Crunch Time
THURSDAY
Sam’s day was off to a rocky start.
He had barely slept a wink and was fairly certain that nobody else in his run-down tenement block had either. Thin plaster walls had rocked all night with the sounds of marathon fucking in every direction. The banging of headboards, ecstatic moans, flesh clapping, and cries of pleasure had rung from behind the closed doors of nearly every domicile.
And from the those that didn’t, they had emerged…
Beautiful women, stunning in appearance with the lean, busty bodies of bikini models draped in skimpy sleepwear and sexy lingerie, had slunk out of their homes to prowl dusty hallways like minxes in heat. Knocking on the doorways of their more vigorously engaged neighbors and testing the locks.
Sam only knew this because the handle of his own front door had been jiggled a few times and, after checking the peephole, discovered an ebony-skinned vixen with massive, mouth-watering breasts pouring out of a spangly yellow satin negligee literally sniffing around the timber frame like a bloodhound.
She had vaguely resembled Miss Miller, the retired army widow of sixty years who lived by the stairwell with her three cats, if a few decades younger and much healthier in the figure.
Then she had called to him by name in a soft, mewling whisper, begging him to let her in and vowing to reward him with unearthly delights in return. Sam’s cock quickly became a titanium rod at the string of filthy promises. That alone had unnerved him enough to wedge a kitchen chair under the doorknob and retreat to his bedroom.
…Where he stripped down to his socks and masturbated furiously to the echoes of her sinful words and the multitudinous images they evoked in his overheated imagination.
Sam was busy decimating his limited supply of Kleenex and lotion when Zoey started texting him sometime after the third finger-cramping ejaculation.
- Z:
Cant stp thinkin aboat 2day. fings r gettn crazy. pussy on fire. typng 1 handed soz.
- S:
R U ok? My building sounds like a Roman orgy. Locked in with a boner. Getting kinda big.
- Z:
FUUKKK. snd pics. can stll taste it. cum cum in my tum tum.
That had been followed by a spam of eggplant and sausage emojis with a few random smilies thrown into the mix. Sam only hesitated briefly before angling his phone and sending a snapshot.
- S:
Thinking of you.
It was something he would have never dared consider doing before.
Like, it was out of your control forever once you released something like that, right? Dangerous evidence of your heavy-swinging wang bouncing around PMs and socials for anyone to do with as they wished. Far too risky.
Except, looking down and weighing his steely girth in his palm, Sam had felt bold. Reckless. The gosh-darned thing looked like a beef backstrap, two hands high and wide around as a soda can. Who the hell was going to gainsay that?
- Z:
Holly shtt! jusst came @ da site of it. supa harrd. getnn bigrr 2. wanna c?
Sam’s balls quaked like a seismic event as he danced the five-knuckle shuffle and juggled his phone at the same time. His thumb jabbed at the keypad so hard the screen nearly cracked.
- S:
Show me.
- Z:
Show u… wat?
- S:
Show me everything, you dirty little slut!
There was a long pause in which Sam berated himself for overstepping and scaring his timid friend away. Then his phone lit up with a storm of message notifications, and what followed was a litany of steamy photos taken on the fly by the last person he would have suspected.
- Z:
O fuk, tht did it 4 me. loook!
The first was a selfie taken in a bedroom mirror. Zoey was kneeling on a gray throw rug with her bed behind her, topped in a green and red patterned comforter and too many animal plushies. She was naked, except for the black tank top pulled up to her shoulders, exposing enormous breasts and a bunch of lacey white fabric stuffed in her gaping mouth.
The hand not holding her phone was stuffed between her thick thighs, shining wet with slick nectar in the flash of the camera, slippery fingers spreading her pinkness apart as her agate eyes seared into Sam through the screen.
She was gorgeous, broadcasting raw sexuality from every invisible pore. Her hair was a flowing cape of molten chocolate contrasting brilliantly against pale, flawless skin the color of polished alabaster.
But what truly stirred Sam’s turbo-charged loins was her sheer physicality.
Whatever fat Zoey claimed she was previously hiding under the layers of frumpy clothing had apparently waved bon voyage and set sail for distant, softer horizons. Her body was now a masterpiece of lean lines and muscular definition that could have dominated women’s powerlifting championships worldwide. She looked indomitable with washboard abdominals, heavily corded thighs, bulging biceps, and an ass that could crack lugnuts.
Yet despite all the yoked-out gains, the once-shy brunette was still so outrageously feminine it had Sam grinding his teeth in maddening desire.
Her tits were two huge, gloriously-shaped teardrops of supple flesh jutting like a warship’s prow from her chest. A tapered twenty-five-inch waist flared out to broad load-bearing hips that could have been sculpted by the gods themselves, yet she lacked the popping veins and striated sinew of a juiced-up jock.
Every inch of her was smooth, womanly perfection. Female strength personified as though she were a Valkyrie from Norse mythology or a Greek Amazon reborn in the modern age.
Sam howled to the high heavens as he blasted his copious cum across the room to redecorate the cheap drywall with his sticky spend. There was certainly a lot of it. Viscous and dense, it clung there like silly putty. Great globules of splooge wobbling in place, too stubborn to bow under gravity’s tyrannical rule.
- S:
Jeezus, Zee, I think I just blew my load and rental bond at the same time.
- Z:
Thts sooo hawt! want moor?
Her spelling was getting worse, more disjointed, but the images that followed only grew bolder, increasingly explicit, until Sam collapsed from exhaustion, crashing into bed with his relentlessly stiff cock as restless as the sleep that claimed him.
Now, he was skulking in a 7-Eleven just after sunrise, dumping sugar and creamer packets into four steaming cups of cheap convenience store coffee. A box of two dozen iced donuts sat on the unattended front counter, an anomaly that might be explained by the sounds of grunting and squealing filtering through a locked door marked ‘Staff Only.’
Sam left a twenty by the register and made up the change by pocketing a few chocolate bars before slipping his face mask back on and slinking out into the downtown streets.
If he believed getting out at the break of day would avoid unwelcome encounters—and he had—the outside world was taking perverse pleasure in proving him wrong.
Sure, the cafes and coffee shops were yet to open, and morning traffic wouldn’t be congested for another hour or so, but a new horror dogged the young professional’s steps as he made brisk time for the office…
Joggers.
Whether running solo or in small groups, these lycra-clad menaces seemed to zero in on Sam the moment their keen, searching gazes landed on him.
The inevitably fit, athletic southern belles were everywhere, with bums like ripe peaches and hypnotically bouncing bosoms squeezed into scandalously revealing sportswear. Charming nymphettes who broke into dazzling smiles and sashayed their way toward him at a run with mischief gleaming in their sparkling eyes.
“Hello? Excuse me… can I bother you for a moment?”
This one was a stunning blonde with the knockout proportions of a headlining Vegas stripper and the innocent face of an angel. A potent one-two combination that punched Sam right in the crotch of his ill-fitting chino trousers.
A lilac cross-backed sports bra barely encompassed her big, buoyant breasts; the front zipper pulled halfway down to allow most of her milky bounty to take in the fresh morning air. Tiny black yoga shorts stuck to her alluring hips and ass like glue, concealing none of her toned curves and leaving her long shapely legs out on tour.
...And she was jogging in heels. Expensive-looking black leather stilettos with silver buckles and purple rhinestones on the straps.
If Sam needed any more evidence that the world was going to hell in a handbag, that would have been the final piece.
“Sorry, I’m busy! Terribly busy. Can’t stop!” He cried, marching double time as the revolving doors to salvation came into view around the corner.
It was the first time he had ever regarded the looming, blocky architecture of the Radley Building in that respect.
“Sir… please, sir! I need your help. It’s my breasts, you see; they’re awfully large, and I need a second opinion—”
“Time and tide wait for no man. Go away!”
Their yelling was only attracting more unwanted attention, and like zombies from a George Romero film, every female head on the street turned in Sam’s direction, and they rapidly began to form into a baying, taut-bodied mob converging on his position.
Sam broke into an all-out sprint, scattering donuts in his wake.
“Hey, Stud. Where’s the fire? Come chat with us for a while!”
“Pardon me, young man, but my dishwasher is broken and I—”
“My tits! Please stop. I need your help to handle my massive titties!”
They moved deceptively fast, but with one last burst of surprising speed, Sam reached the spinning entrance and crashed into the lobby with the tray of coffees miraculously intact.
…only to come face to face with the barrel of a gun.
“Freeze, Commie, and identify yourself.” The bore of the firearm filled Sam’s vision, but the voice behind it was tinny and familiar. “This building is under the protection of Henry Hatcher. Any quick movements will be your last.”
“Henry? It’s me, Samuel Hall.” He croaked, not daring to twitch a muscle as he stared cross-eyed into imminent death. “You know me, remember?”
“Mister Hall? Heck, I didn’t recognize you behind the mask, sir. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
The gun lowered—it looked like some kind of hunting rifle—and the old man behind it swam into view.
Henry’s craggy face remained hidden behind the antique gas mask, and a bulky white plastic bodysuit covered the rest of his stooped form, including a hood that covered his gray hair like a shroud. Yellow gloves and rubber boots protected his hands and feet as he snapped to attention, whipping off a wonky salute.
“Welcome back, Mister Hall. Have no fear. You’re safe from the Marxist threat here within these walls.” He said, shouldering the gun and patting it affectionately on the timber stock. “Ol’ Bessie and I will hold them at bay. You just keep fighting the good fight for capitalism and democracy while we keep out the rabble.”
“Um, what are you wearing?” Sam asked, taking deep breaths to slow his panicked heart rate. “And why the hell are you armed, Henry?”
“Found the plastic duds in the building basement. I think they belonged to the pest control guy. The gun is to keep… them out.” Henry nodded towards the feminine crowd milling outside the glass frontage. “Those indecent women are spreading the commie plague through their sinful wiles. They’re getting worse by the day, but Bessie still scares ’em off.”
“Right.”
Several beguiling beauties in scanty gym attire sent doleful looks their way, but none seemed inclined to force entry into a building guarded by a plastic-wrapped crackpot waving a gun about.
Sam could respect that manner of sensible decision-making and proceeded towards the elevator in a calm, orderly manner. The last thing he wanted was to spook the rifle-toting crank and catch a bullet for his troubles.
“Good… that’s good, Henry.” He said slowly, keeping the coffee and remaining donuts between them as if that would protect him. “It eases my mind to no end knowing you are down here… with a gun.”
“Right you are, Mister Hall. There’s nothing to fear while me and ol’ Bessie are on the job.”
Sam thanked every god, goddess, and mystical force he could think of when the elevator eventually crawled to his rescue.
Sadie allowed herself a smile of satisfaction when she sauntered into her offices and found young Samuel already at his desk, furiously typing away.
She arrived an hour early and was pleased to discover her instincts about the junior accountant had been correct. He had finally shucked off his quiet complacency with his lot in life and was showing some go-getter attitude. The burgundy-haired business owner had to admit the new backbone looked good on him.
In fact, Sadie was beginning to realize there was a lot to admire about Samuel these days.
Had his shoulders and chest always been that broad? Certainly, his arms hadn’t bulged with so much muscle before, right? His crisp business button-up was literally fraying at the seams, and the eternal sweater vest was stretched over some very pronounced pectorals.
Perhaps his clothing shrunk in a laundry mishap. The pressed cuffs of his skin-tight khaki pants ended well above his ankles and brown oxfords.
He was still young and learning to fend for himself. Mistakes would be made. She could set him straight if necessary.
She was running the tip of her tongue across her teeth when Sam spotted her.
“Sadie, thank goodness you’re safe!” He cried, leaping to his feet. “Did you see Henry downstairs? The ancient loon brought a firearm to work!”
Sadie had not seen the aged concierge. She had parked in the Radley Building’s underground garage and taken the stairs. The damn lift took forever.
“I’m sure it’s fine.” She waved away his worries as she spotted the cardboard tray of coffees. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and the old fool will accidentally blow a few toes off. Then we can hire some proper security.”
She took a sip of her morning cappuccino and grimaced. It wasn’t hot and overly sweet. The logo on the cup was from 7-Eleven.
Sam caught her expression and mirrored it sheepishly.
“Sorry, Starbucks wasn’t open when I passed it this morning. Nothing else was either.” Then his bright hazel eyes really took her in and widened. “Uh, Sadie… you’re dressed… um, differently today.”
Sadie’s smile graduated to a smirk. It had taken him long enough to notice, but she gave the young beancounter credit for getting there in the end.
“Do you think so, Samuel?” She teased, patting at her wine-colored hair. It was styled up into a messy, front-braided bun. “Trying to spice up my wardrobe as the weather warms. A real woman doesn’t need to hide under stuffy blouses and drab skirts every day.”
“No. No, of course not. But, ah…”
Truthfully, Sadie preened and tried not to snigger as her junior employee fussed and fumbled. Some part of her—a rather large part—had hoped for this very reaction when she had picked out the teensy black leather miniskirt and racy scarlet corset that morning.
She was wrapped in an elaborate web of shiny buckles and frilly bows, from the tall knife-heel boots on her feet to the midnight lace lining the low-cut satin bodice, all of which carved a seductive hourglass into her mature, athletically honed figure.
The inspiration had come from a storefront mannequin she had cruised past on the way home yesterday. In the dusty windows of a retail outlet called ‘The Pleasure Shoppe’, which had been bustling with in-and-out foot traffic.
“A strong, independent woman should be free to dress as she likes.” Sadie purred, strutting up to his desk, perching her tight ass on the edge, and languidly crossing her sleek legs in front of him. “A powerful woman shouldn’t be scared to express and project herself onto the business world. You agree, don’t you, Samuel? Say it.”
“I… agree,” Sam gulped, staring at her toned thighs where they emerged from the short leather hemline before clearing his throat. “Yes, I agree, Miss Chandler.”
“Good boy.” She crooned, hooking a manicured fingernail under his chin and lifting it until Sam’s hazel eyes were level with her immodest breasts. “It pleases me greatly to see you working diligently and being so… agreeable. Keep pleasing me, Samuel, and you may find that I can be awfully agreeable too.”
Sadie leaned in to whisper the last few words directly into his ear, incidentally tucking her pushed-up tits under his stubbly jawline. She took in a big sniff of his manly scent as she trailed delicate fingers up his cheek to comb them through his sandy hair.
She had the sudden urge to grab a handful and pull. To wrench his head back and claim a torrid kiss from his dithering lips. To take charge and show her young male employee what a real woman could do…
Releasing a ragged sigh, she sat back and folded her hands atop her crossed knees. Her cunt was an inferno of wicked desire, and Sam looked like a prime cut of steak just begging to be feasted upon.
“A—As you say, Miss Chandler.” He stammered, pushing away from the desk as though it were on fire. “Please excuse me. I need to use the bathroom!”
It was impossible to miss the prominent bulge taxing his shrunken slacks before he turned away. Sadie leered and licked her ruby lips, ogling Sam’s muscular rear as he went.
“Sadie said that? Are you sure, Sam?” Zoey asked between long licks of his meaty member. “Doesn’t sound like her.”
She was kneeling between Sam’s legs in the cramped toilet stall again, pumping his girthy base in both fists while lavishing lingual affection on the tip. Despite the close confines—which seemed exceptionally small today—Zoey felt comfortable, happy to have even that limited amount of space to let her innermost self out to play.
“Yeah, she did, and don’t stop slut…” He huffed, trying to shove her slobbering skull further down and meeting resistance. “Fuck, Zee, how are you so strong? Are you still growing?”
“Mmhmm~!” She couldn’t tell a lie, even as she let Sam wrangle her drooling mouth back onto his cock.
Zoey had woken after a restless evening of shameless sexting and rabid self-stimulation to find her ankles hanging well past the end of her queen-sized bed.
She knew it wasn’t normal to sprout five inches or gain thirty pounds in rippling muscle mass overnight, but when she had looked in the mirror, the results were hardly displeasing.
What girl would complain about an unexplainable windfall of health and vitality after years of being a fat, forgettable nobody?
She had tried a few experimental flexes, like those women in fitness magazines, and gasped at the stunning effect on her towering physique. Her rapidly changing body was statuesque in a literal sense. Akin to Greek sculptures of Athenian beauty, capturing the Olympian huntresses of the legend in purest Corinthian marble as they performed heroic deeds. Superhumanly attractive, with smooth layers of toned muscle and titanic breasts heavy enough to sink a thousand ships.
She had lifted her four-drawer dresser to test her new strength and done so effortlessly, hardly feeling any strain as she hoisted the bulky furniture onto a shoulder.
Zoey looked and felt amazing. Sexy as hell and packed full of horny beans.
Clothing had been something of a problem, though.
Her previous taste in loose-fitting attire was turning out to be a blessing in disguise. Once baggy tops now clung to her prodigious knockers like a second skin, airing her defined midriff, and formerly roomy sweatpants hugged her broad hips and thighs, the comfy fabric stretched thin as workout tights that her rock-hard posterior filled to bursting.
“Mmmmwah~! It’s okay though, right?” Zoey asked uncertainly, slurping her way off Sam’s scrumptious shaft, tongue laden with gooey precum. “You don’t mind? I raced straight to the office when you sent me the booty-call SOS.”
She had, in fact, sprinted the thirteen city blocks to the Radley Building after receiving a text message that consisted of a blurry picture of his exposed erection and three simple words…
OFFICE BATHROOM. NOW.
Elongated legs chewed up the distance, and Zoey had barely broken a sweat running five-minute miles all the way downtown, dodging spandex-clad pedestrians like an offensive linesman charging the end zone.
…Only to find Sam urgently rubbing one out in the expected location.
She couldn’t have that. Not when she had a perfectly good mouth yearning to savor him again.
“No, it’s fine. Better than fine, you look fantastic.” Sam grunted as she smoothly vacuumed down six girthy inches and swirled her moist tongue around the crown. “Holy shit, Zee… but that’s the point, isn’t it? Look at us. People don’t just change like this overnight, Henry is downstairs with a GUN, and nobody cares.”
“Hmmm?”
The suckling brunette was struggling to follow the conversation. The delectable dick in her mouth and her sensitive nipples crushed against his knees were incredibly distracting. Each hot spurt of sticky seed down her gulping throat sent a jolt of sweet ecstasy straight to her pristine pussy and emptied her mind of any thought beyond getting another fix.
So Zoey sucked harder, twisting her head and pumping his steely shaft to coax out another scrumptious appetizer, moaning and milking her man for all she was worth, eager to get to the main course.
“Ungh… fuck! That’s it. Take all of me, you dirty slut.” Sam panted, thrusting up into her puckered lips and hammering at her esophagus. “Bu—but listen… we don’t have much… hrrgh~ time. Shit is getting crazy out there.”
She quivered and shook as he said the magic words. Some deeply repressed part of her soul basking in the glorious light of acceptance.
Was it too early to start thinking about the L-word? To tell Sam that she LOVED the way he recognized her needs and took control in a way she never could? To express how much she LOVED it when he manhandled and used her like a filthy whore to give them both what they desperately desired?
His big hands were tangled in Zoey’s glossy mane of chocolate hair, guiding her cum-gargling rhythm and cramming in more of his choking length until it distended her slender neck.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
In a shocking surge of arousal, Zoey wrapped her mighty arms around his stout waist and braced her knees, using the hold to drag Sam bodily further into her clutches until his magnificent cock was buried to the base in her ravenous maw.
”Mlurph~!”
“What the fuck, Zee… Hyaaa!”
The Fourth of July exploded in Zoey’s singularly focused brain as she lifted Sam off the toilet with her nose pressed firmly into his groin and felt him blow a mouth-watering motherload directly into her flat, hungry stomach.
Her rapturous cunt convulsed, and warm juices squirted. The seat of Zoey’s overwrought sweatpants tore apart like tissue paper as her thick rump twerked in ecstasy, unstitching the hem that ran over the bouncing globes of her ass to unveil the honey-soaked polka dot panties beneath.
“Aaaw… fuck!”
”Mmmhmm!”
She held him aloft, twitching and shuddering as she gorged herself on his erupting spunk. Blast after blast of ropey seed blew down her gagging gullet, blitzing her sparking brain cells and filling her empty belly as she came like a freight train right along with him.
After swallowing what felt like a pint of gloopy goodness, Zoey eventually came up for air. Catching the last vestiges of Sam’s creamy load on her flushed cheeks and sloppy chin, she rubbed her adorable face against his tireless turgidity and let out a wet little burp.
“’Scuse me.” She giggled, nuzzling his tip and giving it a playful lick. “Thanks for breakfast, Sam. Gosh, but you’re still, like, really hard.”
“Jeezus, Zee… when am I not hard these days? This is what I was talking about.” Sam groaned, staring down at her from his lofty position. “You can put me down now. Please?”
“Maybe I don’t wanna,” Zoey teased. Sam’s weight barely registered despite his increased bulk. “Got my very own jizz dispenser right here. Super handy.”
She punctuated her point by taking a long, loving slurp of his rigid shaft as though taking a hit on a giant bong.
The warm glowing after-effects weren’t at all dissimilar.
“Gah! Oh gawd, Zoey, I’m serious. We’re just lucky Sadie didn’t see you come in here, but I’m going to be missed soon and you’ve split your pants.”
“Oh… um, golly.” She lowered him back to the toilet seat and patted her butt with a worried frown. “What should I do, Sam? They’ll all laugh if they see me.”
Sam levered his cock down one trouser leg, buckled his belt, and zipped up his fly before giving Zoey a comforting pat on the head.
That made her feel better. Her man was, like, really smart and would know what to do.
“Clean yourself up and leave the rest to me.” He said, swiping some of the mess off her chin with his thumb and letting her suck it clean. “I’ll think of something, maybe come up with a distraction, then you can sneak out and hide amongst the filing cabinets until I find something to cover you.”
Fortunately for them, a distraction was already in the making…
“Holy shit, what are you wearing, Claire? You look like a total Barbie bimbo! Did you bathe in peroxide or simply chug laundry bleach directly from the jug?”
“You’re one to talk, Tams. I should probably call Mattel and let them know there’s a walking, talking Bratz doll skank ripping off their intellectual property!”
Tammy ground her teeth and tried to incinerate the other—distinctly blonder—senior accountant with her glare. She wanted to toss her tepid cup of cheap coffee in Claire’s stupid face and watch her mascara run.
This gabby cow came to work stuffed into a slinky red, halter-top microdress, and clear platform stripper heels, then had the gall to mouth off at her?
The ridiculous dress had a cutout window in the shape of a heart over her hefty udders and was so short it barely covered her fat ass. However, the Asian number-cruncher could admit it took several inches off Claire’s waist and hid the soft paunch around her middle well.
As though it was no longer there or had been funneled into her obscenely large boobs and butt...
“Pink lipstick, rose nail polish, and bottle blonde hair?” Tammy snarled. “I think you’ve set feminism back four decades, Doll.”
That blow seemed to land where it hurt. One of Claire’s hands tugged at a golden lock as her sea-green eyes shifted nervously, and she frowned in concern.
“I—I didn’t dye it. It’s soaking up all the bright springtime sunshine. You should try catching a few rays, Vampirella.”
It was Tammy’s turn to flinch.
Her online purchases had begun to arrive in droves of boxes and parcels over the last twenty-four hours. Her uptown apartment was awash in tissue paper, packing material, and plastic bags as she had torn into the mountain of mail like a kid on Christmas morning.
Frilly gothic lolita dresses, tattered punk skirts replete with dangling chains, studded leather belts and collars, knee-high combat boots, death-metal baby tees, and a lifetime supply of dark make-up now littered her living space.
It had been the sweetest torture to pick out a single outfit to trounce her office rival. Tammy had been enamored with every selection she modeled before the closet mirror.
She had looked and felt amazingly in gossamer skirts of deepest obsidian that contrasted well with so much bare porcelain thigh and the short vinyl biker girl jacket, which worked wonders on her burgeoning breasts.
…Breasts that had grown from flat plains to small hillocks overnight.
Tammy was so hot and bothered by her reflection, she had ended up splayed out on the bedroom floor, shoulders back and feet planted solidly in the carpet, hips humping the air as she trimmed her precious pearl to gushing fruition.
The first of many that sleepless cum-happy night. She had woken with a new sense of sensual invulnerability and wasn’t about to back down before this uppity bimbo. Today, she was armored in readiness for war.
Even if that armor consisted of a tiny lace bustier that cupped her upturned tits, shiny black hotpants which hardly covered her firm derriere, fishnet stockings, and blood-red Doc Martins.
The boots matched the worrying streaks of crimson that were appearing in Tammy’s long, inky hair.
“You’re more of a bubble brain than I thought if you expect me to believe that bullshit.”
“You’re one to talk, Dum-Dum!”
They were standing in the kitchenette, throwing each other nasty looks and preparing to lunge at one another when Sam trotted briskly out of the bathroom with a stern expression.
“Hey now, what did I tell you girls yesterday?” He barked, clapping his hands for attention. Two garishly made-up sets of eyes snapped onto him. “No more catfights in the office. Don’t make me build another wall.”
Tammy’s pretty pussy twinged at the sight of him. Big and burly. Practically bursting with muscle from his undersized clothes. That same smell as before wafted after the not-so-junior-looking accountant: all salt and sex and manly musk.
Claire dropped her coffee cup in her haste to get to him first. It splashed to the floor and stained the dreary carpet a new shade of brown.
“Sammy! Thank goodness you’re here.” The top-heavy blonde flounced and skipped in her disastrously high platform heels. “I’m, like, sooo~ sorry for upsetting you, but that emo skank was ready to attack me.”
She barreled into Sam, flattening herself against his front and shoving her enormous chest under his nose. Tammy fought a jealous snarl and cocked a slim hip as she fluttered her lengthy faux lashes in mock innocence.
No way was she going to come off like a thirsty bitch. Not when she had an actual brain in her skull.
“You don’t believe that, do you, Sam?” The petite Asian drawled, drowning her southern twang in sugary sweetness. “I could never disobey a man as strong and handsome as you… Sir.”
She strolled over to the pair, practicing a proper saunter. Stockinged legs flashed with each swaying step, flipping her silky hair over a pale shoulder as she shot him smokey bedroom eyes.
Claire glared daggers at her as she snuggled in closer and smooshed her lush curves into Sam’s unyielding physique. There was a particularly interesting outline of something thick and sturdy trapped down one pant leg, covering most of the distance to his knee.
It visibly pulsed, and a wet spot darkened the khaki fabric where it ended in a large bulbous lump. Tammy’s mouth flooded with saliva as she elbowed the ditzy bimbo—soliciting an indignant squark—and latched onto it with both hands, molding her lithe figure into Sam’s side.
His brooding hazel eyes flicked between both of them. Craggy brow furrowed, and lantern jaw clenched as they pawed at him, fawning like star-struck teens over a celebrity crush.
“I guess this was all just a big misunderstanding,” Sam growled, his fingers tracing down the arch of Tammy’s spine to sink into the taut flesh of her tight little butt and grip it possessively. By the lewd moan Claire emitted, she had received a similar mauling. “Maybe I should have the two of you kiss and make up. To finally bury the hatchet and put an end to this unprofessional animosity once and for all.”
Tammy jittered in his grasp, clawing fingers less than an inch from her throbbing pussy. She turned to stare at Claire, who was equally flushed with aroused confusion as they both ground against Sam’s stocky frame and exhaled hot, horny breaths.
Kiss Claire?
The thought had never occurred to her, but as Tammy looked into the wide bottle-green eyes of her sister in bookkeeping, the idea quickly gained merit.
Claire was undeniably sexy in a full-figured fashion. She sported many curvy assets that the waifish accountant secretly yearned to possess.
One innocent peck wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?
“If—If that’s what you want, Sam.” She whispered as a wash of abrupt excitement fluttered her tummy. “I guess that would be okay.”
“Yup, I think it will be for the best.” He nodded sternly. “Claire?”
“If you say so, Sammy.” The curvaceous blonde chirped, then puckered up and leaned towards her.
Tammy melted at the pillowy sensation of Claire’s luscious rose lips. An involuntary moan escaped her throat, and she might have collapsed on jellied knees if not for Sam’s tight hold on her butt. She fell into the kiss, surrendering to the heat that welled within her core and misted her womanly folds.
Everything about Claire was supremely soft and comfortable. They melded together as tentative tongues touched and then grew bolder in their explorations. The big hand on her wiggling toosh slipped lower, deeper into the crack of her ass, reaching for the shadow of her pussy over the shiny black material of her hot pants as Tammy held onto the huge bulge in Sam’s pants like a lifeline.
It was incredibly sturdy. Unshifting except for the pulse of his steady heartbeat thrumming through the exceptional hardness.
“That’s it. Isn’t that nicer than all the snark and bitchiness?” He murmured, “You’re both really pretty, and pretty girls should get along, friendly-like. It makes everything easier and more fun for everyone.”
”Mmhmm~...”
They moaned their mutual agreement into each other’s open mouths. Pink rose and dark arabesque lipstick mashed together as Tammy shivered in arousal and Sam’s probing digits finally found the promised land. They pressed against her puffy mound, pushing through the taut rubberized fabric of her short shorts, and applied heaven-sent pressure to her sensitive nub.
“Mmmmnnph!”
It was as though he hit the trigger on a primed detonator. Bone-shaking bliss exploded through Tammy. Her taut little body seized as an almighty crash of blinding pleasure rocked the very foundations of her existence and rewrote the definition of ecstasy in her endorphin-flooded brain.
Claire seemed to be enduring a similar experience.
She sagged into Tammy, wrapping her in a strangulating hug as her bodacious figure bucked and jerked wildly, squealing down the smaller woman’s throat. Her voluminous mane of golden hair blanketed them both as only Sam’s herculean strength kept them upright through the thrashing throes of carnal climax until, after a timeless period of floating weightlessly in a euphoric void, they returned to earth once again.
“There… I bet you both feel better now.” Sam stated proudly, retracting his magic hands to slap them soundly on Tammy and Claire’s butt cheeks. “Best of friends at last. Maybe more than friends, if I didn’t misread the signals there at the end?”
He articulated the question with a quirk of an eyebrow as Tammy labored for oxygen and extricated herself from Claire’s clutches. A thin strand of spittle still connected their bruised lips.
What was he asking? She wasn’t into women, at least not until he brought it up… Claire had felt wonderfully soft and warm now she thought about it.
“Is that something you’d be into, Sammy?” The voluptuous blonde sounded hopeful, sending Tammy urgent, meaningful looks. “Because it could be…”
She just nodded along, still half lost in the post-orgasmic glow and feeling his massive cock lurch in her grip at the sapphic suggestion. The pungent wet spot on his pant leg grew, and her mouth watered.
Sam cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah… that would be super hot, but it’s not about me—”
“Samuel!” Sadie’s voice rang out from her office doorway. Crisp and commanding. “I need you in here right now. No excuses and on the double!”
“Pardon me, ladies.” Sam released them and doffed an imaginary hat to the two blushing senior accountants. “Duty calls, and I wouldn’t dream of interfering in the beginnings of such a beautiful friendship.”
Claire hugged Tammy close, sliding a silky thigh between her shaky, stockinged legs and thrusting her ginormous udders into the diminutive Asian’s face, burying it in the heart-shaped cleavage window.
“Hurry back, Sammy Baby! Me and my new girlfriend will be waiting.”
Sam stepped into Sadie’s office to find the older woman sitting behind her desk in her high-backed chair, turned away from him with only the top of her burgundy bun visible over the headrest.
“Kindly close the door and take a seat, Samuel.”
The change in decor was remarkable.
Unlike on the main floor, none of the furniture came in a flatpack or had to be assembled with an Allen key. Everything was polished—if mildly worn—timber, from the large mahogany desk to the cedar bookshelves stuffed with legal tomes lining each side of the room.
A vibrant navy and silver Indian rug hid the faded carpet tiles, and Sadie’s credentials were neatly framed and hung. Even the lighting felt more welcoming, noonday sunlight filtering in a large picture window that took up most of the rear wall, through which the mature business owner was presumably staring.
“You wanted to see me, Miss Chandler?” Sam asked, squeezing himself into one of the two chairs before her desk. The frame creaked under his weight. “It sounded important.”
“I did, and it is.” She slowly rotated to face him, shapely legs crossed and delicate fingers steepled under her pert nose, only lacking a cat to complete the Bond villain impression.”I’m not blind, you know. I see what is going on out there.”
Sam’s throat went dry, but he couldn’t help staring at her overtly ample breasts framed by her elbows in the tiny crimson corset. He crossed his legs too, if only to conceal the obstinate upsurge in his trousers.
“You did—I mean, you do?”
Was he about to lose his job because he couldn’t keep it in his horribly constricting pants? Dammit, but blood flow down there was becoming a real issue!
Somehow, he felt that argument wouldn’t hold much water in the stormy face of his boss.
“I certainly do. They’re everywhere now. Cheap harlots strolling down the avenue, audaciously dressed in slutty outfits, flashing their tits and asses for the world to see.” Sadie hissed, bending forward and giving Sam a better view of her bountiful cleavage. “Trying to sink their claws into any man they can. It’s shameless, utterly shameless, I tell you!”
Sam let himself breathe again and nodded amicably in relief.
“As you say, Miss Chandler.”
His words mollified her some, and the hint of a pleased smile twitched the corners of her ruby lips. Dusky eyes behind designer lenses threatened to burn holes into Sam as his manager rose gracefully from her seat and prowled around the large desk.
“Naturally, you have no interest in that type of loose woman, right, Samuel?” She asked in a decidedly warmer tone, circling behind him to run a teasing finger over broad shoulders. “A fine young man like yourself with such a bright future ahead of him doesn’t waste time on trashy floozies. I imagine you have more… advanced tastes in women.”
Sadie draped herself over his back, and her spicy perfume washed over Sam as her firm tits pressed into his neck. “Just nod and say ‘yes, Miss Chandler.’”
He stifled a groan as his cock became an iron ramrod in his pants. A hammer ready to drive nails, or maybe some wicked boss pussy.
Four days of ever-present hardness and arousal—not to mention some eye-opening sexual experiences—had eroded away many inhibitions but not Sam’s good sense.
Sadie was reveling in a little power play, and he was disinclined to stop her. Not yet, at least.
He nodded diligently, “Yes, Miss Chandler.”
The burgundy-haired beauty let out a husky purr of satisfaction, slipping around to Sam’s front and sliding a knee across his thighs as she straddled his lap.
The chair creaked alarmingly beneath them as the position brought them face to face. Sadie’s teensy leather skirt rode up her slender thighs, almost to her crotch, as she lazily settled her forearms over his shoulders and shimmied her overflowing bodice under his chin.
“I thought as much but am still pleased to hear you say it, Samuel.” She murmured hotly into his ear, nipping at the lobe and raking her talon-like fingernails through his thick, sandy hair. “I couldn’t respect a weak man who crumbled to temptation so easily. Couldn’t trust a head that was turned by every dime-store tramp shaking her skanky ass…”
Sadie yanked Sam’s skull back by the hair and licked a line of fire along his stubbly jawline.
He grunted, barely shifting, and reflexively seized her trim, gyrating hips. The older vixen moaned in appreciation, arching her spine, reaching up with both hands to unfasten her wine-colored bun and shake out her long, wavy tresses.
They flowed like a cabernet waterfall down a fit, gymnastically-honed figure that belonged to a woman half her age with the perfect, suckable tits of a Penthouse centerfold.
“...Because I crave a man of good tastes. A real man who will work hard for my company, balancing the books and packing my tight cunt with hot, steamy spunk until it leaks like a broken faucet.” Sadie crooned, dark eyes smoldering as a manicured hand dipped under her tiny leather skirt for a breathless instant, then returned, index and middle fingers glistening wet with her nectar. “Do you like my taste, Samuel?”
“Hmmmff~!”
Sam grunted as she shoved her dripping digits past his lips and slathered his tongue in her tangy flavor. It was sharp and sweet, with a slightly salty edge that tickled his tastebuds. Sadie’s honey pervaded his palate and seeped down to his hyperactive groin, which was in a state of outright rebellion.
“Oooh, I can feel it.” Sadie guttered, her sonorous voice growing choppy with desire. “Your huge, fucking prick is aching to fill me, and… haaa~ I’m aching for it too.”
She ground hard against the ribald ridge in his slacks, rubbing and smearing her moist panties over the hard column of his manhood as she continued to dredge her sodden depths and crammed honey-drenched fingers into Sam’s mouth.
“This is okay, isn’t it?” Sadie crooned, her ebony eyes blazing like twin bonfires. “It’s not too much? You’re strong enough to handle a real woman, aren’t you, Samuel? Because I’m so fucking wet for you right now.”
Fuck, but Sam wanted to fuck his hot MILF manager until she screamed herself hoarse. To bend her over the desk, then pound that prim and proper pussy like it just ran over his dog. As the scalding tension between them skyrocketed higher, the few reasons why doing so was a bad idea seemed to evaporate.
“Mmm?” He asked intelligently, sucking the juices off her dainty fingers.
“That’ll be your job description from here on out.” Sadie giggled naughtily, rocking her yoga-sculpted butt in his lap. “Keeping ledgers and satisfying my needy cunt or whatever other hole I tell you to. It’ll be a challenging, full-time position, but it also comes with excellent benefits. You can start today… oooh~ right now, in fact. I demand it!”
With a final snarl of feral passion, she removed her invasive digits and replaced them with her ruby lips in a torrid, tongue-fueled kiss. The coffee and peppermint gum flavors mingled with a salty smack of her sex in Sam’s abused mouth. Hands dug cruelly into his hair again, but he barely felt it.
The hugely hung junior accountant was well past the point of reason, tougher than diamond and suffocating in his close-fitting clothing.
Then, in a moment of purest serendipity, his cum-stained khaki trousers surrendered to the inevitable…
Stitching popped down the inseam in quick succession, tearing a gaping hole down to Sam’s knee from which his monstrous cock rose like a Giant Sequoia being felled in reverse. It slapped solidly into Sadie’s sternum, a thick, veiny log of hardwood nestling into the heavy undercarriage of her big, supple breasts and drooling pearly precum over the little black bows and scarlet ribbons of her skimpy corset top.
Sadie broke their smoldering kiss to glance down, glasses sitting crooked on her nose as a wicked grin threatened to split her stunning face.
“There it is. There’s my big, BIG boy. I want it, Samuel. I want to feel that massive fucking dick stretching out my insides until I can’t catch a goddam breath!” She cried, dragging her sodden pelvis along the rocky base, tiny leather miniskirt bunching up over her waist and exposing a black spaghetti-string thong. “I want you to fuck the air out of my lungs and pump me so full that I taste you in the back of my throat!”
“Brace yourself, Miss Chandler!” Sam roared, jerking to his feet with Sadie clinging to him like a horny leech. The sharp heels of her knee-high boots dug into his ass like riding spurs. “You gonna get more than you can handle.”
“Talk is cheap. Hurry up and prove it, Samuel!”
He dropped her none-too-gently onto the large mahogany desktop, scattering a jar of pens and lifting her ankles above his head as his turgid crown scooted across her dewy cleft, seeking purchase.
It finally caught against the minuscule triangle of drenched lace covering her engorged entrance, and Sam pressed himself into her heavenly slickness, panties and all.
“Jeezus, Miss Chandler, you’re so goddam tight!”
Her internal walls gripped vise-like at his enormity even as they yielded to the brutal intrusion. Sadie’s snatch was incredibly wet and baking hot like a furnace as Sam drove himself deeper, trying not to blow his wad too early.
He was very cognisant that this was officially it—despite his various experiences with Zoey in the bathroom. Samuel Hall, mild-mannered accountant and recently discovered super-stud, was about to spend his V-card inside the quivering quim of his gorgeous cougar boss writhing invitingly beneath him.
He had to control himself and savor the moment.
“Of course, I’m not some loose whore, Samuel. I train my body hard, clock hundreds of hours in the gym, keeping myself tight and fit for the right kind of man.” Sadie moaned, desperately wiggling her hips to take in more of him. “Aaaah~! That’s it, good boy, all the way in. I want to feel every fat inch of that magnificent cock… Mmmnph~ messing up my insides!”
She thrashed wildly upon his spearing meat, reaching for him with grasping fingers. Sam kept her pinned to the desk, booted feet up around his ears as he struggled to sink to the base and bottom out in her snug slit.
A fibrous barrier obstructed his unbending rigidity, some kind of pliable restraint trying to rein him back. Scowling in beet-faced frustration, the young hunk looked down at the joining of their lurid sexes just as he felt something give…
A searing spike of pleasure rushed down his girthy shaft as Sadie’s overtaxed thong finally ripped, stretched past its tensile limits, and whipped out of her clingy pussy with a damp, elasticated snap.
“FAAARK!” Sam howled as he was suddenly plunged to the hilt and toppled between her shaking, shapely thighs to collect a faceful of cushiony cleavage. “Mmmlorp~…”
“Yes, oh gawd, YES!” Sadie crowed, wrapping her slender arms around his head, snuggling him further into her buxom boobage as she bucked her rounded hips and climaxed convulsively. “Stretch me out on your gigantic bitch-breaker… Hyaaa~! I’m gonna cum and mark this huge cock with my juices! Don’t you dare fucking stop now, Samuel, don’t you dare… Gah~ fucking stop!”
Sam didn’t need any encouragement. Instantly intoxicated by his first taste of warm, feminine flesh, he raised onto his elbows and began hammering into the mature minx like a steam piston.
Sadie looked exquisite beneath him, a primed sexual firecracker stuck fast on his plunging prick and milking it with her constricting cunt as she yowled in wordless ecstasy.
Glasses cockeyed and burgundy hair flying, the ravishing MILF tore at the ribbons of her teensy satin corset, frantically unlacing the front to release her breathtaking breasts. They exploded free, two perfectly globular spheres of squeezable tit-flesh topped in ripe cherry nipples.
“Holy shit, Miss Chandler, those are huge!” Sam grunted between long, forceful strokes that set those creamy melons jiggling like vanilla blancmanges. “Were they always that bi—glommff!”
His words were cut short by the delicate digits jammed back into his gaping mouth
“Less talking… more fucking.” Sadie gasped between whorish moans. “And… hyaaa~ finger sucking. Maybe choking? Ooooh, YES! Definitely choking…”
Choking? What the actual hell?
Sam’s head spun with jumbled desires as his balls throbbed like war drums, signaling the attack. Her booted ankles crossed over the small of his back, trapping him inside that slick, squeezing nirvana while her sleek, muscular thighs attempted to pincer him in half. Sadie kept molesting his tongue with one hand, the other returning to grabbing fistfuls of his sandy hair and yanking at the roots.
“Mmmrrph!”
She was so small under his heaving bulk, every part of her trim and toned as a Victoria’s Secret supermodel, sporting soft tits the size of cantaloupes that slapped her angular chin with each energetic plunge. He could see her taut tummy swell where his meaty member displaced her insides, firm abdominals rippling as his monster burrowed beneath.
Their powerful pounding rhythm slowly shifted the heavy mahogany desk across the office in creaky fits and starts. Then Sadie wailed in carnal rapture, reared up like a striking viper, and sank her teeth into his broad shoulder. A second squirting climax stained the aged leather blotter.
“Ouch, goddammit!” Sam swore an oath, grabbing the randy she-devil by the neck and slamming her back onto the desktop. Sable eyes glittered wicked intentions up at him. A manic grin on her ruby lips. “Take it easy, why don’t you? This is supposed to be my first time!”
The older woman’s burning gaze softened a fraction, though her bucking hips didn’t slow in their rolling motions, gyrating on his spearing length.
“Good boy… good boy, Samuel.” She croaked, long lashes fluttering with bliss, nodding feverishly as he pinned her down in a chokehold. “It’s alright. You can… hnnnh! cum inside me. I—I want to feel your hot cum… aaah~ shooting deep inside my bossy cunt.”
“Holy fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck~...”
Sam rutted at a blistering pace. His face flushed red, and his balls were on the verge of an extinction-level eruption. Sweat leaked from every pore, dripping from the point of his nose and splattering Sadie’s joyous, wobbly titties until they gleamed with their shared perspiration.
“Do it, Samuel, give Momma her cream pie.” She gasped, smashing her lush derriere back into Sam’s lap and taking him to the base, clenching her constricting pussy like a velveteen vise. “She neeeeds it!”
“I’M CUUUMMING!!”
With a final, bestial roar, Sam burst like a dam and flooded the burgundy-haired hellcat’s hungry snatch with a river of sticky seed. Muscles seized as a monumental orgasm crashed through him, blowing what felt like pints of steaming baby batter directly into his gorgeous boss’s empty womb.
“Good boy, good boy…” Sadie crooned, tenderly stroking his brow and cheeks with her fingertips. “Give Momma all your hot cum. Fill her until she drips for you.”
Sam dipped his head in mute agreement, feeling rather boneless. It wasn’t as though he had another choice. He had already blown his load, and Sadie’s long legs were still wrapped tightly around him, fixing him inside her and coaxing out the last few spurts.
“I—I think my pants are going to be a write-off.” He groaned, looking down at the shredded, nectar-soaked tatters hanging off his belt. “How am I going to get home? I can’t catch the bus like this…”
“Samuel, your pillow talk is awful.” Sadie slapped him on the sweater vest in admonishment, then pulsed her internal muscles around his unflagging girth with a leering smirk. “Besides, you’re not going anywhere. I can feel you’re still completely erect inside me, and I’ve got many more… positions for you to fill before the end of business.”
What was he going to do, say ‘no’ to an offer like that from his sexy-as-sin manager?
“Yes, Miss Chandler.”
“Good boy. Now let’s see what gives out first, your hips or my desk?”
Sam grunted and slowly started pumping into her again. Much of their mingled fluid was forming a spreading puddle of the polished desktop and leaking onto the carpet. He just shrugged and dismissed it as someone else’s problem.
It was like Sadie said; his job was to balance the books and pack her awesomely tight and welcoming snatch full of his creamy jizz.
…and stare at her big boobs. Where had Sadie been hiding such an incredible pair of cans?
His thrusting pace picked up as he bent down to give one of the stiff raspberry peaks an experimental suckle. Sam grunted with surprise when something warm and sweet dribbled into his mouth and danced across his tastebuds.
“That’s it, Samuel, suck on Momma’s fat titties.” Sadie moaned, grabbing him by the hair again. “Good boy, suck on them while you fuck her belly full of your young, virile seed…”
The heavy wooden desk began to creak and shift again in earnest as—unbeknownst to either of them—two sets of heavily made-up eyes spied jealously through the cracked office door behind him.