A Condom Big Enough for a Futa Ch. 04

Howdy all! Here's the newest chapter of this series, and my first story of the New Year! Victoria meets a pair of MILFs, whose day takes an unexpected turn.

Tags are usual for this series: hyper futa, excessive cum, inflation, etc. and a small ntr scene towards the end

As always, comments and feedback are always appreciated!

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Towering skyscrapers reached towards the heavens, shading everything below. A cacophony of honking horns and screeching rubber on asphalt filled the streets. The occasional passing roar of a train temporarily deafened this urban dissonance, slipping through the racket as quickly as it appeared. The quietest discord of all belonged to the hundreds of people who walked along the sidewalks, almost all talking loudly into the rectangular boxes held up to their faces, while others chose for the more convenient hands-free approach. Slamming doors, clattering metal, and barely audible music added a recognizable backdrop to this everyday scene.

Just another day in the big city.

There was one building that didn't stand out at all, blending into the background of equally drab, soaring concrete monoliths that helped ruin the skyline. It was as nondescript as a building of its kind could get; no gaudy, stylized sign signified its purpose, no security guards manned the front entrance, and no abstract artistic pieces or well-maintained fountains littered its courtyard - hell, it didn't even have a courtyard for that matter. It was so ordinary it was almost out of the ordinary to anyone paying attention, but no one did. Any regular bystander would just assume it belonged to any of the other big corporate outfits that called the city home, or that it was a collection of office spaces, each floor owned by one subsidiary or another.

Jutting out of the side of the building was a parking garage, another usual addition that many of the other offices possessed. This was the only place manned by a security guard, at least outside of the building, and the non-descript rent-a-cop waved a car through as the metal pole blocking its exit lifted. Pulling out of this entirely average establishment was a plain white van. No markings or signifiers of any kind decorated its exterior, and it didn't possess any outstanding features. It turned out towards the street, stopping at the intersection, waiting; waiting for quite awhile from the regular congestion the city suffered from. The first sign of an opening was taken, and the van pulled into the street, lining up with the rest of the unrelated fleet of vehicles trying to get to their destination.

Inside the heavily tinted windows sat 2 men, both dressed in the same uniform. Full body white suits covered them nearly top to bottom; only their heads and feet being spared from the tight material. The suits tucked into the pairs of matching heavy rubber boots that they both wore, and the necklines gave way to zippered hoods. The driver was clearly the older of the pair, specks of gray flecked his otherwise cropped, deep black hair. His well-kept beard was much the same, and the lines around his eyes only added to his aged look. His companion was clearly much younger; baby-faced, cleanly shaven, and a full, vibrant set of ginger hair that was hung softly against his ears gave him the youthful appearance of a boy barely belonging to adulthood.

The white suits they wore were not a bleached version of the ones seen on the many business men and women who walked by their barely mobile van. These suits were of an entirely different make. Clearly made of a strong plastic or rubber material, the suits dully shone in the sunlight and crinkled with every movement. They clung to the men's skin tightly, leaving room for little else but the appendages within. The pair looked much more suited to be entering a nuclear reactor than walking down Wall Street.

"You're gonna wanna turn up here," the younger man spoke, flipping through a pile of papers on his lap, "need to get on the freeway, looks like it's farther out of the city."

"Ok," the driver grunted, his steely blue eyes never leaving the road, "does it say where we're going exactly?"

"Uh yeah," the green eyed ginger responded, shuffling through the papers, "looks like a place called Muddy Creek Apartments."

"I know the place."

The pair sat in silence once again, the short exchange having fulfilled its purpose. Still shuffling through the papers, the younger man's eyes scanned over every piece of information available, studying the small amount of information they were given. Having already read through them several times, he slapped the pile back down against his lap and stared out of the window. Scenes of the bustling city soon gave way as the van merged onto the freeway, speeding towards their destination. Skyscrapers became restaurants and stores, the hint of suburbia peeking its head out. The junior of the pair was soon broken out of his trance by a question.

"Does it say when it happened?"

"Uh, hold on," he replied, jumbling through the papers once again, "it says the last tenant moved out a month ago and then... the first crew got there a week after that before it was passed onto us, and that was over 2 weeks ago."

"Damn, so over a month then. Good thing we brought the scrapers."

"Think we'll need em?"

"Yeah," the older man grunted, "anything that sits for a month like that is gonna dry and crust over."

'Ugh, I wish they would've gotten us on it sooner!" the younger man complained.

"I do too, but you can't blame em. Holiday season and all that, most people were on vacation."

"Yeah I guess," the fiery-haired man sighed, quietly staring back out of the window for several minutes before turning to his partner, "Mr. Davis, can I ask you a question?"

"Call me Greg," the older man replied in a familiar tone, "but yeah go ahead."

"You've been doing this for awhile haven't you? I mean I know I just started working here but this job is hard. I can't imagine doing it for as long as you have!"

"You're not wrong Jimmy!" the man laughed, his face lighting up at his younger companions statement, "I've been doing this for over 20 years, pretty much since the company started. And yeah, it is hard, but it more than pays the bills."

"20 years!? And you're still going out on jobs? I thought you would have moved up by now, doing desk work or something," Jimmy said, before quickly adding, "Uh, sorry that was rude of me Mr. Davis."

"Call me Greg," the older man reminded, "and I have moved up in the company!"

"What do you mean?"

"I get paid a lot more than you think, a lot more," Greg replied, emphasizing the last words, "the boss pays me quite a bit to keep going out on jobs."

"Wait really?" Jimmy asked incredulously, "why!?"

"Because I invented half the techniques we use. I may not be as fast as I once was, but I'm just as thorough and good at what I do. Besides, I take care of a lot of paperwork and go out to lead training seminars and things like that."

"Also," he said, pausing between words, "I do all the special jobs. Been flown out to a lot of places let me tell you!"

"Wow!" Jimmy replied with genuine shock on his face, "so you must be like, really high up in the company?"

"Hmmm," the older man hummed to himself, "not many higher than me."

Silence once again filled the van. Jimmy stared back out of the window, trying to process all the information that had been so casually imparted upon him. He almost wished he hadn't learned anything. Here he was, barely 6 months into the job, and he was working with someone who was only a few positions away from the CEO!? At least that's the conclusion he had drawn himself. Oh god, he even insulted him. He was so stupid...

"Jimmy," Greg started, breaking the silence, "been awhile since I've been out here. Is it this street or the next over?"

"Uh," Jimmy shifted through the papers, his hands shaking, "th-the next one."

"Thank you."

"Hey Mr- uh, Greg," Jimmy said looking over at the man who was probably his boss's boss's boss's boss, "have you ever met one?"

"Oh plenty, more than most probably. Comes with the territory."

"That makes sense... I don't think I have."

"Oh you have." Greg mentioned, a smile creeping onto his lips.

"Uh, what do you mean?" Jimmy asked, his green eyes and ginger brows furrowing in confusion.

"Well, you've met the boss right?"

"Yeah, at the Christmas party I think."

"Well there you go."

"Wait, Ms-"

"Yep."

"How do you know that?" Jimmy questioned, his eyebrow raising.

"Get your mind out of the gutter," Greg scolded, turning to look at his younger companion, "when you've worked with her as long as I have, not much becomes private. Not like she hides it or anything - she just doesn't wear a badge announcing it to the world. Besides, why do you think she started this company?"

"What do you mean?"

"Company originally started selling the products we use, not using them ourselves. That's why I was hired in the first place - I have a background in chemistry. But it wasn't making much money. We had a few regular wholesale buyers, but not enough to turn a profit, and the products themselves weren't selling at the retail level. Turned out what people wanted was for people to do the work for them. So after a couple years, the company changed its focus and here we are!"

"Wow. I had no idea. So you like, have a degree and everything? And you created the stuff we use?"

"Just a B.S. but yeah, I have a degree. Was just a couple years outta college when I answered an ad in the paper. And no, none of the stuff we use I invented, at least not anymore. Been all improved on and everything by the full time chemists. But yeah, you can see the boss had a personal interest in the products, and used to test them herself, and look where it got her! Billion dollar company with branches all over the world!"

Greg smiled at this last statement like he was proud; and why wouldn't he be? He was one of the few who stuck around from the start, and he had been rewarded in spades for his loyalty. The boss had always asked him for his council on many matters, even 20 years later. Any subject she thought was important was brought to his attention, from asking him if he could fly out to Dubai for a special job, to if the new product the lab came up with was worth investing in. The older man didn't have much ego - he'd spent enough time in the field to remove any of that, but still he was proud.

"Looks like we're here," Greg muttered, pulling into the complex before speaking up, "know which apartment it is?"

"Yeah, 404 looks like, probably towards the back."

Slowing down, Greg drove the van around the many buildings that littered the complex, squinting as he tried to find the correct door. Jimmy followed suit, looking down at his papers occasionally as if he were cramming for a test. Finally, they spotted a row of doors marked in the range of numbers they were looking for. Greg pulled up the nearest parking space and stopped the car, killing the engine. Sitting in silence for a second, the older man turned towards Jimmy.

"So, what's the first thing we need to do?"

"Oh, uh, get out the cones and tape and stuff and mark off the front of the building!"

"Good, good," Greg said, clapping his younger companion on the shoulder, the glove attached to his suit crinkling loudly against the rubbery material, "always the first step. It usually doesn't happen but people get curious. Lots of busybodies who want to stick their nose in anything they can out there."

Jimmy laughed and the pair got out of the car. Taking a moment to stretch, Greg pressed his hands against his back and looked up, groaning; maybe he was getting old. Rotating his shoulders he trudged over to the back of the van, fumbling with the keys in his large gloved hands. Clumsily due to the slippery material his suit was made of, he flipped through the jangling metal until he landed on the right one. Jimmy was standing in front of the back doors of the vehicle, staring absently. Leaning over, Greg inserted the key and opened the doors, revealing the contents of the van to the world.

At the very front were the aforementioned stacks of cones and rolls of 'Caution' tape, sitting close to the edge right next to a pair of gas masks. Behind them was where the real instruments of their work were kept. Numerous well-labeled barrels, industrial-strength cleaning implements, and other assorted tools and machinery filled the majority of the van to its very brim, several items pushing roughly up against the dividing wall that separated the front. Almost in unison, the pair reached forward and grabbed the gas masks, throwing them around their necks but not covering their faces - not yet anyway. Once the masks were secured, hanging limply against their chests, they both grabbed a roll of tape and a stack of cones each; it was time to get to work.

Walking around the van, the pair moved towards the apartment but stopped at the beginning of the sidewalk. Taking a side each, they placed the cones, and then wrapped the tape between them creating a barrier and a clear warning for anyone walking this way. They moved closer to the front door, placing cones and tape as they went; the message needed to be clear as possible: Do. Not. Enter. Once the area was sufficiently cordoned off, the suited-gentleman moved back towards the van, carrying the leftover items.

"Greg, I got another question."

"Ask away," the man replied, placing rummaging through the back of the van, "better to ask now then when we're actually working."

"If the company has done so well, and the boss is pretty successful, why don't I see much about her? Like on the news and the internet and stuff?"

"Ah, yeah, well I guess she likes to keep a low profile, ya know?" Greg asked rhetorically, pulling out a couple large flashlights from the back of the van, "the company is a pretty private one. I mean how many people do you know that know about it?"

"I guess you have a point," Jimmy replied, taking one of the flashlights from Greg, "but still. I just never see her on any lists or anything."

"Well a lot of people don't like to publicize that they've used our services. We do a lot of government contracts, both above and below the table, if you get what I'm saying. But yeah, I know what you mean. The boss likes her anonymity though."

"I get it, especially when she's a... yeah."

"Don't get me wrong," Greg continued as the pair moved back towards the house, walking through the blockades they had set up, "she does a lot for charity and allocates funding to companies and groups that do research related to our work. Hell, I'm pretty sure she's sponsoring a project in some hospital in the city right now. Not sure what it's about but - wait, stop."

Jimmy stopped suddenly, nearly dropping his flashlight. Greg lifted his free hand and pointed a gloved finger towards the door. His finger was pointed low, and Jimmy could immediately see why. Covering the ground of the entryway was an inch thick layer of a thick white substance. It completely painted the cement and had soaked into a ruined welcome mat, diluting its previous color to such an extent that neither of the men could have guessed what it was previously. With a practiced eye, Greg gave the door a once over, noticing the same white sludge was caked around cracks in the door as well.

"Jesus it's just like the-"

"Thanksgiving job, yeah." Greg finished for him, "this looks like it's just as bad."

"Fuck that one took us over a week!"

"Yeah and this one isn't as fresh, we can't just use the pumps this time."

"Fuck." the ginger repeated.

"Put on your mask, definitely gonna need it for this one."

Nodding, Jimmy raised it with his free hand and secured it around his face. Following suit, Greg did the same, and both of the men zipped up their hoods in unison. Now they were completely covered, head to toe, not an inch of skin showing. Greg looked over at Jimmy and gave him a nod before moving forward, stepping carefully. Greg put a cautious hand forward and twisted the knob, the door swinging open slowly. The sun shone behind them, illuminating the entrance; however, as far as the pair could see, the rest of the apartment was dark as pitch.

Greg was the first to step inside, turning on his flashlight. He stopped at the threshold, and flashed the torch around, running it over the walls. Christ alive, everything was covered! That same dense white substance stained nearly every surface, leaving dried streaks and splatters wherever the eye could see. Looking down, the floor had suffered even worse; the carpet was disgustingly crusty, and as Greg took an evaluative step forward, his boot made an audible crunch when it impacted the ground.

He flashed his light over a wall adjacent to the door and realized just why this place was so dark. At first glance, it looked like just another section of the entry that had been completely plastered, but the tiniest glint from his flashlight revealed its true nature; this was actually a window that had received the same treatment as the rest of the room. The dried liquid had crusted over it so thoroughly that no light was able to pierce through, blocking any illumination from reaching the room. Greg guessed that most of the windows in this place had suffered the same fate, intentionally or not.

Running his light over the wall, he found the switch he was looking for and flipped it; well, he tried to flip it, unexpectedly finding himself having to use some degree of force to move the nub upward. Once it flipped, nothing happened - which Greg did expect. The apartment management probably cut the power after the last tenants moved out, and, as the suited man flashed his light towards the ceiling, he wouldn't be surprised if the lights didn't work anyway. Shaking his head, he stepped further in the apartment to survey the damage.

As the older of the pair moved forward into the depths of the darkness, the younger one followed suit, turning on his own flashlight as he went. The pair scanned everything around them, keeping a mental tally of every tool they would need to use, and trying to guesstimate just how long this job would take them. Once they entered the living room, they saw the true destruction that had been left behind. Broken chairs, splintered tables, a couch that had been completely torn apart, its leg bent and twisted. There were heavy dents in the wall, cracks in the ceiling, and the floor was littered with broken glass and other random objects. Above all though, the entire room was engulfed in white, like a bomb in a paint can had gone off in the center of the room.

"Fuck, what the hell happened here!?"

"This looks like a lot of damage over time," Greg explained, "this probably happened over weeks or months. Can't know for sure, but maybe the tenant was one, although I doubt it."

"Why couldn't the person living here be one?" Jimmy asked, still looking wildly around the room, his eyes bulging beneath his mask.

"Well, they could've been, but it's not likely. Most places don't like to rent to 'em, at least not knowingly. Raises the insurance rates if they do. Hard to confirm or deny that kind of thing though, so places like this just have to take their word for it. Still, it can be pretty easy to tell, especially once they start living here..."

Jimmy didn't ask anything else, clearly getting the idea. He moved further into the living room stepping over a cracked, detached chair leg that was haphazardly lying several feet away from the closest chair. He moved around the couch, careful not to step onto one of the misplaced cushions. As he ran his flashlight around the ground, more objects came into clarity, most of which seemed to be discarded clothes. Torn shirts and ripped pants, a quite large bra and even what looked like boxers. All were stuck to the floor and mostly covered white, much like everything else they had seen.