She's the Boss Ch. 01

The dream died.

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.