into the tightest, wettest, most incredible pussy I've ever experienced. 'Ugh.' I almost choke on the ball of seed accumulating, scraped from my teeth and from below my tongue. 'Fuck.'

'A reward,' she says, winking at me. Sweaty, gorgeous, she's every bit as terrifying. 'For good behaviour.'

She puts her hands on my chest and rides me, grinding her enormous hips down against me, bouncing her sweaty hanging nuts off my belly, her yet-turgid cock jiggling away. I can't manage to get every little rope free from the nooks and crannies, and her sublimely tight pussy bites down on me like a vice. She looks absurd, a fusion of male parts and the ultimate female form, but everything about this is absurd. It's so wrong, yet so undeniably right.

She moans, and grunts, and squeezes tight. 'Ughn. You're so thick, honey. Such a thick little cock you have.'

"Little" isn't ideal, but I'm clearly enough. Maybe a woman could fake it, but this one, a futanari...there's going to be a definite end, again. Filth that I am, some part of me wants that, to feel her seed splash against me. Some part of me wants to stick out my tongue, to taste her healthy sperm. It's so wrong, all this. So dirty, gay, weird. Above all, confusing.

'Irina...'

She smiles at me, eyes aflame. 'Let it out, baby. Fill mummy's womb with your soldiers. Ughn.' She throws her head back. 'You've tasted mine, I've tasted yours...such a good boy, Theo. Such a good boy. You've, ugh, earned this.'

'Irina...'

I must cum, and she must. She splatters my chest, and I get lost in the tight welcoming loveliness of her cooch. Whatever dregs remained in my balls, she steals with her succubus body. Yet her load is no smaller than the last, or the ones before last. My chest, my chin, my face receives a voluminous warm covering.

And she's not done. As exhaustion seizes she gets between my legs again, pulls one of my legs up between her wonderful breasts, kisses my foot, slams my arsehole anew. I cum, again, from my prostate.

The world, naturally, fades.

*

In the morning I wake sticky, tasting salty bitterness.

Irina Blackwell is gone, but our actions are far from forgotten. My first instinct is to sob, to shudder, but I'm so confused. It was rape, yes, but why did I enjoy it so much? It wasn't even mere physiological reactions. I wanted to be with that woman, only...I didn't imagine she could have a cock. A penis.

There's a note on the table, the bill for the room, already paid. "Check your phone", it says at the bottom. I've been blown-up with a series of texts from my boss. The texts begin with: "If you plan to go to the police -- as more than a few of you losers have tried -- then you'll be sorely disappointed; my body is an open secret, as is my taste in partners. They won't believe you, and my lawyers are better.

"If you can't handle enjoying what we did -- and you very clearly enjoyed all of it -- then feel free to resign, because I'm not going anywhere. I'd imagine your colleagues saw you leave with me, and they'll know what's transpired. If, somehow, you can manage to swallow your pride -- recall that you swallowed mine -- then I have no misgivings. I will, however, forever see you as the bottom slut you were last night.

"If instead you want to be honest with yourself -- you'd be the first -- then come to my office on Monday; we'll talk about "job" prospects. I'm a top, and you're a bottom, Theo. If you can accept that, we can have quite a lot of fun together.

"Regards, Irina; your boss, your mummy, your mistress."

I'm left trembling, confused. The inescapable truth is that I've been raped, orally defiled and anally fucked, by my gorgeous and somewhat terrifying boss.

In the mirror, the damage is more obvious. My body is stained with seed, even so far as to have splattered my face and chest. I'm dirtied with dead sperm, and a great deal of it has dried around my mouth, and between my butt cheeks and thighs. I blush at the sight, ashamed and yet aroused; I'm already erect, standing to attention, over the merest idea.

It's not wrong to be gay, but I'm not. And how can this be anything but? Worse, how can I be this woman's pet, her toy, as she seems to desire of me? I stink of her musky loads, a perverse painting, like she's claimed me. How can I just go into work on Monday, look her in the face, and pretend away how strong and virile she was, how weak and submissive I was?

How can I look at Maddie, and realise that she knows? Jeez, no wonder the others left. It's humiliating. If I'd done this out of pure desire, sure, but I didn't. One thing led to another, and then I was being raped. All power was gone, all put into her hands. Her strong, womanly hands, that held me down as she claimed her prize over and over.

I sit down by the bed, and shiver.

What the hell am I going to do?

———x———

Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.

The structure of a week. Of any week. The most daunting obstacle in the world, between a life-changing event and the end of life. Last week I was myself, as I knew myself, as resolute about my sexuality, my pride, my character, as I could be. I'd spent my teenage years as a loser, blossomed late, grown happy with myself.

And then on Friday night, Saturday morning, Irina took that all away.

I wake on Monday morning, stare at myself in the mirror, and don't really recognise the man in the reflection. His eyes move too much, his mouth has no smile. I look at him and wonder: how could he enjoy being her bitch? That he couldn't resist, that she was too strong, that it happened -- I can stomach all of that.

But to enjoy the feeling of being taken, penetrated? To appreciate the sensation of her penis -- her penis -- in his mouth, and to actually moan when her semen spilled across his tongue? To lay back and hope for another spray of cum, jizz, spooge fresh from her giant balls?

The man is the reflection, the reflection the man. I see those things, hate them, and hate myself. I've never enjoyed sex half as much as I did on Friday night, Saturday morning. I've never been the girl, the bottom, the receiver, but I loved it.

I don't want to be him, but the reflection is the man.

Maddie gives me a look when we pass in the corridor. An "I told you so" kind of face. Does mine give it away, or am I just assuming? It feels like the world knows what I've done. People I don't know by their first names eye me as I go to my desk in the secluded part of the office. Like they're watching a dead man, off to the gallows. Like this is to be my last day, or one of the last. They've seen it before, they know it.

Work, work, work, work, work. At lunch, whispers. They all regard me, even when they don't. The brain works like that, it plays up anxieties, it rewrites conversations not fully heard. Work, work, work, work, work. People look at me like they never did, seeing what they never saw before. They see the dried semen around my mouth, on my lips, in my hair, across my face. They see Irina's handiwork and see this new Theo, this broken Theo, this lesser Theo. A self that lacks his former confidence, who says little.

Work, work, work, work, work.

Irina Blackwell makes the rounds, divine as always. Her long legs are clad in thin stockings that run beneath a knee-length skirt, ending in large feet that tuck into elegant black heels. Her dark skin contrasts her emerald eyes. That braid of hers droops down behind her back, swaying faintly as she struts.

She doesn't so much as look my way all throughout her comments and remarks and little bursts of small-talk. And then warm strong gentle hands are on my shoulders and sweet wet breath brushes my ear and she says, 'Oh, honey, I've never seen you so sad.' Irina squeezes me. 'You can always come to my office. I'll put a smile on your face.'

I shiver as she leaves, my cock pressing against the front of my dark trousers. This is it, isn't it? Decades of this, of these remarks, of these little private suggestions. It's not enough to humiliate me. She needs me broken, or gone. This is my life.

If I cave and flee, she wins. If I stay, at the very least I'm holding my own. Don't answer her teasing, don't get angry, don't retaliate, just ignore it. Ignore, ignore, ignore. And it makes, for the most part, the first week bearable.

For the most part.

*

'Is it true?' Maddie says in a private moment, on our weekly Friday outing. 'Did you sleep with Irina?'

It catches me off-guard somehow, because despite knowing that they know, I wondered if it was all in my head. It's not.

'That's a bit personal, isn't it?'

But it's a stupid, leading phrase. Maddie smirks, makes a funny shape with her mouth, and sips her vodka lemonade.

'I'm surprised you're still here.'

A sentence sharper than any knife.

'What?'

'I mean, didn't you always act straight?'

'I am straight.'

She rolls her eyes. 'Yeah, and Irina doesn't have a dick,' Maddie says, sips again. 'Are you seeing each other now?'

'What? No.'

'Damn. I owe Chrissy £20, thanks.' Maddie sighs. 'I'll save you some hassle with the others: did you swallow? Did she cum inside you? Did you ask for it? I mean, you're still here, so I guess you enjoyed yourself--'

'Were you placing bets?'

A guiltiness flashes across her pretty features. 'Just answer the questions.'

'You're being a cunt, man.'

'Oh, fuck off. Imagine being such a loser with women that you let a freak with a cock fuck you! That's you, Theo. Don't you have any pride? You won't own what you did, and you expect us to accept that?' She rolls her eyes dramatically, and gulps down her drink. 'You're so full of shit. Just don't quit before the end of the month, I have £100 riding on that.'

She goes to leave, and I grab her arm. 'Maddie, she raped me.'

Sympathy, fleeting and little, lights her eyes. 'Why haven't you gone to the police?'

'She's got lawyers. Good ones. I'd lose.'

'You're actually kind of sick, Theo.'

'What?'

She wriggles from my loose grip and stares daggers. 'Not only won't you own what you did because you're regretting it after the fact, but you'd use rape as a fucking weapon. Fuck you! My sister got raped by her boss -- really raped -- and she reported it, and nobody fucking believed her because she was a woman.' Maddie shakes her head, shuddering. 'You're a man. The only reason you wouldn't be believed is because you're lying. Go fuck yourself!'

And like that, she leaves me. When the others broach conversation or when I try to speak to them it's like I'm a zoo animal, a mere specimen. It's those questions, seeking confirmation of bets they made. Like I'm not a friend, less than a colleague. And when I refuse to speak or when I steer the chat to ordinary topics, they get annoyed and leave, until before long -- early in the evening -- I'm left alone, appearing outside how I feel within.

I can't really make sense of it. It's clear, whatever else, that I've no comfortable future here. Maddie says things and looks to me, and faces darken. Slowly, they're going to hate me. Maybe if I'd started with the rape thing, maybe then, but her point remains: why haven't I gone to the police?

Simply because Irina told me not to, warned me not to?

Of course she would do that: she's the rapist.

*

I go into the dark garden, drink in hand for courage, and whip out my phone.

'I wouldn't,' Irina says. She's there, tall and terrible, her form-hugging black dress at once beautiful and dreadful.

'You don't know what I'm doing.'

'Calling the police.' She steps past me into the light, illuminating her gorgeously sultry features. The tall dominant woman -- futanari -- drops to the bench beside me, sitting beneath the overhead light. She smirks, long fingers clasped around a Martini. 'I overheard you and Mads. By all means go ahead, but I'll take it as slander.'

'But you did. You raped me.'

She shrugs, her shoulders bared, muscular and beautiful. 'Yes, and like I said, nobody cares. I did what I had to do. You needed a seeing to. I opened your eyes.'

'You ruined my life,' I say. 'I don't know who I am. My colleagues whisper about me, Maddie hates me, and in all this, you say smarmy bullshit like that.'

'Quit, then. Run away, like all the other little cowards.' She rolls her eyes, sips her Martini. 'God, you're such a pathetic bunch, you losers who ride my cock and love it, but can't accept what future it paints. Your masculinity is so fragile, so tied up in whose sperm ends up in whose mouth.'

'You forced yourself on me!'

'Because you'd never have done it willingly,' Irina says, and sighs. 'Gay men find me repulsive, and so do straight men. Straight men at least get further. Gay men would never dare.' She takes a fairly hefty gulp. 'You want to be the man, the one who takes ownership, who gives his cock, who is in control. But with me, honey, you'll never be that, and it scares you. With me, your arse is a pussy, and your mouth is a cocksleeve. You just don't have the balls to admit that you enjoyed the change of pace, same as every other bloody man, because the lot of you are cowards.'

I find myself transfixed in the gloom by her exotic darkness and her long lashes, her high cheekbones and plump lips, her endless womanly curves, those lengthy legs and thick thighs, that fusion all-around of power and femininity. One of the most beautiful women in the world, but for one feature awry. One of the loneliest, as well, I can only imagine.

And somehow, for a half-heartbeat, I sympathise with my rapist.

'I like this job,' I say, leaning against the wall. 'You pay well, and there's variety, and the four-day weeks are nice.'

Irina Blackwell smirks. 'You shouldn't have mentioned rape.'

'I shouldn't have.' I sigh. 'But you shouldn't have raped me.'

At length, she says, 'What will you do?'

'If I stay, I've lost my colleagues, and I can't imagine you'll stop teasing me. If I go, I'm unlikely to find so well-paying a job that has the same benefits.'

My boss sits herself down on the bench seat of one of the wooden tables, her back against the table, one leg crossed upon the other. She sips her Martini, plays with the skewered olives. When she looks to me, her eyes are alive with devilishness.

'There's a third option,' Irina says.

'What?'

'A promotion. A senior editor. On the top floor, with your own office. Seventy-kay a year.'

My eyes widen. 'Really?'

She nods. 'Really. But there is one string.'

Of course there is. 'Which is?'

'I want you to suck my cock,' my boss says. 'For real, this time. On your knees, between my legs. I want you to look up at me, to look into my eyes, to do it lovingly and slowly, and I want to cum in your mouth. I want you to swallow.'

Blushing, I shudder. Her face, her tone, are serious. 'Irina.'

'You've done it before. Do it again.'

'You forced me.'

'Yes, well, this one is optional.'

Is it really? What a choice! To do something I don't want to repeat, or to restructure my life in such a way as to attempt -- attempt at best -- to recreate the current success I've found here. As hot as Irina is, as easy she is on the senses, I tremble to glance at her crotch.

Something about the thought is, despite being familiar, yet-foreign.

'What if I let you fuck me again?'

She clicks her teeth playfully, shakes her head. 'No. Where's the fun in that? I do all the work, and you get the reward?' Another shake of the head. Her smile is beautiful, deadly. 'I want you to worship me, Theo. Like I'm your goddess. Like all that matters is making me happy.'

My body betrays me. Cheeks flush with heat, a shiver goes down me. I clench and unclench my fists, not in anger, but to contain this surge of...lust? Something about her words, about the offer, prompts a war between that part of me that is so eager to maintain its clear grasp of the world -- straight, into women, and not women with dicks -- and that part of me that is clearly bestial and depraved.

'You promise? I do this and you won't turn it back on me?'

Irina extends her left hand. 'Shake on it? You can even record my promise on your phone, if you like?' She smiles lustily. 'You're wasted down there with the ordinary lot anyway. I see this as a win-win. Senior editor but a decade early. What do you say?'

I dispense with taking her hand. 'Fine. I trust you. I'll come to your office tomorrow.'

She parts her legs, drawing her dress wide. Its sides are open at her legs, the central strip of dark cloth falling between her thighs, revealing in the tricksy light a prominent shape at her crotch.

'Here's fine,' Irina says, smirking. I stare, because what else can I do? 'Well?'

'We're in public!'

She shrugs. 'So?'

'Someone will see?'

'I don't care,' Irina says. 'Do you want that promotion or not?'

I do. I do want it. I don't want to suck cock to get it, but I do want the promotion, might go so far as to say I need it. And Irina, in truth, is at least beautiful, clean, nice-smelling. We're slightly round the corner from the door, out of the way for the moment, with nobody to bother us. I hurriedly move around her, eyeing the entrance to the garden.

She watches me, smirking lustily as I drop down between her legs, kneeling upon slightly wet patio slabs. She's evil, sure, but she's hot as hell. Giant breasts, fat thighs, long legs, heavy hips. I glance again at the entrance, then move aside the frontal drape of her dress, pushing it over a leg. Beneath it are a lacy black pair of panties running in a V up to the arches of her hips, barely containing her monstrously large male genitals.

'You're so slutty,' Irina says. 'Sucking my cock for a promotion.'

I ignore her, tugging at her panties. They roll down, come away easily with some shifting on her part, releasing the beast between her legs. A dark cock, semi-flaccid, flops out over the edge of the bench. Two grapefruit-sized balls droop behind it, bouncing in the confines of their smooth sack, hanging erotically low. She stinks muskily, potent, salty, hints of hidden pussy wafting up to join with the masculine femininity of her cock and balls.

'Jesus,' I say under breath, a deer caught in headlights as I behold her.

Irina chuckles. 'Put your hands on me. Treat me gently, honey.'

I glance up at her and tremble. This is inevitable. This is unavoidable. Looking back at those oil-black pubes, that thick flaccid dick, I mentally prepare myself. It'll be okay. It wasn't the worst thing. At least she's Irina. At least she's hot. At least I'll get a promotion out of this.

Taking her in hand, I'm struck by the warmth of her body, the heat of her junk. Irina exhales softly, and sips her Martini. Her huge dark cock, eight inches flaccid, is fat and thick even in its current softness. Jesus Christ, I'm touching her penis again, and this time in the grips of uncomfortable lucidity.

It's difficult not to stare. Part of me wants to call it impressive, honestly. I get both of my hands -- not small, but she's only going to get bigger -- around the midsection of her schlong, and begin to slowly stroke.

'It's not a handjob, honey,' Irina says, a playful sting to her voice. 'Hoping to get me most of the way without using that handsome mouth?'

'I just, uh--'

Irina chuckles warmly. 'Bury your face in mummy's fat nuts,' she says. 'I want you to stink of me, my good slutty boy.'

The suggestion widens my eyes, makes my head spin. At once perverse and awful, at once bothersome in how readily it arouses me. My cock twitches. My heart skips a beat.

It's not worth commenting. Not worth inevitably being mocked, or made more a fool of. I glance sheepishly at the door and then resign myself to this fate, ducking my head down beneath the weighty shaft I lift upright with both hands.

Irina's sagging scrotum of hairless dark flesh hangs down low beneath her member, drooping over the lip of the bench. Her right testicle is slightly lower than the other, and each ball is a massively fat shape that bulges in the sack. Massive nuts, like balled fists much larger than my own. Much larger than I expected balls could even be.

'Bury my face in them?' I say, pausing.

'Treat them as you would my breasts.' She sips her Martini, makes a pleased sound of quenched relief. 'Motorboat them. Suckle them. Kiss them. Play with them. Tell my body that it needs to get ready to load that cute tummy of yours with my strong genes, sweetie.'

The language is powerful. It has this heady effect on me, playing at some primal part of me that tends towards submission instead of dominance. Some part of me that, before Friday, I didn't know existed.

There's no use delaying. I shut my eyes and dive in, the androgynous musk of her loins filling my nostrils. Body-heat swamps my face as the tip of my nose meets her smooth scrotum, and her two hefty testicles enclose about my face under the purview of gravity and the slight shifting of her body.

As much as I try, as much I wish it were not so, this isn't terrible. It's not even bad. It's not even neutral. It's...something about her smell, the warmth of this beautiful dominant woman's body -- balls or otherwise -- provokes something carnal in me. Out of necessity, I let that part of me that is so eager to sink into depravity take control.

The skin tastes faintly salty, but that's all. Irina makes a sound almost like a purr above me, and pats the back of my head. 'Good boy. Make them all wet. Don't be shy now.'

My mouth makes crude, guilty noises as I apply my lips and tongue to her scrotum. Smacking sounds, wet sounds, as I trace out the shape of her heavy hangers with my tentative tongue. Such big shapes in so loose and smooth a sack, each a firm and plump vaguely egg-shaped thing. My mouth is all this slight saltiness of her sweat, and my nose is packed with this potent musk of her dual sexes.

'Nurse on them,' Irina says, tussling my hair. 'Suckle on them, sweetie.'

I part my lips and try my best, but there's no way I'm getting one in my mouth. I settle for -- and Irina's grunt of pleasure suggests approval -- getting my lips as best around the left one as I can, sucking on the folds of loose skin, tongue going back and forth to massage the firm shape within it.

She's growing firm, large, in my hands above. The powerful pulse of her heart, channelling strength into that most intimidating of organs, reminds me of where this is going. Of what must occur here, on my knees, for the sake of a half-decent future.

I hear myself whimper faintly, chancing a glance up. The shape beyond her swaying bollocks is immense, easily as long as my forearm, as thick as my wrist. Irina somehow, again, inspires that strange confusion of wielding such easily perfected femininity and the terrifying suggestion that in terms of masculinity, she has me severely outclassed.

To reduce myself to just a cock, just balls, is disheartening, and yet Irina's are the superior specimens. My boss, tall and dominant and gorgeous, manages somehow to soothe that part of me that rebels. As if...as if it's right, for me to be doing this.

'I don't feel much in the way of your mouth, baby,' she says. 'Distracted, are we?'

In all my staring, I've come to a halt. 'Sorry, I just--'

'Don't apologise with words, Theo. Kiss my balls. It's them you're abandoning, after all.'

In any sane world I'd reject all of this, turn my back on it, but I actually start kissing them, left then right, then back again. Kiss. Smooch. Kiss. Smooch. Delicate, which I justify as logical -- balls are fragile, in a sense -- but it feels like dishonesty. Feels like the gentleness, the soft appreciation, is more for her ego than to prevent injury.

'Well--mhm--you clearly mean it, at least.' Irina chuckles. She shivers. 'Put your hands down there, honey. Scoop them up and shower them with love. Don't worry about my cock--your head will be a perfectly suitable rest for the time being.'

I don't hesitate at this point. I slide my hands down her shaft and slowly the heavy thing droops, culminating in a soft thump atop my head where it comes to linger. Irina chuckles and I do my best not to tremble at how weirdly good it feels, the mockery in that sound, playful though it surely is. My hands are around her balls a moment later, each a fat weight upon either of my palms.

Something comes over me. I sandwich my face in the cleft between her nuts, sniffing her potent musk, shifting my face a little bit from side to side as if motorboating them. Irina teases the back of my head with slow patterns of her fingers, and produces a pleasant feminine groan.

'Good boy. Such a good, obedient boy.'

Her heavy testes bounce and wobble against my face, pleasantly warm, the smell thick and interesting. My cock is straining now, my interest strangely piqued. Holding her balls loosely and swivelling my face left to right leaves her thick weighty penis to bounce gently atop my head, while Irina plays with my hair.

'I don't think I can wait much longer,' she says, a pleasant lilt to her voice. A breathiness. 'Kiss your way up, baby. Towards the prize.'

I'm definitely not myself. In the heat of this act, my reluctance is a memory. There's not even an active awareness of why I'm doing this, beyond it being necessary, beyond it being what Irina Blackwell, my dominant gorgeous boss, desires.

'Y-es,' I say, pressing my lips to the underside of her shaft's base. 'I'll do it. I'll suck.'

'You will,' Irina says, teasing my hair. 'You'll do such a lovely job, honey.'

The heat of her pole is different, possessing a pulse and power that her heaving loins lack. I press my lips against the prominent urethral bulge and slowly glide up, leaving a trail of kisses. Out goes my tongue now and then where I stop and apply especial attention, surprising myself at just how pleasant it is to hear my mouth make such dirty noises as it connects again and again with her oversized manhood.

Her cock's full weight levels against my face, my lips in particular, as I rise. Our eyes meet beyond the thick dark shape of her shaft, her gorgeous greens mischievous, commanding. I am of interest to this woman, but not of regard. She eyes me like prey, like a morsel, with this hunger that suggests all I am is of sexual worth and not a lick more. Or maybe it feels that way because my brain is all slutty right now, and all I can think about is the blowjob I'm about to give this dangerously sexy futanari.

Irina places down her Martini and takes up her cock, lifting it out of reach of my lips. 'Do you deserve this?' she says, smirking viciously. 'Perhaps even this is rewarding you twice, don't you think?'

'Irina...'

She brings down her engorged length, resulting in a weighty slapping noise, a hot slam across my right cheek. My boss chuckles, almost a giggle, the veneer of sheer dominance glazed in a playfulness that mocks and arouses me. 'Beg, honey. Beg for mummy's big fat dick. Beg to suck it with that slutty little boy-mouth.'

'P-lease, Irina,' I say, shivering. Realising that I'll do anything for this, now. To end it, yes, but...I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to proceed. The arousal is too great. 'Please let me suck your dick, mummy. Please.'

My boss brings her cock down again, this time letting it rest. It throbs powerfully, adds a different kind of musk to the mixture in my nose. Something fresh. Something demanding. 'I don't know. I'm not convinced.'

'Please, mummy. I need it. I need your fat cock in my mouth. I need your hot fresh load on my tongue. Please. I'm begging you.'

Irina cracks a cruel smile. 'Oh my, that didn't even require my guidance,' she says. My boss guides my head backwards with her hand, gently gripping the hair. I sit back on my calves, face now beneath the swollen hooded tip of her weighty member. The folds of foreskin, in the vague light, glisten faintly. 'Stick your tongue out. I want to slap it.'

Without reservation I slip my tongue past my lips, to full extension. Irina chuckles warmly and brings down her hooded dick once, twice, thrice. Each time the slap is wet, the sensation brief and hot and foreign. I'm left with a salty taste, familiar, the flavour of her precum. It's not at all unpleasant, just as before.

I anticipate her to slap again but she withdraws her hands, from head and cock both, leaving my tongue extended as a rest for the heavy length between her full thighs. 'I don't want you to use your hands,' Irina says. 'Just your mouth. Make me cum, with just your mouth. You do that, and I'll promote you like I said.'

Meeting her eyes, I do my best attempt at a nod. It's time. There's no other way, no alternative. Bringing my hands down onto my knees, I spread my lips as best I can and engulf the swollen tip of her fiercely intimidating erection. The soft foreskin tickles my tastebuds and her salty-bitter precum glazes my tongue, and then I pull in my cheeks and begin to nurse on the end of her cock.

Her penis. Irina's penis, again, is inside my mouth. And this time she's not fucking me, she's not forcing me, she's just sitting back and sipping her Martini and watching me with such an intensely commanding stare that I'm desperate to do right by her regardless of how wrong I'm sure this is.

I cement my lips as best I can around the rear of her helmet and suckle, tasting more of that copious flavour. It trickles constantly, a good sign of her arousal, a troubling reminder of what's going on here. Being a man, I know what to do here, like as not. I know what's sensitive and what feels good. The biggest problem, right now, is that her foreskin is all in the way. That, and I can't use my hands.

It's such a dirty concept, but it's the most logical thing to do. I stick my tongue in the opening of her penile hood and touch upon the pearly-smooth spongy-firmness of her glans, receiving in return a thick drool of salty stickiness. Irina winces, a distinct look of pleasure. 'Inventive,' she says. 'Good boy. Work for it. Work for that promotion.'

Captured as her bell-end is, my lips a vice around its rear crown, my tongue easily moves about in the folds of her foreskin. Irina groans gently as I feel out the eyelet of the thing, as I run my tongue in a great loop around the prominent tip, so smooth and strangely tasty.

'Mhm.' The sound, shamefully, comes from me. It's reflexive, guilty, but her cock...I just can't help but enjoy its taste. Her taste.

'I heard that,' Irina says. 'What a sweet little sound. It's not so bad, is it? Sucking on such a big, healthy, virile cock. Doubtless it helps that it's mine.'

'Mhm.' I meet her emerald eyes, blush hard, tremble. 'Mhm-hm.'

My boss has a redness to her cheeks, as well. 'Let mummy help you, baby.' She puts a hand, two fingers really, to the middle of her shaft. 'Let's unwrap that lolly.'

Irina tugs on her foreskin, drawing it back inside my mouth. There's a submerged pop as her powerful helmet slips free of its wrinkly confines, bringing with it a heavy explosion of precum all across my tongue, having accumulated in the folds around that bloated tip. I've never wanted to suck anything so badly in my life. The taste, the feeling, the presence of it. Meeting my boss's gaze, feeling small, feeling dirty, feeling...I can't even process it all.

'Mhm. Schlup.'

I suck hard, roll my tongue around, slightly bob my head. Her bell-end is so fat and juicy, it fills my mouth so prominently. No matter how I twist my head or move my tongue, it's impossible to escape. Like a fat wedge it flares towards its rear, forming a great spongy crown that precedes the rolls of her foreskin trapped behind it.

'Ugh. That's it, baby. Nurse on it. Suck in those cheeks. Use that tongue. Such a good boy.'

'Mumph. Slurp.'

I start to bob my head, never leaving her eyes, bringing her bloated helmet back and forth across the blade of my tongue. It oozes a constantly flavour, so much of which I have to swallow, all the while grazing my tastebuds with that odd texture change between the smooth tissue of the glans and the fibrous roughness of the banjo string on the underside.

Each time her bell-end threatens to brush my throat, I'm struck by the bizarrely erotic realisation that this feels disgustingly right. Like my mouth was made for this purpose, to nurse and suckle on her hefty penis. Like the best thing I can possibly do in this world is to pleasure someone gorgeous and stacked and sublimely sexy like my boss, Irina Blackwell.

'Holy shit,' Maddie says then, breaking my stupor. 'You're actually doing it.'

I freeze up, eyes shifting left, cock wedged firmly in my mouth. She's stood there just beyond the table, under the light, staring with the widest eyes I've ever seen on her. In my panic I almost retreat, almost protest, but Irina says in no uncertain terms, 'You'll keep going, or you're done here. I don't care if we're being watched, and nor should you. Let her watch, Theo. We're not done until my load is sloshing about in your belly.'

I've clearly got no shame, because I let my eyes go back to Irina's. There's this brief moment of hesitation and then I'm bobbing my head again, slurping and sucking away, finishing what I started despite how utterly embarrassing this is, how shameful I feel right now.

'He's--ughn--soon going to be very well-rewarded,' my boss says. Maddie creeps closer, curiosity overcoming anything else in her world. In my periphery I can see her smirking face, cruel in its (by contrast to Irina) generic blonde beauty. 'Oh, and he's going to get a promotion for this besides. Ugh.'

The mischief on Irina's face is ripe and bold, her pleasure seemingly heightened by the presence of a third party. Her precum comes out in greater quantity and I'm struck by the realisation -- with Maddie's proximity, with Irina's pleasure -- that before long my mouth is going to be on the receiving end of quite the orgasm. Worse still, Maddie's going to see the whole fucking thing. Bad enough to have our boss feed me her load without someone else having to watch my face in the process!

'He's really going for it,' Maddie says, a strange note to her voice. Excitement? 'Jeez. I don't think I can handle a dick half so well.'

'He's a quick learner,' Irina says. 'And he's got a good teacher. And the--mhm--requisite motivation. Don't you, baby?'

I flutter my eyelids at Irina and nervously meet Maddie's eyes as I shift my head back and forth, dragging our boss's fat bell-end across my tongue. The blonde's blue eyes are scary, a warning, a pulling down of an illusion. This is real, and she knows. This is real, and I'm being watched. Shit, Maddie goes so far as to stand, half-dazed by surprise, at the end of the bench just behind Irina.

Then her gaze shifts to the apparently more interesting thing. For someone who regarded Irina as a freak, she's...well, she can hardly stop eyeing up our boss's manhood. The dark mamba, veiny and wrist-thick, slick with my spit, is clearly the real sight to behold.

'Mumph. Schlup.'

'That's it, baby. Ugh. Closer and--mhm --closer. Earn that big reward.'

Maddie says, 'Are you--' But she stops herself. 'Is he going to...?'

Irina nods. 'What else would I be rewarding such a good boy with?' My boss grins at me, all gorgeous viciousness. 'Isn't it that right, honey? Just what you're after. A big, thick--ugh--creamy reward. Mhm. It's almost on its way.'

Maddie can't take her eyes off Irina's cock, and I can barely take mine from Irina's. Her sharply beautiful face is redder, her emerald eyes wetter, her whole countenance suggestive of an impending eruption. My boss inches her knees apart, a tremble rumbling through her. The pulsing of her cock strengthens, the precum seems to diminish. Her helmet swells, throbs more angrily.

'Holy shit,' is all Maddie manages to say.

'Ugh. Good fucking boy!'

My tastebuds are greeted with a familiar yet no less troublesome substance. A thick rope, a spray of heavy heat, splatters out across my tongue. Irina shudders and grunts, eyes hooded yet maintaining control of me, set rigidly upon mine. My boss is loading my mouth, again. Maddie, of all people, is watching as it happens. Watching my eyes with peculiar intent, as I stare up at Irina's in fateful submission.

The blonde chews her lip as a second spurt shoots out, hitting the roof of my mouth, almost reaching my throat and threatening to make me gag. Today Irina's cock is far further back, a failing of my awareness and inexperience. I don't know her tells, don't know what to look for. That strong, salty, tangy, musky and faintly bitter richness overwhelms my tastebuds, loads my mind as much as it loads my mouth with the unmistakeable flavour of my boss's semen.

Irina exhales, grunts, licks her lips. 'Keep sucking, baby. Ughn. Keep sucking. There's more. Plenty more. Don't miss a--mhm--drop. It's all for you, honey. All for you.'

Something clicks, in some vile way. That I'm looking into my boss's mind just as she's staring into mine, and we're both seeing all these little details of one another, all these little signs of what's going on. The sheer pleasure in her gaze goes beyond the physical. To be practically breeding my mouth like this, with so heavy an ejaculation, has some intense psychological power to her. And...to me, as well.

'Mhm.'

I let out a little moan as she continues to plaster my tongue. The taste is so fundamentally wrong but...but it's strange. It feels good on my tongue, this heavy stuff. This heat in my mouth, this foreign messy presence, makes my cock twitch with excitement.

There's no way I can hold it all. People aren't meant to cum this much. The thick, knotty, ropey cream is hot and -- as much as I hate to admit -- interesting in its texture and flavour, but there's too much. I have to swallow some, have to prevent overloading like last time.

Irina clicks her teeth at me. 'Don't you dare. Ugh. I want to see...want to see it before it's gone. Mhm. Ughn. Fuck.'

Her load continues to blow, to smother my tastebuds in thick, rich, salty seed. It clings to the roof of my mouth, forms ropes and tangles across my teeth, splatters the blade of my tongue. I pull back, wedge her helmet against my lips, prevent choking from a shot to the throat, but the quantity is insane.

I need the job, but I also deeply do not need jizz spraying out of my nose again. A little gulp. Just a little. Draining the sheer excessiveness of her virile produce, preventing an overload. Irina likely feels the sensation but has the charity to let it slide, just as her sperm slides down my gullet to melt in my belly.

All throughout Maddie watches, staring bug-eyed at me, her cheeks flush and all memory of those cruel words at odds with this new, clearly-enticed woman who struggles not to find some bizarre arousal in watching something she proclaimed was so awful before.

And as suddenly as it began, Irina relaxes. She lets out one last heavy sigh and with it one last heavy shot, then reclines against the bench. 'Fuck. That was lovely, baby. You're such a good boy.' She gently, slightly shakily, strokes my forehead. 'Suck out...suck out any stragglers. Then show us. Show us what a good job you did.'

I attempt a nod, and suck hard on the now-softer cock. Perhaps a little bit comes out, a few last stringy dregs, but the bulk was shot out in the powerful preceding bursts. For the second time in my life, I've got someone's ejaculate heavy on my tongue. Irina Blackwell's semen it may be, better than some dude's, but...it's still cum. It's still thick, salty, a little bitter. Tangy, yeah. Surprisingly...well, rich. But still. It's semen.

Why am I not completely disgusted? What's wrong with me?

Her cock is soft enough, slurped-on enough, that I can release it now. I've seen the routine well-enough in porn, though never had to put on the show for anyone before. As Irina's heavy semi slaps down against her saliva-slicked balls, I sit back on my haunches and roll around the thick salty futa-cream that so readily has packed my mouth.

My boss smiles at me. Maddie stares as before. 'Open wide,' Irina says. 'Show mummy all that tasty milk, baby. You worked so, so hard for it.'

She cups my chin and helps me find the right angle to minimise risk of spillage. In what must be the singularly most shameful act of my life, I part my lips for these two women. Well, one woman and one futanari.

'Woah,' Maddie says. 'There's so much.'

Irina chuckles, warm and distinctly proud. 'I never disappoint.'

I'm instantly aware of how clinging the stuff is, how ropey and strange it is. There's this sensation of all these little points where tangles have formed, where strings connect teeth to my tongue, to the roof my mouth, to each other. Irina has thoroughly dirtied my mouth, completely packed it with her seed. The thought, filthy and erotic, of hundreds of millions -- if not more, given her clear virility -- of her strong-swimming sperm, racing about my slutty mouth, comes to mind.

'Chew it,' my boss says. 'Savour it. The virile milk of a better cock than yours.'

I can only obey, blushing hard as I close my mouth and churn the stuff around, mincing through thick ropes and fat knots, the strong taste growing more and more pleasant by the moment. Mixing with spit her load grows creamier, less overtly tangled and gooey.

I...I like how it tastes, don't I? I like her cock, like her balls, like her most of all. It's that realisation again. That upturning of what I'm used to, and yet, not hating the result.

Jesus Christ.

'Show us again,' Irina says. God, she's perfect to behold. God, at least it's her. 'Then swallow. I want to see a nice empty mouth, if you're getting that promotion.'

When I spread my lips again, the sensation of ropes and knots is lesser. The stuff congeals more on my tongue, and Irina nods with smiling approval. 'Beautiful. Such a big healthy load for my favourite employee.' She winks at me, and I feel a flourish of contentment. 'Go on, Theo. Put all those sperm where they belong.'

It takes two, almost three swallows to get it all down. All of this powerful, wealthy, gorgeous woman's potential children -- no way she's anything less than spectacularly virile -- sliding down my gullet, gone forever. Such thick, dirty, erotic heat. Such a strong, similarly pleasant -- much as it shouldn't be -- aftertaste.

And then I open my mouth, and Maddie shudders. Not a disapproving thing by any means, more of an unwanted physiological reaction.

But Irina, composed and cool, queenly woman that she is, merely smiles. Smiles with such voluptuous lips, with such powerful eyes. 'What do you say, baby, when someone gives you something nice to eat?'

'T-hank you, mummy.'

Maddie blushes darker. 'Oh shit.'

Irina runs a hand across my head. 'Our little secret, Maddie. If you keep it, I might let you watch again,' she says, continuing to stroke me. 'And Theo...I think you've earned that promotion. Come see me on Monday morning. My office. Nine sharp. We'll get your new contract written up.'

She's so casual, in pulling up her panties, then standing and leaving. The black dress falls straight, hiding any hint of the prodigious manhood and fat -- though, perhaps slightly less plump -- testicles that lurk between the tall dominant woman's beautiful legs. Irina Blackwell collects up her Martini glass -- now emptied -- and gives Maddie a smile.

'Don't be giving him too much trouble,' our boss says. 'He's under my protection. I certainly wouldn't want to have to show favouritism.'

In walking away, Irina has this sublimely sexy elegance to her. Muscular and potent, at once a full-figured Aphrodite and an easy rival for Priapus. Such a confusion, to watch that powerful backside shift with the sway of her hips, to find myself hungering for that body that in some sense I will never be able to fuck in the way I want most.

I'm left on my knees trembling, blushing, and subject to Maddie's strange gaze. The blonde woman, beautiful but a shadow of Irina, seems just as perplexed. Half-enamoured with me, half-disgusted.

'I don't actually blame you,' she says, looking nervous. 'I...I didn't know dicks could be that big. Or loads that thick. It's still weird, but...I see it now.'

'Y-eah.'

'What I said--'

'It's fine,' I say quickly, pushing up onto my feet. I dust off my knees, which are thankfully only a little green from the mossy patio. 'Just don't go telling everyone. It's embarrassing enough as it is.'

Maddie seems to ignore me, watching towards the garden entrance where Irina went.

'Do you...do you think she's into girls?'

I shake my head. 'I don't think so. Or not especially so.'

Maddie chews her lip as she stares, following a memory, a picture in her head. 'Maybe you could ask?' She eyes me again, naughtiness -- foreign, on her -- obvious and undeterred. 'I might let you eat me out some time.'

The suggestion provokes a rumble in some part of me I'd worried was dead. How fucking dare she?! I'm thankfully uncowed by this woman, this not-Irina. 'Do you two favours? If I want to eat pussy, I'll ask Irina.' I smile at her. 'But maybe I'll ask. Again, no word of this.'

Maddie crosses her arms. I'd not paid much attention before, but her breasts -- again, a shadow of Irina's -- are plenty obvious. 'Word's already out,' she says.

'I mean the full details,' I say. 'People don't need to know that you saw this.'

Maddie smirks, though not maliciously. Almost a teenage atavism, a throwback to times of gossip and rumours. 'Why didn't you just own it, before?'

I shrug. 'It's weird, man. I've never thought about sucking dick before.'

'Did you like it? Hand on heart, no lies?'

Slowly, sheepishly, I nod. 'I...think so.'

She extends a hand, pinkie outstretched. 'We're cool,' Maddie says.

A weird thing, making a pinkie shake with my colleague while our boss's load settles into my stomach acid. Relief and confusion, all in one. To not quite know what the hell is going on with my sexuality, and to not have to worry that every single colleague despises me.

But it's all fucking weird lately, isn't it?

Hey...at least I'm getting promoted?