She's the Boss Ch. 03

Her joke is part of the issue. I'm in too deep, aren't I?

'You know full well,' I say, mirroring her smile, failing to be as authentic. 'Come to gloat?'

She shakes her head as she steps up to my desk, delicate fingers fondling the wooden placard. 'I'm jealous, if anything.'

I can't forget the way she looked at me, the way she looked at Irina's cock. That kind of thirst -- what else can I call it? -- now seems to occupy a permanent place in those pretty blue eyes.

Like an after-image, having stared at the Sun.

'I've not spoken to her yet, if that's why you're here.'

Maddie gets this odd look to her, kind of wistful. 'I've been a little bit too much of a bitch, haven't I?'

Maybe it's the new office, or the senior role, but I hold my tongue. A polite smile, inauthentic, is the best she gets on that front. 'What makes you say that?'

'We used to have fun downstairs,' Maddie says. 'To talk, and joke. But it feels like every interaction we have now operates within the shadow of the way I've behaved.' She runs her eyes up me, then frowns. 'I know you, Theo. You're really uncomfortable here.'

I let the smile die. 'Look, I don't hold any power over your career. If that's why--'

'See? That's how badly I've done. You jump straight to that.' She shakes her head, and sighs. 'Answer me honestly, Theo. If there was no gossip downstairs, if everything was just as it was before, if I hadn't been awful...would you have blown Irina for this new job?'

It says a lot that the answer is immediate, doesn't it?

'No.'

And the word hangs, effortlessly, like some bad air between us. No. Final and irretractable.

If I could've forgotten the whole Irina rape thing, if I could've just let it fade into memory, knowing precisely my boss's rapacious appetites, I would've been fine. I could've avoided Irina like the plague. I could've gone on as normal, some unwanted if at least interesting -- though I'm not yet seeing any long-term damage -- event relegated into the annals of memory.

But Maddie, and the others -- but it hurt most being her -- prevented that.

'I see,' she says, at length, breaking the silence. 'I'm going to hand in my notice. If...if you want me to back you up in a police report, I'll do it.'

'Why the change of heart?'

'You look so out of sorts, Theo. You're like a bird in a cage.' She shakes her head, blonde curls bouncing. 'I don't doubt you wanted this role, but I can't imagine it's satisfying to get it the way you did.' Maddie shuts her eyes. 'And I can't escape the fact that I helped force your hand.'

'Maddie,' I say. 'What's done is done.'

She nods. 'Right.'

Maddie turns, the tautness of her skirt highlighting the contours of her backside. I never exactly crushed on this woman, because she was always a bit too...mundane, maybe? But something about her little showing here has triggered something. An upset. A point of bother.

It's not even that I don't believe her. It's not that I can't imagine, given time and thought, that she'd change her view of the situation.

It's that when I needed her, in the moment, to be on my side...she wasn't. She was, if anything, actively against me.

And Irina's offer, dirty and illicit, comes to mind: a personal assistant.

One with a contract that might, if you play your cards right, look a lot like yours.

'Maddie,' I say, as she's halfway out the door. The blonde pauses, curls bobbing. 'Irina suggested that I might look for an assistant. It'll be another fifteen grand on what you're on down there.'

She blushes, though not for anything hinting at sensuality. 'Why me?'

'If you're feeling so bad, you can always do most of my work, right?' I smile truly, though the source is the mental image of her on her knees. 'What's done is done, but that's not necessarily bad. There are...perks, to this job.'

'You'd be doing me a favour,' Maddie says. 'I don't understand. Why?'

Because Irina is a bad influence.

'Because I'm on seventy-five,' I say. Her eyes widen. 'I may have been pushed -- and I'm sure I look unsettled right now, because I am -- but in ten years I'm going to have a hard time regretting one little blowjob, don't you think?'

She doesn't trust me. I don't exactly blame her. It must seem too good to be true, and I suppose that's because it is.

I don't want to reward Maddie. But if I'm here, if there are strings in me, why shouldn't there be strings in her?

Is it possible that Irina's woken more than just a submissive side?

'I didn't come up here to butter you up, Theo. I didn't have an ulterior motive.'

'I believe you. But you'd be doing me a favour with the workload. I'm just saying, if you do feel so guilty, why not consider it? It makes my life easier. As much as I appreciate your support...I mean what I say. I have to look on the bright side. I'll play the cards I've been dealt.'

And Maddie, after a long moment, nods. 'I'll do it. It'd ease my conscience.'

I smile warmly. 'Great. I'll talk to Irina later.'

My main question being: how are you going to get her to sign?

*

Irina is sat behind her desk at five, when the work day is ended.

She eyes a laptop screen, reflected light upon a pair of half-rimmed reading glasses. They add some further appeal to the already appealing decade-older woman, who at once dominates the empty office and yet remains this out-of-reach Aphrodite. Her jacket is discarded now, revealing the white blouse beneath, the upper buttons undone to reveal the juicy roundness of her immense breasts. I know I shouldn't be attracted to this woman, this futanari, but I am. Strange, that what was my biggest reservation now lives in the shadow of its successors.

Irina Blackwell is a predator, and I am nothing to her but prey.

She smirks as I walk up to her desk, and lifts her startlingly violet eyes to mine. The plate-glass windows behind her look upon a late afternoon sky, muted in its brightness, and the office is dim with its lights off, yet still those interesting eyes seize my attention.

'There's my newest Senior Editor,' Irina says, with devious warmth. 'Here to thank me already?'

I stop a few feet before her vast mahogany desk. 'I want Maddie,' I say, plain and simple. 'Just like you have me.'

Irina chuckles softly, leaning her chin upon an upturned hand. 'My, my. Predictable, I suppose. Disdain is a powerful aphrodisiac.' She raps the fingers of her free hand upon the flat of the wood. 'Unfortunately, her record is clean. I have no blackmail. Without a stick, you would need a carrot.'

I nod. 'Something she wants enough that she'd be willing to do what I want.'

'Precisely.'

I smile. 'You?'

Irina raises an eyebrow. 'Oh, honey. No. Little girls like Mads aren't my type. I'm sure the little size-queen would be easily broken-in, but I'm just not interested.'

'I'd have thought someone as voracious as you would jump at the chance.'

She cocks her head back a touch, watching me down her sculpted nose. 'As much as you and I have something between us, don't presume that you know or understand me. Is that clear, Theo?'

The words aren't spoken harshly, not even loudly, yet I feel smaller to hear them. Her smirk, before and after the utterance, remains strong.

'I wasn't presuming,' I say. 'But I understand. Will you help me find something else?'

That devilish smirk deepens. 'Honey, the issue is that Mummy might well find Mads a tight little cocksleeve, but I just won't be attracted enough to her -- so residually and reluctantly bisexual as I am -- that I'll get it up in the first place.' Irina runs a sliver of tongue upon her lower lip. 'I would have to be, let's say, imagining something that would do the job. Because the idea I have -- that we get Mads hooked on what only I can give her -- won't be a one-off, now will it? You realise that you're asking me, in effect, to regularly fuck this silly little girl, for what is, ultimately, your benefit.'

It's all deals, isn't it? Each one dirtier than the last.

And maybe I'm getting better at understanding that, or more willing to accept it. Or maybe, just maybe, I'm less pleasant than I believed myself to be.

'For every act you have to do to ensure Maddie sticks to the contract, I will...I will do that thing with you,' I say, managing to meet her terrible gaze. 'With the caveat that this doesn't begin, on my end, until the contract is bearing fruit for me.'

Irina Blackwell leans backwards, crossing her arms beneath those weighty K-cup breasts. They shift, supported that much more, and the lacy cups of her bra black bra peek out from behind the white of her blouse, broad areolas hinted at. The dominant futanari licks her lips, smirk becoming a smile, smile becoming a devious grin. Her eyes are alight with intrigue, with a filthy appreciation.

'You know just how to incentivise your Mummy, baby-boy,' my boss says. 'I'll start working on Maddie this Friday, at the weekly outing. I'll let you know every little detail.'

My loins stir at the thought. Pure perversion it may be, but I'm going to make the most of this situation. Salary, benefits, illicit perks. Sometimes the only way out is through.

'Thank you.' I give her a polite nod. 'I look forward to it.'

But when I turn away, Irina clicks her teeth. 'Aren't you forgetting something, honey?'

She shifts her chair backwards, and upon looking her way, Irina is slightly out from beneath her desk. Her smile, full and uncomfortably seductive, is a look of pride and lust. I know what she wants. I know what I signed for.

'Today?'

Irina nods. 'All this talk has me a bit too excited, and I do have a little more work to do.' She twists her chair to the side, so that her legs are parallel to the desk. When I don't move, surprised at the swiftness of developments, my boss lifts an eyebrow. 'Well, Theo?'

I signed. Whatever protests, whatever bother this causes me, on some level, I signed.

My boss adjusts herself as I approach, and when I round her desk I find myself looking upon her raring-to-go cock. The dark member intimidates no less now than it did when I first beheld it, possessing wrist-like girth and more than a foot of length. Black skirt drawn-up so that its hem rests amid her wild black pubes, Irina's voluptuous thighs are clad in near-opaque stockings attaching to a garter belt at her waist, leaving an appealing gap of thigh-flesh between the two garments.

I move closer and Irina seizes my arm, guiding me about as she swivels her long legs back beneath her desk. My boss gives me a look, dominance and expectation, then pushes on my shoulders. 'Underneath,' she says. 'Right where you belong.'

And when my knees are firmly on the soft rug that sits below her desk, Irina moves forwards, legs spread as wide as they'll go, boxing me in against the front panel. I'm left in semi-darkness, noticeably warm, rich with the potent smells of her body. Junk scents, cock and pussy odours. Musky sexuality mixing with that interesting perfume, and her womanly sweetness.

Her cock rests up against the wooden roof, straining at it, more solid than I've ever seen it. This, beyond anything else, must be a perpetual source of arousal. If I knew that someone had to blow me, I think -- but maybe I'm just undersexed -- I'd be constantly looking forward to it.

Irina begins typing away above, face out of view. On some level I'm grateful to not be looking at her, beautiful as she is to behold, because there's something submissive in the constant eye contact.

But equally, there's something just as potent, just as gravid with mystique, as doing it this way. Being what amounts to, in all honesty, a mere outlet for her lusts.

'Funny,' Irina says. 'That doesn't feel a lot like a blowjob.'

'Sorry, Mummy,' I say, taking hold of her throbbing, straining length. 'I'll get right on it.'

A fumbling hand slides underneath and pats my head, makes a mess of my hair. 'Good boy. I expect nothing less.'

In the poor light, all things are dim and dusky. I can about make out Irina's hefty bollocks, sagging as they do upon the seat of her big office chair. Her cock, in my hands, has lost much of its detail for being in the gloom. It should make it easier, and yet in some crude way, I miss the specifics of it. And with visuals dimmed, my other senses are that much easier to focus upon.

I push down my reservations, and do what -- when I really think on it -- I'm being paid for.

Wet kiss, louder for the confines beneath her desk. My lips upon the side of her swollen hooded helmet, brought down from the wooden roof. I swirl my tongue around the folds, getting a preliminary taste of Irina's penis. Salty, bitter. Other tastes, dirty tastes, a sourness. But I don't hate it.

I do this thing, creeping up her length -- or down, I suppose -- with my lips attempting to grapple its sheer breadth and failing. The sloppy sounds, damp noises, bother me as I go, a constant reminder of my descent. Not so long ago I'd be thinking of the money, or thinking of anything else, but after Friday...I'm just thinking about the act.

One-hundred and four times. That's the number. That's the reason. In a given year, fifty-two weeks, two blowjobs a week. Will they all be under her desk? I don't know. I doubt it. But they're a certainty.

And if I can blow a little air into the budding fire of interest, it'll make blowing my Amazonian futanari boss a thousand-fold more pleasant.

'I half-expected to have to guide you,' Irina says, sultry voice dampened by the desktop that separates us. 'You always were on track for this job, you know? You're a fine worker, Theo. You--mhm--don't half-arse a thing.'

She says this with such ease, as if I'm changing wires or she's reviewing my day's labour, and not referring in some devious way to the fact that her bulging cum-vein is brushing upon my spit-slick lips while my nostrils tingle with the strong odours of her musky sex.

But the compliment, regardless, provokes feel-good chemicals in the brain.

'Thank you, Mummy.'

'Good boy.' Irina begins typing away again.

I stick out my tongue, tasting her faintly salted skin, so smooth against my tastebuds. There's such a mismatch, given the silkiness of the exterior coating, and the iron-firm rigidity of the tissue beneath it. A further switch of interesting textures again when I reach the base of her cock, a touch more light from above revealing the tops of her stockings and the place where her skirt's hem rests amid oily black pubes.

Silk-coated-hardness passes the short hairs around her base -- she at least trims those -- and then I'm tasting the thicker saltiness of her ball-sack, wrinkly and slippery and yielding, only to confront the solid lumps within its confines.

'Mhm.' Irina stifles a moan as I bury my nose between her testicles, sucking and gently nibbling on the voluminous folds of her scrotum. 'Such a good boy.'

Her praise is toxic, but so addictive. My mouth makes a gruesomely slutty sound as I suckle on the side of a bloated bollock, practically snogging the thing, kissing its firm plumpness and tasting the salty smooth skin of her sack.

She finds my head with a hand again, making uncaring patterns and swirls across my hair with one of those large, beautiful, domineering hands.

And my response, of course, is to take her left nut inside my mouth.

'Ugh, you're eager today,' Irina says, sharpness of her nails tickling my scalp. 'I'm sure you'll say it's just duty, just your contract, but--mhm--I think your mouth is most honest when it's tending to my needs.'

My boss kicks off a slip-on heel and rubs my lower back with a tights-clad foot. The sensation makes my cock ache, makes me arch my spine. There's an electricity to her touch, to both the degrading hand on my head and the defiling sole upon my back.

'Today is special, honey. The bin beside my desk is usually packed with used tissues -- an advantage of being so secluded up here -- but today it's--ughn--empty. I wonder if it's noticeable? My big balls should be especially full.'

They...they do seem larger. The hot heavy lumps, one bouncing against my face, the other firmly smothered by my dutiful mouth, possess an air of density to them that wasn't there on Friday evening.

The thought is gruesome in its implications, and yet my cock strains at my boxers.

Was Irina shooting such huge loads before and wanking herself off all day?

'From now on, on days when I plan to--mhm--make use of your services, I'm not going to drain even a drop from my stores,' she says. 'That'll be your job, and this is my way of showing appreciation for that sacred task.' Irina teases my head with her swirling fingers. 'You deserve Mummy at her--ughn--purest and fullest.'

Ego glazes her lovely sultry voice, this self-worship that I doubt I'll ever match. The meaning of this to her, the powerful satisfaction it must bring, surely goes beyond anything I can do to her cock, as well. How much of sex is in the mind, after all?

'Y-es, Mummy,' I say, drawing back from her balls, lips again gracing her shaft. 'Thank you.'

What else can I say? What can I do to protest her authority?

I didn't have to do this. I could've left this job. I could've...

...what's done is done.

She begins typing away again once I've exposed her musky gooey glans, and wrapped my lips around its hot spongy solidity. Irina is satisfied, groaning and moaning in a lady-like fashion, restraining herself as she apparently works. I can't imagine I'd get anything done, but I'm not her.

I'm nothing like her.

Her cock, try as I might to deny it, is incredible. Her body, its curves, its defined muscles, its scents and sounds, its beautiful canvas, is only enhanced for its presence. What scared me before was the body, when the mind is the threat.

Such a big fat thing, straining my lips, throbbing upon my eager tongue. I am eager, aren't I? Her salty-bitter precum oils the whole thing up and she so readily slides back and forth, my hands pressed into the pleasant plushness of her powerful womanly thighs for stability as I bob my head, urging her closer and closer towards orgasm.

I can't take it so deep, because it makes me splutter when it nears my throat. I'm sure that'll change, intimidating a thought as it is, but I do what I can. I worship the crown of her mighty sceptre with my lips and my tongue and my cheeks, suckling and nursing, massaging away, giving her the kind of blowjob I can only dream of receiving.

And then so suddenly, amidst the trembling of her knees and the wobbling of her thighs, Irina pulls back on her chair. She slides out from beneath the desk, throwing light into my sordid domain, and her immense saliva-slick weapon springs up above that pair of similarly shiny brown orange-sized balls.

'Irina?' I say, peering out from below.

She's watching me, smiling, a blush upon her high cheeks and a glisten to her violets. 'I'm going to change the contract,' my boss says. 'Going forwards, when you blow me, I want you to choose. Each and every time, you'll choose.'

'Choose what?'

One of her beautiful hands falls to her shaft, giving it a squeeze. 'I want you to choose to receive me, honey. I want you to come to want to taste me, for my orgasm to be as much a reward for you as it is me.'

'You mean...I don't have to have your cum in my mouth?'

She shakes her head. 'Not until you realise how right it is that it ends up there. Not until you realise the value of my genes. Not until you come to want that of your own accord.'

My eyes flutter. There's something dirtier in that. In the submission of choice.

'And if I never do?'

Irina smiles, demonically gorgeous. All white teeth and ideal exotic features. Dominant violet eyes ringed by Egyptian-styled mascara. 'You will, baby. It might not be today, it might not be this year, but you will accept that I am your superior. And you will want to savour what my superiority tastes like.'