She's the Boss Ch. 03

Monday arrives.

Maddie gives me a look when we pass in the corridor leading to the lift. A smug insider smile, eliciting a briefly shared blush. Somehow, it feels like the world knows what I've done, twice over. It's...neither good nor bad. I don't think I care, but at the same time, this whole thing's left me thoroughly confused.

The boss's office is on the top floor, among the executive rooms. Irina told me nine o' clock sharp, so here I am, at eight-fifty-five. Best not to be late for a life-changing promotion appointment.

It's all quiet up here, despite the number of offices. At one end of the long corridor is a great plate window, looking down on the town below. The building's only six storeys tall, but in this part of town, it's one of the tallest. A custom build, on company-owned land, belonging to Ms Blackwell's family.

At the other end is Irina's office. Two doors lead into a large room that takes up more space than the offices on either side of it, an expansive realm not dissimilar to a lounge. She calls me in before I knock on the glass door, and I find myself paralysed by the interior.

A great window made of three independent panes covers the far wall, spilling warm morning light upon leather and mahogany. There are statuettes and busts, oil paintings by Gogh and Turner, a veritable library of books and a bar at one side. The central desk, a huge and intimidating thing, is vacated. I find Irina sat in the lounge area by the bar, on a sofa before a coffee table, sipping a morning Martini.

She sets her emerald gaze on me, following up with a glossy smile. 'Theo. Good morning.' The boss gestures to the seat opposite, and crosses her arms over her impressive yet largely concealed chest. Her formal blazer, dark navy with gold trim at the collar, hides the doubtlessly form-fitting white blouse beneath. 'How are we, this morning? Well, I hope?'

Irina Blackwell is divine, as always. Her eyeliner has a vaguely Egyptian styling to it, and her full-lipped mouth, emerald-green eyes, and darkly crimson hair all combine to make her alluring features really pop.

But despite her beauty, she continues to scare me a little. Not as much, not as she did -- I know on some level where I stand with her -- but Irina remains intimidating.

'I'm well, yes, thanks,' I say, lingering in the centre of the room, still taking it all in. 'And you, Irina?'

'Always, after a Friday night conquest.' She smirks, with lips of lacquered darkness. The tall woman lifts her drink and sips, then places it back on the short table. She studies me with those gorgeous yet predatory eyes. 'You were eager to please me. You put on quite a show, for Maddie and I both. One might even think you something of a natural performer.'

I'm blushing. I can feel it, the heat on my face. I did what I had to do. Did what was most conducive to guaranteeing some modicum of success.

But she is right, isn't she? I was eager to please. I did put on a show.

'What do you want me to say, Irina?'

'Nothing is fine,' my boss says, that smirk upturning the corners of her lovely mouth. 'Come, Theo. Sit with me. Let's talk about this promotion.'

I nod, and look to the sofa that mirrors her own seat. But when I step towards it, Irina shakes her head. 'Aren't we beyond that?' My gorgeous, ever-intimidating boss pats the seat beside her. Spacious enough for two, but I can't imagine she expects me to sit out of her reach. 'Here, honey. Let's go over this contract.'

As usual, I'm weirdly obedient in her presence. I justify it -- I haven't got the new job yet -- but even so, Irina Blackwell, under any sane conditions, would be seen as a sexual harasser. But I've set a precedent, haven't I?

I sucked her cock on Friday night, for a better role here.

Why would she suddenly expect me to keep my distance?

'Of course,' I say, blush deepening. I go to her, go around the front of the coffee table. Upon it, at the least, is a formal-looking document. It's not a mere ruse. Or it's not just a ruse.

Passingly I eye her crotch, hidden by the lip of her skirt and the placement of her knees. Back in the belly of the beast, in a sense. It should fill me with unease, knowing the power she has here, in her den. It certainly did before. Strangely...I'm not scared.

I plant myself down beside her, getting a whiff of her scents. Pine-needle gin, a far more distant note of expensive Vermouth. Her perfume, which I can't quite place. And something faint, familiar, in the form of her fertile virility, that tang of something uniquely hers.

Irina smiles at me in profile, and rests a hand on my thigh. She strokes along the top, then dips her fingers onto the inside, provoking a tremble in me.

'Still so uncomfortable in my presence,' my boss says, eyes all power and prettiness. 'You'd think after such an affectionate blowjob, there'd be nothing left to worry about between us.'

'Look, about what happened on Friday...'

Suddenly her hand is on my crotch, a warm firm grip. A lump forms in my throat, which I promptly swallow. 'Theo, you made the right choice. What happened was a beautiful thing. I hope it made you realise how good a future you can have here, if you stay in my good books.'

'...stay in them?'

Irina gives my clothed cock a squeeze, and with her other hand lifts up the contract. 'There are two versions of this. The genuine, which is before you, and the "public" version, which will be on the company's database.'

I scan the page, eyes widening in places. Words and phrases leap off the page, things that would not be there if this were anything other than a dirty deal between a lascivious futanari and, to be fair to myself, a desperate fool.

Oral relief, and the consumption of semen, to be provided twice a week. Anal relief, to be provided once per week. A weekend meal, paid for by Irina, every Saturday. Two additional weeks of holiday, all expenses paid, to be spent in Irina's company, every July and December. A performance bonus, for exceptional service, above and beyond the wording of the contract, to be discussed personally with Irina Blackwell.

I grow steadily more bug-eyed, building a picture in my head tantamount to a kind of sexual servitude. Oh, the salary is in fact seventy-five-thousand pounds, but for what? For signing away...my body? My life outside this place?

Irina is watching my face, chewing on the lovely fat of her lower lip. There's a hunger in her gaze, the way she looks at me, dominating my thoughts without a word. God, this excites her. She gets off on everything she does to me.

I grimace, because the kneading of her fingers and palm against my cock has provoked a response below.

'Irina...you said we were done?'

'Oh, I did, honey. I did. But...then you gave me that divine suck-session on Friday and I absolutely loathed the thought of never receiving one of those blowjobs again.' Irina grips me so firmly that I shudder, and let out a small moan. 'I'm not evil, baby. I just want to nurture this thing in you, to sculpt you into the lovely young man you're so in reach of becoming.'

I glance down as she drops the contract and pushes her now-free hand upon my chest, its sibling expertly tackling my belt and fly. 'I'm offering you so much, Theo. I'm accelerating your career by at least a decade, if not more. I'm even willing, because I'm just such a good boss, to get you your own personal assistant. One with a contract that might, if you play your cards right, look a lot like yours.'

My traitor cock is up, a spring of decently-sized thickness. Irina has her hand about it in an instant, the other cupping my chin, making me face her. She's excessively good-looking. Tall and athletic, heavy-chested, some easy mortal rival for Aphrodite. A Galatea.

And I know this isn't right. I know I shouldn't be letting her do this.

I know that, and do nothing.

'An...assistant?'

Irina nods. 'A plaything, yes. But honey, there's no way I could dirty my hands further without you accepting your place here. Your new role will, naturally, come with new responsibilities.'

She's stroking me, tending to me with her soft yet large hand. The nails of her fingers are sharp, coated in crimson varnish. Every now and then, on every fourth or fifth tug, she'll expertly tease their hard edges upon the underside of my dick.

I can't believe I'm considering the revised contract, despite it being so vulgar.

Friday was meant to be the last. A blowjob I gave, with that in mind. Yes, I didn't hate it. More than that, even. I...definitely enjoyed it, as much as I shouldn't have done. I don't understand how my sexuality works with this, but even if I did, the way Irina has treated me is repugnant. In the light of day, in this well-furnished office, with a seventy-five-kay contract dangling ahead of me like a golden carrot, it's easy to forget that she raped me.

But even recalling that word, that detail, and shoving it to the front of my thoughts...

'How's this meant to--ugh--work?' I say, breathily.

Irina pauses her stroking, and rubs my tip as though it's a genie lamp. 'There's plenty of room beneath my desk for you,' she says. 'You're not exactly large, in height or width.' The beautiful terror strokes my chin, smile broader now. Her white teeth are perfect behind those voluptuous burgundy lips. 'You don't need me to explain the mechanics of sucking dick, Theo.'

I shiver, part-pleasure, part-trepidation. I am actually thinking about it, aren't I?

Where the hell else am I going to get a job like this? In this economic climate? With my qualifications? In my twenties?

And...and maybe it's her hand, doing its teasing and playful kneading, but the one person who I was most worried about judging me knows, intimately, what's up. Maddie knows. And Maddie's reaction was nothing like I imagined it to be.

God, I must be insane. Worse, given that...given that the -- let's be fucking blunt -- cocksucking duties don't jump out at me as some awful thing to be hated and avoided.

'The rest?' I say. 'The anal? The meals? The holidays, and performance bonus?'

The taller woman leans in, resting her chin upon my shoulder. She plays with my cock, teases at my face with affectionate fingers. 'I've a private bathroom, and you'd look especially handsome being railed over my desk.' I tremble, and she laughs. 'So cute, honey. So easy. You're such a slutty boy, aren't you?'

I shut my eyes. 'The rest, Irina. What does that entail?'

'Exactly what is written on the page,' she says. 'I so rarely go on dates, you know? So on Saturdays, you'll be my date. And in July, when I visit my beachside estate in California, you'll come with me. And in December, across Christmas, you'll stay with me in the Swiss Alps.'

'That's--ugh--extra sex, isn't it?'

She must shake her head, because I feel her chin wiggle. 'No, baby. You can even, if you're fine with the awkwardness, sit there in silence, or coop yourself up in your room. It'd be a shame, but you'd have fulfilled your end of the contract.'

'Why?' I say, opening my eyes, and tilting my blushing face towards her. Her breath has alcohol to it, but her speech, and expression, and manual dexterity, show no hints of intoxication. 'Why are there no strings?'

Irina lifts her chin, brushes my cheek with her nose. She practically kisses my ear, hot damp breath tickling my earlobe and the skin of my throat. 'Look, honey, I love having a contract that tells you what to do. But you're not a stupid boy by any stretch. The opposite, in fact, or I wouldn't be so interested.

'But Theo...I don't think you'll last until Christmas. I've got my fingers crossed for July, but that's three months, and you might just hold out,' Irina says. 'But you definitely won't last until Christmas.'

The pressure is building now, even with such light brushes and motions. Her voice, her smell, the heat of her breath, the softness of her skin. 'W-hat do you mean? I won't--ughn--last?'

'I mean, honey, that by Christmas the sexual responsibilities of your job won't matter.' Her voice is sultry, perfect in its enunciation, no syllable produced with miserliness. 'You'll be doing everything I want, whenever I want. I imagine you'll spend most of Christmas Day on your knees.'

Irina chuckles, and kisses my cheek. That, and something darkly desirable in her words, pushes me over the edge. I grunt, and spill my seed.

'Fuck.'

I'm distantly aware, comparatively, of how small my cock looks. How little the volume of my load. A few white strings, spilling across the dusky skin of her hand. Thoughts I never had prior to Irina opening my eyes, which now I cannot so swiftly dismiss.

The pleasure is divine, all the more so for her affectionate kisses upon my cheek.

'Let it out, sweetie,' Irina says. 'It's so cute that your balls try so hard, and produce something that mine will always so easily outperform.'

'Ugh.'

I tremble, shudder, cock pulsing against her yet-moving hand. The load Irina shot in my mouth on Friday was immense, and this one is paltry, isn't it? Mine, compared to hers, is nothing. And the thought should be repulsive, should be awful, but it only seems to stir some perverse part of my animal brain further.

'Such a good boy, baby.' Irina milks the last spurts, letting me dirty her pretty hand. 'Mummy's good boy, aren't you?'

'Irina...'

'Am I wrong, Theo?' She brushes her nose against me, lowers her head, nuzzles the side of my neck. 'Do you really think, with the way you react to me, that you'll hold out? Would it really be so bad, to belong to me?'

Irina lifts her soiled hand up to my face. I...I think I understand the purpose, without her bothering to tell me. 'What are you doing?'

'You dirtied my hand, honey,' she says. 'I want you to clean it. And in cleaning it, I want you to realise how incredibly generous that contract is.'

My cum, on her hand, is a series of gooey white ropes. The smell is faint, nothing like Irina's potent musk. It bothers me, how instinctively I compare myself to the futanari, but it's the first place my brain goes to.

Irina is a gorgeous, insanely beautiful woman. And, somehow, more of a man than I am.

'I don't want to.'

Irina raises an eyebrow, more mockery than anything. 'Oh? Should I tear up the contract?'

I shake my head. 'No. I...I want the job.'

My boss pokes at my lips with two seed-tainted fingers. 'Then clean me up, baby.'

Fuck it. I...I let her feed me my own jizz.

It's inoffensive. Bland, if anything. Mostly tasteless, a little bit salty. There's enough to smear across my tongue, but no more than that. I'm quite eager to finish the task, really, by licking the back of her hand, by sucking on her outstretched fingers, but even so, it just doesn't have much about it to make it stand out.

Not...not like Irina's semen.

'Done,' I say, weakly. 'Can I sign the contract?'

'You may, but do you realise how good a deal you're getting?'

A good deal? Seventy-five-kay? Of course that's a good deal, at my age, with my experience, with my qualifications, in this market.

But that's not what she means, or she'd not have just made me lick up my own load.

'I...I do.'

Irina chuckles. 'You realise that my conditions are, if anything, perks of the job?'

I nod.

'Good boy.' She kisses the side of my head, and dips down to collect up the contract. 'You can start immediately. I'll have your salary upped for the coming payday.'

I put the document down on the short table, but when Irina hands me a fountain pen, it feels almost like a deal with the Devil. Like in some way, by doing this, I'm signing away my soul.

She must notice my hesitation.

'It'll be okay,' Irina says, putting a hand on my shoulder. 'You know this is for the best, Theo. Before you know it, you'll see the sexual relief clauses as perks of the role. I'm sure, before long, we'll lose track of how many times you visit my office in a given week.'

I want to reject her words, but I want the job. I want to go up in the world.

And as I press the ink to the page, I realise something else.

On some dark, primal level...

...I want Irina, as well.

*

My new office is a thing of beauty. Wood panelling, a desk of my own. A bookshelf. A big window that overlooks the quiet Windsor byroad leading up to the Blackwell Limited company building. It's fairly big, though nothing on Irina's. Sufficient that, if she honours that suggestion of an assistant, I could easily fit another desk in here.

Theodore Michael Brackley, Senior Editor.

That's what it says on the door. On the little wooden placard on the desk.

I don't feel it. On my first full day, the Tuesday, I do less work than I've ever done here before. I seem to do the final edits of things, after everyone else has all but cleared up the typos and grammar errors. And yet, at the end of the month, I'll be seeing a tripling, or thereabouts, of my paycheque.

And all I had to do was commit what amounts to my sex life to my beautiful rapacious boss.

I'm hardly active on my online dating apps anyway, but I go ahead and delete them. I can't put someone through this, and I can't exactly handle polyamory either. There's enough money in this role that if I invest wisely, if I just do the time, save effectively...I won't be here forever. I'll be free of Irina Blackwell.

But at the same time, I have to confront her gleeful prediction: I will not last until Christmas.

A shiver runs through me, picturing some future Theo, giddily gorging himself on the gorgeous futanari's manhood in some Swiss chalet on Christmas Day, when usually I'd be with family. I can see it with terrifying vividity, Irina all smug and proud in some armchair by the fire, snow falling outside on the mountainous Alps. And all that beauty is lost, irrelevant, because Irina is going to shoot another doomed load of seed, be it the first or the third or the seventh, right across my slutty tongue.

The vision leaves me erect. She's already had such an impact on me.

Irina Blackwell, sans penis, might well be the most beautiful woman I've ever met. Her height, her sculpted build, her immense breasts, voluptuous curves, heavy buttocks, shapely thighs. That dyed crimson hair, a veritable mane, always up in some Amazonian braided ponytail. Her exotic makeup, lovely lips, sharpish features that mix womanly appeal and a certain degree of intimidation.

But the penis isn't the problem anymore, is it? We're past that.

The problem is that this entire situation began with rape. And now it continues via coercion, via a series of gradually enacted traps. Attraction be damned. I should be better than this! I should've gone to the police on Saturday. I should've...

...I should've done things differently. So many things.

Life is like that. Things happen fast and we react, never taking a moment to remain still, because there's no such thing as stillness. Even in a peaceful forest, where not even the wind is whispering, all things are in motion.

If I had managed to stand still, to consider the events of that fateful Friday, I could've acted. I could've at least prevented reaching this new low, this signed contract, this selling-out of my soul and my body for what? More money?

I hate that thought with sublime passion, yet I hate the alternative more.

Thankfully, Maddie interrupts my thoughts.

'Senior Editor,' she says, entering with a smile. No knock, but then again, it's not exactly an established rule. 'Whose cock did you have to suck for that one?'

Maddie winks at me, blue-eyed, effortlessly pretty. Not like Irina, not this towering succubus of a woman. Maddie is gently curvy, her breasts small yet ample beneath the clinging contours of a baby-blue blouse. Her long legs are on display, the black skirt going halfway down her creamy thighs. Lovely face, button nose, vaguely heart-shaped, framed by shoulder-length golden curls with a parted fringe.