"Mark! Why is the internet down?!"
The aggressive yell came from two offices away, but Mark could still hear it. A 'come and fix this immediately' voice, cutting through the quiet office like a foghorn. When it came to computer trouble, his boss, Erin, preferred yelling to texting or email - it was faster to just beckon him with pure, eardrum-busting sound.
"It shouldn't be!" he replied, yelling back even as he rose from his cluttered desk. He'd been employed as the IT manager at Sunflower Realty for nearly two years, and was popular among the other twenty or so employees and real-estate agents. Sure, some of them marveled at how 'articulate' he was as if they'd never seen a black man operate a computer before, but those early exceptions aside, he got along with just about everyone at the office. Well, almost everyone. Unfortunately, Erin was the one.
She did not go out drinking with the rank and file, as Mark sometimes did on Fridays. She did not play D&D, as Mark did in his spare time. In fact, when she overheard that he played a lot of video games, she just rolled her eyes and told him that he'd better not play any at the office. (He hadn't planned on it.) Despite his best efforts to be punctual, efficient, and helpful, she just hadn't warmed to him at all. Perhaps because she hadn't originally hired him - that had been her predecessor.
"I thought you fixed this fucking thing!" came another cry, closer now. He was quickly approaching the door to her office.
I have , Mark thought. Many times. And there's probably nothing wrong with it anyway. You're just terrible with technology, that's all. He didn't dare say any of this aloud. Five steps later, he was peeking into her door, smartly dressed in a wine-colored shirt and black slacks. His tie was gold, and he sported a freshly-barbered wavy fade. Privately he thought he looked pretty good - he'd received a few glances from the ladies at the office - but again, not from his boss. She was immune to such things.
"Don't worry," he joked, leaning inside. "The doctor is in."
She shot him a look of death. Jokes were clearly out of the question. Erin was sitting in her leather chair, crankily dragging her mouse around and clicking it impotently. The black heels she'd worn to the office were on the corner of her desk - she'd doffed them to ease the ache in her feet. She was dressed in a pinstriped suit jacket and form-hugging pants, with the jacket unbuttoned to show a designer blouse that was white with buttons. She wore her jacket undone most days because she didn't have a choice.
Erin's tits were absolutely enormous . Yet it was a forbidden topic in the lunchroom or the smoking area to so much as discuss how odd it was to have a boss who was better endowed than the most plastic porn stars. Mark had heard one story from when Erin was still vice-president… a hotshot agent was crowing about a sale, watched Erin pass by in the hall, her long auburn hair swaying, her enormous tits bouncing, her heels clacking and her ass-cheeks, somewhere even bigger than her tits - pumping and flexing with every step.
"With the commission off this," he bragged, "I'm gonna buy myself a Ferrari! And," he went on, pointing a thumb toward Erin, "I'm going to motorboat the fuck out of those big-ass titties!" He then compounded his trespasses by making the universal sound of motorboating - "Blblblblblblbl!"
Unfortunately, in his excitement, the agent had neglected to wait until Erin was out of earshot. Retribution had been swift. Not only was he shitcanned the next day, but the company withheld his commission, citing termination for cause due to inappropriate workplace behavior. Erin didn't play. No matter how she looked - it wasn't an invitation to get fresh.
Mark had learned his lessons well in that regard. And so, as he approached her desk, he kept his eyes squarely on her PC, and not on the enormous mega-milkers (god, with two hands you couldn't even hold all of ONE of them!) that were currently threatening to burst out of Erin's blouse.
"Let me see," he said, walking partway around and leaning over the expensive mahogany surface. Erin's computer was running, but there was no internet connection, just as she said.
"Mark, what's the point of storing contracts on the Cloud if the internet goes to shit every five minutes?" she hectored him. "I told you we should stick to paper!"
"Yeah, you and the rest of the Stone Age," Mark muttered, offering her a disarming smile. But her face only darkened. No, jokes really were not going to work. "Mind scooting over a bit?"
Erin grumpily rolled her chair back toward the windows in the rear of her office, which looked out into the city. Late at night, it really was a beautiful view, unlike his office, which had a support beam in it and a nice arrow of cobwebs in the ceiling corners. "I was halfway done reviewing the McMurray contract when it stopped working. I better not have lost all my annotations!" she said, threateningly.
"Oh, I bet they're still there." He looked down at the rear underside of her desk, where the cable modem and other cords were carefully placed in a compartment, designed to keep the top of the desk free of clutter. The cable modem was… totally dark. "Well," he ventured. "I see your problem."
The look on Erin's face was a mix of relief… and a stern threat. The look said: Choose your words carefully Mark. Danger ahead. Even if it was my fault, it might be a good idea to keep your mouth shut about it… or face my wrath.
He examined the modem and router and found the problem quickly. The modem was unplugged. The power cord was still attached, though. He slid slightly more underneath the desk and followed the cable to the other end… and found that it was not plugged into the power strip that he had placed below. Instead, the three-pronged plug was dangling free, and something else was plugged in.
A phone charger.
Mark blinked. Had she…?
He thought of her warning and didn't ask the question aloud. Emerging from beneath the desk, he followed the cord of the charger, which led back around to the front of the desk, and then up to and into a drawer just below her mousepad. He reached out his hand for it.
"What do you think you're doing?" Erin scolded him.
"Is your cellphone in there?"
"Yes. Not that it's any business of yours, Mark."
He could have said a few dozen things but didn't. "So uh… you can't unplug the modem if you want to plug in your phone charger."
"My battery was low and I needed to send some important text messages!" Erin insisted, as if that explained it all. Mark mustered his patience and tried again.
"If you unplug the modem… the internet will not work in your office," he said.
"I thought I unplugged the desk lamp!"
Mark stood without response for a second. Any remark about how inept Erin was with technology would only result in pain. Eventually he decided to move on. "I'll reconnect the modem for you," he said, gently and patiently. "And I'll put a little tag on the cord that leads to it, so you know not to unplug it."
Erin's expression didn't soften at all. "That power strip should have more sockets on it, so I don't have to unplug anything to put my phone charger in there!" she complained.
Mark only smiled and bit his tongue. "Yes, boss. You're right. It should." He did not say that her phone charger was a USB device and she could plug it into her PC tower without using the adapter at all. Or that there were many other outlets in the office that she could use to plug in the adapter. No, it was just another happy day as IT manager at Sunflower Realty.
He plugged the modem back in, accepted Erin's curt nod of semi-approval, and walked out of her office. By the time he flopped down at his own desk and fetched a deep sigh, he was about ready to be done for the day.
The problem? It was only 10:30 AM. "Fuck me," he grumbled, glancing at the clock. Needing to pass some time and relieve some stress, not wanting to deal with any more IT nonsense for a moment, he reached into his pocket and produced his phone. Not his work phone. His personal phone.
The one he used to keep tabs on his second job.
In Mark's personal email, there was a special folder. Nothing too tawdry - it was not filled to the brim with porn or anything, though he had certainly enjoyed his share of erotica while growing into his 6'1", 230 pound body as a young man. No, this one contained personal messages. Personal messages from people he had never met.
There were three unreads. He clicked the first:
Hello. I got your contact information from the DreamDoms website I am very nervous to try this, so please excuse me if I don't know exactly how it works. I am between relationships and could never quite find the experience I wanted with my former partner.
I am looking to tie me up and spank me, and to speak to me sternly as toys are used on me. I am 40 years old, and not as thin as I used to be, but I make up for it in enthusiasm! Love cooking and football too, so we could talk about those things when I'm not "all tied up". (ha!)
Your physique is very nice but I do worry about the size, so… penetration could wait until we know each other better. (As for the toys, I have a bunch that I normally use, and they are charged and ready to go!)
I saw the area you listed for outcalls and I am within your distance. Please let me know if something can be arranged. The discipline of a dom is something I am very much looking for, and if we click well, this could turn into a regular thing.
Hoping to hear from you,
GladysG
There was a photo attached. A woman, white, brown-haired, smiling, with a black butterfly mask on, posing for a self-taken topless shot. She was slightly past her prime, and Mark estimated she might be a few years older than the age she'd listed, which he found both endearing and a bit sad. The photo had a vintage quality to it. 'Gladys' would have looked right at home in her oven mitts, offering him a piece of just-baked apple pie! The idea of paddling her ass and holding vibrators against her clit, telling her that if she was a good girl she'd get to cum, hearing her say 'yes sir' and 'no sir'... seemed almost scandalous.
He mentally filed her request away under 'maybe'. Once he decided, he would send her a note either accepting or declining. Though he was already feeling a bit guilty at the idea of saying 'no' to such an earnest and nervous first message.
"That's the job, I guess," he muttered to himself. And indeed it was. A 'side job' he had been doing for three years, and that paid almost as much as his entry-level IT position… in a fraction of the hours.
Becoming a specialty male escort was something that had happened to Mark almost by accident. In his youth he had often interacted with webcam models while seeking some more personal porn. He quickly discovered the idea of Cam2Cam (being rather tech-savvy, he had himself a very nice webcam) and, in the midst of enjoying masturbation sessions with hot professional sex workers, further discovered that they were very interested in the size of his penis.
Point of serendipity number one - genetic luck. Mark found the term BBC to be a bit racially-charged for his taste, but like it or not, that was the term that women would always use upon seeing it. It was a big, aesthetically beautiful ebony piston that topped out at thirteen and one-half inches when he was really turned on, complete with a set of heavy, perfectly symmetrical balls. By Mark's judgment, he was bigger down there than even the famous male pornstars - and yes, the idea of him doing porn had definitely come up.
That, also, could have been his career. But Mark didn't want to film pornography. He didn't really want to show his face, for one thing - he didn't do so on cam - and he also had other career aspirations that might be jeopardized by becoming an adult performer.
Point of serendipity two - a cam model offering him money to 'perform' with her. The first time it happened, he declined, with the explanation that he preferred to keep things private. But, surprise surprise, this quickly led to further negotiations:
What if you just come over and dom me?
Really? Yes. The model went on to explain that she really liked having a hung black guy order her around and tell her what to do. She was in the city, about a twenty minute drive away from him, with traffic.
So Mark went. And though he was very nervous, once he arrived, it was just like their camshows. He quickly realized this new partner wasn't just acting submissive online - she really was submissive, which made it easy to fall into his dominant role. Besides the sex, which was amazing - she was a tiny pixie despite being about ten years older than him, and he could throw her around all over the place - Mark learned a lot about how to deal with 'customers'.
They talked briefly about limits before getting started, and within those ironclad boundaries, he was able to be very aggressive, much to her enjoyment. He found himself rising to meet her expectations, and he also very much enjoyed her being ultra-submissive. He ended up staying the night - which was the only part of the visit that wouldn't become normal for him.
And from there, regular visits to her. The realization that neither one of them wanted a relationship; it was a mutually beneficial arrangement between two kinky people. In a month, she approached him about dominating a friend of hers who wanted that same experience. Then, after doing that a couple times, the friend approached him about a one-on-one session.
It wasn't long before he was offered money. And then, a few months later, Mark became aware of DreamDoms - a word-of-mouth-only website that would connect women (usually rich ones) with dominant men. That had been about two years ago, he had been twenty-four.
Mark looked at the next email.
Your cock is amaaaaaaaazing!
I saw it and I just had to message you. I keep myself in good shape too, hope you like the attached photo. My husband loves to film me being fucked by BBC-
He only skimmed the rest. He would not reply to this one. Anything involving a husband was on shaky ground to start with; in Mark's experience, no man could accept his wife or girlfriend being truly submissive. Rather, it would just be a performance, usually at the husband's urging, where the woman's goal would be playing out the husband's fantasies . He didn't want to be the big, dark-skinned 'prop' in a couple's sexual game, even if the money was good. Usually in such cases, it was the husband who was sharking around on DreamDoms, looking for huge dicks he'd like to see bang his wife. Hell, maybe the guy even dictated the email.
"No thank you," Mark said under his breath, and opened email number three:
Would you mind helping a woman in need?
I'm looking for someone discreet and talented to be very harsh with me and spend an evening in charge - I saw your profile and you seem to know what you're doing. I'm 28 years old and in charge of people all day at my job, and my frustration builds up over time, I just need to not worry about all my responsibilities and do what a man says for an evening. (I'm sure you have heard this story many times before.)
The fact you are very well endowed is a fun bonus but it is not the most important thing. I need someone who can match my energy. I see in your comments that you respond quickly, which is good, because frankly, I really need this. The people at my job are driving me crazy, I'm having to micromanage everything - I just want to let it all go and be the property of an aggressive, confident man. Please, come and rescue me from this rat race!
I don't show much in my photo but I have to keep in shape to project a certain image at work - I think you will be pleasantly surprised. I would love to do an hour tonight, later in the evening. I know a nice hotel.
It was signed Eevie . There was an attached photo, though it was very cagey and showed little. A fair-skinned back with a bra strap pulled tight across it, maybe hinting at a pair of fairly large breasts, though it was impossible to tell. Falling across it, there was some hair, gleaming in the light. Light brown, perhaps lightening toward red. He couldn't tell.
Mark found himself intrigued by the businesslike earnestness of the message. People driving him crazy at work was definitely something he could relate to. He started to thumb in his reply, and again heard a screech from two offices down:
"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaark! It's not working again! Goddamn it, what do I pay you for?"
God, what did she unplug this time , he thought. Now finding himself agreeing very strongly with Eevie that an escape from work was needed, his thumbs worked quickly.
Confirmed. 11:00 PM. Looking forward to helping you out.
Sent. And then, with a sigh, Mark rose from his chair, and started to proceed again to Erin's office. Her harsh treatment and bad mood was already making him crave a situation where he was in charge.
The day couldn't end soon enough.
Everyone experiences a moment in their life where something of such colossal embarrassment or awkwardness occurs that it's nearly heart-stopping. The belly fills with ice water, the head throbs, the pulse quickens to a jackhammer. For Mark, up until that fateful July evening, the worst of it had been when his mother walked in on him masturbating to porn. He had been fifteen or sixteen years old, and totally unaware that she had forgotten her bag and had returned to grab it without pulling the car back in - the noisy garage door being the usual harbinger of her arrival.
In addition to retrieving her bag, she wanted to give him a kiss farewell… but that plan was foiled when she leaned into his room, the door of which had no lock, and discovered her son with his pants down to his thighs, jerking a penis that was large for his age even then, while watching two breast-enhanced women go to town on a series of dicks. Tinny sounds of slurping and sucking were emanating from the speakers.
Mark set a secord for closing a browser tab and pulling his pants up that day; he supposed it would never be matched in the rest of his life. But even at approximately 0.1 seconds, the damage had been done. He and his mom stared at each other silently.
"I'm sorry," she said, after what seemed to be an endless lull. "I forgot my bag."
"Yeah… uh… I'm sorry too," 15-year-old Mark had said. He'd left unspoken what he was sorry about. His mother held up the bag, confirming to him that she had retrieved it and was *really* leaving now, and would not be back. Mark shot her an awkward smile, they preserved the gentle fiction that she had not seen him jerking his penis. She retreated from his room like Homer Simpson into a hedge.
A week later a locksmith visited the house and put a lock on his bedroom door. They never spoke about the reason why. But in Mark's life, in terms of heart pounding, cold sweat, stomach-full-of-water embarrassment and panic, that moment had always been number one. He didn't see how anything could ever match it. Even being caught shoplifting at eight - a stunt he never repeated - hadn't come close. The 'masturbation incident' was far-and-away number one.
Until.
Until Friday evening, 11:00 PM, at the Hotel L'Etoile, in the ritzy part of town.
Mark, dressed smartly in a black suit and tie, and gripping a suitcase full of sexual implements ('Eevie' had not indicated a preference for toys, but he wanted to have his bases covered), ascended the elevator to an expensive suite. It would be spacious, he knew, with room enough for anything he wanted to try. He was already in anticipation mode, thinking of what he would do and how he would approach their greeting.
Eevie had made things clear in her follow-up email.
No marks on the face that would show up at work.
No talk about my home life.
Other than that, I hereby consent to anything you want to do.
Mark found the phrase 'I hereby consent to everything you want to do' incredibly sexy. The more he interacted with Eevie, the sense he got that she was tightly wound and probably worked all the time, and a tightly-packed spring was likely to release with force once the pressure was off. He suspected she would be a real dynamo, which was just fine with Mark. He needed some release too. Erin had been a bitch-on-wheels all afternoon, blaming things on him that absolutely weren't his fault, and generally being demanding and unreasonable. In light of her nonsense, an evening spent spanking a white woman was sounding really good.
Out of the elevator, it was only a short walk to room 907, within which Eevie would be waiting. For his work the next hour, he would receive $600… and probably have a very good time. A lot better than working IT at Sunflower Realty!
He approached the door, clutching his suitcase in one hand. Lifted his right hand, smartly adorned in a black Apple Watch Ultra, for the tech-savvy dom. Knocked. Three sharp reports rang out.
"I'm coming!" from within. Mark barely had time to register a strange familiarity with the voice - yelling from another room through the door. And then it was opened from within.
By Erin. His boss.
There is perhaps no way to explain the looks on their respective faces; it is something better imagined than described. But I will try my best to give an idea of the interaction. Their eyes went wide, that is certain. For Mark's part, his stomach absolutely dropped through the floor, as if someone were pouring a decanter of freezing water directly down his throat. He felt paralyzed. His mouth dropped open. His suitcase slid from his grasp with a thump. He said nothing - could say nothing. The high-powered woman, Eevie, stressed out by work and sick of micro-managing her employees… was Erin. The useless peons she had complained about, driving her nuts? He was one of them!
Even a second of their silent astonishment felt like literal eternity . Mark felt an instinct to just get away, as his mother had all those years ago. Erin looked like she was thinking the same. She took a breath that seemed to catch in her throat. Her cheeks turned red . Like in a Saturday morning cartoon. Mark had never actually seen this happen in real life, but it was happening now.
The elevator dinged again. Footsteps. Someone else was coming down the hall. Erin, who Mark now registered was dressed in a super-daring low-cut blouse, short skirt, and fishnets, turned her head toward the sound. Soon, the passer-by would walk behind Mark and see her talking to him while obviously dressed like a woman about to get some dick.
She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him inside. The door shut. One second later, it opened again, and an Apple Watch-wearing arm pulled the fallen suitcase in. The unseen footsteps passed as they stood, shoulder-to-shoulder, backs to the door.
Once inside, the silence broke, and Erin immediately turned and started leveling accusations.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed viciously. "How did you know about this?"
Mark held up a hand, trying to slow her down, but it was no use. "This is just-" he started, and then realized he didn't know how to finish. She didn't give him time in any case, and the volume of her voice was rising along with her agitation. She'd crossed one arm over her breasts, which had been mostly exposed in the plunging white blouse, but it was like a twig trying to dam up an onrushing flood. Erin's tits were enormous, her nipples made big, raised blisters in the fabric, and one small arm wasn't going to do much to contain them. If anything, it only accentuated how voluminous they were, bulging around her wrist above and below. The undersides of each spherical breast hung all the way to her navel, in spite of the blouse.
"Have you been reading my text messages?" she accused. "Have you been breaking into my phone? I'm going to fucking fire your ass!"
"No," Mark assured. "It's not what you think-"
"You sneaky bastard. I'm going to have you up on charges for this." Erin was steaming mad, and she was blushing beet red at the same time. She seemed unable to make the connection that Mark had already made - that the photo in the profile at DreamDoms was actually him. "Is this your idea of a prank?!"
"It's me!" Mark said, desperately trying to break through to her. "I'm the guy!"
"Bull- shit !" Erin spat back. "I bet you think this is really funny, don't you? I bet you and the other trolls in IT thought this would be a real good laugh! Well, I'm going to fire every one of your fucking asses! I'm going to sue you!"
"We have no access to your personal phone or email-"
"You liar!"
Mark tried again. "We would never do something like that-"
"Liar!" She pointed one manicured hand at him. In her fury she had achieved a true beauty that he never saw at the office. Her skin was glowing, and she'd obviously dolled herself up to meet her mystery dom. It was kinda endearing, and kinda sad at the same time. She was so angry because she was vulnerable, she was not a woman who opened up about her needs easily. No doubt it felt like a betrayal of trust to her.
"That was my profile," he said, making eye contact to try to show his seriousness. "The person you were exchanging messages with - that was me."
That seemed to do little to assuage her anger. She clenched her fists. "You tracked my website activity, didn't you! You can do that. And then you made it up. A profile with a fake AI generated photo, to try to-"
"I cannot, nor would I want to, track your personal activity on devices not connected to the company network-"
"-you fucking asshole, I'm going to sue your fucking ass off-"
What Mark did next, he couldn't have explained later, if asked why. Communication was not working. Erin was growing angrier and angrier. The situation was deteriorating. There was only one surefire way to try to let her know that he was serious, that he really was part of that world.
He unzipped his pants and took out his long, thick, hanging cock. He pulled out his balls. He presented them as his final argument on the matter, take it or leave it.
The silence returned. And then Mark went from one of the most awkward, stressful moments in his life to one of the most amazing. He was looking at Erin's face intently, trying to figure out her response, and so he saw it happen in real time. Her mouth slowly opened. She'd stopped talking. Her eyes were wide, and her gaze fixated on what he'd just produced from his fly. And then… Erin just… slowly… wilted .
She sank to her knees in front of him, never taking her gaze away from his cock - transfixed by the size of it, the blackness of it, the reality of it. Her anger left her by degrees and seemed to boil off into the air. It was like watching an exorcism. The evil spirit of his unreasonable, temperamental boss was being cast down. He wasn't just convincing her of his authenticity… he was taming her.
She sank all the way down, thighs splaying, until her amazing bubble ass was pressing against the back of her calves. Her stockinged feet were curled. Her arms fell limply to her sides… and then slowly, dreamily, one ran over her belly, up from her pubis to between her tits, as if tracing the route his cock would take when it penetrated her. He could see her imagining it. Her wet mouth glistened. She subconsciously licked her lips.
Classic Ball-Busting Erin was gone. This was Erin, the Reboot. Erin 2.0. Or perhaps just a hidden deeper level of his boss, that had always been there, and was only now being allowed to bubble to the surface.
"It's…"
He waited for her to finish.
"...so fucking big ." She considered his cock for a moment longer… and only then, after a minute or more, did her eyes look back up to him. It was like looking at a different person. Her expression was softer.
"If I…" she stammered a little, swallowed, then tried again. "If I… if I offended you," she said. "I'm… very sorry."
Her eyes were glistening with remorse. Mark's cock twitched at the intensity of her submission. She was apologizing - for the first time ever. He had never seen Erin, the boss, apologize for anything. If she stepped on your foot in the break room, she'd tell you it was your fault and to not stick your feet out so far. If she did something wrong, she'd say the instructions were wrong.
But now…
…his big-titted, bubble-butt boss, dressed to fuck, was kneeling… and apologizing to him, Mark the IT guy. And that wasn't all. She was apologizing to his big dick. And why?
Out of pure respect . Pure respect for big, dominating male cock.
Her submissive, tentative face was the world's most effective hardon fuel. Mark took a step forward, bringing his prick to within six inches of her head. He was big, heavy, and uncut. His balls were big enough to stretch his scrotum downward a little with their weight. He decided to test his boundaries.
"I'm very sorry'... what?" he prompted her, repeating her last phrase.
Erin swallowed. She looked lightheaded for a second, looking at that cock, that big, black knob, almost within kissing distance. The shaft seemed as thick as her arm. Each nut seemed like it would fill up her palm. Then her eyes rose back up again. She regressed before his eyes, transforming from CEO to a harried student, trying to make her way at business school, looking for a guiding hand.
"I'm very sorry… sir," she finished, and then bowed her head and started to sink down into the position the Japanese called the dogeza , a prostrate state of apology. Her breasts piled up against her upper thighs in amazing, bountiful hemispheres, bulging out to either side of her narrow torso. She craned forward until her collarbones were inches from the ground, presenting her amazing ass as well. Her skirt pulled up over her hips because of the unnatural submission, he could see the size and roundness of her buttocks. She was wearing black, sheer lace panties with medium coverage, but her ass swallowed them up and turned them into a thong anyway.
"Show me your apology is genuine." Mark ordered, and slid one of his feet forward. He was wearing black Oxfords that had been recently polished, which he typically only did for his 'appointments'. Usually it was runners. "Lick my boots." How she reacted would be telling. If she hesitated, the existing relationship between them - employer and employee - would likely be a sticking point, and the evening was bound to be very tentative and awkward. But if not-
Erin moaned and let hot breath spill over his shoes as she started licking them, dehumanizing herself, obeying like a dog. She would alternate between kissing and licking his footwear and looking up at him for approval. Mark kept his gaze stern, but inside, he was ecstatic… and he also couldn't deny the pure catharsis of making Erin, who tortured him every day by making him her personal contact for the dumbest IT problems ever, lick his feet. Not to mention… her body, which he had once feared to look at due to the danger of drawing her ire for a too-long-lingering gaze, was now on display for him to ogle as much as he wanted.
The view from above was something else. Her hair was done back in a majestic high ponytail of strawberry copper; her face framed in bangs on either side. The light in the emailed photo had prevented him from identifying the color earlier. It was amazing to watch her shapely back muscles move as her hair watched over them… and of course, her tits were so fucking big (there really was no other way to accurately describe them) that he could see their fullness, their roundness, and a ton of side/underboob even when looking directly down at her back… which was arched beautifully and showing off an ass that was even bigger and more voluptuous than he remembered. Combined with her tawdry submission it was enough to get a good hardon started… and for Mark to push his luck further.
"When I speak to you," he instructed, "you will respond with 'Yes sir.' Is that clear?"
"Yes sir." She was looking up at him obediently. Her eyes were gleaming blue pools; the color was striking. Like the sky on a bright day, or the water off the shore of a resort island. He could see a thin dusting of freckles high on her cheeks that he'd never noticed before. Her full lips were done up in dark lipstick, now slightly smeared from her licking and worshiping his shoes. And her most defining non-breast, non-ass feature - the small, unraised beauty mark on the right side of her face, below her bottom lip and perhaps one inch to the side. A memory flashed back to Mark suddenly. The IT department, late Friday, at a bar. Utterly shitfaced. Completely hammered. Stumbling back and forth to the washrooms, ordering more vodka doubles. Complaining about Erin. One of the new guys leaning against Mark's shoulder unsteadily, and confiding:
That bitch. I'd give anything to take out my dick and blast that mole right off of her face.
Funny, the things you remember.
"From the moment I enter this room, to the moment I leave, I'm in charge of you," Mark said, sternly.
"Yes sir."
"If you disobey me, if you are slow to obey me, if you act in any way that displeases me, you will be punished. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir." Her voice trembled a little. Her heart rate was rising, her face was flushing.
"While you are here, you have no name. You are property."
"Yes sir."
"I will refer to you in any way I like. Or just say 'hey you'. I will call to you like a dog and you will respond. If I want to call you a big-titted bitch, that's what I'll do." Mark wasn't sure if he actually would, but he wanted to preserve the option… and also test her limits.
"Yes sir." He searched her face for any sign of defiance and found none. If anything, the way the corner of her mouth was twitching, she seemed more excited.
"Good." And instead of doing more, standing as they were just inside the door to the room, Mark simply walked inside, asserting dominance by leaving her there, kneeling. He looked around and whistled. It was indeed a very nice suite. Spacious, with a large bed near the back that had a view of the city at night. Erin had spared to expense… and he liked that. Clearly she had wanted to impress the unseen black man who was going to show up to dominate her. Mark liked that. Maybe if I'd shown her my cock sooner , he thought, I could have gotten a better office .
He sat down on the edge of the bed. She was looking at him needily, she wanted to move over to his location but didn't dare without his permission, which he now gave. "Get over here," Mark ordered and then, realizing he had an opportunity, added: "Take off your blouse and then crawl."
What followed as a moment that he and every other man at Sunflower Realty had dreamed about for years - the unveiling of Erin's massive, pale, perfectly complexioned tits. She was blushing slightly as she pulled her blouse open, exposing her chest completely, and then removed the garment entirely. Her breasts didn't just emerge but seemed to bounce out. Each one was easily larger than his head, hanging down under considerable weight but still round and full, not saggy at all. Her upper body was fit and compact, not chubby, and so the massive roundness of her breasts made them look even larger against her barrow, athletic torso.
Her nipples were of particular note - a soft pink, raised nearly an inch, and deliciously inverted . He'd seen hints of Erin having large nipples in glimpses through her blouses and jackets at work, but this confirmed it. His boss had a massive pair of swollen fuck-jugs! His instruction to crawl immediately proved to be in the top ten decisions Mark had ever made. Erin obediently did so, topless, her buttocks moving against each other as they poked out of her short skirt, her back muscles working gloriously, and best of all, her super-sized knockers bouncing and swaying and hanging and rubbing against each other like two overfilled balloons. Mark hadn't been on too many farms - maybe not ever - but he imagined that this must be what a cow's udder looked like, ready for milking - a big, swaying, heavy sack of flesh with prominent teats that just begged to be grabbed.
He enjoyed every second of her approach, and upon Erin's arrival, he gave his next order. "Take off my pants."
"Yes sir." No argument, no hesitation. Her hands went busily to his belt buckle, unfastening it, then ongoing his top button and beginning to slide off his slacks, revealing maroon Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Her eyes followed Mark's penis as she worked, never straying far from it, and occasionally, he would feel the warm, marshmallow soft tissue of her breasts rubbing against his knees and upper thighs. His pants dropped to his ankles with a jingle. He slid off his shoes. Without being told, Erin folded his pants and placed them next to the bed, placing the shoes atop them in a neat square. His cock twitched. Something about seeing her perform domestic-type tasks really turned him on.
She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxer-briefs and looked up questioningly. He gave her the nod. Biting her lip, unable to hide her obvious obsession with his big, heavy penis, Erin pulled his underwear down his powerful thighs. Mark was trim and kept himself in good shape; but he was also just physically larger than Erin, a head taller at just over six foot 1, and a well-distributed 230. In high school, he played defensive line, though he never really liked football all that much, and had spent more time thinking about Super Smash Brothers than dreaming about making the NFL. He still worked out four times/week, and looking down at Erin's hungry, submissive expression, he was glad for it.
"Present your tits."
"Yes sir." It was adorable and hot to watch her present herself, blushing a little and unable to make eye contact as she straightened her back and presented that enormous shelf of boobflesh for his approval. Mark couldn't resist reaching a hand out to grab one. The feeling of his fingers sinking into her flesh was exquisite, as was the sound she made, a hissing groan of arousal that seemed to be released in time with the pressure of his grip. Her bounty easily filled up his hand; pale skin against his ebony digits. He squeezed a little harder. She moaned a little harder. He couldn't get his entire hand around her - her breast was too large - but he could feel her nipple in his palm, and squeezed harder, drawing a louder moan… and then pinched the protruding pink mound between two fingers. He had teased enough women to know that she was loving the sensation.
"You like this feeling, don't you?" he asked, knowing the answer. But he wanted her to say it.
"Yes sir!" A bit of need, a bit of desperation in her voice. A bit of movement in her head, as if struggling to contain an outburst of pleasure. Mark squeezed again, both hands this time, feeling those big nipple mounds press against his palms, warm and full and oh-so-pinchable. Now she cried out, tossing her head back, making that dazzling fiery hair wash about her shoulders. He gave one breast an experimental slap, palm open, to see how she would respond.
"Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnfgffgh!" Erin purred, with more lip biting, now clenching her fists.
He repeated it again. The outside/underside of the breast, making it jiggle a little, with low-to-moderate force. Again the moan came. It was a request for more intensity that needed to actual words. Mark switched sides, slapping the opposite breast. He began to increase his force. Occasionally he would pause and knead them, tweaking and pinching those big, inverted nipples, even poking his finger into them and causing his digit to penetrate into her pillowy mounds, before resuming his rhythmic slaps. Erin purred, she gasped, she seethed through biting her bottom lip. Her breathing picked up. For Mark's part, his cock was rapidly hardening; it was like being in a playground of breasts, and even more cathartic than that - the woman presenting her mammoth tits was none other than his bitchy boss!
"Your tits are sensitive, aren't they?" he asked.
"Y-yes."
He gave one breast a harsh slap and then twisted her nipple ninety degrees, pinching with thumb and forefinger. "Yes what?"
"Yes sir! " The response was immediate and enthusiastic. Now, Mark found himself at a crossroads. She was hot as a firecracker, obviously yearning for more contact than this slow burn… but what form should it take? Since he wasn't feeling particularly patient himself, he decided to push things a little, reasoning that if it was more than she wanted, she would let him know.
Not that he expected that to happen. Glancing down between her splayed knees, her fishnet stockings and the black lace panties underneath, Mark could see wetness on her inner thighs. Erin was already so horny to submit to his big cock, she was absolutely soaked!
He reached down and scooped her up, drawing a breathy yelp, turned, and deposited her on the bed, her feet dangling off the foot of it. Now, he was looking down at her, his big cock literally casting a shadow. She looked both vulnerable and excited, gazing back up at him. Her hair fanned out behind her head in a starburst. Her huge natural breasts bulged enormously as they slumped toward either side of her chest in their majestic roundness. He reached his hands down toward her crotch and first took hold of the fishnets, taking a two-hand grip and firmly tugging, opening a portal with a dozen little staccato pops of string, through which he could access her pussy.
Her outer labia made a perfect, curvy mound on her pubis, soft and pliable to the touch, and Mark experimentally rubbed his thumb against the sheer panties that covered her. He could already see she kept her pubic hair fairly trim, but what little hair there was was matted with her wetness; it was obvious she had been creaming herself nearly from minute one. Did she, he wondered, find their employer/employee relationship as much of an exciting detail as he did? She cried out as Mark rubbed her clit, then ran his thumb around her slit, finally pulling the panties entirely aside and exposing her. Her sex was a glistening pink crescent that was ready to envelop him.
"Who does this pussy belong to?" he asked.
"You, sir!" Erin groaned. Mark barely waited for her acknowledgement of this fact - true in this room for the next several hours if at no other time - before he slid two long, strong fingers inside.
"Oh, fuck," he muttered to himself, unable to help it. It wasn't like warm apple pie, as the saying went - it was better. There was a slickness, a throbbing warmth, but also a grip, almost like her slit was trying to suck him in. He pushed inward to the knuckle and angled upward with the pads of his fingers, finding a little outcropping of flesh, the G-spot. At the same time, his thumb descended on her clit like a fighter pilot about to launch a payload, which in some ways, Mark supposed, he was.
It was hot, and her response to it made it even hotter. Her body responded instantly and generously. Her back arched, allowing him to see her big, round buttocks as they clenched. Her midsection tightened. He could see the hints of her musculature, the corners and lines of abs and iliac, as shadows beneath her blushing skin. His hand was soaked in her juices as he started to move in and out, picking up speed.
"You don't need control," he said to her. "You don't want to be in control, do you?"
She shook her head. No, no, she absolutely did not. She wanted nothing but what she was getting. She didn't want to decide how to please herself, she wanted that decision made for her. Mark's fingers picked up speed. The wet slap of his palm against her cunt mound started to sound less like rhythmic fucking and more like the some small machine working very hard - an automatic sprinkler, perhaps. And this comparison only became more apt as the wetness of her pussy started to splatter his hand and wrist.
She writhed and groped her own breasts, eyes shut, mouth open. He stripped off his shirt and came down beside her, laying on his shoulder, right hand still between her legs. He pulled her breast to his mouth and latched his teeth around her nipple, giving it a gentle bite. She went off like a rocket while his fingers continued their magic, approaching a pace that would make even his wrist, trained by a long career of teenage self-indulgence, get tired. She did not object to his mouth on her, she surged into it. Mark did what so many had wished to do upon seeing Erin - he opened wide, took as much of her titflesh into his mouth as he could, and sucked, wiggling his tongue around the diameter of her nipple. She cried out. Her hand found his head and held him firm, caressing his neck.
"Do you want to cum?" he said intensely.
"Yes, sir!" she moaned.
"You've been waiting for this, haven't you?" Stern. A hint of playful.
She drew in a desperate breath, looking on the verge of tears. No, he would not be able to tease her much longer. "Yes sir!"
Fpt fpt fpt fpt fpt fpt fpt fpt fpt. Hand on wet pussy. Fingers probing, pushing, vibrating. He primed her expertly and then, as he felt her surge once more, gave her tit a suck and a nibble, and pulled his hand away as quickly as someone who had accidentally touched a hot stove.
"Cum for me," he said. It was an order. Erin moaned out with pleasure, threw her head back, and her back arched in the most intense way yet. A hot lance of glistening squirt erupted from between her legs and sprayed across the room, leaving glassy baubles of liquid on the dormant flatscreen television.
Fpt fpt fpt fpt fpt fpt fpt fpt fpt. Whap! Back in, then back out again. A harsh slap to the breast. A second moan of pleasure, a second back-arching, a second massive spray of liquid. Then again, and again, and again, adding additional slaps to the tits, and squeezes, and nipple sucking, until her responses started to weaken and the eruption of liquid abated.
Mark judged that she'd had one long, satisfying orgasm, or perhaps several, over the course of a few very intense minutes. Of course, he had his own needs, too, and he suspected that Erin's own pleasure was only one piece of the puzzle that had brought her to solicit a DreamDom. She wanted to cum, but a submissive or even a vibrator could handle that. No, more than anything, she wanted to use her body to please.
His cock was rock hard, and even as she lay sweaty and gasping, huge tits heaving, her eyes were following it with speculation. He moved fully onto the bed and shifted her upward so her head was near the headboard, hair laying on the pillows. She moaned out at his strength as he manhandled her into position. Then, he reached into the bag he'd brought - the toys within had turned out not to be necessary so far - and produced a packet of purple-wrapped condoms, of the extra-large variety.
She made a needy whimpering noise upon seeing them. He moved into a position with his thighs touching the backs of her legs. his erect penis stretched out on her pelvis, the huge dark-skinned head passing her navel. He gestured toward it, then offered her one of the condoms.
Erin's face blushed red and her eye contact shifted away. She nibbled her lip cutely. No one who met the fiery bitch-on-wheels at the office would have ever believed that this submissive, docile sex doll was the same woman.
"What? You don't want it?" Mark's mouth curled up in a bit of a teasing smile.
Erin looked almost pained. "I…" she started, and then her voice dropped away. She swallowed. Tried again. She had strands of her hair falling wild on her forehead, sticking to the sweat they'd built up. "I… want you to decide, sir."
Mark's cock twitched again as Erin looked at him intently. Erin was a total control freak at the office; it was inconceivable she'd not want a say in whether her partner used birth control… but that was exactly what was happening. Erin, the fiery leader of Sunflower Realty, was off the clock . She didn't want control, in any form. She didn't want to make decisions of any stripe. She wanted to be in the arms of a dominant man with a huge cock, and be tasked with pleasing that cock until her body gave out. All of this was communicated in seconds, as if by telepathy. This, and the just-as-unsoken implication that he could treat her much more harshly than he had been, and she would be fine with it, made his hardon achieve legendary status. He couldn't think of a time when he'd felt more ready to burst.
He tossed the condoms away. They would not need them. She made a whimpering noise of surrender, and he took hold of his cock, now looming over her, about to pin her knees back and aim for penetration. His cockhead was leaking, the lips of her wet mound looked ready to envelop it. But then… he paused.
He was in charge. And there was one part of Erin's body that was just as famous around the office as her tits.
No, he wanted to clap her cheeks . Mark reached down, took her waist, and then turned her over. Her panties, now flimsy and disheveled with wetness, took a fraction of a second to pull down her leg and expose her totally. Now, with Erin face and and ass up, Mark slid his cock between the two gorgeous mounds of ass that exploded from her hips like mushroom clouds. At work, she always wore pantsuits, and one could follow the pinstripes around these big, bubbly globes all day. A couple of times, he had seen her in yoga pants, which had been equally majestic. He clapped his hands down on Erin's buttocks and felt them wobble. It immediately entered the Top 5 moments of his entire life, before being supplanted by his next move… sliding his long, heavy cock between her cheeks and then shoving them together, making a tunnel of ass-meat.
Erin's complexion was flawless and even her asshole was aesthetically pleasing, a shade pinker than the rest of her skin, a soft triangle shape that seemed to advertise how warm and ball-draining it might feel within. She moaned as he shoved himself between her cheeks and let her butt-globes slap against his abs as he thrust. She seemed to go out of her way to pleasant herself and pleasure him, letting him use her as he wished, and that was almost as much of a turn-on as the sex act itself. Mark took his cock and slapped it repeatedly on her bubble butt, sliding the top of it between the warm, soft lips of her outer labia like a hotdog through a bun, lubing himself up with her wetness. Her ass became his playground for the next several minutes. He spanked her and made her beg for spankings, hotdogged her cheeks, groped her, ordered her to spread herself for him, which she eagerly did.
Then, at last, he penetrated her. Despite the size of his cock, she was so wet and ready, the insertion was surprisingly smooth. She cried out in pleasure and grimaced, but if there was any discomfort, she bore it silently, and seemed to push herself backward to meet the next inches of his cock. When Mark reached as far as he thought he could safely go, with two inches remaining, she wiggled and gripped his wrist, and responded with 'yes sir!' when he asked if she wanted more.
With a bit of angling and maneuvering, he was, astonishingly, able to go balls deep. He withdrew halfway and saw the beautiful sight of her insides actually clinging to his dark, throbbing meat in a pink sleeve that followed his cock a couple of inches on the exit. He thrust forward. Her cheeks did in fact compress and bounce on his pelvis and make a loud clapping sound. She yelped and moaned. Mark could not help but ask:
"Who owns this ass?"
"You do, sir!" she gasped, and looked back over her shoulder, entreating him to punish her pussy with every inch of his meat. And Mark proceeded to do just that.
How long did it last? Neither one of them could likely have said. He started slowly and picked up speed. She bounced off him beautifully, the movement of her thick, round ass was almost hypnotic. Occasionally he would pull out, listen to her whimpers, and drum his dick on her ass before giving her a spanking and shoving back in.
Mark sensed that she was cumming every so often, but he himself managed to avoid popping off too early. He was enjoying it too much to cut it short. Not just the physical sensations, but the catharsis, the idea of being in charge of his boss, of fucking her, of ordering her around, of using her as he saw fit. It might never happen again, he could not waste even a second, no matter how good her molten, tight pussy felt.
He paced himself. She sank lower as they fell into a rhythm, and he brought more weight down on top of her as she transitioned from doggy position, hands and knees, to laying flat. This was when he penetrated deepest, but slowly, churning, like the proverbial macaroni in a pot. He felt those fat ass-cheeks buoying him up from below, pressing into his pubic area and hips. Back muscles, tits pressed flat on the sheet, long red hair awash - he didn't miss a detail. And with his mouth closer to her ear, he seethed his orders and questions to her, daring to tell her who was in charge, dictating how she would behave, and who would decide the future use of her body.
"Whenever I want," he breathed into her ear, and they both knew exactly what he was talking about. "However I want. For as long as I want."
Yes sir. Her ass and pussy did belong to him.
Yes sir. He could slap her tits or jerk his big cock on them whenever he wanted.
Yes sir. He didn't need permission to fuck her. He could just do it any time he wished.
Yes sir.
In their squirming they turned a little, and he pulled her up against him, still inside her, both of them laying on one hip now, both of their fit bodies drenched in sweat. It had been perhaps twelve minutes, but a hard twelve. He put his hand in the crotch of her knee and lifted one of her legs high as he continued to thrust. Her enthusiastic moan told him she liked the new angle that his cock was taking, punching deep into her guts. The racial angle was not Mark's preference, but there was no denying the striking aesthetics - her pale skin, pussy blushing deep pinkish red, absorbing fourteen inches of beautiful dark meat, swallowing it, taking so much that it causes a small, fluttering bulge to palpate her beneath her belly-button. She was fair, he was melanated, and they fit together as harmoniously as the yin and yang.
Plus… it was hot that she could take every inch. That had never happened to Mark before.
The sideways, hip-down position gave way to another shift. He withdrew for a second to adjust, and she slid to her back, waiting for him, offering the missionary position that he had foregone at the start. By then, they had exchanged so many smoldering looks, harsh orders and breathy responses that it no longer seemed too intimate to look her in the eye, and Mark crawled between her legs as he inserted himself. She cried out, and he felt her legs try to close around his waist. She was too short for that, but nonetheless, he was in a vice grip, his perspiration-soaked body atop hers, every muscle glistening. Her hands wrapped around his neck. He pumped into her, steadily, powerfully, listening to the pressure from his heavy cock-knob draw out moan after moan as it pushed her womb up.
A minute more in this very intense position, and Mark found himself approaching his limits. Her pussy was so tight. Her tits were so big. She was so fucking hot. And she wanted it so fucking bad.
Thinking back on it, in the months and years that followed, Mark remembered that up until the end, he had still planned to pull out. A bit of power-exchange was one thing, but without protection, it wouldn't be responsible to cum inside without her explicitly saying he could. Yet despite his intentions, that wasn't what happened.
She was quivering. Quaking. Clutching at his arms. They were both approaching a cataclysmic orgasm. He leaned down to say something - Mark couldn't remember what he'd intended. He got as far as "I'm gonna-" and then Erin surged upward, kissing him. Kissing him deep. Sucking his tongue. Exploring his mouth, mashing her beautiful lips against his! It was intimate in a way they hadn't been thus far. Breath sprayed out from their tangled mouths… and he found himself returning the kiss… and losing sight of all of his orgasmic plans and intentions.
The woman who was clueless with technology, who ordered him around every day and wasted his time with the most eye-rolling problems, who seemed to have an ice-cold attitude, was kissing him. Her legs absolutely locked against his lower back. Even if he had been able to push away, she could have come right up with him, like a clinging child. No, there was no stopping it.
He returned her embrace, broke the kiss, put his head beside hers, and buried his fourteen-inch cock as deep in her pussy as it could do, dumping a huge, spurting, magma-hot load into her womb. They made sounds like wounded animals, long onomatopoeias with more consonants than vowels, giving voice to the escaping pleasure of the bodies. Again, and again, and again, the breathy grunts from above, the satisfied wails from beneath. Mark felt his cock being literally milked by her soaking wet pussy. It seemed like he'd never stop shooting, and why not?
She had kissed him. The ice bitch, the great rejector. She wanted all of him, she wanted those tables turned. As an on-again, off-again young bachelor who had only had unserious relationships that lasted for a short time, It was the first time in Mark's life he'd cum unprotected, at length, inside a woman. It felt amazing, and it would never be matched. She took every inch of his meat and every drop of his load, and she wanted more.
After the orgasm came a gray haze. They lay in each other's arms, him rolling to the side so as not to weigh heavily on her smaller frame. The kiss was broken but they still lay forehead to forehead, breathing.
Then a voice. "Thank you for letting me take your load, sir." Soft, weak as a babe. He opened his eyes and saw her wet, needy blue ones. Took his fist and obediently kissed the knuckles, as though signing the covenant of her obedience, worshiping his authority, the dominant hand that would discipline her if she was 'bad'. He smiled and touched her cheek. She leaned into it, an eager pet. Both exhausted, both satisfied.
His eyes flashed to the clock by the bed. Less than ten minutes left in their hour. It had been a very special encounter… but it was also almost over. He would need a long shower and then a long night's sleep to recover.
He swung his feet to the floor, preparing to side from the bed. But Erin took hold of his wrist.
"Sir?" For the next ten minutes, it was still his designation.
"Yes?"
"I'll be sleeping here tonight and checking out in the morning." Erin reached up, and then removed the hair tie keeping her boy ponytail in place. Movie-star quality hair cascaded down as she shook it out. She bit her lower lip, then settled back onto the bed… on one side. Pulling back the covers, tucking her feet underneath. Shutting the lights in the room except for the dim glow of the bedside lamps.
Then, Erin looked at him steadily. "You could use me all night," she whispered.
Mark looked back at her, thinking about what she was implying. They were well beyond the bounds of their email exchange, this was new territory. He knew that Erin didn't want to make any decisions. But him?
Mark had just made up his mind.