Chapter 6: All for Naught

The dread is palpable, a thing I can’t seem to push away.

I chose this, didn’t I? I made a decision, and now I have to face the consequences. How could I be so fucking stupid as to think that Irina Blackwell, of all people, wouldn’t have some grand design in mind when she gave the choice to Maddie and I?

‘There’s nothing to worry over, honey,’ Irina says, patting my shoulder. ‘In the worst-case scenario, you’re just going to have to learn to enjoy my company. Would that really be so wrong?’

It might as well go in one ear and out the other, so difficult it is to process that notion. To consider this situation as anything other than an entirely hopeless failure of reasoning is to force myself to find the positives in a future whereby I, and Maddie, will inevitably succumb to Irina. Either that, or we hate our lives so badly that we throw them away. No more seventy-kay salary and likely the worst reference imaginable.

For all of Irina’s beauty, she’s terrible. And yet, undeniably, I know I can enjoy my time with her. It’s an awful realisation, but it’s an honest one. I can enjoy time with Irina because I have some perverse appreciation for her body, for the gorgeous glamour of this veritably Amazonian futanari.

God, I can’t believe how much sperm is in my stomach right now. And how much I enjoyed every filthy fucking mouthful.

All of that and for what? For Irina to just waltz on over to Maddie’s place and impregnate her? Please don’t make me watch, please don’t make me watch, please don’t make me watch…

Every twist and turn on the road, the most comfortable possible journey imaginable in the chauffeured Rolls Royce, is a thing of unwelcome agony. With every passing landmark, I’m aware that we’re that much closer to the end of things. Freedom, sacrificed. Victory, pushed out of view. Oh, I might end up in the lap of luxury, but I’ll end up on her lap, as well.

A fuck toy for a futanari fiend.

‘Please don’t fret, honey.’ Irina strokes my cheek, her fingers soft and delicate and yet might as well be wrapped in barbed wire. ‘You tried your hardest, but we’re just built differently. You’ve got a lovely cock, Theo, and such tasty little balls, but you have to be honest. You have to admit that you knew, before this started, where it would end.’

I tremble beneath her touch, gentle and warm though it may be. Words are beyond me for the moment, lost in the same way my gaze is, caught on the horizon and its unknowable contents. What if she’s right, and I did on some perverse level want this outcome? It’s difficult to ignore the possibility. Difficult to pretend that in some fashion, no matter what, I’ve got myself into a situation whereby I can spend time with Irina without for a moment blaming myself for enjoying her body.

Given that, going forwards, I’m going to be at its mercy.

‘I didn’t. I’d never want this.’

When she leans in, hot breath tickling my skin, humidity uncomfortably pleasant, a distressing lump of anxiousness solidifies like a purulent pearl in my throat. Her mouth is sweet. Her presence, in some awful sense, the farthest thing from unappealing.

‘I’m going to knock her up, Theo. She’s going to carry my child. Do you reckon you’ll love the taste of my semen all the more, when you can connect those dots in your head?’ Irina kisses my cheek, beginning with a peck and moving to something passionate, ending in a lick of my skin. I tremble throughout, stare right ahead, doing my utmost to stay what amounts to braindead, thoughtless. ‘This whole thing suits me perfectly, honey. Why should I use my womb to create a legacy for myself, when I can use someone else’s? And all the better if it puts you in your place.’

‘Please stop talking.’

She rubs my arm. ‘Oh, honey. Don’t shoot the messenger.’

‘How can you do this? How can you be so smug about it?’

Irina chuckles. ‘Theo, honey, you can’t even look at me. Why is that?’

God, she’s right. About this, about so many things. It’s vulgar to the extreme, but I can’t look at her. Not with a straight face. Not if I want to rebel, and resist, and refuse. One look at Irina, and I’m struck by her beauty. Struck by this powerful inability to truly despise her. Because as evil as she is, as fucked-up as I clearly am, I associate her with so much pleasure. So much wonderful lustiness.

‘Because I want to fuck you,’ I say, letting it just slip. No looking, of course. The words do enough. ‘I want to kiss you, and suck on your tits, and fuck them, and fuck you, in every hole. And be…be fucked by you, as well.’

It’s not that my resistance is fading, as such. I’d be lying, to say that my words are untrue. To pretend that when I behold this bronze-fleshed Amazonian, beautiful as she is terrible, I don’t have a powerful urge to do things to her. With her. But I’m exhausted. Completely exhausted today, and the filter is not where it should be.

‘Look at me, honey. Please.’

‘No.’

But Irina takes my jaw with the gentlest of grips, and for whatever reason, beneath her silken touch, I turn. Behold that dark beauty, so well made-up, eyes emerald explosions rimmed in Egyptian-styled mascara. And when she brings her lips against mine, I do nothing. Can do nothing. Perhaps, in some gruesome way, want to do nothing.

‘Mhm.’

Smooch. Smack.

Because Irina’s lips are wonderful, and her breath is sweet, and her spit is delicious. She effortlessly takes control, sticking her tongue inside my mouth, snogging me with fiery passion. Doing this awful thing and I should stop her and fight back, but I don’t. I just don’t.

And when Irina withdraws, a strand of glistening saliva links our lips. ‘We’re going to be a family, okay? I’m going to put a baby – or two! – in Mads. Everybody wins, Theo.’

She moves back into the kiss, but the chauffeur halts the car before our lips touch anew. I’m halfway going for it, all the worse. Irina winks at me, pecks my cheek, and gestures to the door. ‘Come on, honey. Let’s set that ball rolling.’

I don’t know why I go with her. I don’t know much, anymore. God, I wanted to kiss her, didn’t I? Wanted more than that. Just like I didn’t want the blowjobs to stop earlier. I’m captivated, in the worst of ways, by Irina Blackwell. A victim of her, yes, but now becoming some supplicant. Some obedient pet for her to command and direct.

Maddie’s not my girlfriend, as such. She’s a lot more than a friend, and I care dearly for her, light in this omnipresent darkness as she is, but…this is at once divine and disgusting. It should be the latter, only the latter, but it was obvious that something inside me is twisted that day Irina called while I was watching the footage.

The mental image of Irina Blackwell’s powerful strong-swimming sperm claiming Maddie’s eggs provokes a disturbing response in my loins. My cock aches, twitches, thickens to its full glory in a heartbeat. Irina obviously notices as we wait outside of Maddie’s flat, because she reaches down and gropes me.

‘You know this is right, honey. I take, Theo. I take what I want, and you? You’re taken. It’s just how things are. What I’m doing here? I’m doing it for us. Doing it for you.’

‘How can you…how can you be so–ugh–deluded?’

I groan, because her hand knows just how to please. For someone so set on being worshipped, she can return the favour effortlessly. Her fingers grip and stroke, tugging at my captive length, urging me into the realms of pleasure while my thoughts are gridlocked by pain.

‘Deluded? Me?’ Irina chuckles. ‘Honey, I’m setting you free. Look at this’ – she says, patting my cock – ‘and look at me. You’re handsome, but you’re hardly some stud. Mads is going to give her womb to me now, and you’re going to stay childless. Unless you think you can convince someone to join in our little mess, and somehow have them choose your seed over mine.’

You’re going to stay childless. That assertion makes my head spin, causes the world to seem unreasonably evil. Irina being the least of it, given that the universe surely didn’t need her to exist. A mosquito, a tick, something unwanted. Mads is going to give her womb to me, now.

I choke back a word, some protest, when Maddie opens the door. Beautiful as ever, her cheeks are flush, perhaps more so than mine. Red as sin, at odds with her pretty blue eyes. Pale perfection, bouncy blonde curls. Her lingerie leaves little hidden, pert D-cup breasts exposed by the thin veneer of semi-opaque fabric. Between her thighs is already a slickness, wet in anticipation of what’s to happen. Without words, her expression says plenty.

But mostly, it apologises. Apologises for her own excitement.

‘I didn’t expect you to be here, Theo?’

‘Oh, he’s vital,’ Irina says, smiling serenely. She moves, leading me by my cock. ‘Let’s go to your lounge, Mads. To begin, at least.’

‘The lounge?’ Maddie says as we go past her. She shuts the door, locks it. ‘But Irina–’

As we walk into the living room of the small flat, with its TV on one side and a big sofa facing it, Irina says, ‘I’d quite like a blowjob, first. I’ve had several today – back-to-back – but a warm-up load wouldn’t go amiss.’

That purulent pearl in my throat returns, or perhaps it had never truly left. Irina sits herself down, bringing me along with her. Maddie hovers beside me, at the arm of the sofa, going so far as to put a futilely reassuring hand on my shoulder. To soothe me, as if something so wonderful would be possible.

It’s too far gone. This is too far gone. The both of us are deer caught in headlights, watching as Irina Blackwell pulls up her skirt and frees her half-erect length. A big bronze beast, beautiful yet dangerous, so familiar to me now. No less vigorous than ever, as if all my efforts today were for nought.

‘But Irina…’

‘The way this is looking,’ our boss says, ‘suggests that I’m going to be receiving double blowjobs on the regular. There’s no need to be shy, Mads. Just do what you’ve done so very many times before, and do it with that same degree of slutty aplomb that I find so enchanting.’

Irina smiles at me, sickly-sweet. A gruesome look, in all truth, because it represents something profoundly unpleasant. Her dominance, her victory, her ability to get what she wants. To take what she wants, as she suggested she does.

And Maddie, sweet as I know she can be, hesitates. Her hand stays put, locked against me, the urge to reassure momentarily – I know, in my heart of hearts, that it’s only a flash in the pan of a thing – that she’s with me. That she’ll protect me. That she’ll be kind and not cruel.

But all that does is make her absence colder when she moves. When she leaves me behind and walks around to the front, to drop onto her knees before Irina Blackwell. Before the cock that, in no time at all, is likely to plant a child inside of her uterus. To claim her body in the most profoundly perverse of fashions.

‘Good girl,’ Irina says, brushing a finger through those curls of gold. ‘Mummy’s good girl, aren’t you?’

Maddie’s cheeks might as well be tomatoes. ‘You said you’d never–’

‘It’s what Theo calls me as well, baby girl. He won’t judge you for it. Neither should judge the other, cum-hungry little cretins as you both are.’ Irina chuckles sweetly. ‘You’re both safe here, with me. Where you belong. A pair of submissive dutiful sluts.’

Mads gives me a look, but for what purpose? Seeking permission? Wanting approval? Simply desiring to know the truth? Whatever my nod represents, weak and sheepish as it is, it passingly resolves her concerns. The pretty blonde delicately takes up Irina’s length with her small shapely hands, the contrast in colour and vulgarity obvious.

‘Look at me, Maddie,’ Irina says, and those blue eyes swivel up to meet her greens. ‘Good girl. You’ve done this countless times, and today’s no different. Suck out my sperm, honey. Give your body a taste of what’s soon to claim it.’

It’s hard to notice any particular change on Maddie’s face, because her blush is so overbearing. She keeps a straight expression, despite the redness. Her hands, if anything, tell the truth. The way they grip our boss’s big cock, the way they seem to know it without her eyes following their movements, admit what Mads is so frightened of hinting at.

That while she may prefer me, as a matter of heart and soul, her body prefers Irina. The animal part chooses the superior specimen, and the futanari is better than me in all the ways that matter right now.

Fap, fap, fap, schl-fap.

Irina’s loose foreskin shifts meatily beneath Maddie’s ministrations, those hands working hard to pleasure her. There’s a faint note of wetness to the noise, a result of the glistening precum that’s already leaking out of our boss’s cock. Rapidly the sensual shape grows to its full size and all I can do is watch, powerless, knowing that this has to happen. Knowing that this is in some filthy sense my fate.

I shiver as Irina reaches for my lap, more so to realise that I’m stupidly hard, my perfectly decent cock simply seeming so small in comparison to the Amazonian futanari’s.

‘It’s natural that Mads wants me, Theo,’ Irina says, effortlessly using one hand to take my erection out. ‘Oh, she’s sweet on you, certainly adores you, but–mhm–it’s clear what she needs. What you can’t provide her.’

Maddie’s eyes grow wet as she continues to tug and milk, urging back the foreskin of the big bronze beast. As the dark purple crown comes into view her whole body trembles, and her pretty blue eyes become thoroughly transfixed by the overpowering urge to gaze upon the exposed helmet.

My boss smiles at me, one hand on my cock and the other atop Maddie’s head in a proprietary fashion. Irina Blackwell is somehow at her most beautiful when she’s at her most vulgar, those gemstone eyes sparkling and her mouth a thing of grave gorgeousness.

‘Theo, what she says isn’t–’

But Mads is cut off, that hand so delicately placed suddenly acting with driving determination. Midsentence Irina’s cock pushes into the pretty blonde’s mouth, both silencing her and provoking another low tremble through her lovely shape.

‘Mhm. Mumph.’

Schlup. Schlurp.

And immediately, as if on instinct, Maddie begins to suckle. It begins with just her cheeks, pulling taut around that fat bell-end, but then she’s bobbing her head and looking ever so guilty and yet ever so pleased to be tasting that thing I know to be pleasant, to be sucking on that thing I know is so unfathomably enjoyable to suck upon.

‘Ugh. She’s a good girl, isn’t she?’ Irina smirks at me, using that hand to tug on me, playfully and mockingly. ‘She’s of that age, honey. Ripe for breeding.’ Our boss looks at Mads, who quivers, sucking away with shameful enthusiasm. ‘Isn’t that right, honey? Today’s a special day, isn’t it? The day you become–mhm–a mother.’

Schlup. Schlack. Slurp.

‘Mumph. Mhm.’

Mads is really sucking Irina’s cock, right in front of me. The sexual stench of dicks rises up, mine and my boss’s both, hers the more potent flavour. And it should be so wrong, to the point of vomit and disgust and anger, but I can’t stop staring. Can’t take my eyes off of the terrible vista forced upon me.

My knees quiver, because there’s the makings of an orgasm approaching, despite the wrongness of it all. Irina’s touch is sublime, the scene before me awful and yet deeply alluring, the sounds and smells and sights of it at once disgusting and delicious.

She might suck my cock with more affection, but she sucks Irina’s with more enthusiasm.

Schlap. Schlurp.

It’s in the eagerness. The way she moves her mouth and hands with synchronicity, instincts instilling her with a sense of urgency to pleasure this erect penis, to tend to it, to make it spill its virile volume of creamy semen.

‘Mhm.’

And when Mads moans, eyelids fluttering, I’m struck by the strangest kind of jealousy. That same manner as hit me before, when I was watching the recording. This perverse lust to both be Irina and to be Maddie, to suck and be sucked. My infatuation with both of these women, light and darkness at opposite ends of the spectrum, creates the strangest of interests.

‘I’m doing this–ugh–for you, Theo. Teaching you a thing or two about–mhm–what’s to come. What the future holds. Though I do hope that going forwards, both of you will be down there, nursing on your Mummy.’

Maddie’s hands create such motion as they work, making my own pleasure wholly forgettable. Irina’s big bronze balls, bloated despite having been milked of countless billions of her strong-swimming futanari sperm, swing pendulously as the cock they sit beneath is stroked eagerly by pretty young fingers. Her loins pulsate and shudder, brewing up yet another batch of baby batter, doubtless every bit as thick as the last.

Perhaps more so now, given that her body must be passingly aware that it’s here to breed, to lay claim to a fertile womb. It recalls something I learned in biology once upon a time, about semen containing more sperm during actual intercourse.

It provokes a shiver, gruesome as the notion is, but not the bad kind. The kind that, filthy as I am, makes my cock ache all the more beneath her generous grip.

‘Guh. Fuck.’ I gasp, groan. I shouldn’t be enjoying this, shouldn’t be so turned on, and yet I can’t stop staring. Can’t stop marvelling at the sight of Maddie’s enjoyment. ‘Irina…’

‘What, honey? What do you want Mummy to do?’

‘J-ust get on with it. Get this over with. Ughn.’

She chuckles, goes so far as to lean in and kiss my cheek. ‘Why would I rush something so beautiful, honey? Don’t you want to compare loads? Don’t you want to see the difference between–mhm–you and me?’

I don’t, but I do. I am twisted, bent out of shape, vulnerable here. Exposed both in terms of heart, for wanting Maddie and hating Irina, but also in matters of lust and depravity, for finding both beautiful and enticing and on some bedrock-level of rottenness enjoying the show.

Schlup. Slurp.

The sounds of Mads, sucking away on Irina’s big bad dick, are the most sordid of sonority. A dire orchestra, and yet the beauty is still there. There is gold beneath the filth. More so, to see her lips pretty and pink and slick with spit and precum. More so, to watch as her cheeks suck in around the huge helmet that is so fat and fearsome. More so, to see her head bob and know that she’s tasting our boss, tasting precum, working for semen, and soon to taste sperm.

To taste the genes that might well mingle with her own, and create a new life.

‘Ughn. F-uck.’

What depths I’ve sunk to, that this thought causes me to burst. To ejaculate all over Irina’s slowly working hand, white against her duskiness, a perfectly potent load of sticky ropes and creamy strings, but something I know will be a shadow compared to what is going to end up in Maddie’s mouth.

‘Good boy,’ Irina says, chuckling softly. ‘Mummy’s good, good boy. Let it all out. Mhm.’

Schl-fap. Schlurp. Schl-fap. Schlap.

All I can do is stare, trembling as my cum spurts and dribbles forth, some small volcano compared to the Vesuvius of Irina Blackwell’s loins. Maddie glances at me in passing, eyes more aroused than apologetic. This whole thing is vulgar, for both of us. For all parties.

Three perverts, of different sorts.

‘It’ll be a little while yet, honey.’ My boss kisses my cheek, keeps hold of my shivering shaft, paying no heed to the mess on her hand. ‘Some of us have a little thing called stamina.’

Schlap. Schlack.

The wet noises of Maddie’s efforts, her lovely lips working their tight grip to milk out a prodigious payload, are that much fouler as clarity sets into my post-climax mind. What was hot, but wrong, is now just wrong. Just evil, twisted, monstrous.

For a little while, at least. For a little while, until the ruinous parts of my psyche poke and prod and say: “Isn’t this right, Theo? You can’t compete, and isn’t it hot? Isn’t there something sexy in capitulating, in being lesser, in being humiliated?”

God, I’m gruesome. And yet I become hard again in Irina’s hand, and she casually begins to stroke me anew, though her attention is now solely on Maddie. And Maddie’s is solely on her, their eyes locked, some dance of minds, one submitting to the other in some primal passion, a noxious natural order.

I’m just here, some third wheel, irrelevant. Here watching, as each relishes the other.

‘Mhm. Mumph.’

Schlip. Schlop.

‘Dirty little size-queen,’ Irina says, playing with the blonde’s ringlets. ‘I’m your goddess, aren’t I? And this is how you worship me.’

‘Mhm-hm.’

Our boss chuckles, her sickle-smile a thing of sadistic sexiness. ‘Two natural cocksuckers. Lucky me.’ She shivers, knees trembling faintly. Irina relaxes back into the sofa, stroking me all the same. ‘I do so love an eager blowjob.’

Fap, schlick-fap. Fap, schlick-fap. The squelchy load, splattering my dick, makes the sound all the worse. Fap, schlick-fap. Fap, schlick-fap.

‘Ugh. Go on, Mads. Work for Mummy’s milk. That’s a good girl.’

Maddie starts to increase her pace, seeming to wholly forget me. The way she sucks and slurps, the rapid tugging of those hands, and the manner in which she stares up at our boss to the exclusion of myself creates an unpleasant feeling of invisibility. I’m not really here, merely a watcher, second to the lurid love affair between the pretty blonde’s mouth and the futanari’s fat cock.

And the most gruesome fact of it all is that, before long, I’m going to cum again. It’s already building up, already forming tensely behind my groin. I’ll cum twice, from just a lazy handjob, delivered by my enchantingly evil boss, before Irina Blackwell herself does the once from this passionate and practised blowjob.

‘Ughn. Shit.’

When I whine, writhe, nobody notices me. Mads is gazing lustily at Irina, and Irina is smirking down with utmost pride. And this fact, so sordid, should make the whole thing easier to hate and reject, should soften my cock and empower me to hold on, to have hope, but there’s none, and I can’t. God, it turns me on too much. All of this, any of it.

Schlurp. ‘Mhm.’ Slurp. ‘Mumph.’ Schlap.

‘Aah. Good girl. Milk me, honey. Give your body a good taste of my strong genes.’

Those words, from that voice, only make me wince and shudder all the worse. The sounds, the eagerness, the sloppiness…what’s wrong with me?

I’d think it some saving grace that Maddie’s not quite going as all in as she sometimes does with me, taking the entirety of my length down her throat. As she sometimes does with Irina, in those endless videos, deepthroating like a pro.

But then it makes sense why she’s keeping the helmet in her mouth, for the most part.

She wants to taste Irina Blackwell’s semen before they mate. Before they breed.

‘Ughn. Fuck.’

A second orgasm hits me, evil thought proving exciting. Mads can’t look away, can’t stop sucking, can’t help herself. She wants Irina, wants to taste Irina, wants to slather her tongue in the thick virile seed of our boss, the same thick virile seed that’s going to impregnate her today.

Will it even matter, to have chosen a less fertile day?

Fuck, judging by the way she’s behaving, did she even do that?!

‘Guh. Oh.’

And Irina keeps stroking me, keeps milking me, effortless and lazy and without paying me any notice. She must feel me shiver, must notice the extra deposit of spooge upon her fingers and the back of her hand, must hear my whines and groans, but pays me no notice.

It’s all timed perfectly, of course. Right as the post-orgasmic clarity and with it, the self-disgust, hits its peak.

‘Flatten your tongue, honey,’ Irina says, knees quivering. ‘Catch it. Swallow as little as–mhm–you can manage.’

Maddie’s eyes actually glisten as she angles her mouth just so, cheeks reddening that much more, filthy hunger ripe and terrible on her cocksucking face.

‘Ughn. Good girl. Aahn.’

I can practically picture it, with each and every pulse that courses through Irina’s cock. Every shudder and convulsion that rocks her beautiful body. She’s ejaculating, and Mads lets out these sweet little moans, expressions of eagerness and satisfaction, happily tasting the virile viscous fruits of her labour.

‘Mhm. Mhm-hm.’

The dominant futanari plays with the pretty blonde’s hair as she loads her mouth, producing billions of strong-swimming sperm from those big beautiful balls, shooting them straight across Maddie’s tastebuds. Thick ropes and juicy strings, claiming a mouth, asserting control, taking what is – I struggle now to deny – rightfully Irina’s.

‘Ugh. That’s it, Mads. Good girl. Mhm. Keep sucking. Let me feed you.’ Irina groans, muscles straining and relaxing, doubtless releasing a truly tremendous quantity of thick futanari jism. ‘It’s important to g-et your body acquainted with my genes, honey. We’re going to have a beautiful family.’ Our baleful boss, at this moment, winks at me. ‘All three of us.’

Mads doesn’t even look guilty, following Irina’s gaze for that moment. Pleading, almost. “How can you blame me? It’s so good! She’s so hung and her seed is such high quality!”

And I’m struck by that awful thought again. That perverse knowledge that I share with Maddie, that awareness of how difficult it is to deny some salacious sense to it all.

Imagine how good her loads will taste, knowing that they put a bun in Maddie’s oven?

What if this is right, after all? What if this is just how it has to be? It’s not like I’m going to be excluded, after all. Not how Irina phrases it, not her talk of us being a family. Not her constant admittances of wanting me the most, doing this for me, so much orbiting me.

Maddie’s throat pulls me away from the lurid possibility, bobbing slightly as our boss’s sperm – too much, of course, for that sweet small mouth – descend past her tonsils, swim into her belly. But maybe that’s right, too. I can’t compete with Irina. The way Mads moves her mouth, chewing and savouring that sordid salty sticky richness, tangy and distinctly carnal in content, aligns perfectly with my understanding.

It's really, really good stuff, what that beautiful Amazonian body produces.

‘Mhm. Mumph.’

Schlup. Slurp.

Irina groans. ‘It’s clear how badly she wants me, Theo. Are you really going to–ughn–deny Mads the honour of bearing my children?’

‘But…the d-eal…’

‘Wouldn’t it sting less to just give in, honey?’ She turns to me, smiling sinfully. All pride, alluring arrogance. ‘I’ll take her reproductive organs, you take her arse. We’ll share her mouth. And all of your holes, of course, will belong to me.’

Maddie, in the background of this, keeps sucking and savouring. Clearly chewing, swirling the thick spooge around in her mouth, relishing the powerful flavour of our boss’s sperm, wriggling about across her tastebuds. Our words mean little, cum-crazed as she is, lavishing in the lurid luxury of Irina Blackwell’s loins.

‘No. The deal stands. I’m not going to give up.’ I shake my head, empowered by something feeble yet fighty, a shard of my former sense of self. ‘Today’s the last day you have sex with Maddie.’

Irina pulls a face, some sarcastic sadness. ‘Oh, honey.’ She gives my cock a squeeze, and sets those evil emeralds upon Maddie. ‘Mads, honey, what’s so special about today?’

It’s like someone’s run ice cubes against the vertebrae of my spine. The look there, the way the pretty blonde is torn straight out of her sperm-fetish and back into the room, is one of the most egregious guilt. Maddie’s movements fall to a standstill. Her throat bobs faintly, but Irina pats her head.

‘Don’t rush, honey. Mummy will explain.’ Our boss turns to me, finally releasing my cock. Her cum-creamed hand glistens, and she smiles at it, idly turning her fingers this way and that. ‘Mads is a good little girl, Theo. And she couldn’t help but tell the truth. About your little plan to work by her cycle, to put me in a position that even my virile swimmers might struggle to get me out of.’

As she speaks, she plays with Maddie’s hair and the pretty blonde trembles, faintly churning and chewing, continuing to savour Irina’s seed.

‘We decided on a better day, honey. Her most fertile day. The day that the three of us – with a fourth, and perhaps even a fifth – become a real family.’ Irina lifts her spooge-soaked hand up to me, and it’s fucking rotten that I know what’s expected. ‘A million a year and my big house you can have, but it doesn’t have to exclude me, does it? I’ll shower the both of my sweet sluts with all the money in the world, everything you could ever want, so long as you accept how this has to go.’

Irina slides her hand down Maddie’s cheek, stroking away, and cups her jaw. With a slight upwards tilting of her skull, an unspoken command, the pretty blonde draws back from the futanari’s cock and shows me what’s going on inside that suck-slut of a mouth.

A mess of white, ropes and strings, connecting everything. A tongue that is practically smothered in the thick baby-making cream, which can hardly sit still. A quantity of jism that I can’t produce with ten loads, let alone two. The hand before me, and my own sodden crotch, ensure that I can’t pretend otherwise.

‘Do you see, Theo? Do you understand?’ She twists her hand this way and that, gooiness glistening. ‘In a few moments, I’m going to be in the bedroom with Mads, and I’m very excited to put a bun in that oven. You can either sit out here – but not before licking that muck off of my hand, you naughty boy – and adhere to the deal as it stands, or you can come in with me, and we can enjoy her body together. As a family.’

‘Meaning what…Mummy?’

Irina licks her lips. ‘Meaning you take her nice little bubble butt, and I’ll sow my seed. And Mads’ – she takes her hand away, hovering it halfway between myself and the kneeling beauty – ‘can handle the mess you made. But I will be trying every day, if you choose the latter option. Think quickly, Theo. Mummy is quite eager to become a daddy.’

Two paths, and neither is great. Each is a thing of darkness, though one…one is kinder?

I want Maddie for myself, but clearly that’s not happening. For all of her affection for me, her lust is a thing untameable. Her reasoning is so sordid, yet difficult to fault. We get the money, we get the house, and we get to belong to Irina as well. We get mind-blowing sex with each other, and with her. But we lose out on being free, me more so than her, though it’s hardly like in an ideal world she’d choose to have Irina’s babies.

Or I sit out here and listen, likely see a video at some point, and pretend that somehow there’s a way out of this that doesn’t involve me – again – swallowing my pride and Irina’s. The added insult of licking my cooling cum off of her hand, as if to proclaim that it’s unfit for consumption, even by the seed-slurping slut that is Maddie. And of course, I still have to adhere to the deal, or else lose my job.

God, would it be so bad for her to win?

And some voice in me, something frail and neglected, shouts with a forcefulness that I can’t possibly deny. What the hell am I doing? What good is it to live this way, to have such pleasures, if this rapacious bitch of a woman, this tyrannical cunt, wins?

‘No,’ I say, sounding weak. ‘No.’ It comes louder. ‘Fucking no.’

Maddie’s face drops, and Irina stares at me with the most incredible of surprise. An expression that’s worth it in and of itself, to be honest. ‘Excuse me?’ she says, half-retracting her cum-splattered hand. ‘Do you understand what you’re doing, honey?’

‘Stop that fucking silly name. You’re a monster, Irina. You’re evil.’

I don’t give a shit that my crotch is all messy. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is escaping this, getting away from this shit show. I’m on my feet in a moment, doing up my trousers, hurrying to the door. Thoughts moving a mile a minute, their protests distant, Maddie’s sounding concerned while Irina’s hint at barely suppressed aggression. Her “toy”, escaping her grasp.

The money doesn’t matter. None of it matters!

Fuck that bitch, and fuck surrendering to her.

I don’t sleep well, in the aftermath. My heart is racing and the adrenaline just won’t quit.

Irina makes it clear, over text, that I’m to return or lose my job. Twice. And then she informs me that I’ll have no job to return to on Monday, and to expect a truly savage reference that might well exclude me from the editing industry entirely.

Unless, of course, I apologise profusely, in the fashion she finds most acceptable.

There’s no way to go forwards that doesn’t involve me abandoning any kind of pride. The funny thing is, with the push I’ve given myself, it doesn’t seem all that difficult to just accept the loss. So I do the rational thing, and call up Mum. And lie, of course, but explain that all’s gone to shit, that the economy has ruined my industry, and that I need a place to live. And naturally, that’s fine. That’s no problem at all, for as long as I need to stay, for as long as it takes to get back on my feet.

It all looks hopeless right now, and to be twenty-five and going back home – Dad will doubtless find a way to make me feel extra shitty about this – is an utter tragedy, but the alternative is far, far worse.

I text Irina, “I’m done,” and that’s it. The end. Over.

She tells me to collect my things on Monday, the last vestiges of my time at Blackwell Limited. I’d refuse, but the cunt threatens to charge me for their removal, and I’m not exactly in the best spot financially given that I’ve finally chosen the right thing. A little further awkwardness, the last of it all, is hardly the worst problem in the world.

Somehow I manage to get the courage to do it, to waltz into the office the next morning despite being a bit sleep deprived from surging anxiety, despite the wary eyes and whispered words passing between the people who I used to work with. “Finally running away from her,” someone says. “Passed over in favour of Mads,” says another. “Same kind of loser as the rest of them, trying to fuck his way to the top.”

But I’m proud of myself for putting my foot down, for finally rejecting Irina Blackwell. Rejecting a fate that would be nothing more than abject humiliation, all of its carnal glories won through self-abandonment.

There’s not much to take from my office. Enough that’ll fit into a carriable box, just bits and bobs, stationary, my work laptop – technically mine, apparently – and a few other miscellaneous things.

It’s uncomfortable passing Irina’s room to get there, the door shut and the blinds down, but it’s worse on the way out. That it’s suddenly open distracts me for long enough to catch a good look at the interior of the naturally lit office, that big lounge-workplace hybrid befitting her wealth and ego. Even now, she looks beautiful, sitting there behind her desk with those half-rim glasses on, made up to her usual sensual standards. Even now, there’s that repulsive temptation that started this whole awful thing, this woman of excessively easy beauty who is, of course, nothing like her appearance.

What would my life be like if I’d not gone up to that hotel room with her?

‘A word, Theo,’ Irina says. ‘Seeing as this will be the last we’ll see of one another.’

I’m not exactly sure why I go to her. Maybe just to remind myself that despite how superior she thinks herself, coming out as the victor and sending me away carrying my meagre box of office junk out of her expensive company building, I’ve nonetheless won. Won the important battle between us, chosen self-respect over inferiority and submission.

‘The door, if you’d be so kind.’ She smiles at me, all perfect, all foreboding. And I close that, too. Yet there’s no transformation, no sudden shift into the succubus-vampire that the Amazonian futanari surely is. Just a moment of quiet, and…a sound? But Irina speaks again before I can decipher its source, or meaning. ‘You really are pathetic, Theodore. Truly, another failed excuse of a man who couldn’t face up to the reality of his desires. How does it feel to have forgone luxury because you can’t admit to desiring that thing which you clearly want?’

A pang of rejection, of anger, boils up but dissolves into nothing on contact with the momentary silence which brings with it a better hearing of that sound.

Schlup. Slurp. ‘Mhm.’

Irina must see some realisation on my face, because her smile becomes a grin, running from ear to splendid ear. ‘You’re just a man, Theo. Just a meek and meagre man, and you never could compete. I offered you a chance to partake of the natural order, to submit to be and become mine, but you spat in my face. You chose this’ – she gestures dismissively towards me, as if my entire being can be encapsulated in a wave of a pretty hand – ‘instead of this.’

A lump of nerves solidifies in the back of my throat as she points, with a singularly striking finger, towards the desk. Beneath the desk.

Schlap. Schlack. ‘Mumph.’

Maddie. Mads, under Irina’s desk. I can’t see her, can’t even see her feet, but she’s there. The pretty blonde, on her knees, worshipping the Amazonian futanari. Affirming, in some profoundly passionate manner, the victory of Irina Blackwell, and in some sense, the defeat of Theodore Brackley. The other battle. The one which I can’t possibly win.

But as much as I know what I’m losing by going along this path, I can’t turn back. Can’t fathom surrendering to her no matter the perverse pleasures such a capitulation will guarantee.

‘You had a golden opportunity to belong to me, Theo. To have me as Mummy, to be part of a beautiful family. To service a superior specimen of humanity, each and every day, and have a wonderful life.’ She speaks in that ever-sultry voice, tantalising as can be, talking as though it’s all so clear as day. All objective, without debate. All arrogance. ‘I was so generous to you, when I needn’t have been. I could’ve been so much harsher, could’ve pulled all manner of strings, but instead my kindness was met with rebellion from a mewling maggot of a man.’

She clicks her mouth, shakes her head in what I imagine can only be fake despair, unless she’s utterly insane. But of course, she is utterly insane, isn’t she? Beautiful, with that crimson hair and all that exotic eroticism, but insane nonetheless. And in the background, in the brief pause, the sloppy sounds tickle the hairs on the back of my neck.

Slurp. ‘Mhm.’ Schlurp.

‘I’m going to have that family, without you,’ Irina says, grinning through obvious disdain. A child, having lost her toy – and worse, for bad behaviour. ‘I’m going to make Mads into my own personal broodmare, going to ensure that my line survives, and pull every string available to keep you where you belong, low and in the ground, like the worm you are, poor and forgettable to the extent that no woman ever thinks to love you. How does that sound, Theodore? How does it feel to truly lose?’

And in the heat of the moment, it feels good. It feels like victory, a certain sign that I’ve come out on top. If Irina is this upset by the fact that I’m saving my skin, then I’ve done something right. I dread for Maddie, pity her in some sense, but…I’m finally free. I can leave.

‘Are we done, Irina?’ I say, my voice surprisingly unwavering. ‘Can I go?’

‘Mumph.’ Schluck. Schlep. ‘Mhm.’

Irina grimaces. ‘Yes. Go. Enjoy mediocrity. Enjoy being nothing. Enjoy fantasising about the perfect life you could’ve had, if only you’d realised your place.’

I manage to push away the sounds of sloppy head, and the discomforting arrogance of her insults. That sensation of pride, in the face of such a gloomy conclusion, wells up and protects me from the worst of it. An end to things, and my freedom firmly in my grasp, but at the cost of my career. In the grand scheme of things, a small price to pay.

When I get home I throw myself onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling, sighing in relaxation. Now is the time to relish these last days in the flat, faintly dreading – but far less than any alternative – returning home to live with my parents. To put all of the evils of Irina Blackwell behind me will take time, but it starts today. Abandoning that awful situation begins now.

I get my laptop up and hurriedly delete the two lengthy amateur pornos, though my hand does hover on the delete button for some time. Gruesome as it is, I kind of want to keep them. That tug of war, that realisation that they need to go and yet that desire to have access to…to dirty memories of the fate I slipped free of.

My email beeps, distracting me before I go through with it. There’s a new message, from Irina. A message titled: “A Parting Gift.” It says only this, “We both know how much you enjoy these videos, you rotten little beta. Here’s what you missed. If you want more, reply, and I’ll see to it. Always your superior, Irina.”

Attached is a link to a file-sharing website, and the file in question – a video – is titled “Broodmare.” From the message alone, from the name of the file, my cock is up and in need of attention. I know I shouldn’t, I know I mustn’t, but…would it hurt? Would it kill me to watch one last video?

With a click, it’s on. Another, it’s on full screen. The scene is familiar, Maddie’s bedroom, a place of pleasure captured through a lens of sheerest perversion. An act of copulation, my presence absent. Sunday. The day I chose victory over submission.

Schlick-schlack. Schlick-schlack.

I casually dial the volume up and rest back against the pillows, staring at the screen. My dick is in hand, though it shouldn’t be. This shouldn’t turn me on, not in the least, but I can’t look away. Can’t not touch myself.

‘God, you’re especially tight tonight,’ Irina says, swinging her hips away at Maddie’s plump bubble-butt. ‘Is it that wonderful a thought, honey? That you’re never going to see that loser’s baby dick again? That you’ll tend to mine–ugh–for the rest of your life?’

‘Mhm. N-o, Mummy. Just…just how hot you are. How lucky I am.’

Schlick-schlack. Schlick-schlack.

To see the pretty blonde on all fours, hands clenched around screwed-up bundles of duvet cover, is a fine sight even without the added eroticism of the dusky-skinned Amazonian, tall and statuesque, her body voluptuous without peer. Irina’s huge breasts jiggle and shudder, going fup, fup, fup as they bounce about on her chest, her thrusts so forceful that the springs of the bed whine in complaint.

Protesting something that they, just like me, couldn’t stop. A force of nature, a primal consequence of our animal instincts.

‘Mhm. Mummy!’

‘Ughn. Take it, slut. Take that dick. You’re going to be a mother, Mads. Going to be the mother of–mhm– so many children. It’s going to be beautiful.’

Schlick-schlack. Schlick-schlack.

Maddie’s own bouncy bits wobble and shift, less impressive than Irina’s yet plentifully appealing as the dominant dickgirl takes her without a hint of reservation. Their bodies ripple together, such abundant womanliness, the cute curves of the petite blonde with her lovely D-cup tits, and the Amazonian contours of the crimson-haired futanari packing those hefty K-cups. The sight of that dangerous dick, bronze and brutal, as it spears Maddie again and again, instils me with complicated and confusing notions. Some low form of envy, that the futanari’s phenomenal weapon provokes a near-endless climax as it spreads the blonde’s fertile folds, causing Mads to squirt messily down her legs and across the bedsheets.

Thwup, thwup, thwup is the meaty sound of Irina’s enormous balls, swinging back and forth with pendulous power as the dominant dusky-skinned goddess takes what, in the heat of my lust, in viewing such a moment, seems to be rightfully hers. A beautiful young body that is rightfully hers. Rightfully hers, to mount and breed the pretty blonde. Thwup, thwup, thwup.

My cock shouldn’t be hard, but it is. I shouldn’t be holding it, but I am. Shouldn’t be playing with myself, but I am. I know what I’m watching, know how fucking venal it is, but I can’t stop myself. Why does it turn me on so much, to watch this kind of thing?

This kind of thing, this vulgar video where Irina so readily takes Maddie and effortlessly produces a kind of sexual nirvana in her, the kind of pleasure I’ve never produced in anyone. That if I ever do, I’ll have to fight tooth and nail for.

Why can’t I stop myself?!

Schlick-thwup-schlack. Schlick-thwup-schlack.

The angle of the footage gives a better view of Irina than it does Mads. Some camera put atop a dressing cabinet, such that I get just a bit of the blonde and the entirety of the exotic Amazoness. Her body, in action, shows off its delicious muscular definition, its strength and glamour, those heavy buttocks clenched together as Irina uses her hips like a jackhammer. At least I can forgive myself that appreciation, looking at the womanly parts of her body, but my eyes keep dipping to the swinging of those opulent orbs between her thighs, rippling away as they bounce and bump against Maddie’s underside, drooling with squirt and pussy nectar. They’re mystical, marvellous, despite those heavy hangers embodying Irina’s supposed sensual supremacy every bit as much as her cock does.

‘You’re–ugh–clenching tight, honey,’ Irina says. ‘Does it excite you that much, the prospect of carrying my children?’

‘I…but without Theo…’

Irina chuckles cruelly. ‘Without Theo, honey, what’s to stop us from enjoying ourselves? You can be the slutty little broodmare you clearly–aah–want to be. You can have my undivided attention.’

As she speaks, she picks up the pace. Utterly wallops her wide womanly hips against the petite blonde, ravaging that tight pink pussy with a ravenousness I’ll never be able to match. I shouldn’t shiver, convulse in a carnal fashion, but I do. I consider myself as outside of this, unable to compete, and it stirs risqué rumblings in my soul.

‘Aah. Mhm. Mummy!’

Schlick-thwup-schlack. Schlick-thwup-schlack.

Maddie collapses forwards, body shuddering salaciously. She lands in just the right way – or perhaps gives into curiosity – such that her face, its blonde locks matted with sweat, comes into better view. Eyes rolled back, the young woman seems to be drooling, completely dumbstruck by the voraciousness of her partner.

‘Good girl,’ Irina says, gritting her teeth. ‘Get pregnant, Mads. Bear my–aahn–children!’

She surges forwards, one last time. Those big balls swing sloppily against Maddie’s snatch, and that enormous erection, a titan of turgidity, disappears wholly between the smaller woman’s lower lips.

‘Argh. Fuck. God, yes.’

The grunting is paired with a shiver, a muscular contraction that shows itself in the way that the dusky dominatrix’s buttocks press against each other, growing rigid and tense. A beautiful big bum, on an evil woman. But I realise the importance of such a detail. Realise, and it accelerates me to my own creamy conclusion.

‘Jesus,’ Mads says, breathy, eyes fluttering. ‘It’s so…so hot.’

Irina is cumming. Cumming so hard, in fact, with such voluminous virility, that the dense white muck is spilling out of those pretty pink folds in clumpy gooey splatters suggestive of immense thickness. The dickgirl’s dick milk is, undeniably, potent to a scary degree.

And for Mads to pick a day like this, when she’s risky? With a woman, a futanari, as sexually sublime as Irina Blackwell?

‘Ugh.’

I grunt, and blow my top. Guilt, guilt, glorious guilt. But it feels so good, to be watching this illicit showing, and playing with myself. To be watching what might be the very moment that my boss impregnates my co-worker-turned-fuckbuddy-girlfriend. To be watching something insanely illicit, deeply intimate, and incredibly arousing. It shouldn’t be good, but it is. God, it’s fucking glorious.

‘Good girl,’ Irina says, shivering, quaking, releasing the last sizeable spurts of her richly creamy nut butter inside of Maddie. ‘You take my dick so–mhm–well, honey. Your body was clearly crafted for my sake.’

As she speaks she withdraws, for my sake. For the sake of the footage. There’s a distinctly sloppy schplop as Maddie’s tightness reluctantly releases the tall woman’s bulky bronze dick, purple plum slipping free and bringing with it a veritable explosion of stringy sticky whiteness. Clean or dirty, Irina’s member is endlessly impressive, not merely massive at over a foot in length, but broad and brawny, a resplendently potent male organ with a jungle of glistening oil-black pubes at its base.

My own hot load splatters down on my hand, on my belly, and I’m struck with such shamefulness. Such inferiority. How anyone could be so hung, so capable of producing…

But Irina saves me, in a sense. She withdraws from Mads, leaving the girl sweaty and sperm-packed, her upturned backside quivering as more of that viciously virile ejaculate dribbles forth from her pretty pinkness, and turns towards the camera.

Turns, at the same time, to me. And there, with a smile, with a look of sheerest arrogance – “See what I did, honey? Even after all the seed you sucked out of me, I still plugged her to the limit. Don’t you feel meagre?” I can practically imagine her saying so – the frame freezes. The footage ends.

And with a mucky hand, and a cum-clad cock, I resist the powerful urge to reply to the email. To get more of this vile “content”, for my own perusal.

Because it would be acknowledging Irina Blackwell.

Because it would be admitting that which I must excise from myself.

My old room is a tragedy. It brings with it memories of being a loser teenager, of struggling with things that now seem so meagre. Janine Stewart, who I was too anxious to ask out. Lydia Maxwell, who left me because I was too much work, with all my distrust at the time.

And this room, where I’d retreat, safe and sound. This room, suiting a child with its single bed, suiting someone who isn’t a twenty-five-year-old man.

But here I am, again. Here I am, and the gravity of it all sets in. The realisation that beyond some savings, I’ve gained nothing for the past few years at Blackwell Limited. That I’ve come away with what? A sense of victory for escaping Irina’s clutches? Jesus Christ. It’s like I’ve regressed a decade.

And that same sense of regression, little by little, erodes my sanity. Makes something as obviously stupid – like replying to Irina’s email – seem less so. I…I’ve nothing to lose, right?

She responds a week later. A week of her life, full of interesting happenings, doubtlessly fucking Maddie as much and as often as she wants, and a week of mine with no change whatsoever. An awful imagined contrast. The message is simple, with another video attachment.

“I thought you’d enjoy it, you pathetic little loser. More’s on the way. Always your superior, Irina.”

The new video is higher quality, shot in the office. It’s obviously been treated with some degree of seriousness, given that it changes between several angles, but the main feature is Maddie laid on her back across Irina’s desk, being fucked in a ferocious fashion. The sounds of the desk grinding against the floor, strained beneath the power of the pounding, provokes both a wince and a rigidity between my legs.