Irina Blackwell, Ch. 02

 

Chapter 2: Swallowing Pride

 

Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.

The structure of a week. Of any week. The most daunting obstacle in the world, between a life-changing event and the end of life. Last week I was myself, as I knew myself, as resolute about my sexuality, my pride, my character, as I could be. I’d spent my teenage years as a loser, blossomed late, grown happy with myself.

And then on Friday night, Saturday morning, Irina took that all away.

I wake on Monday morning, stare at myself in the mirror, and don’t really recognise the man in the reflection. His eyes move too much, his mouth has no smile. I look at him and wonder: how could he enjoy being her bitch? That he couldn’t resist, that she was too strong, that it happened – I can stomach all of that.

But to enjoy the feeling of being taken, penetrated? To appreciate the sensation of her penis – her penis – in his mouth, and to actually moan when her semen spilled across his tongue? To lay back and hope for another spray of cum, jizz, spooge fresh from her giant balls?

The man is the reflection, the reflection the man. I see those things, hate them, and hate myself. I’ve never enjoyed sex half as much as I did on Friday night, Saturday morning. I’ve never been the girl, the bottom, the receiver, but I loved it.

I don’t want to be him, but the reflection is the man.

Maddie gives me a look when we pass in the corridor. An “I told you so” kind of face. Does mine give it away, or am I just assuming? It feels like the world knows what I’ve done. People I don’t know by their first names eye me as I go to my desk in the secluded part of the office. Like they’re watching a dead man, off to the gallows. Like this is to be my last day, or one of the last. They’ve seen it before, they know it.

Work, work, work, work, work. At lunch, whispers. They all regard me, even when they don’t. The brain works like that, it plays up anxieties, it rewrites conversations not fully heard. Work, work, work, work, work. People look at me like they never did, seeing what they never saw before. They see the dried semen around my mouth, on my lips, in my hair, across my face. They see Irina’s handiwork and see this new Theo, this broken Theo, this lesser Theo. A self that lacks his former confidence, who says little.

Work, work, work, work, work.

Irina Blackwell makes the rounds, divine as always. Her long legs are clad in thin stockings that run beneath a knee-length skirt, ending in large feet that tuck into elegant black heels. Her dark skin contrasts her emerald eyes. That braid of hers droops down behind her back, swaying faintly as she struts.

She doesn’t so much as look my way all throughout her comments and remarks and little bursts of small-talk. And then warm strong gentle hands are on my shoulders and sweet wet breath brushes my ear and she says, ‘Oh, honey, I’ve never seen you so sad.’ Irina squeezes me. ‘You can always come to my office. I’ll put a smile on your face.’

I shiver as she leaves, my cock pressing against the front of my dark trousers. This is it, isn’t it? Decades of this, of these remarks, of these little private suggestions. It’s not enough to humiliate me. She needs me broken, or gone. This is my life.

If I cave and flee, she wins. If I stay, at the very least I’m holding my own. Don’t answer her teasing, don’t get angry, don’t retaliate, just ignore it. Ignore, ignore, ignore. And it makes, for the most part, the first week bearable.

For the most part.

 

‘Is it true?’ Maddie says in a private moment, on our weekly Friday outing. ‘Did you sleep with Irina?’

It catches me off-guard somehow, because despite knowing that they know, I wondered if it was all in my head. It’s not.

‘That’s a bit personal, isn’t it?’

But it’s a stupid, leading phrase. Maddie smirks, makes a funny shape with her mouth, and sips her vodka lemonade.

‘I’m surprised you’re still here.’

A sentence sharper than any knife.

‘What?’

‘I mean, didn’t you always act straight?’

‘I am straight.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, and Irina doesn’t have a dick,’ Maddie says, sips again. ‘Are you seeing each other now?’

‘What? No.’

‘Damn. I owe Chrissy £20, thanks.’ Maddie sighs. ‘I’ll save you some hassle with the others: did you swallow? Did she cum inside you? Did you ask for it? I mean, you’re still here, so I guess you enjoyed yourself–’

‘Were you placing bets?’

A guiltiness flashes across her pretty features. ‘Just answer the questions.’

‘You’re being a cunt, man.’

‘Oh, fuck off. Imagine being such a loser with women that you let a freak with a cock fuck you! That’s you, Theo. Don’t you have any pride? You won’t own what you did, and you expect us to accept that?’ She rolls her eyes dramatically, and gulps down her drink. ‘You’re so full of shit. Just don’t quit before the end of the month, I have £100 riding on that.’

She goes to leave, and I grab her arm. ‘Maddie, she raped me.’

Sympathy, fleeting and little, lights her eyes. ‘Why haven’t you gone to the police?’

‘She’s got lawyers. Good ones. I’d lose.’

‘You’re actually kind of sick, Theo.’

‘What?’

She wriggles from my loose grip and stares daggers. ‘Not only won’t you own what you did because you’re regretting it after the fact, but you’d use rape as a fucking weapon. Fuck you! My sister got raped by her boss – really raped – and she reported it, and nobody fucking believed her because she was a woman.’ Maddie shakes her head, shuddering. ‘You’re a man. The only reason you wouldn’t be believed is because you’re lying. Go fuck yourself!’

And like that, she leaves me. When the others broach conversation or when I try to speak to them it’s like I’m a zoo animal, a mere specimen. It’s those questions, seeking confirmation of bets they made. Like I’m not a friend, less than a colleague. And when I refuse to speak or when I steer the chat to ordinary topics, they get annoyed and leave, until before long – early in the evening – I’m left alone, appearing outside how I feel within.

I can’t really make sense of it. It’s clear, whatever else, that I’ve no comfortable future here. Maddie says things and looks to me, and faces darken. Slowly, they’re going to hate me. Maybe if I’d started with the rape thing, maybe then, but her point remains: why haven’t I gone to the police?

Simply because Irina told me not to, warned me not to?

Of course she would do that: she’s the rapist.

 

I go into the dark garden, drink in hand for courage, and whip out my phone.

‘I wouldn’t,’ Irina says. She’s there, tall and terrible, her form-hugging black dress at once beautiful and dreadful.

‘You don’t know what I’m doing.’

‘Calling the police.’ She steps past me into the light, illuminating her gorgeously sultry features. The tall dominant woman – futanari – drops to the bench beside me, sitting beneath the overhead light. She smirks, long fingers clasped around a Martini. ‘I overheard you and Mads. By all means go ahead, but I’ll take it as slander.’

‘But you did. You raped me.’

She shrugs, her shoulders bared, muscular and beautiful. ‘Yes, and like I said, nobody cares. I did what I had to do. You needed a seeing to. I opened your eyes.’

‘You ruined my life,’ I say. ‘I don’t know who I am. My colleagues whisper about me, Maddie hates me, and in all this, you say smarmy bullshit like that.’

‘Quit, then. Run away, like all the other little cowards.’ She rolls her eyes, sips her Martini. ‘God, you’re such a pathetic bunch, you losers who ride my cock and love it, but can’t accept what future it paints. Your masculinity is so fragile, so tied up in whose sperm ends up in whose mouth.’

‘You forced yourself on me!’

‘Because you’d never have done it willingly,’ Irina says, and sighs. ‘Gay men find me repulsive, and so do straight men. Straight men at least get further. Gay men would never dare.’ She takes a fairly hefty gulp. ‘You want to be the man, the one who takes ownership, who gives his cock, who is in control. But with me, honey, you’ll never be that, and it scares you. With me, your arse is a pussy, and your mouth is a cocksleeve. You just don’t have the balls to admit that you enjoyed the change of pace, same as every other bloody man, because the lot of you are cowards.’

I find myself transfixed in the gloom by her exotic darkness and her long lashes, her high cheekbones and plump lips, her endless womanly curves, those lengthy legs and thick thighs, that fusion all-around of power and femininity. One of the most beautiful women in the world, but for one feature awry. One of the loneliest, as well, I can only imagine.

And somehow, for a half-heartbeat, I sympathise with my rapist.

‘I like this job,’ I say, leaning against the wall. ‘You pay well, and there’s variety, and the four-day weeks are nice.’

Irina Blackwell smirks. ‘You shouldn’t have mentioned rape.’

‘I shouldn’t have.’ I sigh. ‘But you shouldn’t have raped me.’

At length, she says, ‘What will you do?’

‘If I stay, I’ve lost my colleagues, and I can’t imagine you’ll stop teasing me. If I go, I’m unlikely to find so well-paying a job that has the same benefits.’

My boss sits herself down on the bench seat of one of the wooden tables, her back against the table, one leg crossed upon the other. She sips her Martini, plays with the skewered olives. When she looks to me, her eyes are alive with devilishness.

‘There’s a third option,’ Irina says.

‘What?’

‘A promotion. A senior editor. On the top floor, with your own office. Seventy-kay a year.’

My eyes widen. ‘Really?’

She nods. ‘Really. But there is one string.’

Of course there is. ‘Which is?’

‘I want you to suck my cock,’ my boss says. ‘For real, this time. On your knees, between my legs. I want you to look up at me, to look into my eyes, to do it lovingly and slowly, and I want to cum in your mouth. I want you to swallow.’

Blushing, I shudder. Her face, her tone, are serious. ‘Irina.’

‘You’ve done it before. Do it again.’

‘You forced me.’

‘Yes, well, this one is optional.’

Is it really? What a choice! To do something I don’t want to repeat, or to restructure my life in such a way as to attempt – attempt at best – to recreate the current success I’ve found here. As hot as Irina is, as easy she is on the senses, I tremble to glance at her crotch.

Something about the thought is, despite being familiar, yet-foreign.

‘What if I let you fuck me again?’

She clicks her teeth playfully, shakes her head. ‘No. Where’s the fun in that? I do all the work, and you get the reward?’ Another shake of the head. Her smile is beautiful, deadly. ‘I want you to worship me, Theo. Like I’m your goddess. Like all that matters is making me happy.’

My body betrays me. Cheeks flush with heat, a shiver goes down me. I clench and unclench my fists, not in anger, but to contain this surge of…lust? Something about her words, about the offer, prompts a war between that part of me that is so eager to maintain its clear grasp of the world – straight, into women, and not women with dicks – and that part of me that is clearly bestial and depraved.

‘You promise? I do this and you won’t turn it back on me?’

Irina extends her left hand. ‘Shake on it? You can even record my promise on your phone, if you like?’ She smiles lustily. ‘You’re wasted down there with the ordinary lot anyway. I see this as a win-win. Senior editor but a decade early. What do you say?’

I dispense with taking her hand. ‘Fine. I trust you. I’ll come to your office tomorrow.’

She parts her legs, drawing her dress wide. Its sides are open at her legs, the central strip of dark cloth falling between her thighs, revealing in the tricksy light a prominent shape at her crotch.

‘Here’s fine,’ Irina says, smirking. I stare, because what else can I do? ‘Well?’

‘We’re in public!’

She shrugs. ‘So?’

‘Someone will see?’

‘I don’t care,’ Irina says. ‘Do you want that promotion or not?’

I do. I do want it. I don’t want to suck cock to get it, but I do want the promotion, might go so far as to say I need it. And Irina, in truth, is at least beautiful, clean, nice-smelling. We’re slightly round the corner from the door, out of the way for the moment, with nobody to bother us. I hurriedly move around her, eyeing the entrance to the garden.

She watches me, smirking lustily as I drop down between her legs, kneeling upon slightly wet patio slabs. She’s evil, sure, but she’s hot as hell. Giant breasts, fat thighs, long legs, heavy hips. I glance again at the entrance, then move aside the frontal drape of her dress, pushing it over a leg. Beneath it are a lacy black pair of panties running in a V up to the arches of her hips, barely containing her monstrously large male genitals.

‘You’re so slutty,’ Irina says. ‘Sucking my cock for a promotion.’

I ignore her, tugging at her panties. They roll down, come away easily with some shifting on her part, releasing the beast between her legs. A dark cock, semi-flaccid, flops out over the edge of the bench. Two grapefruit-sized balls droop behind it, bouncing in the confines of their smooth sack, hanging erotically low. She stinks muskily, potent, salty, hints of hidden pussy wafting up to join with the masculine femininity of her cock and balls.

‘Jesus,’ I say under breath, a deer caught in headlights as I behold her.

Irina chuckles. ‘Put your hands on me. Treat me gently, honey.’

I glance up at her and tremble. This is inevitable. This is unavoidable. Looking back at those oil-black pubes, that thick flaccid dick, I mentally prepare myself. It’ll be okay. It wasn’t the worst thing. At least she’s Irina. At least she’s hot. At least I’ll get a promotion out of this.

Taking her in hand, I’m struck by the warmth of her body, the heat of her junk. Irina exhales softly, and sips her Martini. Her huge dark cock, eight inches flaccid, is fat and thick even in its current softness. Jesus Christ, I’m touching her penis again, and this time in the grips of uncomfortable lucidity.

It’s difficult not to stare. Part of me wants to call it impressive, honestly. I get both of my hands – not small, but she’s only going to get bigger – around the midsection of her schlong, and begin to slowly stroke.

‘It’s not a handjob, honey,’ Irina says, a playful sting to her voice. ‘Hoping to get me most of the way without using that handsome mouth?’

‘I just, uh–’

Irina chuckles warmly. ‘Bury your face in mummy’s fat nuts,’ she says. ‘I want you to stink of me, my good slutty boy.’

The suggestion widens my eyes, makes my head spin. At once perverse and awful, at once bothersome in how readily it arouses me. My cock twitches. My heart skips a beat.

It’s not worth commenting. Not worth inevitably being mocked, or made more a fool of. I glance sheepishly at the door and then resign myself to this fate, ducking my head down beneath the weighty shaft I lift upright with both hands.

Irina’s sagging scrotum of hairless dark flesh hangs down low beneath her member, drooping over the lip of the bench. Her right testicle is slightly lower than the other, and each ball is a massively fat shape that bulges in the sack. Massive nuts, like balled fists much larger than my own. Much larger than I expected balls could even be.

‘Bury my face in them?’ I say, pausing.

‘Treat them as you would my breasts.’ She sips her Martini, makes a pleased sound of quenched relief. ‘Motorboat them. Suckle them. Kiss them. Play with them. Tell my body that it needs to get ready to load that cute tummy of yours with my strong genes, sweetie.’

The language is powerful. It has this heady effect on me, playing at some primal part of me that tends towards submission instead of dominance. Some part of me that, before Friday, I didn’t know existed.

There’s no use delaying. I shut my eyes and dive in, the androgynous musk of her loins filling my nostrils. Body-heat swamps my face as the tip of my nose meets her smooth scrotum, and her two hefty testicles enclose about my face under the purview of gravity and the slight shifting of her body.

As much as I try, as much I wish it were not so, this isn’t terrible. It’s not even bad. It’s not even neutral. It’s…something about her smell, the warmth of this beautiful dominant woman’s body – balls or otherwise – provokes something carnal in me. Out of necessity, I let that part of me that is so eager to sink into depravity take control.

The skin tastes faintly salty, but that’s all. Irina makes a sound almost like a purr above me, and pats the back of my head. ‘Good boy. Make them all wet. Don’t be shy now.’

My mouth makes crude, guilty noises as I apply my lips and tongue to her scrotum. Smacking sounds, wet sounds, as I trace out the shape of her heavy hangers with my tentative tongue. Such big shapes in so loose and smooth a sack, each a firm and plump vaguely egg-shaped thing. My mouth is all this slight saltiness of her sweat, and my nose is packed with this potent musk of her dual sexes.

‘Nurse on them,’ Irina says, tussling my hair. ‘Suckle on them, sweetie.’

I part my lips and try my best, but there’s no way I’m getting one in my mouth. I settle for – and Irina’s grunt of pleasure suggests approval – getting my lips as best around the left one as I can, sucking on the folds of loose skin, tongue going back and forth to massage the firm shape within it.

She’s growing firm, large, in my hands above. The powerful pulse of her heart, channelling strength into that most intimidating of organs, reminds me of where this is going. Of what must occur here, on my knees, for the sake of a half-decent future.

I hear myself whimper faintly, chancing a glance up. The shape beyond her swaying bollocks is immense, easily as long as my forearm, as thick as my wrist. Irina somehow, again, inspires that strange confusion of wielding such easily perfected femininity and the terrifying suggestion that in terms of masculinity, she has me severely outclassed.

To reduce myself to just a cock, just balls, is disheartening, and yet Irina’s are the superior specimens. My boss, tall and dominant and gorgeous, manages somehow to soothe that part of me that rebels. As if…as if it’s right, for me to be doing this.

‘I don’t feel much in the way of your mouth, baby,’ she says. ‘Distracted, are we?’

In all my staring, I’ve come to a halt. ‘Sorry, I just–’

‘Don’t apologise with words, Theo. Kiss my balls. It’s them you’re abandoning, after all.’

In any sane world I’d reject all of this, turn my back on it, but I actually start kissing them, left then right, then back again. Kiss. Smooch. Kiss. Smooch. Delicate, which I justify as logical – balls are fragile, in a sense – but it feels like dishonesty. Feels like the gentleness, the soft appreciation, is more for her ego than to prevent injury.

‘Well–mhm–you clearly mean it, at least.’ Irina chuckles. She shivers. ‘Put your hands down there, honey. Scoop them up and shower them with love. Don’t worry about my cock–your head will be a perfectly suitable rest for the time being.’

I don’t hesitate at this point. I slide my hands down her shaft and slowly the heavy thing droops, culminating in a soft thump atop my head where it comes to linger. Irina chuckles and I do my best not to tremble at how weirdly good it feels, the mockery in that sound, playful though it surely is. My hands are around her balls a moment later, each a fat weight upon either of my palms.

Something comes over me. I sandwich my face in the cleft between her nuts, sniffing her potent musk, shifting my face a little bit from side to side as if motorboating them. Irina teases the back of my head with slow patterns of her fingers, and produces a pleasant feminine groan.

‘Good boy. Such a good, obedient boy.’

Her heavy testes bounce and wobble against my face, pleasantly warm, the smell thick and interesting. My cock is straining now, my interest strangely piqued. Holding her balls loosely and swivelling my face left to right leaves her thick weighty penis to bounce gently atop my head, while Irina plays with my hair.

‘I don’t think I can wait much longer,’ she says, a pleasant lilt to her voice. A breathiness. ‘Kiss your way up, baby. Towards the prize.’

I’m definitely not myself. In the heat of this act, my reluctance is a memory. There’s not even an active awareness of why I’m doing this, beyond it being necessary, beyond it being what Irina Blackwell, my dominant gorgeous boss, desires.

‘Y-es,’ I say, pressing my lips to the underside of her shaft’s base. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll suck.’

‘You will,’ Irina says, teasing my hair. ‘You’ll do such a lovely job, honey.’

The heat of her pole is different, possessing a pulse and power that her heaving loins lack. I press my lips against the prominent urethral bulge and slowly glide up, leaving a trail of kisses. Out goes my tongue now and then where I stop and apply especial attention, surprising myself at just how pleasant it is to hear my mouth make such dirty noises as it connects again and again with her oversized manhood.

Her cock’s full weight levels against my face, my lips in particular, as I rise. Our eyes meet beyond the thick dark shape of her shaft, her gorgeous greens mischievous, commanding. I am of interest to this woman, but not of regard. She eyes me like prey, like a morsel, with this hunger that suggests all I am is of sexual worth and not a lick more. Or maybe it feels that way because my brain is all slutty right now, and all I can think about is the blowjob I’m about to give this dangerously sexy futanari.

Irina places down her Martini and takes up her cock, lifting it out of reach of my lips. ‘Do you deserve this?’ she says, smirking viciously. ‘Perhaps even this is rewarding you twice, don’t you think?’

‘Irina…’

She brings down her engorged length, resulting in a weighty slapping noise, a hot slam across my right cheek. My boss chuckles, almost a giggle, the veneer of sheer dominance glazed in a playfulness that mocks and arouses me. ‘Beg, honey. Beg for mummy’s big fat dick. Beg to suck it with that slutty little boy-mouth.’

‘P-lease, Irina,’ I say, shivering. Realising that I’ll do anything for this, now. To end it, yes, but…I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to proceed. The arousal is too great. ‘Please let me suck your dick, mummy. Please.’

My boss brings her cock down again, this time letting it rest. It throbs powerfully, adds a different kind of musk to the mixture in my nose. Something fresh. Something demanding. ‘I don’t know. I’m not convinced.’

‘Please, mummy. I need it. I need your fat cock in my mouth. I need your hot fresh load on my tongue. Please. I’m begging you.’

Irina cracks a cruel smile. ‘Oh my, that didn’t even require my guidance,’ she says. My boss guides my head backwards with her hand, gently gripping the hair. I sit back on my calves, face now beneath the swollen hooded tip of her weighty member. The folds of foreskin, in the vague light, glisten faintly. ‘Stick your tongue out. I want to slap it.’

Without reservation I slip my tongue past my lips, to full extension. Irina chuckles warmly and brings down her hooded dick once, twice, thrice. Each time the slap is wet, the sensation brief and hot and foreign. I’m left with a salty taste, familiar, the flavour of her precum. It’s not at all unpleasant, just as before.

I anticipate her to slap again but she withdraws her hands, from head and cock both, leaving my tongue extended as a rest for the heavy length between her full thighs. ‘I don’t want you to use your hands,’ Irina says. ‘Just your mouth. Make me cum, with just your mouth. You do that, and I’ll promote you like I said.’

Meeting her eyes, I do my best attempt at a nod. It’s time. There’s no other way, no alternative. Bringing my hands down onto my knees, I spread my lips as best I can and engulf the swollen tip of her fiercely intimidating erection. The soft foreskin tickles my tastebuds and her salty-bitter precum glazes my tongue, and then I pull in my cheeks and begin to nurse on the end of her cock.

Her penis. Irina’s penis, again, is inside my mouth. And this time she’s not fucking me, she’s not forcing me, she’s just sitting back and sipping her Martini and watching me with such an intensely commanding stare that I’m desperate to do right by her regardless of how wrong I’m sure this is.

I cement my lips as best I can around the rear of her helmet and suckle, tasting more of that copious flavour. It trickles constantly, a good sign of her arousal, a troubling reminder of what’s going on here. Being a man, I know what to do here, like as not. I know what’s sensitive and what feels good. The biggest problem, right now, is that her foreskin is all in the way. That, and I can’t use my hands.

It's such a dirty concept, but it’s the most logical thing to do. I stick my tongue in the opening of her penile hood and touch upon the pearly-smooth spongy-firmness of her glans, receiving in return a thick drool of salty stickiness. Irina winces, a distinct look of pleasure. ‘Inventive,’ she says. ‘Good boy. Work for it. Work for that promotion.’

Captured as her bell-end is, my lips a vice around its rear crown, my tongue easily moves about in the folds of her foreskin. Irina groans gently as I feel out the eyelet of the thing, as I run my tongue in a great loop around the prominent tip, so smooth and strangely tasty.

‘Mhm.’ The sound, shamefully, comes from me. It’s reflexive, guilty, but her cock…I just can’t help but enjoy its taste. Her taste.

‘I heard that,’ Irina says. ‘What a sweet little sound. It’s not so bad, is it? Sucking on such a big, healthy, virile cock. Doubtless it helps that it’s mine.’

‘Mhm.’ I meet her emerald eyes, blush hard, tremble. ‘Mhm-hm.’

My boss has a redness to her cheeks, as well. ‘Let mummy help you, baby.’ She puts a hand, two fingers really, to the middle of her shaft. ‘Let’s unwrap that lolly.’

Irina tugs on her foreskin, drawing it back inside my mouth. There’s a submerged pop as her powerful helmet slips free of its wrinkly confines, bringing with it a heavy explosion of precum all across my tongue, having accumulated in the folds around that bloated tip. I’ve never wanted to suck anything so badly in my life. The taste, the feeling, the presence of it. Meeting my boss’s gaze, feeling small, feeling dirty, feeling…I can’t even process it all.

‘Mhm. Schlup.’

I suck hard, roll my tongue around, slightly bob my head. Her bell-end is so fat and juicy, it fills my mouth so prominently. No matter how I twist my head or move my tongue, it’s impossible to escape. Like a fat wedge it flares towards its rear, forming a great spongy crown that precedes the rolls of her foreskin trapped behind it.

‘Ugh. That’s it, baby. Nurse on it. Suck in those cheeks. Use that tongue. Such a good boy.’

‘Mumph. Slurp.’

I start to bob my head, never leaving her eyes, bringing her bloated helmet back and forth across the blade of my tongue. It oozes a constantly flavour, so much of which I have to swallow, all the while grazing my tastebuds with that odd texture change between the smooth tissue of the glans and the fibrous roughness of the banjo string on the underside.

Each time her bell-end threatens to brush my throat, I’m struck by the bizarrely erotic realisation that this feels disgustingly right. Like my mouth was made for this purpose, to nurse and suckle on her hefty penis. Like the best thing I can possibly do in this world is to pleasure someone gorgeous and stacked and sublimely sexy like my boss, Irina Blackwell.

‘Holy shit,’ Maddie says then, breaking my stupor. ‘You’re actually doing it.’

I freeze up, eyes shifting left, cock wedged firmly in my mouth. She’s stood there just beyond the table, under the light, staring with the widest eyes I’ve ever seen on her. In my panic I almost retreat, almost protest, but Irina says in no uncertain terms, ‘You’ll keep going, or you’re done here. I don’t care if we’re being watched, and nor should you. Let her watch, Theo. We’re not done until my load is sloshing about in your belly.’

I’ve clearly got no shame, because I let my eyes go back to Irina’s. There’s this brief moment of hesitation and then I’m bobbing my head again, slurping and sucking away, finishing what I started despite how utterly embarrassing this is, how shameful I feel right now.

‘He’s–ughn–soon going to be very well-rewarded,’ my boss says. Maddie creeps closer, curiosity overcoming anything else in her world. In my periphery I can see her smirking face, cruel in its (by contrast to Irina) generic blonde beauty. ‘Oh, and he’s going to get a promotion for this besides. Ugh.’

The mischief on Irina’s face is ripe and bold, her pleasure seemingly heightened by the presence of a third party. Her precum comes out in greater quantity and I’m struck by the realisation – with Maddie’s proximity, with Irina’s pleasure – that before long my mouth is going to be on the receiving end of quite the orgasm. Worse still, Maddie’s going to see the whole fucking thing. Bad enough to have our boss feed me her load without someone else having to watch my face in the process!

‘He’s really going for it,’ Maddie says, a strange note to her voice. Excitement? ‘Jeez. I don’t think I can handle a dick half so well.’

‘He’s a quick learner,’ Irina says. ‘And he’s got a good teacher. And the–mhm–requisite motivation. Don’t you, baby?’

I flutter my eyelids at Irina and nervously meet Maddie’s eyes as I shift my head back and forth, dragging our boss’s fat bell-end across my tongue. The blonde’s blue eyes are scary, a warning, a pulling down of an illusion. This is real, and she knows. This is real, and I’m being watched. Shit, Maddie goes so far as to stand, half-dazed by surprise, at the end of the bench just behind Irina.

Then her gaze shifts to the apparently more interesting thing. For someone who regarded Irina as a freak, she’s…well, she can hardly stop eyeing up our boss’s manhood. The dark mamba, veiny and wrist-thick, slick with my spit, is clearly the real sight to behold.

‘Mumph. Schlup.’

‘That’s it, baby. Ugh. Closer and–mhm –closer. Earn that big reward.’

Maddie says, ‘Are you–’ But she stops herself. ‘Is he going to…?’

Irina nods. ‘What else would I be rewarding such a good boy with?’ My boss grins at me, all gorgeous viciousness. ‘Isn’t it that right, honey? Just what you’re after. A big, thick–ugh–creamy reward. Mhm. It’s almost on its way.’

Maddie can’t take her eyes off Irina’s cock, and I can barely take mine from Irina’s. Her sharply beautiful face is redder, her emerald eyes wetter, her whole countenance suggestive of an impending eruption. My boss inches her knees apart, a tremble rumbling through her. The pulsing of her cock strengthens, the precum seems to diminish. Her helmet swells, throbs more angrily.

‘Holy shit,’ is all Maddie manages to say.

‘Ugh. Good fucking boy!’

My tastebuds are greeted with a familiar yet no less troublesome substance. A thick rope, a spray of heavy heat, splatters out across my tongue. Irina shudders and grunts, eyes hooded yet maintaining control of me, set rigidly upon mine. My boss is loading my mouth, again. Maddie, of all people, is watching as it happens. Watching my eyes with peculiar intent, as I stare up at Irina’s in fateful submission.

The blonde chews her lip as a second spurt shoots out, hitting the roof of my mouth, almost reaching my throat and threatening to make me gag. Today Irina’s cock is far further back, a failing of my awareness and inexperience. I don’t know her tells, don’t know what to look for. That strong, salty, tangy, musky and faintly bitter richness overwhelms my tastebuds, loads my mind as much as it loads my mouth with the unmistakeable flavour of my boss’s semen.

Irina exhales, grunts, licks her lips. ‘Keep sucking, baby. Ughn. Keep sucking. There’s more. Plenty more. Don’t miss a–mhm–drop. It’s all for you, honey. All for you.’

Something clicks, in some vile way. That I’m looking into my boss’s mind just as she’s staring into mine, and we’re both seeing all these little details of one another, all these little signs of what’s going on. The sheer pleasure in her gaze goes beyond the physical. To be practically breeding my mouth like this, with so heavy an ejaculation, has some intense psychological power to her. And…to me, as well.

‘Mhm.’

I let out a little moan as she continues to plaster my tongue. The taste is so fundamentally wrong but…but it’s strange. It feels good on my tongue, this heavy stuff. This heat in my mouth, this foreign messy presence, makes my cock twitch with excitement.

There’s no way I can hold it all. People aren’t meant to cum this much. The thick, knotty, ropey cream is hot and – as much as I hate to admit – interesting in its texture and flavour, but there’s too much. I have to swallow some, have to prevent overloading like last time.

Irina clicks her teeth at me. ‘Don’t you dare. Ugh. I want to see…want to see it before it’s gone. Mhm. Ughn. Fuck.’

Her load continues to blow, to smother my tastebuds in thick, rich, salty seed. It clings to the roof of my mouth, forms ropes and tangles across my teeth, splatters the blade of my tongue. I pull back, wedge her helmet against my lips, prevent choking from a shot to the throat, but the quantity is insane.

I need the job, but I also deeply do not need jizz spraying out of my nose again. A little gulp. Just a little. Draining the sheer excessiveness of her virile produce, preventing an overload. Irina likely feels the sensation but has the charity to let it slide, just as her sperm slides down my gullet to melt in my belly.

All throughout Maddie watches, staring bug-eyed at me, her cheeks flush and all memory of those cruel words at odds with this new, clearly-enticed woman who struggles not to find some bizarre arousal in watching something she proclaimed was so awful before.

And as suddenly as it began, Irina relaxes. She lets out one last heavy sigh and with it one last heavy shot, then reclines against the bench. ‘Fuck. That was lovely, baby. You’re such a good boy.’ She gently, slightly shakily, strokes my forehead. ‘Suck out…suck out any stragglers. Then show us. Show us what a good job you did.’

I attempt a nod, and suck hard on the now-softer cock. Perhaps a little bit comes out, a few last stringy dregs, but the bulk was shot out in the powerful preceding bursts. For the second time in my life, I’ve got someone’s ejaculate heavy on my tongue. Irina Blackwell’s semen it may be, better than some dude’s, but…it’s still cum. It’s still thick, salty, a little bitter. Tangy, yeah. Surprisingly…well, rich. But still. It’s semen.

Why am I not completely disgusted? What’s wrong with me?

Her cock is soft enough, slurped-on enough, that I can release it now. I’ve seen the routine well-enough in porn, though never had to put on the show for anyone before. As Irina’s heavy semi slaps down against her saliva-slicked balls, I sit back on my haunches and roll around the thick salty futa-cream that so readily has packed my mouth.

My boss smiles at me. Maddie stares as before. ‘Open wide,’ Irina says. ‘Show mummy all that tasty milk, baby. You worked so, so hard for it.’

She cups my chin and helps me find the right angle to minimise risk of spillage. In what must be the singularly most shameful act of my life, I part my lips for these two women. Well, one woman and one futanari.

‘Woah,’ Maddie says. ‘There’s so much.’

Irina chuckles, warm and distinctly proud. ‘I never disappoint.’

I’m instantly aware of how clinging the stuff is, how ropey and strange it is. There’s this sensation of all these little points where tangles have formed, where strings connect teeth to my tongue, to the roof my mouth, to each other. Irina has thoroughly dirtied my mouth, completely packed it with her seed. The thought, filthy and erotic, of hundreds of millions – if not more, given her clear virility – of her strong-swimming sperm, racing about my slutty mouth, comes to mind.

‘Chew it,’ my boss says. ‘Savour it. The virile milk of a better cock than yours.’

I can only obey, blushing hard as I close my mouth and churn the stuff around, mincing through thick ropes and fat knots, the strong taste growing more and more pleasant by the moment. Mixing with spit her load grows creamier, less overtly tangled and gooey.

I…I like how it tastes, don’t I? I like her cock, like her balls, like her most of all. It’s that realisation again. That upturning of what I’m used to, and yet, not hating the result.

Jesus Christ.

‘Show us again,’ Irina says. God, she’s perfect to behold. God, at least it’s her. ‘Then swallow. I want to see a nice empty mouth, if you’re getting that promotion.’

When I spread my lips again, the sensation of ropes and knots is lesser. The stuff congeals more on my tongue, and Irina nods with smiling approval. ‘Beautiful. Such a big healthy load for my favourite employee.’ She winks at me, and I feel a flourish of contentment. ‘Go on, Theo. Put all those sperm where they belong.’

It takes two, almost three swallows to get it all down. All of this powerful, wealthy, gorgeous woman’s potential children – no way she’s anything less than spectacularly virile – sliding down my gullet, gone forever. Such thick, dirty, erotic heat. Such a strong, similarly pleasant – much as it shouldn’t be – aftertaste.

And then I open my mouth, and Maddie shudders. Not a disapproving thing by any means, more of an unwanted physiological reaction.

But Irina, composed and cool, queenly woman that she is, merely smiles. Smiles with such voluptuous lips, with such powerful eyes. ‘What do you say, baby, when someone gives you something nice to eat?’

‘T-hank you, mummy.’

Maddie blushes darker. ‘Oh shit.’

Irina runs a hand across my head. ‘Our little secret, Maddie. If you keep it, I might let you watch again,’ she says, continuing to stroke me. ‘And Theo…I think you’ve earned that promotion. Come see me on Monday morning. My office. Nine sharp. We’ll get your new contract written up.’

She’s so casual, in pulling up her panties, then standing and leaving. The black dress falls straight, hiding any hint of the prodigious manhood and fat – though, perhaps slightly less plump – testicles that lurk between the tall dominant woman’s beautiful legs. Irina Blackwell collects up her Martini glass – now emptied – and gives Maddie a smile.

‘Don’t be giving him too much trouble,’ our boss says. ‘He’s under my protection. I certainly wouldn’t want to have to show favouritism.’

In walking away, Irina has this sublimely sexy elegance to her. Muscular and potent, at once a full-figured Aphrodite and an easy rival for Priapus. Such a confusion, to watch that powerful backside shift with the sway of her hips, to find myself hungering for that body that in some sense I will never be able to fuck in the way I want most.

I’m left on my knees trembling, blushing, and subject to Maddie’s strange gaze. The blonde woman, beautiful but a shadow of Irina, seems just as perplexed. Half-enamoured with me, half-disgusted.

‘I don’t actually blame you,’ she says, looking nervous. ‘I…I didn’t know dicks could be that big. Or loads that thick. It’s still weird, but…I see it now.’

‘Y-eah.’

‘What I said–’

‘It’s fine,’ I say quickly, pushing up onto my feet. I dust off my knees, which are thankfully only a little green from the mossy patio. ‘Just don’t go telling everyone. It’s embarrassing enough as it is.’

Maddie seems to ignore me, watching towards the garden entrance where Irina went.

‘Do you…do you think she’s into girls?’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t think so. Or not especially so.’

Maddie chews her lip as she stares, following a memory, a picture in her head. ‘Maybe you could ask?’ She eyes me again, naughtiness – foreign, on her – obvious and undeterred. ‘I might let you eat me out some time.’

The suggestion provokes a rumble in some part of me I’d worried was dead. How fucking dare she?! I’m thankfully uncowed by this woman, this not-Irina. ‘Do you two favours? If I want to eat pussy, I’ll ask Irina.’ I smile at her. ‘But maybe I’ll ask. Again, no word of this.’

Maddie crosses her arms. I’d not paid much attention before, but her breasts – again, a shadow of Irina’s – are plenty obvious. ‘Word’s already out,’ she says.

‘I mean the full details,’ I say. ‘People don’t need to know that you saw this.’

Maddie smirks, though not maliciously. Almost a teenage atavism, a throwback to times of gossip and rumours. ‘Why didn’t you just own it, before?’

I shrug. ‘It’s weird, man. I’ve never thought about sucking dick before.’

‘Did you like it? Hand on heart, no lies?’

Slowly, sheepishly, I nod. ‘I…think so.’

She extends a hand, pinkie outstretched. ‘We’re cool,’ Maddie says.

A weird thing, making a pinkie shake with my colleague while our boss’s load settles into my stomach acid. Relief and confusion, all in one. To not quite know what the hell is going on with my sexuality, and to not have to worry that every single colleague despises me.

But it’s all fucking weird lately, isn’t it?

Hey…at least I’m getting promoted?