Irina Blackwell, Ch. 1

 

Chapter 1: She’s the Boss

 

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.

‘Let it out, honey. Let it all out.’

‘Ugh. Shit.’

‘Good boy. Good, sexy, lovely boy.’

Irina must rise, but I’m too distracted to notice. In my periphery she drops the dress, straddles my backside, draws me closer to the edge of the bed. Something hot and heavy rests between my cheeks, and my beautiful boss leans down beside my ear. Those full weighty breasts press down warmly against my back, nipples brushing pleasantly. She kisses my cheek, breathes against my ear.

‘Those rumours get around, sadly,’ she says. ‘It’s good that you ignored them, though. Too many men get scared, for nothing.’

‘Y-eah…they’re absurd.’

The boss pushes down my shoulders. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ That heat, that heaviness, slides backwards and pushes into my crack. ‘Just that I’m glad you ignored them. Because I’ve wanted to do this since I laid eyes on you, sweetie.’

It pushes, that presence, and splits my arsehole. Lubed and loosened, it doesn’t hurt, but the radiant heat, the powerful solidity, makes me arch my back as it goes deeper and deeper. The shape pulses, angrily, needily, and it easily brushes against the entirety of that zone, forcing me to exhale sharply.

‘Ugh. God, you’re tight.’

‘Irina…’

‘Let it happen, baby. Let it happen.’

‘Ughn, let…what?’

I glance back, and I can’t believe it. No way. It’s hard to make out, but she’s moving her hips, thrusting, and with each thrust and withdraw, the sensation plumbs the depths of my body and retreats. Below her flat belly, her toned abdomen forms a vague V that meets her pubic mound, an absolute jungle of oily black hairs. And below that, barely visible, on her back-thrusts, is something dark and thick and clearly very, very long.

She leans down on me, pushing me flat against the bed, and grunts. ‘Take it, baby. Ughn. Fuck yes.’

All I can do is stare at the wall, perplexed. Her mammoth breasts are dragging back and forth against my back, sweaty and amazing; her wonderful lips kiss my head, brush my ear; her…penis? It can’t be, but…her penis excavates me so deep that the prostate sensation is building again. Building like a volcano, doomed to erupt.

‘Ugh…you’ve…you’re joking.’

‘No, honey. No joke.’

‘But…b-ut…’

‘Shush,’ she says, kissing my ear. ‘Just enjoy it. Let nature take its course.’

Her powerful hips go faster, faster. The warmth of her thighs, the fatness of her hips, slams against my arse and the backs of my legs. Wiry damp pubes brush the cleft of my butt, skewered as it is by what can only be a penis. A human penis, but how? ‘Ughn.’ I…why does it feel so good?

No. Not just a penis. A penis, I can explain away. A dildo, a trick. Two heavy shapes slap down, sweaty and warm, against my balls. She’s got balls, testicles. No strap-on does that, right? I mean, I don’t know, but–

‘Ugh. Shit.’

A panic sets in, and I try to throw her off, but God, she’s so strong! Irina holds me down, gyrating, thrusting. She’s slamming me, ploughing me, fucking my arse. I’m being raped, but…but my body…

I orgasm, again. The throes of pleasure, the perfect glory of that anal orgasm, blows my brains and my balls. All I can do is moan, grunt, bestial and beaten; Irina continues her efforts, slow and powerful, masterfully casual in the way she drives her hot meat back and forth between my cheeks.

‘Good little slut,’ she says, chuckling. The boss kisses my cheek. ‘You can’t deny it, baby. Ughn, if anything, you should be thanking me.’

No ejaculation, no act, has ever been so blissfully ecstatic. The way it radiates outward, centred on her thick length, that metal-hard heat that drives in and out, in and out. My eyes roll back as my semen spills onto the bed, wets the underside of my belly. Big balls slap against mine, big breasts slide back and forth across my back. It’s such a paradox, such a confusion.

Should I love this, or hate it?

When some window of clarity returns I try – with greatly diminished strength – to push her away. Irina chuckles, effortlessly holds me down, and goes balls-deep inside me. Her nuts must be huge, the way they swallow up mine, engulfing them. Her length must be enormous, stupid, unreal. She’s so thick, so hot, so powerful.

‘Y-ou’re raping m-e.’

‘If that’s what it takes,’ she says. Irina leans close, brushing my ear with warm wet lips. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s like, to be a dominant heterosexual woman, with a body like mine? Ughn. It’s hell, honey.’ She gyrates her hips, withdraws and slams, hard. Her wonderfully bizarre flesh bounces against mine. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s like–ugh–to get naked with a perfect guy and have him turn and run away in disgust?’

The pleasure is building, anew. What the fuck? It’s like I’ve got no refractory period, like I can just keep going. ‘Ugh. S-top. P-lease.’

‘No, I won’t. It’s not hurting you, you enjoy it, you’re just so close-minded.’ She draws back, and slams. ‘You’re going to–ugh–take it. Just like you’re going to cum, again. Just like you’re–ughn–going to take my load.’

‘S-top…p-lease…ughn.’

But she goes on. I cum, again. Twice more. The second, the more powerful, comes as she does. Irina buries herself, hilts herself in me, and gyrates. A series of powerful contractions rock her body, and she gasps and groans. ‘Ughn, bitch. Take it…take it all!’

The fat head of her member bulges, and a flood of heat spills out into my rear. My eyes go wide and the orgasm hits, mutualised with hers. We both grunt, gasp, but mine’s the longer. A hot weightiness rolls about inside me, and Irina chuckles. She kisses my cheek, and straightens up. ‘Cream-filled, honey. Just how I like my desserts.’

She spins me over and penetrates me again, this time in missionary. I reach to push her back but she braids her fingers with mine, leans across me, pressing her full breasts against my chest. My rapist forces her lips onto mine and she tastes so good, and she’s so drop-dead gorgeous, and we’re snogging as she pummels my ecstatic rear.

I lose myself in the pleasure, in the luxuriousness of her sweat, her perfume. She tastes good, smells good, feels good. My tongue rolls with hers as I cum, again. I’m not sure if she orders it, or some dirty instinct has me do it, but I wrap my legs around her back as she unloads, again, and pumps me full to the brim with hot, heavy semen.

‘You did want to go down on me, didn’t you?’

‘Y-eah.’

Some sordid intermission has her sitting on my face, her simply enormous balls resting on my forehead. I must be mad, must be insane, because she’s got the most wonderful vulva, the sweetest, most fragrantly musky pussy. I massage her enormous, hand-swallowing buttocks, grab her hips, bury my mouth against her snatch with reckless, pleasure-addled abandon.

The amazing, dominant, impossibly sexy man-woman grinds against my face, forcing me to breathe in some confusing mixture of vulvic musk and scrotal stench, which even in the latter case is more feminine than I’d expect, despite her balls making mine seem small. The huge grapefruit-sized lumps bounce against my face, strangely pleasant.

‘Eat mummy’s pussy, baby. Swallow down all those tasty juices.’

‘Mhm. Schlup.’

‘Ughn, such a good little bitch.’

‘Schlup. Slurp.’

‘Ugh, how’d those nuts feel, honey?’ She chuckles. ‘Bigger than yours?’ I say nothing, and she laughs all the more. ‘Give me your hands, boy. Do as I say; I’m your boss, aren’t I?’

But any resistance on my part is futile. Irina is strong, too strong. She clutches my wrists to brings my hands up to her front and secures them around something hot, thick, bulging, damp. I shudder, and she drags my hands up and down, up and down. This is so awful, so wrong, but…I’m so hard.

It feels…good.

‘How’s that, baby? How’s a real cock feel?’

All I can do is eat her cunt. ‘Mhm. Slurp.’ She tastes good, smells great. Salty, musky, a little sweet. Her lips are neat, a bit puffy, enough to nibble and suckle but not too much. There’s no hair here, unsurprisingly; I keep brushing it with my hands, however, making clear where it persists.

‘My tits don’t produce milk, but another pair of fat saggy things do.’ I shudder, panicking as she slides herself backwards, dragging her ridiculously fat bollocks down across my face, marking me with stinking scrotal musk. I gasp for air as her nuts drop down below my chin, and she chuckles as she bounces them against it. ‘Seeing as you’re a little coward, and this is our one night in heaven…we’d better make it count.’

The powerful futanari forces my hands down against the bed, and angles herself in a terrifying manner. I cannot find words, exposed as I am to the sight ahead; Irina’s penis is something insane, fat and veiny, chocolate-dark and glistening, born of a jungle of oily black pubes and ending in an enormous purplish helmet the size of an apple, opulent and proud. It must be as thick as my wrist, her shaft, and as long as my forearm. Over a foot, easily.

‘P-lease, d-on’t.’

But she grinds the slick tip against my face, across my lips. It’s salty, musky, bitter-smelling, nostril-flaring. Irina beams down at me, smug and filthy, gorgeous but terrible. She shifts her hips, and pokes the fat glans between my lips. I keep my jaw shut, but only just. She’s strong, and her cock is like solid steel.

‘Open wide,’ she says. All I can do is stare cross-eyed at the evil, brutally fat helmet pressed against my mouth. Somehow the gorgeous woman, hourglass-figured, massive-breasted, is irrelevant. ‘Open.’

‘N-o.’

But it gives her the shot. Idiot. And then her fat glans is inside, so thick and strong that my teeth give way to it and my lips seize upon it. ‘Ugh. God, I’m going to feed you such a big load.’

Her hot bell-end leaks and her precum is…Jesus, this is so wrong. It’s…it’s tasty. Her cock is tasty. Salty, and faintly bitter. I’m paralysed, but she’s happy to do it all; Irina leans forwards on her knees, holding my hands above my head against the bed and slowly thrusts, using my mouth like a fleshlight.

I can’t see her face beyond her big sagging breasts and all the world is her perfect dusky body, divinely feminine but for this trinity of strange shapes that are defiling and soon to utterly dirty my mouth. Struggling proves useless, again. My cock is stupidly hard, again.

Hers runs back and forth, pushing against my throat each time but never entering, so fat and full that its contours are felt across my tongue even without movement. It’s like a plum, yet spongier, smoother, and very hot. All I can taste is her precum, strong yet pleasant, as it lubes up my mouth.

‘Ughn, remember to swallow, honey. There’s…ugh, there’s going to be a lot. I’m so horny right now, and it’s been too long. God, I’ve needed this.’

‘Numph. Numph!’

But my protests are futile. My rapist futa boss just thrusts, slow and steady, inevitable and unavoidable. Her helmet slides back against my lips, its thick rear ridges momentarily bulging them out and its eyelet painting my tongue with tasty dick juice. Then it slides forwards again, grinding her frenulum over my taste-buds, and urging against the opening to my gullet.

I can’t even meet her gaze, can’t even move my hands. All I can do is shut my eyes and wish it were over, wish I were elsewhere. Her breathing quickens, and those fat drooping nuts contract a little. Oh God no.

‘Fuck. Ugh. Shit.’

She pulls back, planting the tip as far against my lips as it will go, but I can’t free myself of it. Her glans bulges, and spits. Hot cream floods my mouth, ropes of seed, lumpy and knotty, buttery thick. Saltiness prevails, edged in tangy bitterness, rich and musky and powerful. Semen. This is semen.

My boss’s semen.

I can’t swallow, because it’d be disgusting, but she produces so much. It’s a flood, a pint of jizz, baptising my virgin tongue and filling my mouth to the point my cheeks bulge out and the stuff shoots out of my nose, stinging and making my eyes water.

‘Swallow, slut. Swallow mummy’s milk. Ughn.’ She shudders, and arches her back. ‘Swallow my sperm, honey. Fill your belly with my seed!’

So I do, despite myself. I gulp, and slurp, and swallow. Hot thick buttery cream, so thick it takes great effort, but it rolls down my throat, into my belly. Her sperm, her semen, going down inside my gut. She must be so virile…there must be so many little swimmers, gene-carriers, filling my stomach.

Her salty semen, tangy and faintly bitter and rich and musky, continues to flood my mouth. Irina knows what she’s doing, keeping her glans where it is; she wants me to taste her, to taste her dirtiest, most carnal of fluids. And I am. And despite myself, despite how wrong it is, she tastes good. Her hot, ropey, lumpy load, packed with impregnating sperm, tastes good.

‘Mhm.’ The noise is shameful, but instinctual. ‘Gulp.’

She chuckles. ‘I bet, baby. You’ve got good taste, and I taste good.’

Another few gulps, and she pumps a fat finale straight onto my tongue. The ropey load clings to my teeth, gets under my tongue, joins together the roof of my mouth and my taste-buds. Irina draws back and I breathe in fresh air, shamefully scraping around my mouth to swallow her tasty nut-milk.

I barely have time to make sense of it before she draws back and sits herself on my throbbing cock, driving my six-incher into the tightest, wettest, most incredible pussy I’ve ever experienced. ‘Ugh.’ I almost choke on the ball of seed accumulating, scraped from my teeth and from below my tongue. ‘Fuck.’

‘A reward,’ she says, winking at me. Sweaty, gorgeous, she’s every bit as terrifying. ‘For good behaviour.’

She puts her hands on my chest and rides me, grinding her enormous hips down against me, bouncing her sweaty hanging nuts off my belly, her yet-turgid cock jiggling away. I can’t manage to get every little rope free from the nooks and crannies, and her sublimely tight pussy bites down on me like a vice. She looks absurd, a fusion of male parts and the ultimate female form, but everything about this is absurd. It’s so wrong, yet so undeniably right.

She moans, and grunts, and squeezes tight. ‘Ughn. You’re so thick, honey. Such a thick little cock you have.’

“Little” isn’t ideal, but I’m clearly enough. Maybe a woman could fake it, but this one, a futanari…there’s going to be a definite end, again. Filth that I am, some part of me wants that, to feel her seed splash against me. Some part of me wants to stick out my tongue, to taste her healthy sperm. It’s so wrong, all this. So dirty, gay, weird. Above all, confusing.

‘Irina…’

She smiles at me, eyes aflame. ‘Let it out, baby. Fill mummy’s womb with your soldiers. Ughn.’ She throws her head back. ‘You’ve tasted mine, I’ve tasted yours…such a good boy, Theo. Such a good boy. You’ve, ugh, earned this.’

‘Irina…’

I must cum, and she must. She splatters my chest, and I get lost in the tight welcoming loveliness of her cooch. Whatever dregs remained in my balls, she steals with her succubus body. Yet her load is no smaller than the last, or the ones before last. My chest, my chin, my face receives a voluminous warm covering.

And she’s not done. As exhaustion seizes she gets between my legs again, pulls one of my legs up between her wonderful breasts, kisses my foot, slams my arsehole anew. I cum, again, from my prostate.

The world, naturally, fades.

 

In the morning I wake sticky, tasting salty bitterness.

Irina Blackwell is gone, but our actions are far from forgotten. My first instinct is to sob, to shudder, but I’m so confused. It was rape, yes, but why did I enjoy it so much? It wasn’t even mere physiological reactions. I wanted to be with that woman, only…I didn’t imagine she could have a cock. A penis.

There’s a note on the table, the bill for the room, already paid. “Check your phone”, it says at the bottom. I’ve been blown-up with a series of texts from my boss. The texts begin with: “If you plan to go to the police – as more than a few of you losers have tried – then you’ll be sorely disappointed; my body is an open secret, as is my taste in partners. They won’t believe you, and my lawyers are better.

“If you can’t handle enjoying what we did – and you very clearly enjoyed all of it – then feel free to resign, because I’m not going anywhere. I’d imagine your colleagues saw you leave with me, and they’ll know what’s transpired. If, somehow, you can manage to swallow your pride – recall that you swallowed mine – then I have no misgivings. I will, however, forever see you as the bottom slut you were last night.

“If instead you want to be honest with yourself – you’d be the first – then come to my office on Monday; we’ll talk about “job” prospects. I’m a top, and you’re a bottom, Theo. If you can accept that, we can have quite a lot of fun together.

“Regards, Irina; your boss, your mummy, your mistress.”

I’m left trembling, confused. The inescapable truth is that I’ve been raped, orally defiled and anally fucked, by my gorgeous and somewhat terrifying boss.

In the mirror, the damage is more obvious. My body is stained with seed, even so far as to have splattered my face and chest. I’m dirtied with dead sperm, and a great deal of it has dried around my mouth, and between my butt cheeks and thighs. I blush at the sight, ashamed and yet aroused; I’m already erect, standing to attention, over the merest idea.

It’s not wrong to be gay, but I’m not. And how can this be anything but? Worse, how can I be this woman’s pet, her toy, as she seems to desire of me? I stink of her musky loads, a perverse painting, like she’s claimed me. How can I just go into work on Monday, look her in the face, and pretend away how strong and virile she was, how weak and submissive I was?

How can I look at Maddie, and realise that she knows? Jeez, no wonder the others left. It’s humiliating. If I’d done this out of pure desire, sure, but I didn’t. One thing led to another, and then I was being raped. All power was gone, all put into her hands. Her strong, womanly hands, that held me down as she claimed her prize over and over.

I sit down by the bed, and shiver.

What the hell am I going to do?