The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“So, what you’re saying, if I’m understanding you right, is that Libby has gone into… estrus,” Mr. Bankole said.

“What?” his secretary, Ally, said. She blinked at him. Her mouth hung open.

“Heat. Libby is in heat,” he said. “You said she was in… Estrus is the term for… nevermind.”

He considered this at his desk. His office was kept clean and free of distractions. A working calendar on the side desk, a decorative one on the wall, both provided by Quickbooks. The desk itself was painted dark black and contained a complicated set of in and out boxes, as well as a computer with three monitors. It was emphatically a working space. It was not a place for young women going into rut.

“How do you know?” he questioned.

“Well, she had her legs up on her desk,” Ally said.

“I’ve put my legs up on my desk,” Mr. Bankole said. He had, once, at the very end of a busy tax season. And treated himself to a scotch.

“...and she was rubbing herself. You know. In her—”

“Yes, I know,” Mr. Bankole said. “Okay,”

“And she was moaning. Super loud. I mean you can’t hear it in here because the walls are real thick but she was MOANING,” Ally said. “SUPER loud.”

“Okay, Ally, thanks, I think—”

“Plus do you know the smell that they get when they’re in heat?” Ally was starting to get misty. She’d been through rut herself and it had left those very obvious marks. Filled a girl with air all over, was what they said. “The phero...things. Pheromoniums.”

“Pheromones,” Mr. Bankole said. He felt his first real sense of apprehension, instead of mere annoyance. Right, the pheromones. Had to be careful around those. They were apparently intense.

“Yeah! They were getting me all… you know,”

“Okay,” Mr. Bankole said.

“Horny.”

“OKAY,” Mr. Bankole said. He reprimanded himself. He never raised his voice.

“SUPER horny,” Ally finished.

Mr. Bankole regarded his secretary. Of course it was possible that pre-estrus she had been a bright young lady with career aspirations. Perhaps she had wanted to be a senator or an astronaut. Or maybe she had always been a bit of an airhead. But prolonged contact with that animal side of yourself, steeping in that involuntary need and desire, begging for seed… it did a number on girls. Specifically, it lopped big numbers off their IQs and added them to bust size.

So now, whatever she HAD been, Ally answered phones with a cheerful “hiiiiiii!” and wore leopard-print tanktops and had perfectly lacquered pink nails and needed things explained to her visually if at all possible. She took long restroom breaks and emerged very cheerful. She had two children and a number of boyfriends. Mr. Bankole didn’t go trying to look at her ass because he didn’t need to—it was on display, every day, in tight pink shorts or blue minis or black tights or well-fitted white dresses. Today a light blue mini. He and Libby had bonded by batting jokes well over her head.

Libby who was apparently masturbating in her office.

“Very well,” Mr. Bankole said. “Lets go check on Libby. I’m sure she’s just moaning as a… joke.”

He could hear the thick, throaty moaning as soon as he pushed open the door. That was heat, for sure. No chance that Libby was just innocently masturbating on a workday, like he had hoped.

“Damn,” Mr. Bankole said. He crossed his arms, reminded himself again to breath carefully. Heat hormones would get him erect and highly interested in breeding.

Ally trailed behind him. Happily, she breathed through her mouth routinely.

It was not a large office. There was a freeway directly beneath it, and a view of the side of a supermarket to one side. The bottom tenant was a bank with one total location. But his side overlooked a forested ridge populated only by a strand of stucco’d houses, in bright colors. He stared at them from time to time. It had taken a long time to earn an office with a view.

It was his, and his associate was yelping to be fucked in it.

“Oh gawdd…. Oh gawwwwwwwwddddddd,” she moaned. “OH my GOD. OH MY GOD! OH! MY! GOD!”

It was not the voice he associated with Libby. Previously she had a voice that fit the office. Quiet, passionless, she habitually spoke just above a murmur. Feminine, yes, but just generically so. But this was a needy and heavy voice that was truly horny. Mr. Bankole would not have guessed there was this much horny in her.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door to her office.

Libby had her legs on her desk. She still had her dark black pants on, although she had stripped off a wool grey blazer, which was discarded on the floor. She also still wore heels, both of which were pointed vaguely at the ceiling, and were a surprising stiletto he had never seen before. One hand was underneath a very shiny blue blouse that was still somehow buttoned up. Clearly her breasts were much larger than yesterday’s working norm—they had swollen up to the point of pulling the shirt apart. Mostly, though, she had her other hand between her legs, trying to push through the heavy wool crotch and deep inside of herself.

Breath through your mouth, Mr. Bankole reminded himself. This was a valued employee, albeit much less valued now that she was in a feverish breeding frenzy. He hoped his erection wasn’t some sort of hormone-triggered response, and was just because he was watching an attractive young 20-something stroke herself and moan.

Their eyes met.

“Libby. Good morning,” Mr. Bankole said. He clasped his hands in front of him. It was how he always greeted her, inevitably responded to with “good morning, Mr. Bankole.”

Libby pulled her hand out of her thighs. It was very wet, and glistening under the nice white lighting Mr. Bankole had insisted that the building install. Her eyes drifted around the office, half-lidded and deep blue. She had glossy chestnut hair that was always neatly installed around her face.

“Sorry sir,” she said. “About… um… I’m... “ her voice arrived from a long way away. “I’m in heat? I’m in heat. I’m at work and in heat and my boss is looking at my pussy.”

Mr. Bankole snapped his gaze up. He cleared his throat. “Nothing to be embarrassed about!” he said. Ally giggled. “Just a, ah, a medical condition. To be expected in.. young women. Lately.”

He was getting quite hard. His hands were clammy. There was just something about her splayed-out pose. It looked uncomfortable for everything but penetration. Penetration it made sense for. For a stud to bury his hilt up the most wet, welcoming slit and pump…

Mr. Bankole snapped back to reality. Libby was saying something. “—per sorry. Sooooo sorry. I’ll clean up and oh my god I’m in heat. I’m so horny and I’m gonna be knocked up and…”

“Libby!” he said, for both of their benefit. “Do you have someone I can call?” She wasn’t getting it. “Like a boyfriend or significant other of some kind?” he said, enunciating clearly. His tie pressed against his throat. It was ten thousand degrees in that room.

“Oh… ohhhhhh….” Libby said. Her willpower was impressive. From what Mr. Bankole understood, girls in heat would often devolve to all fours, ass in the air, in every way a breeding mammal. An animal, stripped away of all the pretensions of civilization. To carry on a conversation was impressive. And why lie to himself? He had watched some videos, girls with swollen tits moaning as a shaft shoved into them. Left an oozing mess on the floor—

“Ryan,” Libby said. “Call Ryan.” Her hand drifted back between her legs.

“Excellent! I’ll just… I’ll just get your purse.” He had to walk close to her to get it—it was draped over her office chair. She smelled sweet and hot, puffing heavy breaths. Damnation, he kept breathing through his nose.

Mr. Bankole grabbed the purse and fled.

“Hey babe,” Ryan said. He sounded like a capable partner, Mr. Bankole hoped.

“Hello,” he said. He stood outside the office, using the elevator ride to calm down. Thank god, his erection was subsiding.

“Oh. Hello? Uhh…” Ryan said, confused.

“This is Libby’s boss,” Mr. Bankole said. She had called him sir. She never did that. Mr. Bankole. Sir, she had said it in such a husky, horny voice. Sir. “Mr. Bankole. She asked me to call you for a ride.” He’d have to get her outside to this man’s car. Maybe Ally could do it.

“She’s… sick?”

“In a way. Libby is in estrus,” he said.

“Oh?”

“That means that she’s in heat.”

“Oh. Oh! Oh.”

Mr. Bankole waited while Ryan contemplated fatherhood. Pumping a girl in estrus full of sperm was extraordinarily effective. And she wouldn’t leave heat until her body was fertilized. It wasn’t good for future mental activity to stay in heat too long.

“I’ll give you the office address,” Mr. Bankole prodded.

“Yeahhhhhhh,” Ryan said, and Mr. Bankole nearly hung up. He was old enough to know that tone of voice. The tone of “I didn’t mention this until the audit notice came in,” and “about that invoice you sent.”

“She asked me to call you,” he said.

“We’ve been on four dates,” Ryan said. “I’m not looking to, you know. The whole bonding thing. It’s just… I make deliveries, you know? I’m not a DAD.”

Ugh. “You’re evidently the one,” Mr. Bankole insisted. “Get over here. There’s tax breaks for new parents. Lots of them.”

“That’s great, but…”

“Ryan, I will personally prepare your return, for free, if you get over here and impregnate my associate.”

“I’m not gonna be a dad!”

“GET OVER HERE AND FUCK LIBBY!”

Ryan hung up.

“FUCK!” Mr. Bankole said.

The elevator walls were glass. Mr. Bankole looked hard at himself. He had lost control back there. Unacceptable. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and readjusted his tie, shook out his suit jacket. Two long deep breaths, careful exhalations. Let the stress and the hormones flow out. There.

He was on just the good side of forty. His hair was cropped to the nub, first out of preference and lately to hide his hairline. Deep eyes that girlfriends, from back when he had girlfriends, had all adored. Sunken or soulful, pick one. Clean-shaven. A good look for an accountant—it projected calm, rejected flair. He had built a practice from nothing with a confident look and total sincerity when he advised on creative tax planning. A life from nothing. Immigrant single-parent nothing.

Hundreds of thousands of dollars of student debt and the demands of small business ownership had left Mr. Bankole on the sidelines of dating. He had made no conscious decision to forego, had never sat down and picked celibacy and bachelorhood. A previous relationship had ended poorly when she had asked him to move with her, close his “little office” and start over entirely in Baltimore. He had picked the office. And right after that women started going into heat. It was easy, even responsible, to just avoid the whole mess. Society would have to completely figure itself out again and Mr. Bankole wanted only the part of that involving tax considerations.

Had never imagined himself with his own dependents.

He was sweating again. The door chimed open.

When he went back inside Ally was getting Libby off.

“Ally? Ladies?” he said, walking in. He blanched. It smelled like Libby as soon he stepped inside. Breeding female had filled the entire office with musk and sweet overtones. He had seen a news report on all the insane hormonal stuff going on with heat girls. Endocrinologists speaking in hushed tones, stuff like “off the charts”.

Libby was sitting up on her desk. She had her back arched, and still wore her blouse, albeit with two buttons undone and the sleeves bunched up. And a black choker Mr. Bankole hadn’t noticed before, and now locked his eyes on. That was it for clothes. Her pants were a wet mess on his floor. Unclear where her underpants were, shoes had been tossed against a wall. She had beautiful legs that dangled just above the floor, her feet flexing in time to Ally pushing a really large vibrator up inside of her.

“Ally!” he said, startled. Deep breath. No, no deep breath—small breaths, keep the scent of Ally and her needs out of him. She smelled so good. It was exactly how Libby should smell.

Ally gave him a cheery wave. She seemed the only person calm and unperturbed. She also had a black vibrator, and was busy waving it into Libby’s slit. Libby responded to every nudge like it was a live electric wire.

Mr. Bankole spent some time staring at his employee’s pussy. It was a delicate pink, and totally shaved. Libby had nicely rounded thighs that set it off beautifully. Plus, what had looked like a small vibrator turned out to be a very big and veiny replica cock that must’ve gone well up inside of her. Mr. Bankole had suspected, deep in his heart, that Libby had a big ass with tons of room for dick. And there it was.

“Ally!” Mr. Bankole repeated, helplessly. He sagged against the door. “You’re—did she—did she consent to that? Having that… good god.”

Libby squealed, then moaned, as the big dick came all the way out, then started to push back in. Ally gave a shrug. Her fingers were soaked wet. “Oh, it’s good for heat girls, Mr. Bankole! Keeps them busy! I know when I got it I would’ve done anything for one of these! Next best thing to little spermies!”

Libby nodded vigorously. She had her eyes shut extremely tightly, her hands clenched on the table. There were important client papers on her desk, wet with pussy juice.

“When is the boy toy swinging by?” Ally asked. “I’ve got her all ready to go! She is gonna be a super fun ride for the lucky stud.”

“Oh. Right. He’s… not coming,” Mr. Bankole said. “He hung up on me. Said he didn’t want to be a Dad.”

Just the memory gave Mr. Bankole a righteous flood of anger. His cock surged with it. What was wrong with the worthless piece of shit? Libby was grade-A ass and any man would be lucky to get lost between those legs. It was clear that she’d be an amazing fuck, wrap those legs around a potent, thrusting cock, and squeeze every last bit of cum out. A pussy that demanded a big, virile dick. And her tits! It was amazing the buttons hadn’t burst—

God, he was just soaking in her. Mr. Bankole stumbled backwards, out of the office, just as Libby let out an impassioned, sad moan for her lost Ryan and his lost dick.

He hated calling his lawyer. Hated the ticking cost clock it set off, hated how cheerful the man was. He treated these calls as opportunities to banter. Mr. Bankole had taken to sending legal questions over email to keep interactions minimal.

But this was an emergency, and besides, he needed to distract himself fiercely. He was dripping pre-cum in his boxer-briefs.

“John. I have an emergency on my hands,” he said. Mr. Bankole had closed the door to his office.

“Wuh-oh,” John said. Mr. Bankole squeezed the phone. “Alright. Always happy to help in an emergency. Go ahead. I have a pen open and a notepad ready!”

“It’s about Libby.”

“Libby, your associate?”

“Libby, my associate.”

“Can I guess?”

“No.”

“Oh, I won’t charge you for guesses. Ms. Libby went into heat, didn’t she.”

“Yes. No charge for that, correct?”

John chuckled. “Well, lets start the clock. So, lucky you, all us attorneys had to take mandatory I repeat mandatory training on what we’re calling the Fuck Laws, so I am fully versed in the legal aspects of estrus. So let me set your mind at rest by saying you can just call and fire her. She won’t even care, believe me. She has got new needs and they are intense.”

There was an extremely loud shriek. Mr. Bankole glumly held the phone up to it.

“Wuh-oh,” John said, when Mr. Bankole put the phone back to his ear. His attorney had lost a little flippancy. “That sounds like a girl going through irreversible sexual changes.”

“Yes.”

“In your office.”

“That’s quite right.”

“She’s a screamer.”

“Yes, she is. Now. Previously she was a skilled accountant. Now she is a breeding cow.”

“Shame,” John heaved a sigh. “I mean, hell, you gotta look on the bright side with these things. Mallory isn’t exactly playing chess with me anymore but she is a great mom and she is insane in the sack. Insane. Does Libby have those boobs now?”

“Are you charging me for this?” Mr. Bankole said.

“We’ll do a flat fee. Unlike Libby. Hey! Yeah. Mallory went up like three cup sizes, totally incredible. And she is sensitive! I spank her on the butt, she makes a little puddle.”

“John! I am not interested in your sex life! I have a legal problem!” Mr. Bankole cast a panicked look at the door. He had the sudden fear that his associate would burst through and demand to be fucked.

“Ah, hell, I’m suggesting a solution, if I have to spell it out,” John said, hurt. “You’re single. You’ve got a good business. Libby is a nice girl. You already know she can stand you. There you go,”

“I’m not looking for RELATIONSHIP advice! How can I get rid of her?”

“Ah, geez, really?” the fun bled out of John’s voice. He heaved a sigh just as Libby let loose another scream. “Fine. You can still fire her and escort her off the premises. No problem at all so long as you leave her in a safe location. Lobby. You can also call the paramedics and they’ll send a special service over, that’s your best option as it has a safe harbor.”

“Great, I’ll do that,” Mr. Bankole said.

“EXCEPT,” John thundered on. “They’ll take her to the County hospital and she’ll get bred by whoever is hanging around. And bond with him. They’re supposed to be starting a program but it’s a total mess down there as you can imagine. So it’s going to be some random guy who waits around hospital waiting rooms.. But legally, it won’t be your problem.”

“Very well,” Mr. Bankole said.

‘AND you should do it soon, as the longer a girl is in heat, the more, uh, spacey she ends up as. Shoot, I worked late just by chance when Mallory went over and honestly it probably cost her geometry and French.. Not that she was using either. There you go.”

“Great,” Mr. Bankole said. Another scream. What a day. “Send me the bill. Thanks for your time.”

“Mr. Bankole, I am not going to bill you for this call,” John sighed. “Just do the right thing by Libby, alright? If nothing else, find a real man for her. Not someone waiting around a door.”

Real man. Mr. Bankole hung up, thought about it, then pushed the phone off his desk. He wheeled around in his chair and faced the large window. His erection was painfully stiff.

Real man. Like it meant anything to simply burst in, pump Libby a dozen times, and shoot sperm into her. Like that would be true masculinity. Of course he could easily bend her over a table and make her scream. Any guy with a functioning penis could do that. Hell, Ally was doing that right that very second.

The real test of masculinity here was self-control. Not listening to the insistent messages his cock was giving him, that it was time to let loose and spray baby batter inside a fertile female. To stay true to the dream—his own office, debt-free, stable clientele, and only then to maybe, maybe venture into the unknown of girls, that primal and savage world of cock-hungry females.

Mr. Bankole hissed between his teeth, and readjusted his dick. His balls were swollen and nearly painful. He was obviously full to the brim with Libby. She writhed in his mind’s eye, bent-over and whimpering, that light pink slit stuck in his memory. The way she called him sir.

She never called him sir.

Outside, Ally had laid out an entire row of dildos and vibrators on a chair. Mr. Bankole took stock of it, incredulous. There was so much plastic and rubber on display, and all of it apparently in the office all the time.

“Ally, where did all this come from?”

“My fuck drawer,” Ally said.

“Fuck drawer,” Mr. Bankole said. He glanced over at her desk. Classic secretary desk. There were only two drawers. “What’s in the NON-fuck drawer?”

“Office supplies and shit. I guess it’s SORT OF the fuck drawer too because I keep batteries in there.”

There were a number of bullets, some complicated things that looked like nose guards, except they went up Ally’s snatch apparently, and one that had to be meant for her ass.

“When do you find the—we don’t have a lunch room—” he stuttered. She was just humming away the hours? He supposed that explained her habitual great mood, and why she walked so carefully in her big red heels.

It didn’t escape his notice that they were all, every one of them, dark black.

“Mr. Bankole, Libby could REALLY use some help,” Ally said. She sounded anxious. Libby was flat on her desk, all her papers on the ground, and her computer monitor apparently just tossed over the side. It was cracked through the middle. Her shirt was open, and two big tits balled on the top of her chest. Gravity was trying and failing to flatten them. She moved just sporadically, shivering as Ally kept a little rabbit in her.

“Libby,” Mr. Bankole said. God, she was hot. Leaking on his desk, shining under the overhead lights, smelling like need and want. He could be her man. Would that be so bad? Her sir, her knight. She was already his subordinate, she was used to serving underneath him. This would be similar. Her lips wrapped around his cock underneath his desk, sucking him off at nine, noon, and four. Her belly swollen and heavy with his seed…

“Libby, I’m going to have to let you go,” he said, arms clasped behind his back, this time. “Very sorry. I’m sure you’ll understand. I’ll help you to your car.” She wasn’t driving anywhere. “My car. Drop you off at your apartment.” Yes, that was it. No need to think about the consequences. He was not legally responsible for this dripping slut. That needed him so very badly. “Can you… maybe stand up?”

“No, she can’t,” Ally said, sharply. Mr. Bankole didn’t look at her. For a post-heat girl to take a sharp tone with a man… “You’ll have to carry her.”

Carry her. Well. He was strong enough. It was the least he could do after years of exemplary service. Mr. Bankole took off his suit jacket and looked for a place to put it. Libby was, of course, sprawled out on her own desk, recovering from another brain-quaking orgasm. Ally was in the visitor chair, Libby’s chair had all the vibrators on it. The floor had spatters of Libby juice around. He eventually tossed it on Ally’s desk, outside. He’d have to sacrifice the dress shirt.

“Up we go,” he murmured, and picked her up. She was warmer and lighter than he had expected. Libby barely weighed anything at all, as far as he could tell. Her bright white tits had big red nipples. She opened her big eyes, stared at him, and said “Hi.”

“Hello,” Mr. Bankole said. He gestured to Ally, who opened the office door. God willing they wouldn’t run into anyone. But the building was half-abandoned. The AC was shut off at 5 sharp on Friday to save maintenance costs.

“Super duper sorry I’m so… so darn horny,” she said. Her voice was a whisper after all those screams. Libby shifted positions, and her snatch, which he had carefully avoided, and carefully avoided looking at, was planted right against his arm. He could feel her, hot and wet. She’d soaked through his shirt before he got to the stairwell. “Suuuuper horny,” she giggled, and tugged gently on his tie.

He felt protective, embarrassed. Why not just toss her in the garbage and be honest with himself, if he was going to fire her? Two years of service she had given him, always on time, work immaculate, her only affectation working with headphones on. They had rarely talked about personal matters, but it was clear that the labor market for girls liable to turn into baby-crazed sex fiends at any time was thin. She had an admirable resume. Came in to work on endless small-time tax returns, in a little windowless office, just waiting for the beast within her to rise up. All the while, the best man in her life was some worthless turd who had hung up on her.

The best man in her life.

They descended the rungs together in the emergency stairwell. Libby ground her pussy into his arm. Mr. Bankole was rigid. He kept his eyes up. He had stopped bothering with breathing through his mouth. He was infused with her, breathing Libby right into his brain. A smoke of hormones flooding him. Reminding him that he was a man, that he was everything she needed, everything she wanted. Strong? He was strong. He could take care of her. Could give her not just the inches she so deeply needed but a real, true man to adore and to hold.

Had he just been lying to himself? Why else employ a pre-heat girl? Hadn’t he watched her ass as she left for lunch? Hadn’t he read wikipedia articles on heat, on age at estrus, browsed the literature on breast growth? Every day of employment he had rolled the dice that she’d call out for him, need him in her, and now he was scared? How was he any different from her idiot erstwhile boyfriend?

She was rubbing her slit against his arm, for god’s sake. An older woman, walking up the stairs, passed them by. Mr. Bankole gave her a brief nod, and passed on by. He was past caring about anything besides Libby.

And he could fuck her. God, he wanted to fuck her. She was a mess—makeup running, hair sticky, body twitching, and he wanted her so badly. Make her his. Why not pair off? She’d come to work, do some light typing, check to see if he was up for a morning fuck. Parade around in a slew of slutty outfits to highlight her thick new ass, her big new tits. Ally and her could spend lunch vibing and making plans. And he’d be the man: the one who did the work, made the money, and fucked her senseless four or five times a day. Why fight it? All of this could be his. It SHOULD be his. She was hot in his arms.

God, she smelled so good. So female. He snorted, seeking more of her. There was so much to her sweet smoke—candy and sugar and a raw musk. A fog of aching want that stripped him away, took off his pointless clothes, reminded him that he was meant to propagate. He had to breed, had to pump her. And yet at the same time she smelled so wonderfully Libby, so unmistakably her. It was doing things to him, turning them both into animals, and it was wonderful.

He made it to his car, a sensible Mercedes that was nonetheless a Mercedes. Proof that he could indulge, to be something more than a sad accountant with an empty house. Libby must’ve woken up that morning hot and bothered. Her tits must’ve been swollen and sensitive. And she had headed in to work anyway. She’d worn heels.

Well, none of that mattered. Right then, he was a man, he had huffed her pussy until he was hard and dripping, and she needed to get fucked if she had any hope of doing math in the future. And that was his responsibility.

“Change of plans,” he told her. Mr. Bankole felt free. For the first time in so long, his life was going to take a step forwards. And what a nice way to do it, by fucking a girl into his devoted arm candy. “I’m going to fuck you instead. Libby? Did you hear that?” Some consent WOULD be appreciated.

“Yes. Oh god yesssss,” she moaned, as he laid her down on the backseat. Too bad they weren’t upstairs. This could be a leisurely office fuck, the first of many. But he’d made the right decision, he was sure of it. All he could smell was her, all he could see was her legs, squeezing and waiting. He unbuckled his belt, undid his fly, released his cock.

“Ohhhhhh shit,” Libby said, eyeing it. She shook with a little orgasm. It was a nice reaction. And it was a nice cock to slide her into number-crunching retirement with. Extra long, no bend, and already wet. “Oh god yes sir, oh god fuck me with that. Oh god you’re my boss and this is your car.”

She was half-delirious, and her skin was iron hot. Mr. Bankole had to kneel just a bit to slide in, but she was as lubricated as could be. Her raving turned into incoherent moans. She felt perfect. Hot. Squeezing him as soon as she could. His balls were already starting to contract. There was no way he’d last long, he was going to dump a load into her. That was part of the whole thing, mating in a frenzy, the whole thing ending in a quick pool of jizz. But that was okay, there was lots of time for round two. He thrust into her anyway, enjoying the way she was too far gone to effectively push. He’d do all the work, that’s fine. That was the plan. If only there was room for her to put her legs around him. Time for that later, too. He’d make the plans and handle everything. Everything,

She’d get so big, so fast. Amble around the office on those heels and eat. Big with his seed. No panties in the office, that’d the rule. And perhaps Ally too, why not? She had nothing but big black dicks in that drawer for a reason. He inhaled, watched his dick flash between her legs. He buried it up to the hilt not because it felt good, but because he wanted it all the way in, and to see what she’d do. Libby squealed. He rode her, all the way in, and felt himself start to cum.

“Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh,” Libby said, moaning steadily to each contraction. She punctuated each with a squeeze. He shot rope after rope into her, still buried, tickling her pelvis with hairs. She put her arms around him. He dug his fists into the leather. It was a challenge not to crush her. Her legs flailed as he poured it on. Nine months from now would be around Christmas. Very nice. And thousands of fucks and sucks between now and then, every day a present. He’d do anything for for her, and she’d do anything for him. He emptied out into Libby.

When he got upstairs Ally had her panties down, and was masturbating in a chair. Libby was just recovered enough to walk under her own power. She kept saying ‘wow” and rubbing at her tits. Mr. Bankole had his arm around her. He dug a hand into her ass. They clung to each other all the way up the stairs. Despite dumping a pint of cum into her Libby hadn’t let a bit drop out. Mr. Bankole was proud of her. He looked at his girls with affection.

“Ally, when you’re done,” he said, watching his secretary rub at her pussy, “help Libby get cleaned up. And get her some clothes. I didn’t say stop. When you’re done.” He turned to Libby. They had never kissed. Funny how life went.

“Libby,” he said. “When you’re ready, I want to see you in my office. I’ll be working until then.”

“Yes sir,” Libby and Ally said.