Bimbo Office - Takeover

"Delilah?" Miles snapped his fingers. "Are you okay?"

Something had happened. Time had been lost. Her fingers were halfway buried into her snatch through the front of her skirt. Very quickly she checked—eyes darting everywhere—he hadn't seen. Impossible for him to see unless he had been leaning all the way forward on his desk. He had a big desk just like big, powerful men deserved.

And Miles was a big, powerful man who deserved everything he wanted. She moaned slightly, looking at the office clock.

Fifteen minutes had passed.

What?

How?

She felt crazy. Then she thought about how clock sounded a lot like Cock and she giggled, sliding back, her fingers reaching again toward the insides of her hot thighs...

Miles snapped fingers. "Babe? You all right?"

She stood up shakily, not sure of what to think.

"Y-yes," she said. Her body felt she had cum at least once. Her brain felt like it was awash in that warm soggy post-orgasm glow, and her thighs felt slick; her pussy moist. Another button had come undone on her blouse. A little drool ran down her lips and chin to the top of her tits; shiny and sparkling. She left it there. It would call too much attention to wipe it away now.

"So. You'll have that plan for me at the end of the day, right?"

"Yes, sir. Of course, boss."

She began to walk out, barely cognizant of extra-sexualized sway she added to her hips. Just as she touched the knob, a thought occurred to her.

Knob.

Like a Cock.

Like HIS Cock.

Touching His Knob.

Touching His Cock.

Cock. Cock. Cock. Oh fuck, I need Cock so fucking bad...

"Really," she said, "i-if you want me to do a good job of it, I'll need more than just today."

Miles sounded chipper. "How long do you need?"

"Why don't you just count this as my two weeks notice? That way..."

I have plenty of time to still finangle my way into sucking Your Beautiful Big Fucking Cock.

"...that way I can do it right."

"Sure. Two weeks sounds fair. Thanks, babe."

Babe.

She moaned. "Yes, Sir."

She capitalized the S on purpose; knowing what it meant for her to do that. What she was doing to her own brain.

"And you'll have that coffee in just a few, right?"

"Of course, Sir. Coming right up. I'm so sorry you've had to wait."

Delilah walked out and saw Mona with an eyebrow raised.

"So. Are you done?"

She could give an answer later. Delilah rushed to the bathroom, fingers already sliding down to her searing-hot cunt before she even locked herself into a stall.

* * * * *

The level of his control over her was mysterious and unquestionable.

Towards the end of the day, after her seventh or eighth cum in the stall—counting was so hard when her braincells were popped every second by the puncturing thought of Cock—Delilah became convinced again that she would either have to leave the office to preserve her mind or she would become a sex-obsessed fuckdoll eager to deliver herself to Miles as a personalized office sexpet.

Before, she had only considered the first part of that equation—she had to leave.

But what if she stayed by choice? It would still be her choice, wouldn't it? Why not make that choice while she still could?

What if she stopped giving a fuck that she cared so much about Cock?

Didn't it feel good to obsess about his Cock?

Wouldn't it feel good in her mouth? In her cunt?

One incident drove this home for her in a way she would not have expected.

She was at her desk, fingers toying with an erect nipple through her largely unbuttoned blouse—she kept giggling, thinking of how it was "unbluttoned"—and imagining Miles's Cock.

She wasn't getting any work done. Instead she was closing her eyes in her small cubicle, leaning forward into her fingers—which was fine, because she wasn't fingering herself at her desk, she was just letting her hungry cunt and needy clit slide against her fingers—and imagining the shape of his Cock.

The size of it. The taste of it.

She knew the smell already—it filled her nostrils, filled every breath she took. His musk stuck to her clothes, followed her home, stalked her in the bedroom and shower no matter how much she bathed and fucked herself silly in the shower and moaned his name.

She rather liked it; it was masculine and smoky, a bit like cedar and campfires, and it crowded her tongue and filled up the fast-emptying contents of her brain.

People began to file into his office—several in one hour, as a matter of fact. Bonnie must have arranged them to come in while Delilah was on one of her frequent bathroom cum breaks.

Bonnie, who Delilah actually had a silent understanding with now. Bonnie, the married older woman with the massive tits who had been coming into work clearly wearing corsets underneath her skimpy blouses for the last week.

Bonnie, who had been there in the bathroom three times already when Delilah stepped out from a needy, moan-filled cum session, who winked at Delilah and nodded with understanding.

Bonnie, who Delilah had seen googling "How to divorce your husband and leave him with nothing but the clothes on his back."

Bonnie had short auburn hair that grew by inches every day over the last week and, while over forty, seemed to be getting younger by the day.

Not young enough.

The thought was strange but it was pressing—it found a hot spot in Delilah's mind and rubbed there like her fingers on her slick button clit.

Not young enough to be a good Sexcretary for Miles.

Ungh.

All his servant girls ought to be pretty and young and already that way and tight tight tight their cunts need to be soooo tight and she's NOT good enough.

"Ungh."

Now Delilah was actually vocalizing her moans.

The first person to file into Miles's office was actually his old girlfriend, Lily. She was a hard-nosed journalist with an emphasis on social justice in the workplace.

Delilah admired her—and not just the gorgeous thrill of her devastating cheekbones or her lovely jet black hair or the way her blue eyes sparkled. Though of course Delilah did admire all that because lately all she saw when she saw women was their aesthetic qualities—how much they would or would not please Miles's Cock.

A lot of time was spent for Delilah hoping she pleased Miles's Cock. Despite all her promises of quitting, she had several packages of expensive high-end clothing arriving at her house that afternoon, ordered in a cum-fueled haze over the weekend while she imagined herself dressing up and giving the Cock its own personal fashion show.

Delilah admired Lily for her articulate arguments and the poignant, timely nature of her articles, which had first run in the St. Gilbert Gazette and then regularly found wider circulation in the larger, national papers.

Lily had managed to bring down four different CEOs in the last year, all of whom now faced life-crippling charges of sexual harassment, blackmail, and embezzlement (as these women were often used by the CEOs to hide them immorally-gained funds).

Lily went into Miles's office clearly furious—a house of fire. Mona, who was supposed to be his gatekeeper, for god's sake, didn't even call Miles to let him know that she was coming in.

Delilah would have to fix that; there was no use in being an office manager of an unmanaged office, by god, and even if she was only going to have this job for another two weeks, she wasn't the kind of person who would just do a job poorly.

No, no Sir. It was do a job right or not do it at all.

Fifteen minutes later, Lily left the office with a kind of glassy look on her face. She had a tape recorder in one hand that she mumbled into incoherently. Her beautiful lips a bit slack. Thick hair disheveled and let loose out of her ponytail. Tugging and tearing at her stuffy sweater and loose blue jeans as if they were somehow unsatisfactory, unpleasant.

Delilah logged this away, filing it delicately into a file marked "Miles's Cock Runs Women's Lives and Isn't That Hot?"

It was clear that Lily had been affected by him the same way that Delilah had. Maybe even worse for Lily because she actually had seen his Cock before—and now it was more powerful than ever.

The next visit was from a pair of detectives. They had questions for Delilah. She was Near-Cum, a state that she had started to acquaint with more blissful than any other save for Cumming Itself. Edging had become something between a pastime and a hobby for Delilah in the past twenty-four hours and she found it difficult to believe she would ever want to do anything else ever again with her life.

She was young and beautiful and sexy as hell; why not edge all the time, even at work? Why not do it when grumpy detectives wanted to ask you questions?

She was not, needless to say, purely in her right mind.

Both detectives were women. They stood uncomfortably at the front of Delilah's cubicle, clearly aware that Delilah touched herself. If her urgent crotch-thrusting motions weren't enough evidence, there was the trickle of sweat on her brow, her shuddering breath, the dilation of her eyes, the flush on her cheekbones...

Delilah had kind of lost her touch on subtle.

All Delilah could see was that one was clearly Worthy of the Cock and the other was Not. This was based on physical appearance only. She sized them up, rated them, and cataloged the information away for future use.

"My name is Detective Grant," said the first. She was blonde, with strong feminine features and bright blue eyes. "This is my partner, Detective Primm."

Delilah only bothered to look at Grant. She was rather beautiful, in a severe way. Primm was beneath her notice entirely, and Delilah didn't bother trying to hide it. Shows her for not being Worthy of the Cock.

They asked her, while she barely hid her arousal thinking of the One Cock that had started to rule her entire life, about the death of some local millionaire who had apparently left all her inheritance to Miles.

"Her inheritance?" Delilah asked. "A lady millionaire?"

"An heiress herself," said Primm.

Still Delilah didn't look her way.

There were an awful lot of women, Delilah thought, circulating in Miles's life. Like he had arranged it for himself. Like some kind of giant game to amuse himself. So...powerful. So strong. So much potential worship for His Cock. She moaned softly.

"Are you all right?" Grant asked her.

"I...yes." Delilah was sweating; her entire body flushed. The Near-Cum taking over. She kept licking her lips, thinking of them sliding over the Cock. "I...I'm not feeling entirely well. A fever. I probably shouldn't have come—" CumCumCum "Ungh." She gulped. "Arrived to work today."

"I see," said Grant. "He hasn't been spending any money, lately?"

Delilah shook her head, barely cognizant of the rest of the questions. No, no displays of wealth. No flagrant spending or debts that he owed. She watched the two of them, disappointed and clearly creeped out by her stilted, moaning tones walk into his, His Office...and then, ten minutes later, walk out like Lily had.

Glassy.

Dazed.

Blank.

Especially the blonde. Especially Grant. The Worthy One. The uglier one looked out of it—Grant looked straight-up mindfucked.

That was hot.

This was when Delilah's revelation came:

He had done that to her, too.

He had mindfucked Delilah.

For a week now at least, maybe longer.

She thought of Mona, who seemed bored but otherwise unaffected. Dressing in smart, lovely outfits but nothing more scandalous than a normal teenager might wear to work—short skirts and tights, calf boots with a slight heel, tight sweaters on a thin frame.

Nothing like Bonnie and her marvelously aggressive series of corsets, building an arsenal of ever-growing cleavage that seemed like it could contain the entire city of St. Gilbert. Nothing like the silk and leather and lace Delilah had arriving that afternoon.

She thought, in her cubicle, looking at Mona from behind her own desk, of taking Mona into Miles's office by the arms. Pushing her down onto her knees. Holding her down. Holding her down for Him. Making her look at His Cock. Making her watch as Miles did his thing—whatever he did to fuck up a girl's mind. Begging him to do it.

Maybe Mona would struggle in her grip. Probably she would. Try to squirm away, threaten to call the police. But Delilah would hold her tight regardless—hold her while Miles took out his Perfect Cock. Delilah would hold her the whole time—hold her down and not let her go while Miles did whatever he wanted. While his stiff, erect, perfect Cock shoved against Mona's unwilling, resisting f-f-face a-a-and—

"Holy Fuck," Delilah moaned, opening her eyes, about to cum. "Holy Fuck, Miles...!"

She moaned, bucking, legs thrashing, and barely contained a scream as an earth-shattering cum delivered itself. Like a lightning strike down her body, from her crown to her toes, electric current shattering every nerve and neuron. She whimpered, tearing up as she held in her exclamation, as pleasure annihilated the vestiges of her resistance to Cock.

Mona looked right at her from across the office, confusion and embarrassment in her eyes. And beyond, in the desk just behind her, Bonnie looked at her with understanding and gratitude, like—"oh shit, we can cum at our desks now?"

Delilah staggered—still not having finished cumming, slick juices making her thighs hot—up to her feet. It had all become so perfectly clear in her head. Crystal. Like she was in a glass display case in a collection just for Him.

Ungh.

At first she thought she was running to the bathroom once again. But, she took a hard right turn and steered directly out the door, back home.

* * * * *

"It's not like you don't have a choice," she said to her gorgeous, dolled-up reflection. "Because you really do. You can either serve his Majestic, Eternal, Perfect Cock, or you can be miserable for the rest of your life."

She was alone at home in front of her mirror. She had dressed herself up for him—exclusively for him—entirely in new, way too expensive clothes.

Her entire adult life, Delilah had saved money. She was a frugal spender, and even went so far as to curtail restaurants and groceries when doing so would have put her overbudget for her monthly gasoline bill. Being a public servant paid, but it didn't pay well, and a career full of internships and a hell of a lot of student loan debt meant she had quite a while to go before she would be spending with any kind of comfort.

So why—why why why why why—had she spent over three grand on pretty clothes to make Miles happy when she had all-but-decided to quit?

Was it because now, standing in front of the mirror wearing a Yves Saint Laurent silk blouse, Stella McCartney Blazer, and leather Balmain mini-skirt with hard rock silver buckles, she truly understood what it meant to be a Trophy?

Was it because with four-inch Casadei heels on her feet—the kind with those gnarly-hot silver metallic blade stilettos—she knew what power a man must feel to have someone who looked like her in an outfit like this utterly supplicating herself before him?

The silk blouse tugged at her tits, which felt like they had grown somehow in the last hour. Her hair, already long and dark chestnut and beautiful, looked shinier than ever. The tight pull of the skirt delivered an achingly gorgeous view of her thighs.

"I'm so pretty," she said to herself, kind of stunned.

As she watched her reflection, something sensational happened. She watched herself come alive. Strutting towards the surface of the mirror. Giggling and laughing at her.

"You really are pretty," her reflection said.

"I...I am?"

"That's why he wants you."

She didn't stop to think that it was crazy in the deep cray-cray way to talk to herself like this. It made perfect sense—her mind was splitting apart, so why not have her actual appearance do it too?

"He wants me..."

She moaned. Thinking of him wanting her hadn't quite crossed her mind with all of her wanting him. But she really wanted him to want her.

"You will be miserable without him, you know," her reflection said. "Without Knowing."

"Knowing what?"

Talking to her reflection would have seemed ludicrous a week ago. Doubly so if the reflection motherfucking talked back. Now it seemed perfectly normal in the orgasm-overloaded spaces of Delilah's brain. Her thoughts flowed like slow, sweet syrup.

"Knowing his Cock. Knowing the Taste of it. The Feel of it in your pussy. You need it, don't you, baby? You Need. That. Cock. It's okay. It's just us. Just me and...well, me. Say it. Say you Need That Cock."

"I..." Delilah whimpered. She whispered, "I Need That Cock."

"That's right. You do. Didn't that feel good?"

It so fucking did. Delilah nodded.

"Good girl. You've been looking at this all wrong, sweetheart. But I can help you."

"You can?"

"That's right. Just let me be in charge. He doesn't want some serious-brained mindfucked sweetie who's so stupid she can't even tell that he's brainwiped half this fucking city already into sucking his Cock whenever he wants, probably. He wants an accomplice."

"Accomplice?"

"A partner in crime. A confidant. Someone to share with. Someone to fuck up girls with him. Wouldn't that be hot?"

Delilah's fingers were stuffed inside her pussy, thumb skillfully maneuvering around her clit. She had "forgotten" to put on the I.D. Sarrieri panties she bought.

"Do you get it? We're the fucking first victims of his, stupid. A Man like Him?" Mirror-Delilah bit her lower lip and moaned; she was fingering herself too. How odd... "Even if he doesn't get away with it—and he probably will, did you see him fuck up those detectives?—he always, always gets his first victims! That's how these power games go on! That's how these things work. If anyone's going to stop him, and like, I completely fucking doubt they will because he's super smart and a real fucking hunk, it's going to be someone waaaay down the line. So we're fucked, my dear. Completely. Why not actually get fucked while we're being fucked? Why not lean into this a little? Why not just...forget to mind?"

"Forget..."

"That's it. Just don't mind. Just be a bad. Fucking. Girl. For Daddy."

"Oh. Oh fuck."

"I know. I know, sweetie. Daddy left, didn't he? He left because you weren't bad enough and neither was Mommy. Daddy wanted to do whatever he wanted but Mommy wouldn't let him and it fucked. You. Up. But you can be bad now, can't you? You can be bad for your new Daddy, can't you?"

This was central for Delilah. This was a complete insurrection; all her values, all her fighting, all her efforts to prove what a self-sustaining woman she was centered around her need to never need Daddy again.

But now she could have a Daddy.

Now Daddy would fuck her if she begged him nice enough...

"Oh fuck." Delilah's need to cum was tangible, like a third-party in the room with her and her. "Oh fuck, oh Daddy..."

"Give in. Say you don't care. Say you want it. Tell me..." her reflection pushed against the glass. Her erect nipples sighing into themselves. Delilah's breath fogged the mirror. "Tell me you want Daddy to fuck up everyone and everything he wants."