Bimbo Office - Takeover

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Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.

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Bimbo Office - Her Takeover

Happily slurping Miles's Cock behind the desk of his office, Delilah conveniently realized a Perfect Truth.

Her big, perfect young 36D tits spilled out of her blouse, leaking urgent hot milk all over her Master's lap, so that she was constantly coating his manly length with her saliva, her milk, and licking up his precum and endless stream of cum. His Cock had no refractory period, no need for rest. Her body was tight, gorgeous, and completely owned by Him. She dressed for Him; strutted for Him; sucked for Him and Him alone.

Miles had The Cock, and the The Cock was all that mattered to her.

These Perfect Truths revealed themselves to her fairly often when she sucked Miles off. This only made sense to her; he was her God, after all, and Gods were full of Truths.

And Cum. Her God filled her with Truth and especially cum all the time. Glorious, sticky, warm, yummy cum that made her cum and drilled all her spare braincells to bits until she was a brainless babbling bimbo babe who wasn't good for anything but fucking, sucking, and serving.

Just like she liked it.

The Perfect Truth she realized then, on her knees in her Master's office, was this:

There's dick, which was kind of lame, and then there's Cock—which is mindblowing, important, and necessary for happiness.

Only her boss Miles had Cock.

And Delilah didn't a fuck about dick her whole life; she hadn't even hardly had a boyfriend.

But now? Now, she Lived for Cock...and that meant she lived for her Master.

She happily sucked up and then back down, moaning and urging her leaking tits all over his thighs, realizing that this was her salary now. That cumshots down her throat were bonuses. That her wages were basically just pretty clothes and jewelry to wear so she would be fucked more.

Her tight young body urged against his knees, heavy tits sliding into muscular man thighs, as she willingly choked herself harder on his Cock. She needed him to understand just how badly she needed him, needed the Cock—how badly she needed to serve.

It hadn't always been this way. In fact, just a week ago, her life had been much different...but Delilah was delighted that it had come to this.

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Delilah wasn't sure how it had come to this but she was mad as hell about it. Not for the first time, she stood dumbstruck in a pair of tall heels that she was barely comfortable in, making copies.

Ivy League educated. Interned for years. Expert in web campaigning. Reads a new political strategy book every week. Somehow—here. Making copies for pretty much her worst enemy.

Somehow, despite all her terribly hard work for nearly a year of her life, she had been somehow positioned as the "office manager"—a role which meant in this particularly small office she was a glorified secretary—for a man she absolutely loathed.

And by "loathed" she meant all kinds of things—hated, despised, held in complete contempt, would prefer to murder, and so on. She held regular fantasies about his death. Most of them involved stampedes by various zoo animals.

In fact, Miles Abram was pretty much the definition of a man she hated. A chauvinist bully who treated other people in his life like disposable objects and somehow got away with it all because he was just...somehow...lucky! It drove her insane.

To top it all off—he had her job somehow. After a virulent campaign fraught with drama, he was the councilman for St. Gilbert's 3rd District.

That job by all rights was supposed to be hers. And somehow, here she was, in front of the copying machine and making fliers for some town meeting that he wouldn't even bothering showing up for.

That Delilah should have his job was no idle exaggeration. Being the campaign manager for Barbara Clayton—a progressive female candidate who had won the nomination, who had all but won the office—Delilah had worked her tail off for a year. She canvassed, she made phonecalls, she organized polls and managed interns and arranged interviews. She had done everything.

When Barbara dropped out suddenly a mere three weeks before the date of the vote, citing a sudden illness, she should have by all rights thrown all her support Delilah's way.

And Delilah was a shoo-in as a candidate as well. She was educated, with a graduate's degree in Political Science from Berkeley. She was friendly, with a famously good rapport with the press and local communities. And she was good-looking to boot, with the kind of body that showed she tried and the kind of face that was pretty but didn't put people off from being too severe or that implied that she was an airhead.

Sophisticated, smart, and looking both; she would have been a home run.

Instead—instead!—Miles Abram came back from some weird vacation in South America after missing more than half the campaign and insisted to Barbara that he's the man for the job.

And even worse, Barbara listened! She loved the idea! She seemed to love Miles, actually—like, in an intimate fashion. Those long soulful looks. The way she giggled and played with her hair. The strange moaning sounds that Delilah had heard when Barbara visited Miles's office (which used to be Barbara's office).

The only reason Delilah adamantly refused to believe Barbara was romantically involved with him was that she knew to a certainty Barbara played solely for the other team—meaning she had seen Barbara hit on girls at bars when they had gone out with each other after long days of campaigning.

Now Delilah stood, dressed smartly in her last-day-of-work outfit, a modest and respectable brown skirted suit with a brief jacket and cream-colored button-up blouse, taking a breath at the copy machine and mentally preparing to enter Miles's office.

"You going to do it or what?" Mona chided her.

Mona was their intern. The real secretary of the office, who barely even needed to have a job since Delilah and the industrious Bonnie—in the middle of rearranging their entire list of donors by gender, height, and weight for some weird Miles-related reason—were more than capable of handling every last part of the work the district needed.

Which was lucky, because it didn't seem like Miles himself did any work outside of long cigar-smoking sessions with the other councilmen.

"Of course I am," said Delilah. "I'm just preparing. It's important to be prepared. To know arguments and—"

"Counter-arguments, yes. You said."

Mona's brief foray into interests of life outside of her phone receded and her attention snapped back, fingers shimmying along her screen. She played some game where you built a castle and a town and defended it from multi-colored walking rocks.

The only reason Mona had this job at all was because she planned to return to college come January when the semester rolled around again, and she wanted the PoliSci credit and the blip of political service on her CV. She didn't care about St. Gilbert, or Miles, or Delilah, or anything really outside of mindlessly scrolling on her phone every day. She was young and blonde and very pretty and every day she put up with more and more from advances from Miles and his Overwhelming Cock.

Delilah paused. Hand on the knob. Her fingers slowly but urgently tugged at the hard roundness. A soft moan escape her plush lips.

That was funny.

Overwhelming...Cock?

Why had she...thought that? Why were her cheeks flushed all of a sudden?

Delilah pushed the thought aside—you know, like taking that Cock and just adjusting it to one side so You can moan His name like He likes—and opened the door, feeling suddenly weak.

This happened every time she stepped into the office. The sudden heat of her cheeks. The confusion. The heat between her legs—urgent, needy, empty heat, the kind of sopping wet heat that needed something hard and strong and thick to fill her up right away.

Animal heat.

Moaning heat.

Mindless, empty, bimbo-headed heat.

This wasn't her first attempt at quitting.

The first was right after the inauguration—the same night, in fact. But she hadn't been strong enough; her meek knocks at the door hadn't been loud enough to break Miles from his revelry, and when she peeked inside she saw him clearly receiving a blowjob from some beautiful blonde.

The sounds stuck with her. The moans. She was getting off from sucking him. The way she practically whinnied, like a pleased horse gallivanting in the country.

By the strangest coincidence, the blonde wore the same exact dark blue skirt and blood-red heels that Barbara had been wearing. Delilah wanted to tell her about the amazing coincidence, but hadn't been able to find her anywhere at the party.

The blowjob incident only solidified in Delilah's mind that Miles wasn't worth working for. All that labor for some pig who would receive oral sex where he worked? That's not what Delilah went to six years of schooling for.

But as much as she hated to admit it, the incident stuck with her in all the wrong ways. A stronger woman might have stormed in, blown apart the entire "celebration," demanded something—justice, a payoff to keep quiet, a transfer to a different posting, something! Instead, Delilah felt awash with the naked wet heat of the moment, even a bit, well...understanding.

Miles had accomplished something really hard; he had been elected! He was important now. Even if he didn't deserve it...he had done it. Didn't that deserve her respect? Shouldn't she let this sleeping dog lie?

Going after him might hurt her career, after all. Nothing mattered to Delilah more than her career.

Of course, none of that explained the hot, vibrantly orgasmic dreams she had that night, dreaming of cheering on the girl sucking him off.

Or being the girl sucking him off.

Or begging to be the girl or even one of many girls sucking him off.

Before Miles had returned from his trip to South America, Delilah wouldn't have considered herself a very sexual being. She had her self-imposed mandatory orgasm about once a month just to keep all the engines running how they should so that in case she met a man she liked, she wouldn't be some frigid sex-abhorring bitch. She had to think of the future, after all.

But ever since seeing/hearing/smelling that fantastically long painfully urgent sexy-as-fuck blowjob from the suspiciously Barbara-like blonde, Delilah's sex drive had become a sex overdrive.

First, by herself in her bed, fingers moving tentatively and purely as an exploration experiment, she just came to thinking of a handsome man receiving a blowjob in an office.

That was really nice. It was innocent. The handsome man could have been anyone. The blowjob could have come from anyone. It didn't have to be Miles. It didn't have to be her.

Then, glistening, moaning, heated, wet, she came thinking of her giving a blowjob in an office. She imagined a dark billionaire with hidden passions that only she could unlock. That got her going really well.

But then, sweating, tossing, turning, she came thinking of sucking off Miles in the office. It hadn't started that way, this fantasy—it had been the billionaire. But then she imagined Miles's handsome face just for a second, and her pleasure intensified a hundredfold, her fingers sinking so fucking deep into her needy cunt and her clit feeling like it had caught fire...

Then, barely able to form words, she imagined asking to suck him off. In the middle of an office day—just sliding into his office wearing nothing but a smile and a pair of sexy fuck-me heels and asking pretty please, sir, can I suck your cock just how you like?

And then after that, asking to cum again. Asking to please slide her hot, sexy, high-educated lips around the slick hard knob of his sensational cock until her brain was so thoroughly fucked that she could barely walk, until every first and last thought on her gorgeous manager-turned-secretary mind was please, Daddy, let me suck it more?

And all of that was just the night after the inauguration. Last Tuesday.

She took the day off to think. Determined to set her brain right. Instead with all the free time she came three times as much as she had the night before, barely taking ten steps from her bed—seemingly satiated entirely by orgasms—and regularly had to clench a pillow between her teeth to keep from moaning Miles's perfect name too many times.

The next day, Thursday, she dedicated herself to the cause. She got her mind right with a cold shower. She had a heavy dose of caffeine with a double espresso dumped into her usual coffee from the cafe down the street. Wearing her strictest, blackest outfit, she marched right into his office, fired up her finger to the air, gathered her breath—and then looked at his handsome face and completely melted and asked if he would like her to get him some coffee.

He would. And he told her that she looked rather smart in her outfit; that it really showed off her figure.

The chauvinist pig. Like she cared about what he thought!

And clearly he was being dishonest anyway; Delilah had worn a dozen other outfits that had shown off her figure better, and she spent the following Friday and Monday showing him just that. Monday night, cunt dripping as she casually picked out the next day's outfit, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Slightly hunched over in her underwear. Her svelte thighs slick from juices accumulated since her drive home where she went over and over again all the different ways Miles had spoken to her. His voice was so sexy.

Everything about him was so. Sexy. Delilah didn't understand it. Before his trip to the tombs in South America, he had been a decent enough fellow. Ignorable. Nobody she would have really bothered with. He had been beneath her in the office! A little older than her, but still not as educated, with only a Bachelor's, and at some nowhere school she hadn't even heard of.

A forgettable sort with a forgettable face.

When he came back, though, he had changed. Delilah wouldn't have recognized him as Miles unless he had said it was him. His thin hair had filled out and was now a shining gold mass perfectly styled on top of his head. His jawline had broadened; his body had filled out so that every inch of him thrummed with high-intensity muscle; his blue eyes were brighter and almost hypnotic to look at.

His voice stuck in her head; his smell fucked up her sense of direction and definitely her sense of right and wrong; and his Cock—which she had no prior information on—was nearly always visible in his tight form-fitting trousers as a massive never-soft bulge.

Delilah's mouth had become like some kind of reverse punchline to a joke. Mouth waters all you want, just add Thought of Cock.

So—there. Seeing herself in the mirror. Fingers halfway into her cunt, seven different outfits on the bed as she tried to determine which would garner her the most compliments from Miles, she had an epiphany: something was wrong.

He was wrong.

He had changed her.

He had...had convinced her somehow. Changed her. Changed Barbara, even!

She had to get out of there. No two weeks notice; no need for a recommendation. Just in, out, goodbye.

She would tell him in person, though. She owed him that much.

Owing him turned her on; she had to cum about it. She slid her fingers up her red-hot pussy and moaned his perfect name and begged him to fuck her and begged him to fuck up her mind about leaving and begged him to make her suck his beautiful gorgeous massive Cock and thought about him starting a ledger of Blowjobs Owed—Times She Turned Him On in the red and Blowjobs in the black.

After two hours of seven quick dreamy orgasms, her mind was made up—she had to leave.

Today was Tuesday. One week—one week since Miles had been elected. One week since her life had become some kind of weird vociferous fuck-dream that began and ended and punctuated every day with high-pitched moans and loving orgasmic screams dedicated entirely to her new boss.

But no longer! Not today! She was powered up like never before.

Steeling herself, Delilah grabbed the knob—Knob—and walked in, trying to hold her breath.

Inside, Miles sat behind his desk, feet up, relaxed. Like he was waiting for her to come in.

Oh god, she thought suddenly—what if he was? What if this—her rejection of him—was all part of his plan? What if it was all a way to bring him pleasure, to see her squirm and have all these misgivings?

She powered through anyway, storming right up to his desk and politely sitting down.

"Oh, hey babe," he said. Casual. In control. "No coffee this morning?"

"No!" she nearly screamed. So much willpower expended all at once. "No, no coffee, not now, and not ever again!"

To his credit, Miles looked a bit taken aback. He put up his hands in surrender. "Listen, Delilah..."

"I'm quitting," she said. "As of..."

Say right now. Say right now or you don't mean it!

"As of right. Now." She had to force the words out. "I'm done. Right after this conversation. I'm out of here and you're not seeing me anymore."

His feet came down entirely now. He leaned forward on his desk. It was a powerful pose; shoulder muscles popping, biceps swelling against his shirt.

"This is disturbing news, Delilah." He shook his head. "We really need you. The office won't work without you here."

Invisible tendrils tugged so hard at Delilah that she nearly fell to her knees. "Th-that's...too bad."

He stared openly at the curve of her breasts. Mindlessly, her hand went to the blouse and unbuttoned the top two buttons. By the time she realized what she was doing, she would have felt foolish to undo it, calling even more attention to her tits if she buttoned it all up again. Well—she wouldn't! He would get this tiny substantial peak of her glorious cleavage and that was all!

"It really is," he agreed. "You're spectacular. I know I joke with you some and boss you around, call you babe and stuff, but I really value you, Delilah. As a co-worker. We wouldn't have won the campaign without you."

"You're damn right."

"I know it." He sighed. "I should have been more upfront with you about my plans. I've got so much to do, so much to say...so much we should accomplish. But you're so intimidating...I didn't know how to bring it up with you. I think I was afraid of being outclassed."

She twirled her hair and counted it an astronomical success when she suppressed the giggle that came along with it; nothing could stop her smile, though. "Outclassed? By me?"

"Sure. I mean, I know you're leaving at the end of the day and everything, but honestly, nobody at this office can do what you do. Especially not me. I mean, look. We've got Bonnie. She can run numbers all day, in her sleep practically, but she's got no mind for strategy. And Mona is...well. She's not really ever "here," is she?"

Delilah, feeling the compliment in his words swell, felt her brain get strangely fuzzy. He said end of the day. But she had said right now. Hadn't she?

Well, it would only be an extra few hours. And it would be awfully fair of her to deliver him some kind of strategy plan. And she was looking so fine in this outfit, and didn't she want his eyes on her just a little more? And...and...