Consumerism Ch. 35-39

"Jamie was a dweeby guy," Mr. Bentley says with a chuckle. "Hen pecked by his unloving wife. Weak, ill-defined body, lacking the power, prestige, and wealth one would associate with a real man." He puffs out his muscular chest and raises his chin up in the air. "Now his life has changed. It's full of action, attention, looking hot, showing off, and most importantly, lots and lots of sex. His existence. It's improved so much." His whiskey glass clinks as he sets it down on the table next to me.

Chief is wrong. Yes, things were bad before. My wife never had sex with me. I had to resort to porn. But are things better now? All the intercourse we have with each other. The beatings. His constant attention. How he feeds and bathes me. It's a lot, yes. But then why do I feel as lonely as ever? I'm still a passive and anxious person getting used by other people. Instead of taking my paycheck, Chief treats this feminine body he forced on me as his own personal playground. He doesn't love me; his affection all stems from his overwhelming lust to pleasure himself and cause me pain.

"I love how you look tonight, sweetheart," Mr. Bentley compliments with a chuckle. "Bent over that table with your big tits out. Bathed in moonlight. Arms bound behind your back. And of course, your face glazed with our hardworking lawyer's sperm." His hands grab the sides of my hips and his thumbs hook into the inside of my lingerie panties before he tugs them down and exposes my asshole to the chilly office air. I shiver. "You cold?" he asks with a bemused smile and twinkling eyes. "Here, let me warm things up for you." He lifts his glass and pours some of his expensive whiskey into my open asshole. "I promised I'd share!" he exclaims through roaring laughter.

It burns and I writhe in pain against the table as the armbinder squeaks over and over. Tears flow out my eyes and I try to stand up. He thwacks me again with the riding crop and this time he strikes my right flank. I shriek in pain and fall back over the table and begin to sob.

"Don't be dramatic," Mr. Bentley dismisses and rolls his eyes at me. "Tell them. All the men who stayed late at the office. Just to see you. What is it you want more than anything? Don't be shy, sweetheart. Reveal what it is you really want tonight."

I want to clean my face, leave this infernal office building, and end any involvement I have with Project Janus. My mouth tries to articulate the words but when I do my cock throbs against the desk, my body vibrates, my teeth clench together, and my jaw shakes. I'm overwhelmed with the desire to sexually submit to him. To spread my legs and give him what he wants. "P-please, c-chief..." I begin through pained eyes strained with tears, sweat and filth running down my face, and a nauseous feeling inside my body. "P-p-please fuck me. M-m make me come." As the words escape my mouth, tears run down my cheeks, but I make no sound other than my shallow yet barely audible breaths. My body feels heavy, and my heart does not feel right.

Mr. Bentley lifts his chin and grins knowingly down at me. He bends over my torso and lowers his head, so it is to the right of my own. "What a nasty girl you are," he whispers into my ear. I feel his tongue against my ear lobe followed by his teeth. It pringles and feels good at first but then he bites hard, and I wince in pain. I look at him and I see some of my blood run out the corner of his mouth. He laughs and I smell the whiskey on his breath. It's smokey and sharp.

"There are so many men out there," Mr. Bentley rambles as he lifts his torso back upright "Just like Jamie. Disposable. Sex starved. Desperate for a change. Project Janus shouldn't be underestimated. Our research suggests that it will usher in a second sexual revolution. Very likely its impact will be even greater than the original back in the 1960s. Back then it was all about liberating women. Now it is providing more freedom to everyone. But let's be real. It's mostly men who will be availing themselves of this. Men who want to fuck and be fucked."

He unzips his fly.

My eyes stare vacantly at the nighttime city skyline through the office windows.

He removes something from his pocket. Lube. It squirts into his hand. He fishes it out. His big fat prick. It becomes nice and greasy against his palm. My mouth salivates.

A sigh escapes my lips. My head shakes and I spread my legs for him. As I do so, an intense shiver runs down my spine.

He sips whiskey and the ice scrapes against the glass before he picks up a remote from the conference room table. With his right pointer finger, he presses down, and music begins to play. It's techno or something. Music they'd play at a nightclub or a rave. I don't recall Chief ever listening to music like this before. In fact, I've no idea what music he enjoys listening to.

He mounts me. It doesn't hurt. His penis inside me. I'm used to it at this point. My right thigh though. It stings. I think I'm bleeding. God. How am I going to get the stains out of the carpet? His strong hands take hold of my hips, and he starts pounding my ass. My eyes close and a gasp escapes from my parted lips.

I shiver and moan and wish my arms were free. I want to touch it so badly. My penis. It's throbbing. "Chief, you're making me so hard doing that," I whisper to him.

He chuckles as he pumps his fat prick in and out of my helpless body. His right hand lets go of my hip and he reaches down. My body convulses when he touches it. As his palm wraps around my own penis, I notice it feels harder than all the other times. I'm so aroused. It makes no sense; being fucked on the conference table like this isn't sexy at all. God, it feels like a jackhammer going in and out of me. I don't want to have sex like this with others watching. "Fuck me Chief," I beg, "I'll be your little office bitch. Fuck me like a dog."

His cock slides in and out of me in rhythm with the electronic music. I don't know what compels me, but I join him. My hips buck and I push back against him with my ass. We do it over and over again. Our bodies pump, grind, slap, and slide together in unison to the thumping music. As we fuck, I feel more like I am watching than participating. Like something crawled inside my brain and is controlling me, making me hump up against him every time he pounds his fat penis inside of me.

We fuck and he grabs the riding crop. "Wait!" I scream. He strikes my back, it thwacks loud, and my eyes go black before seeing prickly yellow circles.

Mr. Bentley belts out laughter as he continues to fuck me over the table. "You said you wanted to be my bitch," he mocks. "I'm just giving you what you want, sweetheart. I beat you just like I would that disobedient dog I had growing up."

My body shivers and tears flow down my face as I whimper but I don't let up. We move in unison. I have no choice. My body wants it so bad. His hard cock. God. It feels so damn good. My own penis throbs.

As we fuck in rhythm to the music, he hits me again with it. The riding crop. It stings. His cock rams my prostate and I shiver in ecstasy. He follows it up with another strike with an even more intense thwack. The pain sears and I shriek. In cadence with the music, he pushes his fat prick inside of me hard and it feels wonderful. As he repeatedly slams his big penis inside of my body and whips me with the riding crop, the compulsion to sexually submit to him becomes stronger than ever. That contrast. The pleasure and the pain. When paired together like that. It's like nothing I've ever experienced.

I lose my sense of time. It's not certain how long we've been fucking. I'm now on my back on top of the table holding my legs up and spread to provide access to my hole. He pounds me again and again and each time I experience a trembling full body orgasm. As he rams his dick in and out of me, he starts pushing his torso on top of mine. God, it feels so amazing. He really squeezes my little gland doing that. And every time he does it, his toned stomach rubs against my own rock-hard cock.

My eyes close and lips part before releasing a prolonged gasp. I shiver and feel my loins tingle before my cock erupts like a volcano and I shoot the biggest load I've ever managed on to my tight bare stomach. The sight must have sent Chief over the edge as well as not long afterwards his face adopts the same expression, and he creams my asshole with his warm come.

Mr. Bentley slides out of me, picks up his glass, and sips whiskey. "Not only can our medications change someone's gender and sexuality," he addresses his audience on the conference call. "We can even transcend the limits of our own biology." He strokes his cock with his rough palm, and it is just as hard and large as it was inside of my ass just now. "Elimination of the refractory period. Multiple male orgasms. We can fuck all night long and never stop ejaculating."

I look down at my own penis and it's fully erect and just as hard as it was before. What the fuck did he do to me? He mounts me again and pounds my asshole with his fat prick again. He must be taking drugs too. As his fat mushroom head squeezes my walnut gland, the intense compulsion to submit to him returns. "Fuck me, chief," I beg. "Oh gawd, it's so hot. You fucking me again right after creaming in my b-hole like that."

I lose track of time again. I don't know how long we fucked. It very well could have been hours. I'm not sure how many times I came either. But I feel like it was a lot. I kneel on the carpet. The conference room reeks of musk, sweat, and body odor. I can see semen and blood stains in the carpet through the radiating moonlight. He stands above me holding his hard penis with one hand and his whiskey glass with another. The bottle sits on the table next to him. "Sorry sweetheart, this whiskey runs right through me," he apologizes with a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his face.

My eyebrows squish together, and I blink at him.

Mr. Bentley laughs as he points his cock at me and releases a torrent of piss against my face. It smells strong like ammonia. It's because of the whiskey. I learned it by studying nutrition. Alcohol is a diuretic. Concentrated urine is the result.

As he drenches me in urine, my stomach knots and ribs squeeze together. I whimper, cower, and feel my nose run. With my arms bound, I'm unable to even wipe my face. I stare blankly at the conference call projected against the wall. Most of the participants are black rectangles. No video enabled on their end. I see a few men masturbating. Jerking off to my humiliation. One box catches my attention. The man watching does not appear to be a man at all. He has broad horns, reddish skin, and his eyes are glowing red. My body shakes. I must be hallucinating. I pass out.