She's the Boss Ch. 05

She smiles sweetly, looking nervous. 'You're a pretty good dom, Theo. I'm sure it's just anger at me and channelling your frustrations, but--'

I reach for her hand, twisting my fingers through hers. Soft and silky, delicate. 'It's okay. You're a good outlet for me, as well. I don't feel, I don't know, scared around you.'

Mads cocks her head to the side, holding my hand. 'You never said if you like how things are. Not really.'

I find myself venting. Venting about how trapped I am, and how much Irina terrifies me. How stupid it feels to have sold my soul to this attractive but dominant devil, to sacrifice my life in the process, to have nothing in the way of my old dreams. But to realise at the same time that I like the money and I like the power and in some twisted sense I even like the way things are with Irina, as much as I don't fully grasp the reasoning.

And Maddie nods, listens, giving me squeezes at the right moments, actually being on my side. To speak, to be heard, lightens the burden on my heart. For the first time since this whole thing began, I've got a confidant. Got an ally, where before I was alone.

'Thank you, Maddie,' I say, when all's said. 'I...didn't realise how badly I needed to talk about this stuff.'

She rubs her fingers against mine. 'You're welcome, Theo. Anytime.'

'Do...do you like it here?'

She smiles, a touch guilty. 'It might sound weird, but despite what I said, I'm more sexually satisfied than I've ever been in my entire life. Irina really knows what she's doing, even if she's not really thinking about me.'

Somehow I can sit here and believe that this woman really does like me, really does feel more of a rapport with me than she does with our boss, and yet that admittance is a needle to the fabric of the soul, the puncture wound stealing warmth. As if my real worth here, the true test of whether or not things are genuine with Maddie, relies on the possibility that I'm better at sex than the dominant hung futanari with her endless stamina and massive loads.

And I hate myself for even worrying over it, but it's there all the same.

'Shall we get the bill?' I say, withdrawing my hand. Anxiety surging. Dread, questioning everything. That hard to unseat worry that I'm second-best.

Mads gives me a warm smile. 'What are you doing afterwards?'

'What?'

She rolls her pretty blue eyes. 'Do you want to come back to my place?'

It's this awful thing, that I process everything now in times of rotas and contracts and schedules, because my first thought is: I've had two blowjobs, had one titwank, had one over-the-desk screwing to ape what Irina does to me.

'You don't have to do this, Maddie. It's not--'

'Fuck the contract,' she says, grinning. 'The night's young, Theo. Let's enjoy ourselves.'

I'm not sure how it happens, but it does. I've no urge to dominate her suddenly, simply to be with her. To snog her in the car on the way back to her place, to eat her pretty little pussy and have my cock sucked to completion and then to cuddle and to grope and to writhe around in bed until I'm ready to go again, and we fuck, and fuck, and fuck.

Not harsh, not brutal, not for the most part. And I'd think she might fake it if not for the fact that Mads is a squirter and her whole body trembles in the wake of my affections. And then it slowly dawns that this is real and that we're outside the contract and that...that we're just two people having sex, enjoying one another.

And we spend all of Sunday doing the same. And back at work, the contract goes out the window. Daily blowjobs, plenty of snatch-licking. Titwanking when I want it, most days ended -- and sometimes begun, when Mads is feeling extra frisky -- with an over-the-desk ploughing.

In some weird way, I start to come around to the possibility that out of the dominance and the contract and the dirty dealings, I've found myself something like a partner. Someone to confide in, make love to, and actually open up for. To be vulnerable with. To have feelings for that aren't scary or at odds with how I know things should be.

But it's too good to be true, isn't it? And not because of anything Maddie does.

'What happened to your contract with Mads?' Irina says, a few Saturdays after the office romance kicks off. She smiles as she says it, neatly slicing through a large chunk of mostly-rare steak. Dangerous, predatory, even with her oozing gorgeousness. 'Did the little slut take a liking to you?'

'She...she wanted more than just raw fucking,' I say. And my anxious brain says, plays back in her voice: I'm more sexually satisfied than I've ever been in my entire life. Fuck you, brain.

'How sweet.' Irina smirks, eyes enticing in their emerald depths. Consuming, engulfing. Like to face them is to face a maelstrom of dominating depravity. 'In which case, I'd like to make an offer. One I'll talk through with Mads, and the both of you together. But I'll run it by you first, all the same. Seeing as you are, of course, the most important member in this little love triangle of ours.'

She eats a neat piece of meat, chewing quickly, sharply, and swallowing. Irina licks her lips and the sight sends a tremor through me, invoking a primal fear at once sensual and severe with such a simple movement of her tongue.

'My mansion, and one million pounds per year,' she says. 'Between the both of you. Rising with inflation, paid out of my pocket. For the rest of your lives.'

'What? You're just giving us that?'

My boss chuckles. 'There's a catch, Theo. It's a prize, to be won. And there's a competition I have in mind. One way or another, your situation with Maddie can continue. I'm not going to take her from you -- you've been giving better head, and taking my dick all the sweeter, since her arrival on the scene -- but I am going to make clear your place. If you lose.'

I twitch my fingers, suffer the weight of a nervous lump in my throat. 'What's the catch?'

'Mads is going to get off the pill. And I'm going to fuck her, just the once, after the fact. I'm going to attempt to breed her.' As she speaks, my blood runs colder and colder. That jealous streak is all the fiercer, but there's something else. Something vile, stirring up a thickness in my cock. A vision of those voluminous creampies, of that conversation over the phone that aroused me terribly. 'Afterwards, I'll have no more contact with her until things are settled, shall we say. And it would be in your best interest to forgo all other forms of sexual activity, focussing solely on trying to impregnate her yourself.'

Irina begins cutting another piece of steak, speaking with terrible nonchalance. 'When she's late, I'll pay for testing. We'll find out who the father is. Remember -- my one load, your countless ones. And if you win, you get the money. You can run away, together, minted.' She licks her lips again, and I flinch. 'But if I win, Theo, if my one beats your countless, then I want you to move in with me. Both of you. I want you become my playthings, you in particular, and to do everything that I want. No more contract, no more limits. On-demand pleasure, whenever I want it. If that means spending a whole week under my desk, so be it. If that's my mood, you'll do it. And if you make this deal, and go back on it, I'll take away everything, and keep Mads as a useful womb for my descendants.' She lifts the bloodied piece of meat onto her fork. 'What do you say, honey? Does Mummy's game sound tempting?'

I zone out. Stare into space.

Maddie grabs my hand. 'We should do it,' she says. 'This frees us, Theo. It makes everything right.'

Dissociation? I'm alone, sat in my lounge, with Maddie at my side. Clutching me, sweet and flowery, warm and welcome and yet I'm filled with dread. Terrified that this deal is too good to be true. That she wouldn't offer it without it being a sure thing.

'Mads, she wouldn't offer it if she thought she'd lose.'

Maddie shakes her head, curls swaying. 'I know my cycle, Theo. I can pick a bad day, and she'd be shit out of luck. Irina would have to be superhumanly virile, and nobody shoots that many sperm, of that high quality.' She strokes my head, kisses my cheek, nuzzles my neck. 'I want to be free of this. We can be free of this. With money, and a life of our own. A big house! A million quid a year! Never having to work again.'

I want to believe her, but there's a niggle notion, sat in opposition. Because I know Irina Blackwell's body, and it's not mundane in the least. I know that she produces loads of such ridiculous quantity that no man can compete. Is she sterile? Is she virile? Somewhere in between? I don't know enough about her physiology.

But I do know that Irina wouldn't chance it.

'You'll win,' I say to her in her office, the next time we're at work. Mads wants to go through with it, but I'm still on edge. 'You'll win, and you know it.'

Irina, those half-rim glasses elegant upon her beautiful nose, simply shrugs. 'I'm willing to even the odds, if you're that convinced of my abilities, honey.'

'What's that even mean?'

'It means that I'll stop by on the day we decide on, and you can make sure I'm not giving my best.' Irina smirks, a sickle-thing, demonically seductive and terrible in its implications. 'Of course, I've got a rule. Given that my sperm, on that special day, is intended for a human body, you're going to have to take it inside of yourself instead.'

Reason dictates that yes, milking her as best as possible should, in combination with Mads keeping an eye on her cycle, limit the chances of conception. 'Fine. We can fuck all day.'

Irina shakes her head. 'Oh, honey, I've no interest in that. I think if you're so worried about my virility, then perhaps you should dispose of it. And isn't it about time that you started savouring before you swallow?'

'I...'

'Would it be so bad, Theo? Given that there's every chance you'll win, and we'll never have to do this again?'

Again I find myself zoning out, staring into space.

The choice is so capricious. A knife-edge thing. A chance at freedom, or heavier chains. If I win, then life will be blissfully simple. Do I want a child with Maddie? No, not exactly, but even if that falls apart, I feel as though I can trust her. We could split the money, sell the house, whatever. The sky's the limit. And if I lose, then...

...then some part of me is okay with that, as well. To meet those enchanting emerald eyes, all sharp with mischief and dominance, is not to be disgusted. This woman, my futanari boss, effortlessly enthrals me.

And that nobler, bolder, chancier part of me says: there's no way anyone, their balls utterly drained, can knock someone up. Not if Maddie picks a bad day, not if I do my part.

One million pounds per year, and a mansion.

'I'll do it,' I say, nodding. 'I'll take the chance.'

Irina Blackwell grins mercilessly. Baleful beauty, and a shiver up my back.

*

She knocks on the door on the Sunday we've chosen, at nine a.m.

Mads worked out her cycle, found this day to be the lowest chance of fertilisation. So low, in fact, that it's practically non-existent. You'd have to be so virile, have such ridiculously mighty sperm, that they'd not merely have the numbers but the endurance to survive until things looked brighter.

I find hope and a smile in that notion, even knowing I'm about to do something vulgar.

What, after all, is a day of sucking and swallowing a gorgeously evil futanari, if it means a final guarantee of victory?

Irina smirks smugly when I open the door, statuesque and sensual. She's in a knee-length black skirt with knee-high leather boots, her blouse-shirt purple and half-open to reveal her overflowing cleavage. Her crimson hair is done up in a high ponytail, eyes dark in their Egyptian styling, emeralds in her duskily beautiful face.

'Hello, honey,' my boss says. 'Might I come in?'

I nod, blush, wary of her and this and all that surrounds it. Irina steps inside and struts through to my living room, eyeing the place up with a kind of subtle judgement. Beneath her, and her grand wealth. A zoo environment, a cage for a human. She says nothing, yet her muted surprise -- people actually live like this? -- speaks volumes.

She wastes little time, however. 'God, I've been looking forward to today.' Irina unclasps her skirt and lets it fall around her ankles, stepping out of the clump of clothing. Her cock swings freely between her thick thighs, a length of dark and foreboding power. No underwear, but a lacy black garter belt and a pair of stockings that disappear into her high boots. 'Come on, Theo. Mummy's got ever so much milk for you.'

I tremble on the spot to behold her. My boss unbuckles her long boots and takes them off, curling and uncurling her tights-clad toes in the open air. She undoes her blouse, and removes her bra, freeing that enormous pair of appealingly saggy breasts, a set of insanely fat K-cup monstrosities with broad dark bumpy areolae and a pleasing heft to them I can't quite remove my eyes from.

This woman is my ideal, and yet the worst person imaginable. Dick or no dick, if she were simply sweet, kind, egalitarian, I'd be smitten. And yet if she were anyone else, she'd not be Irina Blackwell. Not my dominant boss.

Those emeralds swallow me, and Irina beckons with a finger. 'Come to Mummy, honey.'

Her cock twitches as I gingerly approach, a thing of delectable darkness. It's difficult, even with how much I dislike her, to not think her body a masterpiece, penis included. The size of it, the shape of it, the bronze gorgeousness of her silky skin. An impressive and undeniably appealing girl-dick.

But her balls, by contrast, are threatening. The mammoth pair of orchids are like balled fists, brutish and heavy, spilling out in their loose sack across the seat of the sofa between her womanly and muscular thighs.

Threatening because, as much as I'd have it otherwise, I'm soon going to taste their contents again. Threatening because, as much as I'd have it otherwise, their contents might potentially lay claim to the womb of my sort-of girlfriend. Threatening because, as much as I'd have it otherwise, I don't dread either of the possibilities anywhere near enough.

'Funny,' Irina says, resting a hand atop my scalp as I drop down to my knees. 'I don't know if you're doing this because you fear me, or because you want to. I'm not sure which is more flattering.'

'I'm doing this because I want to guarantee that I'll win,' I say, taking hold of her shaft. It pushes back, swells at my touch. Heat, heaviness. Her drooping foreskin, her vein-laced member, originating in that thick oil-black jungle of pubes, all suggest a primal eroticism to what should really be merely mechanical. 'Doing this your way is just...just how it has to be.'

I move quickly, acting before she can say something twisted or warped. A shrouded glans against my lips and then past them, warming my mouth, tasting the faintest bit salty and otherwise shower-fresh clean. Her cock continues to thicken, to grow further engorged within my mouth, a sensation that's darkly pleasant, rottenly interesting.

'It's okay if it's both, honey.' My boss tussles my hair, smirking smugly down at me. 'Such lengths you go to protest, and for what? To suck my dick under my desk, to--mhm--suck it in your flat's living room?'

Schlup. Slurp.

As I suckle, my cheeks grow flush. It's the heat of her body, yes, but it's something else besides. The way she begins to throb and pulsate, neediness coursing along her member, shuddering against my lips and cheeks and tastebuds while I dutifully take care of her cock.

'You're doing it so dispassionately, Theo, but the--aah--passion leaks through. I turn you on, honey. You don't call me Mummy for nothing.'

Her salty bitter precum begins to ooze forth, glazing my tastebuds. It comes consistently, in great quantity, as her arousal begins to hit its stride. Irina's cock, some more-than-a-foot-long terror, strains at my lips and dominates my mouth. Little by little as I bob my head, sucking and slurping, her foreskin rolls backwards.

And as much as I need to hate it, to hate her, I love how her bell-end feels, exposed to the ministrations of my suckling cheeks and lascivious tongue. Lustrous and spongy and ever so fucking fat.

Schlurp. Schlack.

'Are you really going to spend all day pretending you don't like this, honey?' She cocks her head, smiles viciously. Full lips, fully evil. 'Ugh. I'm seeing Mads at five, so you've got almost eight hours of this. You might as well enjoy yourself.'

Enjoy myself, she says. Enjoy sucking her cock. Enjoy sucking this venal creature.

No. Never. I won't. No matter how rich her pseudo-feminine musk is, how pleasant her penis feels in my mouth, how surprisingly tasty her salty-bitter precum. I can separate all of that from her, and she is evil. She is Irina Blackwell.

My hands go fap-fap-fap on her meaty member and my mouth goes schlup-schlap-slurp on her salacious shaft but my mind isn't in it. My heart's not in it. This is just a task, a role, a job, and it blows.

Not that Irina ultimately seems to mind, relaxing into my sofa as she is. Watching me with those hooded green eyes, gemstones surrounded by Egyptian-styled mascara with long lashes, effortlessly enticing. She says nothing for a while, content to merely observe. To let out little gasps and moans, trembling now and then.

'My morning loads are always--ughn--the largest, honey,' Irina says, eventually. 'You're in for a treat.'

I barely prepare myself for the eruption. My boss grunts, knees shaking with a singularly striking shudder, and then the floodgates open. I'd forgotten what it's like, to be on the receiving end of Irina Blackwell. To give my tastebuds front-row seats to the virile Vesuvius of her loins.

Thick ropes, dense strings. Shotgun splatters. Such alien heat and foreign texture, covering my tongue, drenching my mind in the fearsome flavours of the dominant futanari.

'You've got--mhm--permission to swallow, today.' Irina shivers, smiles with profound snark. 'Seeing as you want to--ugh--suck out as many competitors as possible...'

I can't escape her taste, so salty and tangy, so rich and slightly bitter. Her load is monstrously mucky, stupendously viscous, as if utterly packed with sperm. It tangles about, clings to everything, is bothersome to get rid of as swallowing such sticky spooge requires great effort.

Gulp, gulp, gulp goes the bobbing of my throat, working against the odds. Irina just keeps cumming, shooting rope after string after splatter, inhumanly productive. Gulp, gulp, gulp.

And it's just the first. Just the first of the day.

She remains hard as a rock, despite having been so thoroughly drained.

The taste of her semen, so rich and potent, seems to stir something in me. Causes my cock to ache as it throbs against my boxer shorts, provokes a passion I shouldn't have. What was robotic becomes, little by little, as the morning drags on, eager.

'Thought so,' Irina says, stroking my hair, as I slow my pace and give uncharacteristic appreciation to her juicy glans. 'This might be the last time you ever do this, honey. Would it be so wrong to make the most of it?'

I don't quite know what comes over me. Slowly, nervously, guiltily, I pull back from her swollen tip and stare at it, marvelling at the sight of it. So big, so darkly purple, so vigorous. Suddenly I'm smooching it, kissing its lustrous sponginess, treating it like royalty, like a lover.

Slurp. Schmack.

'Mhm.'

'You love my body, honey, so worship it. Worship that which you so clearly--aah--crave.'

I do, don't I? I hate that I do, shouldn't, but I do.

Her cock is as gorgeous as she is, a bronze length of dark deviancy, salty against my lips with all its juiciness, capable of producing endless quantities of healthy-tasting virile pride. I kiss and smooch, pressing my lips to the contours of her crown, sending out my eager tongue to brush beneath the rim of her bell-end and taste the concentrated flavours of her sublimely sensual dick.