Irina Blackwell, Ch. 4

 

Chapter 4: The Perks of the Job

 

I’d forgotten quite what it was like, to be fucked. To be royally seen to.

The desk shudders, and if such solid wood can squeal in resistance, how is that I’m holding up? God, it’s at once wonderful and terrible. Like being utterly stuffed with a rod of steel that is somehow soft and silky, and doesn’t actually hurt. But the vigour, the strength, the unbending firmness of the pole are suggestive of something inanimate rather than my terribly gorgeous boss’s terrifically intimidating penis.

‘Guh. Fuck.’

‘Good boy,’ Irina says, maintaining uncomfortable composure despite being halfway balls-deep inside of me. ‘Mummy loves this sweet little bum, Theo. Mhm.’

She fondles my backside, squeezes, kneads the fat of my cheeks. What can I do but take it? Bent over her desk, staring at the office door, splattering my boxers – she tore the back part, promising to reimburse me – with a seemingly endless quantity of jism. I’m powerless here. And it’s part of my contract, no matter my reservations.

The job is good. The job is good. The job is–

‘Sh-it.’

I bite down, press my palms against the mahogany. Her cock is like a spear of radiant heat, throbbing so angrily, so needily. It demands that my body pleasure it. Demands that I submit to it. Demands that I blow my load again and again and again, making such an uncomfortable mess in my ripped-open boxers but I can’t fucking stop.

‘Mummy’s good boy.’ Irina exhales, drives herself into me, every hilting producing an ear-tickling thwup when her enormous balls slap against my badly-exposed buttocks. ‘So deserving of–mhm–all this affection. All this wonderful naughty after-work special treatment.’

Her words are poisoned honey, some discomforting fusion of the pleasant and the perverse. I’d be insane, and a liar, to pretend as though this isn’t enjoyable. As though being mounted, ridden, ploughed by my statuesque and gorgeous futanari boss, Irina Blackwell, is anything less than an experience to enjoy both in the moment and look forward to after the fact, knowing that it will be repeated time and again in my years here.

‘Ugh. Jesus.’

Is it so wrong, to enjoy the act? To have gone from the man I was, a victim of my boss’s sexual predations, to this current self, this one who signed a contract and agreed to this fate. Who agreed to become Irina’s plaything, of sorts, and both service her cock and ride upon it. To service her and not taste her cum – because to do so is now a carnal choice, a test of my strength of character – and to ride her big dick to the point that she, inevitably and invariably, utterly plugs my backside with the thickest and muskiest of creampies.

I’m at her mercy. Those beautiful yet deceptively strong hands, gripping my hips, hold me steady while she pummels me. The thrusting goes from slow and steady to fast and forceful, driving more than a foot of futanari cock deep into my body, splitting my arse in the most guiltily glorious of ways.

‘Such a sexy thing you–mhm–are, Theo,’ Irina says, leaning atop me. Her breasts, bound as they are by a super-strength bra and behind the thin cloth of her white blouse, nonetheless have such intense weight to them where they fall against my back. ‘I should probably be paying you more, shouldn’t I? But then again, I do treat you so well.’

Her breath is sweet, faintly tinged by the tell-tale pine-bitterness of her characteristic Martinis. The act is vulgar and yet illicitly intimate, somehow threatening affection in these brief moments where she leans atop me and presses that overtly-endowed womanly form atop mine. That Mummy-play, such a thing of lusty perversion, nonetheless deepens the eroticism of this sordid submission.

It's unbecoming, to fall to her like this. To submit to her. Worse, to remind myself of the trade I made, the choice. That I picked work, picked my career, and in return gave away my pride.

‘Ugh. Damn.’

I writhe, because how can I not? Her cock is incredible. A thing of heat and thickness, a weapon to be wielded both for bringing her pleasure and in the process forcing me to capitulate. To produce sweet sounds, whimpers and moans, a little chorus of noises that tickle her ears as she tickles mine with that sweet damp breath.

Irina kisses the back of my neck, tastes my skin with her goosebump-inducing tongue. ‘I own you, don’t I?’ She chuckles, almost giggles, that perfect voice at odds with what it suggests. ‘Years and–mhm–years of this.’ Thwap go her weighty testicles, the fattest roundest pair of bollocks I can picture, as they slap against my backside. ‘Years and–aah–years of enjoying one another’s company. Oh, cumming again, baby? Perhaps you should be paying me, instead!’

I practically growl, deeply uncomfortable and yet awash in awesome pleasures. Irina really, really knows how to use her body. To use her words, to tickle at dirty desires and feculent fantasies that bubble up to the surface from the depths of my being.

I’ve got to survive. I’ve got to focus on the future, on the dream, on the way things have to be now so that they can be different eventually. The fleeting vision of Maddie, behaving for my sake much as I’m currently behaving for Irina, is a soothing complement to such wilfulness. The pretty blonde, in so many ways responsible for this fate, is going to have her comeuppance and put right more than one wrong.

‘I-rina!’

She hilts herself in me, blowing a cock-shaped hole through my veil of thoughts. All the world is her penis, that broad length with its bulky head, a drilling impaling skewer of a thing, treating my body like some glorified cocksleeve. A means to an end, a source of pleasure, but not a person in and of myself.

I should find the thought utterly reprehensible, but surprise-surprise, I don’t. The person I’m discovering through this, the true Theodore Brackley, is not who I imagined myself to be.

As my darkly delicious futanari boss ravages my backside, it’s clear beyond doubt that the real reason I was so gloomy after she raped me was in fact nothing to do with the act itself and everything to do with what it unearthed. Like shifting a patio slab, finding so many creepy crawlies, when the garden otherwise seems beautiful.

‘Who’s your Mummy?’ Irina says, lifting off of me. She squeezes my hips, fondles my bum. ‘Tell me–ugh–Theo. Answer me. Who’s your fucking Mummy?’

‘Y-ou, Irina. You’re my Mummy. Y-ou’re–’

She thrusts like a beast, all of a sudden. Not gentleness, no consideration.

I’m slammed, again and again, into the desk. The wood whines, the world itself seems to creak, all the while I cum buckets and drool, completely and utterly cock-addled, her gargantuan girth hitting every spot inside of me as though she’s in possession of some crude map that signposts every possible pseudo-G-spot.

‘Damn–mhm–right, baby boy. Mummy’s good, good–ughn–boy.’

I manage to glance back at her, to find her on the cusp of climax. Those beautiful lips strained, one at the mercy of her teeth. Blouse a mess, cleavage spilling forth, that overworked bra struggling as she pumps into me with primal potency. Sharp-featured good looks, Aphrodite-grade beauty, easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Tall and dominant, brilliant-eyed and vigorous in her lovemaking.

She hilts herself again, lifting my feet from the floor. I throw them about wildly on reflex as contractions ripple through her, as Irina rolls her head backwards and moans in relief. The force of her efforts, and the reverberations of her climax, drive my continual spasming all the further into the realm of self-obliteration.

‘Ughn. M-ummy.’

Her cock swells in me, and those bloated balls pulsate against my smaller ones. Beyond the heat of her spooge, which comes in vast quantity, as thick as cream, I’m struck by a dirtily psychological notion.

That this beautiful woman is seeding me, that she’s claiming me, that the stuff filling me up is unmistakeably hers and hers alone. This welcome sensation, of being completely loaded, my innards plugged with her richly potent semen, is something at once grotesque and divine.

‘Good boy,’ Irina says, gasping, sighing. ‘My good, good Theo.’

Is it shameful, to love this? I don’t have a romantic connection with this woman. I’m not here, going through this, because of something close to even a sex-friend situation.

She raped me, and then I signed a contract to get a better job. I signed over my body to my rapist, choosing wealth and a future over sanctity of self. And now this week alone I’ve sucked her cock twice, and on this Friday evening, she’s ejaculating inside of my bowels. My rapist, who took me by force, who seemed to think that if anything she was doing me a favour, is now getting free use of my body because I agreed to it.

And worse, I love it. It’s like nothing else. A degree of sexual bliss I’ve never before experienced. Something utterly and completely insane.

The opening of a drawer reels me back to reality. Something thuds atop the desk, and while Irina is still shooting, her faculties are returning. She watches me serenely, eyes afire, beautiful beyond reason. I should hate her, should be disgusted, but I’m not. Even as she licks her lips, viewing me as prey, as food for the hungry fires of her lust, I am too far gone.

‘I want to be inside you for–mhm–as long as possible,’ my boss says, picking up a girthy plastic plug from beside my hips. ‘This is for you, baby. To keep Mummy’s milk right up inside that–aah–cute little bum so that all that naughty cream doesn’t make too much of a mess.’

Her glans still flares, spits. Less now, weaker, but the sheer bulk of the thing is unmistakeable, and the way it ripples heat throughout my insides is a thing of gruesome glory. Her semen, thick and musky and rich, sloshes about. If anything, given how messy this situation is, the butt plug might even be welcome.

‘R-ight, Mummy.’

Her eyes shift when I say that word. That carnal title. Mummy. Her affection is venomous gold, a thing ultimately evil and yet somehow appealing. It provokes a fuzziness in the head, oxytocin of raw-dogged fucking helping things along.

Never submit. Never submit. Never submit.

But I can enjoy this. That’s okay. It might even be healthy.

‘Such a sweet mouth,’ Irina says. ‘On such a sweet boy.’ She gives a gentle pat to my backside, one cheek and then the other. ‘You’re built for this, baby. Built to–mhm–make Mummy happy.’

‘Y-es, Mummy. I…’

She cocks her head, a vicious veneer making murky her beauty. ‘Oh?’

‘I’m glad, Mummy. That’s all. I…I’ll do my job well.’

Irina chuckles. ‘You will, Theo. So, so, so well.’ Another pat, this one culminating in a squeeze. ‘Clench down, baby. Don’t let a drop spill out now.’

She winces gleefully as I grip her shaft between my cheeks, in the process wringing out of it any straggler sperm. There’s a dirtily delightful schpop when the seal breaks, when at last her heavy helmet is free of me. It’s so weighty that it notably thuds when it comes down against the desk, a noise both worrying and wondrous.

‘Good boy,’ she says. ‘Let’s seal up that tight little bum.’

The plastic makes me tremble, not from girth but coolness. An alien thing compared to the throbbing fire of her erection, but welcome insofar as it prevents leakage. And maybe I’m imagining it, but it feels as though there’s quite a lot to leak, given how my guts slosh and shudder with copious quantities of her cum.

‘Dinner tomorrow.’ Irina pulls away from me, giving me one last playful pat. She sits herself down, breathy-voiced, eyes a little hooded. ‘The first of many. Dress up nice, and I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. Are you excited, baby?’

I steady myself, standing upright. The whole process is awkward, what with my backside wedged shut as it is. To do this in front of someone, besides, is all the worse. Her emerald eyes bore into me as I clumsily reach for my trousers, cold cum disgusting against my crotch. Grim.

‘Y-eah, Mummy. Very.’

‘You’re a little shaky, Theo,’ she says, quickly on her feet. A hand on my shoulder, squeezing softly. ‘I’d be happy to give you a lift home, if you can wait a little while.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

I pull away from her, even though she’s right. My body quakes, as if all those simultaneous orgasms are perpetuated and congealed, lengthened to the point of blissful engulfment. When I move my legs quiver, and my feet are unsteady, but I’m not going to drive just yet. I’ll sit in my car if I have to, sit in the dark of the car park.

I’m not spending more time with Irina than necessary. It’s bad enough as it is.

‘Suit yourself, honey,’ my boss says, a lilt of humour to her sultry voice. ‘Six-thirty. Remember it. I don’t want to be disappointed. You’d have to make it up to me.’

‘Got it,’ I say, reaching for the door, not looking back. ‘Goodnight, Irina.’

‘Goodnight, Theo.’

 

It takes the better part of half an hour to calm down.

I’ve never been so drained, except perhaps as on the first night, but today it’s not knocked me into unconsciousness. Sex has never been so powerful before. I didn’t know my body could reach such states, could leap from climax to climax to climax, but it can. And Irina’s body is the ticket, the enabler of ecstasy.

I flip down the overhead mirror and look at myself. There’s pride, of a sort, returning. I’m making good money, and as much as I’m degrading myself to do it, the price is right. The man in the mirror is still not me, but not in a bad sense. He’s not a wretched shadow of who I was but some branching variant, twisted into another, newer shape. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to go backwards, but I can go forwards.

I will. I must.

The daydream, throughout the week, has been of Maddie. Maddie, as my assistant. My assistant, tied to a contract not dissimilar from my own, who’ll suck my cock and let me fuck her and use her body just as Irina uses mine. A carrot, dangled, and slow to achieve. A work in progress, as Irina calls it. Something to look forward to but not here just yet. These things take time, after all, and particularly those that involve human factors.

I sleep easily, at least. I’m not exactly excited about the date tomorrow, but I’m not scared either. Did I call it a date? I suppose it is, though there won’t be sex. I’m sure Irina will try, but she’s not getting it like that. The contract is all. Two blowjobs, one bout of anal. That’s it, that’s her weekly ration of fucking. Nothing more.

It’s bothersome, how readily I seem to embrace this new world.

The man in the mirror isn’t frightful. He’s not his best, sure, but he’s far from his worst. Somehow, it’s okay. So long as I’m doing well with my career, so long as there’s a bright future ahead of me, I’m not all that concerned about the situation with Irina. I’m already tainted, after all. Already soiled. If I’m going to get all funny about prostituting myself, then it’s important to remember that. To know the damage has been done.

And she is charming. Is good at doing what she does.

Irina Blackwell picks me up in a chauffeured Rolls Royce, its rear cabin extended to create some micro-lounge where we sit. She sips a Martini, as is her custom, wearing a revealing crimson dress that shows off what, ultimately, there’s little point in hiding. With killer curves like hers, it’s not like any amount of clothing is going to matter. Breasts that big are no less alluring and eye-catching in a blouse or a sweater, and some dirty part of me relishes the fact that they’re on show.

I have to enjoy the not-so-little things, after all.

‘You’re quite fetching in that outfit, Theo,’ Irina says, slinging an arm across my shoulders. She strokes me, warm weight of her body pressing against mine. Sweet smells, fruitiness, an acid note of Vermouth and a piney hint of gin. ‘Will I get you out of it, I wonder?’

‘If it’s not in the contract, then no.’

She chuckles, kisses the side of my head. ‘Oh, you make this so fun, honey. It’s beyond attractive, this little wilfulness of yours. Blowing ten loads on my big fat cock and then having the wit to deny me outside of my own rules.’

I sigh. Sigh, because this is just so wrong. To think that I fancied this woman to such an insane degree, was so eager to leap into the bedroom with her. It could’ve been a beautiful thing, and instead is something sordid. Endlessly disappointing. To learn of Irina’s true self, and my own as well.

Her, a depraved predator. Me, a money-minded slut.

‘You’ll get Maddie,’ she says, speaking low, conspiratorial. A sultry voice, for a sensual woman. ‘I’m already working on that little detail. We’re in this together, baby.’

I nod, carrot leading me. ‘Good. So long as we are.’

She spends the journey tight against my body, breathing and whispering dirty things into my ear, kissing my cheek and the side of my head. I don’t hate it. It’s the worst thing about it all, that I don’t hate it. That somehow, I don’t hate her.

To be at her side as we go into the Generous Gourmet, a three-times Michelin Star restaurant, knowing that whatever I ask for I’ll receive, is insane. That she is so jaw-droppingly gorgeous, more woman than most can ever be, and that she’s with me and I’m with her, imbalanced as our relationship is, is sheer lunacy.

And after settling in I talk. Answer her questions, speak about life, act as though she’s not a predatory rapist. As though she doesn’t have a sex contract with my name on it.

Is it just a human thing, to be able to compartmentalise like this? To separate, out of necessity, what is evil and what is not?

The woman is discomforting, but not because of what I know her to be.

Irina Blackwell is tall and resplendently attractive, her skin dusky and exotic, body insanely voluptuous with the mammoth size of her 44K breasts and the way her hips curve to suggest unmatched femininity. Her hair, dyed crimson and braided, hangs to the left tonight, asymmetrical. That characteristic makeup of hers, vaguely Egyptian around the eyes, lips bursting with ruby allure, is on-point.

And when she speaks, there’s no hint of the dark nature of our bond. The jokes she tells, the stories, the questions she asks, are all bothersome in their genuineness. I actually enjoy conversing with her, dangerous as I know her to be, arrogant and entitled as she is, believing herself so fundamentally great that she had the right to rape me and that if anything our current state of affairs is some grand luxury I should be praising her for.

‘You know that it’s okay to speak your mind, yes?’ Irina says, during a brief pause between topics. ‘I’m well aware that your opinion of me isn’t so great.’

‘Are you a mind reader now, as well?’

She flutters her eyelashes at me, sips her Martini. The third of the evening, not including the one in the car, but if the alcohol affects her I can’t possibly say. ‘One doesn’t require telepathy to be aware of the general low-grade rebelliousness that lines everything we do together, Theo. I appreciate that you likely hate me, and I’m glad that you do.’

Such a strange sentiment, provoking a kind of bubble of silence. Just around us, just here in our little corner seat, a round table with a candelabra upon it, the room dimly lit to create an atmosphere of romance and mystery.

‘You’re glad for it?’

Irina smiles, cocks her head to the side. The braid shudders, a winding length of beautiful hair. ‘Don’t they say that everything in this life is about sex, but sex itself is about power? It’s true, you know. Sex gives me power over you, and I want that power like nothing else on Earth. I would trade all the wealth, all my possessions for that most delicious draught, but thankfully I don’t have to.’

I stare at her, beyond the hungry flames of the trinity of candles. ‘You already have power over me,’ I say, tentatively reaching for my water. No booze. Not around her. ‘The contract allows–’

‘The contract is the furthest thing from power, Theo,’ my boss says. She idly twirls the olives in her drink, the alcohol content – only the strongest of gins, and plenty of them, for Irina Blackwell – giving it a vaguely oily and distorted appearance. ‘Real power is what kings of old have. What religious figures have. A contract can be removed, destroyed. Sure, you lose your job, but you gain back your freedom. The kind of power I want can never be taken away, just as the religious can never be free of their Gods.’

It's a perverse thing that I understand her immediately. That I know just what she wants.

Perhaps I was always wired to be receptive to such things. Perhaps she fucked it into me.

‘I’m never going to just be yours, Irina. Not as you want. You’re deluding yourself if you think I’ll wake up one day and just serve you.’

She goes to speak, but our food arrives. Those emerald eyes show not a hint of doubt, and if anything suggest eagerness, as though what I’d just said was not a rebuke of her interests but rather a confirmation that she’s soon to get her way.

Chateaubriand steak. Triple-cooked chips. A mixture of little sides – mash, macaroni cheese, wild mushrooms – to accompany the bulk of the meal. I got half a kilo of steak, but Irina got a whole one. The futanari, Amazonian as she is, eats at once with clean grace and beside it an appetite most men can’t match.

And between bites, she talks. ‘It doesn’t say anything about calling me “Mummy”, in that contract.’ Irina’s smile is a sickle thing. She cuts a neat chunk off of her steak and lifts it, pausing before her full lips. ‘Yet you do it anyway, because you know it’s fun.’

I chew slowly, on thought and food both. Is she right? Why am I doing something if the contract doesn’t call for it?

‘The fact is, Theo, that you enjoy our time together,’ Irina says. ‘I’m not stupid. And I’m not speaking about purely physical responses, either. Come on, honey. You know I’m gorgeous. I tick all your boxes, and some you didn’t know you had. It didn’t take anything to get you into bed that first time, after all. You wanted me just as much as I wanted you.’

‘That doesn’t change the present situation.’

‘Doesn’t it? You still want me, Theo. And that stubborn streak in you that so desperately wants to act all aloof and almighty, just to avoid admitting that maybe there’s something special in submitting to someone like me and relishing all the pleasures that come with such submission, is not going to survive.’ She slowly shakes her head. ‘You’re not going to quit, because the job is good and you know it. But I revise my predictions.’

‘What predictions?’

‘Where you’ll be by Christmas,’ she says. ‘I think come July, come our summer holiday, you’ll be mine. The contract won’t matter, because you’ll treat me with the reverence I deserve. Reverence you’re already hinting at, and it’s only been a week.’

I reach for the water, wishing I’d chosen something stronger. ‘You’re delusional.’

My boss smirks. ‘We’ll see about that, won’t we?’

But the thought sticks, clinging like glue, making a mess of my evening. Irina is unbearably smug on the way home, but she does nothing more than put her arm around my shoulders.

It should be the easiest thing in the world to prove her wrong, but I can’t seem to find a way. It manages to make Saturday the sleepless night, despite Sunday being a day all to myself. I’m unable to escape the awful possibility of Irina being right, and this being a temporary matter. That my rejection of her will, in time, wither and weaken. Fade to nought.

 

But Sunday evening proves interesting. I get a text from Irina, saying merely, “Check your emails. Love, Mummy XOX,” and find a link therein. An email from her, with a shared storage, password attached.

It already has two videos. The first is titled “Maddie’s first futa,” while the second is named “Slutty Mads will definitely sign.”

Professionalism is worthless, somehow. The twin excitements of seeing Maddie naked, of seeing Irina fucking her, has me instantly hard. I bring my laptop to the coffee table and lay down on the sofa, putting on the first video. Office footage, from…Thursday? The camera must be in one of the corners at the back, watching the desk at such an angle as to–

Has she filmed me, as well? A dark worry, but my cock’s already in my hand. It can wait a little while, though the video is an hour long. A whole fucking hour? Jesus Christ. And it begins with Irina sitting behind her desk, those elegant glasses on, looking professional as can be despite being about to feature in what amounts to amateur porno.

‘Maddie,’ Irina says, as the curly-haired blonde walks inside. ‘I’ve been meaning to organise this meeting for a while now. It concerns your prospects here at Blackwell.’ She stands as Maddie approaches the desk, and Irina gestures for the seat on the other side. ‘Please Mads, get comfortable.’

Maddie looks her usual beautiful if vaguely vanilla self, in an airy blouse that hints at the fullness of her breasts and the curves of her hips. Her makeup is subtle but well done, and it’s hard not to find natural appeal in her straightforward good looks.

She never used to look at Irina as she does now. Alone, just the pair of them, knowing what we’ve spoken about, she’s already blushing faintly. Picturing me and my boss? Picturing herself with Irina? Recalling what she’s already seen with her own eyes?

‘Thank you, Irina,’ Maddie says, flashing a quick smile as she takes the seat. ‘Theo had actually mentioned an assistant role?’

‘He had? Good. Then you’re already ahead of things.’

Irina walks behind her, their disparate sizes obvious. Maddie’s not the shortest of women, but our Amazonian futanari boss makes me feel short, and Mads has always seemed small in comparison to myself. Irina dwarfs her, in so many ways.

‘But do you know something?’ our boss says, resting her hands on Maddie’s shoulders. ‘Theo talks to me, as well. About many things, but especially about a certain interest you have in a certain part of my body.’

Maddie’s face goes bright red. ‘Um, Irina, I–’

‘Shush, honey. It’s okay. The truth is that you’re going to get the assistant role regardless, but I’d be lying if I didn’t like the idea of getting to know you a little better. A lot better, in a certain sense.’

Irina spins the younger woman’s chair about, looming over her when it comes to a halt. She takes a firm hold of Maddie’s shoulders and leans forwards, braid swinging over a shoulder, bounteous breasts each almost as big as Mads’s head. The blonde, seeming so dainty now, looks up at our boss and trembles.

‘Irina, I don’t think we–’

Irina puts a finger upon her lips. ‘Hush, honey. You don’t need to think. Just reach forwards and take off my skirt. Decide when you see it.’

The hesitation in Maddie’s voice is completely at odds with her movements. There’s no such reluctance in the way she reaches out, scrambling to free the bulky beast she knows is waiting between the dominant futanari’s thighs. And Irina does this thing, this telling look, right at the camera. As if she’s looking straight at my face, my boss smirks broadly, and winks.

‘Jesus,’ Mads says as the skirt falls away. Lacking underwear, Irina’s over-a-foot-long dick swings freely, set atop a pair of the largest testicles I can imagine on a human being. ‘You’re huge.’

She reaches down between her legs but remembers herself, stopping short. Irina chuckles.

‘You can touch yourself, Mads. I don’t mind. Just make sure to touch me, as well.’

I’m not sure what I expected, but it’s not what occurs. The immediate enthusiasm, the clumsy one-handed groping of the big dark dick while Maddie fiddles between her thighs, digging a hand into the front of her jeans. And then she’s sucking, passionately working the huge head of Irina’s mighty member with her full-lipped mouth.

My boss looks at the camera again, smiling all the prouder. As if this serves two purposes, as if it’s not just about getting that special contract, but somehow as well lording over me the ease with which she’s managed to get Maddie involved.

The buzz of my phone catches me off-guard. Irina.

‘Hello,’ I say, cock still in hand, video still going.

‘Enjoying the show?’ my boss says. ‘It came out quite well, I think.’

‘Are you spying on me?’

‘No, but I know you by now, Theo.’ Irina chuckles. ‘You’re a dirty boy, at heart. How could you resist seeing pretty blonde Mads enjoying herself? It’s quite the performance.’

‘A whole hour?’

On the screen, Maddie is eagerly bobbing her head. The Irina in the video strokes her hair, plays with those bouncy curls. ‘Good girl,’ our recorded boss says. ‘The enthusiasm is ever so appreciated, Mads.’

‘A whole hour,’ the Irina of the present says. ‘And the other – I just made it this morning – is two-and-a-half.’

Twisted though it is, I’m envious. I never had hopes for anything with Maddie, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want her. Doesn’t make the fact that Irina is so readily able to get the pretty woman who before seemed so out of reach on her dick in no time at all, any easier to accept.

She’s lapping at the futanari’s glans now, treating it like the most succulent of lollipops, worshipping Irina’s thickly contoured crown with her pretty pink tongue and those lovely lips. Kissing, sucking, smooching, as if already smitten.

‘Mads is a lot more fun than I expected the boring blonde to be,’ Irina says, drawing me from my thoughts and my steady masturbation. ‘But I was thinking of you, Theo. I was imagining it was you the entire time.’

Of course, she’ll say such a thing. But it doesn’t make the twitching throb of my dick, as if a loyal hound mentioned by its name, any easier to accept.

I shouldn’t care at all.

‘Why are you calling?’

‘To give a commentary? To hear the sweet envy on your breath? She’s quite the lay, Theo. You’re going to have a lot of fun with her.’

After you’ve had your way with her first. When you get her for nothing. All because she really wants you, and not me, but your cock is apparently so good that she’s going to do everything possible to mine just for a chance at regular access to yours. But I don’t give Irina the satisfaction.

‘Good. I look forward to it,’ I say, watching as the scene begins to shift. The conversation in the background, out of focus, concerns where Maddie wants the first of Irina’s loads. Inside seems to be the important takeaway. ‘Anything else?’

‘I’m watching it again myself,’ Irina says. ‘Do me a favour, honey. Pretend that you’re Maddie. See how quickly that makes you cum.’

‘Who says I’m–’

‘Theo, must I always tell you how un-stupid I am?’ She chuckles, voice sultry, divine, deviant. ‘It’s me, honey. Mummy. I know your insides better than anyone else in the world, and I know how that head works, as well. Enjoy yourself. Wank away. It only makes it easier on my end, knowing that the effort wasn’t wasted.’

To watch Maddie bent over our boss’s desk, plump backside on display, is erotic enough by itself without seeing her spread her cheeks with her hands to reveal the perfect pink of her – I can only imagine – tight little pussy. And it only gets hotter, to a disturbed degree, to see Irina Blackwell lining herself up, getting that ferocious mast of man-meat, not so much as wrapped in a condom, ready to penetrate the beautiful blonde.

I’m struck by envy, deep and rich and surprisingly good at making the pleasure of touching myself all the fiercer.

‘Ugh.’ The groan escapes my mouth as Irina’s helmet prods and pokes, slipping into those tight pink lips. Maddie arches her back, hands pressed atop the desk, straining to steady herself as the immense length of our Amazonian futanari boss makes its first forays into her womanhood.

‘Hot, isn’t it?’ the Irina of the present says to me. ‘Her cunt is almost as tight as your arse, Theo. Honestly I should be thanking you, because I’ve never enjoyed a woman’s body quite as much as I enjoy Maddie’s.’

‘It’s…it’s that good?’

My voice comes out unbearably breathy, strained as I am. I can’t stop stroking myself, can’t stop staring, can’t believe I’m seeing Mads being mounted by Irina. Can’t believe, at once, how much I envy my boss and yet long for that special contract to come into effect, regardless of whether the act is mere duty or passion in itself.

‘It’s wonderful, honey. And it helps that she’s of that age.’

‘That age?’

‘Young, Theo. Her body wants what it’s designed to want. She’s a woman and, much as I’m not exactly a man, I do the role quite well, I like to think.’

She can’t mean what I think she does. Can she? ‘I don’t follow.’

‘I’m pretty sure that in the heat of the moment, if she wasn’t on the pill, I’d have knocked her up. It felt like her womb wanted what only I could give it,’ Irina says. And to hear it sends me uncomfortably close to climaxing. My boss chuckles, almost giggles. ‘My, you’re a dirty one, honey. I heard that gasp.’

‘I–’

‘It’s okay, Theo. If it helps things along, to imagine that I’m impregnating her, then do it. We’re just animals, honey. Just beasts, with big brains. All of those confusing thoughts, those dirty notions, make sense in light of that.’ Irina’s words, in such a wonderful voice, merge with the sloppy frustrated moans emanating from the laptop’s speakers. My cock strains. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so aroused in the act of mere wanking. ‘Would you want to taste my sperm then, baby? When their quality had been so proven, laying claim to the supple womb of that silly little blonde? Imagine savouring my loads after such a dirty happening. Tasting the would-be brothers and sisters of the thing I’d have set growing inside of Maddie’s pretty flat tummy.’

I tune her out, her disturbed mind at once wicked and yet apparently touching on something that makes my cock all the firmer, makes my load feel all the closer. Maddie is shaking on the screen, hips held tightly by the taller futanari, her body so small compared to her partner’s and yet doing a fine job of accommodating such a huge and heavy cock.

It shouldn’t be so arousing. Shouldn’t be so readily able to urge me towards climax, but it is.

Hearing Irina’s voice, hearing her recorded grunts and moans as they overlay Maddie’s own, as this carnal deed plays out on my laptop screen, sends me over the edge. Completely obliterates the edge.

‘Guh. Ugh.’

‘Good boy,’ Irina says as I blow my top, splattering my belly. ‘I’m just so good, aren’t I? We don’t even have to be in the same room and I can have this lovely effect on you.’

As my warm load spills across my skin, as I keep stroking myself – to what? To what horrific compilation of thoughts and concepts? – I find it difficult to deny what she says. It’s one thing to proclaim my independence, to act as though what exists between myself and my boss is something impersonal, but then I go and do this.

I watch Irina fuck Mads over her desk, knowing that she’s going to shoot a fat load inside the blonde’s tightly gripping snatch, and it’s impossible to pretend that such a sight isn’t all the more erotic for it having Irina in it.

For hearing, at the same time, Irina’s dirty thoughts.

‘Not everyone is naturally dominant, Theo,’ my boss says, continuing to talk as I explode. ‘Maddie is a natural submissive. In my presence, she does what I want, because she knows it’s for the best. A lot of women are like that, but it’s not a female trait. You’ve nothing to fear in being subservient to me, and as you well know, an awful lot to enjoy.’

I want her to shut up, want her to stop, want her gone, but her voice is divinely dark in its sultriness and her words potentiate an already fiery nut.

And as I writhe about on the sofa, a terrible guilt sets in.

‘C-um in me,’ Maddie says. ‘I s-aw what you did in Theo’s mouth and–’

Irina, in the video, takes her by the throat from behind and leans down atop her, speaking soft yet loud enough for the sensors on the camera. ‘Such a dirty little slut, Mads. I hope you’re on the pill.’

‘I am. Of course. Shoot it all. All of it. Give me everything.’

Irina kisses her head, smooths down her blonde curls, which spring and bounce as her fingers pass them by. ‘Good girl. It feels like it’ll be quite the sight, seeing that–mhm–tight pink little entrance of yours drooling so much of me.’

To watch them copulate, mate, on some dark level breed, makes me wish I could cum again. It recalls Irina’s cock inside of me, some crude parallel between myself and Maddie, our shared experience of the pleasure wrought by that weapon. Only with her body can I ejaculate repeatedly, or at least orgasm continually. Without it, I’m limited to the physiology of an ordinary male, my refractory period preventing me from fully enjoying the show.

‘It was a bloody big one,’ Irina says to me, as her recorded self moans and Maddie growls like a mated mare on the video. ‘As I recall, it started leaking out.’

The mental image of such a virile cumshot, blasted straight into Maddie’s tight little body, is at once unbecomingly sexy and depressingly shameful. Irina, cunning fiend that she is, has managed – as she always seems to achieve – some fine balance between exciting and embarrassing me.

‘Yes,’ Maddie says, whining, writhing. ‘Do it! So much. So fucking hot. Mhm. Yes!’

Her body, wracked with pleasure, shudders and quakes as Irina Blackwell fills it with seed. The taller, older, dominant futanari slowly thrusts, mostly hilted, retrieving at most an inch before pushing herself in again, right up to – I can only imagine – the pretty blonde’s womb.

I wish that were me. Wish I was there.

But the darkest part of my head is that I don’t know in which spot. I somehow manage to envy them both. To long for the pleasure that only Irina has been able to give me, and at the same time to wish it was me blowing my load inside of Mads.

‘A good gift?’ Irina says, as her recorded self’s load begins drooling out between Maddie’s legs, splattering the floor. ‘You’re not saying much, Theo.’

‘She’s going to sign the contract?’

‘Yes, honey. Watch the second video, when you get a moment. See how that enthusiasm remains, grows even stronger.’

I stare at the laptop as Irina pulls out, so much jism spilling free of that tight pretty pussy. No plug for Maddie. Preventing a mess is obviously not the reason, and it’s abundantly clear that Irina does everything with a more carnal intent than worrying over mere clean-up work.

‘The video keeps going,’ I say, soft, confused, conflicted.

‘Oh yes. Do you recall that first night we had? That’d be our average, if only you dispensed with that silly obsession with your contract. We could have real sex again, Theo. Not this austere two-person masturbation we currently engage in. Would that be so wrong?’

Irina is a machine. Forty more minutes remain, and her cock is still iron-rigid. I’d maybe pushed it aside, ignored the memory, but she’s right. On that first night, she just kept going. Just like she seems to with Maddie.

‘I…need to wash.’

‘Of course you do,’ Irina says, a lilt of humour to her lusty voice. ‘You are Mummy’s dirty little boy, after all. Feel free to call again, if you rewatch. This over-the-phone mutual masturbation is fun.’

‘Goodnight, Irina.’

‘Goodnight, honey.’

I don’t move when the call ends. My cum is cooling, but my mind, in a state of clarity, can only attend to the continuing debauchery. Maddie’s cum-glazed cunt being fucked continually, body constantly shuddering, pleasure through the roof.

Yes, she’s going to sign, because she wants Irina’s cock.

But the confusing array of feelings that result from such a realisation, a tangle of wants and doubts, aren’t going to fade any time soon.

This is my life, isn’t it? This is what I signed for.

I’m going to have to learn to love who I’m becoming, because he’s not who I thought.