I had barely even settled into my desk at work when my phone pinged. My gaze flicked to it, and I could see it was a text from Theo.
I picked up my phone, unlocked it, and read the text.
Hey, babe. Just remembered you crawling around your apartment in the nude and it gave me a boner.
The words were so obscenely crude. Under ordinary circumstances, with an ordinary boyfriend, I probably would have thought to myself, Okay, clearly he doesn't understand women that well. He'd like it if his girlfriend sent him a sext that said 'just remembered you coming in my mouth and it got me wet.' He's got bad theory of mind and doesn't understand women that well.
I didn't have the same degree of generosity to him, given the circumstances. Instead, I thought it was as if he had specifically thought through - and sent me - the dumbest, crudest, most degrading thing he could think of.
Unfortunately, that meant my clit immediately pulsed in response to the text, my toes curling in my shoes as I took in a deep breath through my nose.
I tried to focus on work, of course. I'd gotten behind on emails and calculations and tests and timelines and all the other things that went into running a frontier tech company. I did my best to lock in and drill down; the heat between my thighs soon died down.
Almost the same moment it did, though, I got another ping, and I looked at my phone again, once more unlocking it, my hands moving on automatic.
Your huge natural tits are so fucking nice. The best pair I've ever laid hands on. I want to treat them like my own personal stress balls.
I couldn't even finish reading before I got another ping. I swallowed as I read the next text.
I don't normally fuck that much or long, even with subby girls. You're just that fucking hot. I can barely keep my hands off you. I keep thinking about your pretty lips wrapped around my dick, your glasses going askew and then falling off. There's something hot about blinding you like that. Maybe I should blow my load on your eyes next time, so you can't even see.
A mewl involuntarily escaped my throat as my arousal spiked like crazy. Some bits of my brain noticed that he'd laced together the crude, degrading verbiage with more ordinary boyfriend talk - talking me up in particular, saying I wasn't like other girls, and so on. Mostly, though, I noticed his constant crude lines, the way he reduced me to my body, mouth and tits and lips. The way he fantasized about abusing me, mauling my tits with his bare hands, blinding me with another fat load of spunk.
My clit ground against my panties as I read the sext, but I managed to put the phone down and stare at the computer screen for about a minute. The whole time, I struggled to remember what the next line I was supposed to write in the email was, my thoughts continuously bouncing back to the sext, and my arousal spiking each time they did so. I bit my lip. I wiggled in my seat, thighs rubbing against each other.
The phone pinged again. I picked it up again. I didn't even question why - I was horny, and of course the sext would prove to be another shot to the clit.
I want to bend you over your desk and fuck your brains out.
I want to sit in your chair and make you crawl under to suck my dick again.
Which would you rather I do?
The buzzing arousal continued to leave me simmering as I stared at the sexts. My gaze flicked up, the one remaining rational holdout of my mind looking to the door - locked - and then locating Theo in the building. He was sitting at his own desk, casually sexting away as he waited for some code to compile on the computer.
I should have been happy that he was actually working, rather than relying on his mind control to mean that he could just laze around the office; instead, my feelings were closer to humiliation, as I played second fiddle to menial coding tasks. A thought bubbled up from the soupy arousal: I could suck his dick while he waited for his code to compile. We didn't use an open office (they're horrendous for anything except square footage), so he'd have enough privacy to let his boss enter his office, crawl under his desk, and put his dick in my mouth.
That mental image had my thighs wobbling as I stared and watched as he sent me another text.
Answer my texts, Darla.
I whimpered softly at that. Some parts of my brain were making the stern and forceful argument that he had to know I was being mind controlled, that this sort of behavior didn't make sense otherwise. He couldn't just have stumbled into this. He knew what he was doing. I should go over there and laser beam his head off before he could say anything else.
They were very small and quiet parts, though. My pussy just slobbered all over my panties as I started typing on my phone, my inner walls clenching.
I'd rather do it in your office than mine.
It was the truth, honestly. I was so fried by arousal by this point that I wasn't able to come up with some compelling lie, or even to contemplate maybe just texting back 'okay' or some similar nothing text. I could see him smile and grin, before composing a message to me.
Do what?
He wasn't satisfied with just sending me these sexts, he wanted me to become complicit in my own humiliation. I swallowed, feeling saliva pooling in my mouth. It was like my brain had made various strange connections, resulting in an association between arousal and fellatio, even though there wasn't actually any connection there. Only for arousal and humiliation.
Get under your desk and blow you while you code. ;*
The winky face was the rational part of my brain briefly seizing control over my hand: a winky face would signal I was happily consenting. It would make it less likely for him to realize I suspected anything.
At least, that's what I told myself. Maybe the soupy stew of arousal had already taken charge.
We sexted back and forth like that. It didn't matter how crude he was; I'd read it, get horny, and respond. My own brain was boiling in the intense arousal of the conversation, while he would routinely put aside his phone to work. It'd leave me sitting at my own desk, staring at the computer screen, trying to blink myself back into enough consciousness and intellect to work. Sometimes I would succeed - until he inevitably sent me another sext, in which case I immediately went back to verbally fellating him.
It was obviously the case that whenever I was humiliated, degraded, or otherwise treated in some kind of sadistic manner, I would get hornier. Presumably, it was meant to condition me into enjoying being his masochistic playtoy. As we sexted, I realized something else, though: my own knowledge of my condition was actually enhancing the effect. After all, I knew I was sexting back because he ordered it, so thinking about how best to describe the feeling of his cock in my throat was itself degrading in a way it otherwise wouldn't have been. I was a handmaiden to my own enslavement, and it felt good.
The feedback loop had grown intense. My thighs wobbled with arousal after one long conversation, and then he suddenly ducked out, citing that his code had finished compiling and he had to troubleshoot it.
That left me squirming in my seat, my panties practically soaked already, my clit grinding against them as I bit my lip again. I couldn't even bring myself to try to focus on the computer or work.
I gave in to the intense sensations of need and desire that had been seeping throughout every wrinkle and fold in my brain. I sat there, trembling, and pulled down my pants before shoving my hand into my cunt.
Pretty much the moment I touched myself, I exploded in ecstasy. The rational part of my brain noted that I was basically being repeatedly raped, and forced to participate in my own objectification against my will, and was now masturbating as part of that. Unfortunately for said rationality, that only intensified my arousal, and my hand in my cunt got ever-more insistent, fingers desperately frigging myself.
I lost myself in it, grinding against my own hand, one hand sliding under my sweater to molest my own tit. I was desperately lucky and glad that the door to my office was already locked, because I probably wouldn't have had the presence of mind to do so, and anybody could have barged in from hearing their boss shlick herself senseless.
In the end, I came a half-dozen times before I managed to gather enough of my wits. Mostly because I laid in my seat, instinctively gasping for air, without a single thought in my head for quite some time. When I finally regained my senses, I carefully routed my thoughts around the fact that my pants laid around my ankles and that had been the most intense masturbation session of my life and all the other degrading things, only touching those erotic little thoughts long enough to get a small jolt to the clit, rather than frying my brain on it.
I got about four hours of work done that day, in between all the sexting. It wasn't that Theo was sexting me for four hours, either. He would sext me for a while, then I would stew in arousal, unable to work. On three separate occasions, I got so horny that I had to masturbate, frying my brain in the stew of arousal and until my thoughts completely whited out. Only then could I go back to work.
I didn't end up going out to lunch, or even ordering delivery; my office had a minifridge in the corner, and I just grabbed some leftovers from there, chowing down before trying to get catch up on work.
When the work day ended, I stared hopelessly at the door to my office, wondering at what I was supposed to do. Just leave? What had he told me that morning about plans for after work? Was it an order? Was I going to find myself involuntarily walking wherever he wanted me?
As it turned out, I didn't need to worry. I got a ping on my phone, and I helplessly looked at the text.
Come to my office.
It didn't even need to be an order at that point. If he'd asked, I might still have come. The anxiety and worry of what was going to happen next was washed away, since I knew now more or less what would happen.
Theo leaned back in his chair, grinning up at me as I entered his office. "Lock the door," he ordered. Click. My heart was pounding in my chest. So many emotions mixed together - fear and anxiety, yes, but also a truly lethal dose of brain-melting arousal. I didn't know exactly what was coming, but I knew I was utterly at his mercy. "On your knees," he ordered, and I fell to my knees right there. I had to look up at him, now, from the far side of his desk - "Now, crawl over here, and get my cock out."
My pussy was on fire all over again as I began to crawl over to where he sat at his desk. I was hardly dressed up sexy, but he eyed me with a predatory glint in his eyes anyway. Some basal part of my brain - maybe not even something he shoved in there - made me enjoy that piercing glare, the way he obviously found my every movement and look and shift of my body intensely erotic.
Then, of course, I was under his desk. It was smaller than the space under my desk. A quiet little cage to shove his boss into, so he could enjoy watching me service and serve him. My fingers reached for his pants, unzipping them, unbuckling his belt buckle. He drank in the anticipation, and truthfully, so did I.
I realized, as I worked his pants down, his cock bulging inside his briefs, that this was turning me on. Not just in the weird sense that it was degrading and therefore erotic - I was barely even thinking about that, in the moment, being too focused on getting his dick out. My body had learned that sucking his cock would get me wet, and that association had already started to carve its way into my reactions.
The thought of how utterly fucked I was bubbled to the surface - and then popped in a spasm of arousal, my clit throbbing desperately in response to it.
Then his cock came out, pulsing and jerking in the air. "Suck it," he said, casually reaching down for my ponytail. He didn't even wait for me to move into position properly: he just grabbed my ponytail tight and forced his cock into my mouth. My jaw stretched, my mouth falling wide open, my tongue stretching out like a red carpet rolled out for his fat dick. He pushed in, slamming against my gag reflex, but he didn't give a fuck about that, and as I wetly twitched and spasmed, his cock drove its way ever deeper into my throat.
He groaned, cock pulsing as some tears started to form in my eyes. "You got me so worked up, you hot little cockslut," he told me, and I looked up at him through blurry eyes as he drove me down into his pelvis. But I didn't. You're the one who sexted me. I only responded when you made me. "Texting to you all fucking day. I could barely keep myself from going into your office, bending you over, and fucking your subby little brains out all over your desk. Just letting your cunt ooze all that wormhole math out down onto my cock and your own thick thighs. I bet you would have loved that, wouldn't you?"
He was holding me down in his pelvis, so I couldn't respond verbally. He didn't really want me to, either: he used his grip on my ponytail to force me to nod, making me play whatever depraved role he decided I should, enjoying the cruelty for its own sake. My cunt spasmed quietly around nothing as I was held down in his pelvis, saliva dribbling down over my lower lip, coating my chin as I stared up at him through increasingly blurry eyes.
With the hand that wasn't gripping my hair, he reached down to take off my glasses. "You look so much prettier without your glasses. Maybe we should get you contacts." I glugged wetly around his dick, unable to do anything else. "Maybe we should get you laser eye surgery." His cock pulsed. He was getting off on the power, obviously: finding it erotic to imagine himself making those sorts of life-altering decisions for me. Laser eye surgery wouldn't do anything to me, but he didn't know that. He just relished the thought of taking over my life.
My cunt relished it too. The way he spoke so casually and presumptively about rewriting my life around what got his dick hard send electricity down into it, my cunt clamping down on thin air as I was held down in his pelvis. He just held me there, my glasses on his desk, his gaze on me, a grin on his lips as he had his boss (literally and figuratively) in the palm of his hand.
"Fuck, I'd love to just choke you out down there, Darla, but you got me too horny," he explained. "All those sexy little texts of yours are too damn much. I've got to get myself off," he continued - and at that point, he shifted his grip on my ponytail. I barely had any time to process what he was doing before he started to roughly fuck my face up and down his cock, using my mouth like his personal fleshlight. I was just a jerkoff aid for him at that point, the man himself groaning as he roughly abused my face, his balls repeatedly slapping against my spit-slick chin.
My thoughts started to go haywire again. Arousal dribbled out of my cunt, staining my panties and pants alike, coating my inner thighs under my clothes. I was meat. A toy. A plaything. He was treating me like something he didn't have to worry about. My consent could be assumed.
He spoke more. "You're a hot little piece of ass. Big tits, eager mouth, willing to crawl for her boyfriend," he told me. He was obviously trying to worm into my brain a specific scenario: I was his girlfriend. It turned out we were incredibly sexually compatible, and that was why I did things like this. That was why I let him smack me around, call me a bitch, or do whatever else he wanted. It got me hot and wet. The cruel way I let him treat me was just me getting in touch with my sexuality. I was probably in love with him, actually, that was why my pussy was on fire right now.
All I could say in response was: "Gluk gluk gluk." My throat was penetrated, over and over, as he roughly used my mouth in that position, groaning in pleasure in between verbally degrading me, complimenting my body, or trying to trick me into thinking I was in love.
I just masturbated. I couldn't really ignore what he was saying, but it didn't really matter. He could try to draw some equivalency all he liked. I knew I was mind controlled - the inability to Google it or say anything to Quantum was proof enough. If anything, his words made it less likely he wasn't intentionally mind controlling me. Would a guy in this situation really talk like this, if he didn't know what he was doing?
Those thoughts were interrupted as he ground me down on his cock. "Gonna blow," he groaned, before he started to jerk and come directly down my throat.
I came too, right alongside him. The situation was already intense enough that it was a surprise I hadn't orgasmed before then. Now, I had him blowing his load straight down my throat as I knelt under his desk.
It hadn't even taken him that long. As he finally tugged me off his dick, holding me by the ponytail as I heaved beneath him, it had probably only been two or three minutes. Saliva dribbled down onto my top as he leered down at me, obviously deciding whether or not to fuck my face again.
I had no ability to influence it. That thought also sent a little electric pulse into my cunt, my fingers getting more active.
After a few seconds of jilling myself off like that, trembling in place as he looked down at me, I realized I probably did have some way to influence him. He was a horny guy who thought I was his totally bewitched girlfriend (whether that bewitching was the mundane or the mind control sort). He was planning to do something else that was stupidly horny after work: dressing me up sexy.
Teach stupid me to want to be judged for my intelligence or accomplishments. Much better that guys look at my tits and ass and judge me that way.
Even that thought sent a little electric pulse to my brain, which helped give me enough of a push to speak up. "That was really nice, Theo," I breathed out. My throat wasn't aching, but talking did feel a little weird, given what my jaw had been doing. "You wanted to go help me pick out some new outfits, right?"
"Oh, hell yeah," he said with a grin. He tugged me up to my feet, just using my ponytail. It probably would have been truly excruciating if I wasn't nigh-invulnerable; the man himself just shoved his dick back in his underwear as he hurriedly got himself dressed. "Ah, your face is messed up," he noted. "Go to the bathroom, fix yourself up nice, and then meet me down in the lobby," he said, giving my ass one casual smack.
Do I even need to say what happened next? It was phrased as an order, after all.
As I wiped my face up and applied my limited makeup, I did consider finding some place to 'accidentally' leave my phone at the office, so he couldn't use it as a leash to tug me back to him.
In the small space I had to think without my brain melting from arousal (or work to do), I decided there wouldn't be much point. Right now, I had to wake him up with a blowjob in the morning anyway, which would pull me back, phone or no phone. Best to dump it after I fixed that issue.
Somehow.
* * *
There was obviously one thing that Theo didn't take into account, when he dreamed up this whole scenario of dressing me up sexy: how few clothes actually fit me. Women's clothes have to be sculpted around their bust-to-stomach ratio. If you just made them like men's clothes, every woman with any boobs at all would be walking around with tit curtains, even the ones who weren't particularly busty. There's plenty of variations for sale in most places, but if you have a particularly unusual bust-to-stomach ratio - a thin stomach and huge tits, for example - it becomes difficult to find clothes that fit. Either the clothes are made for a girl with smaller breasts, in which case I might not be able to put them on at all; or else they're made for a girl with a much wider stomach, in which case they hang off my bust in an ugly way.
Combine that with the fact that Theo obviously didn't want to just dress me up in something a little sexy like a dipping neckline, but pure slutwear, and it was an exercise in frustration for him for quite a while, as we bounced between shops. A saleswoman had suggested a tight black dress with a very short skirt, and I'd only managed to even get it on by taking off my bra and letting it flatten my tits against my stomach.
I'll admit it. I got some enjoyment out of pissing Theo off like that. I'd never liked the idea of wearing a binder or otherwise flattening my chest - honestly, I'd rather have just dressed in a professional way without much thought to my breasts, but unfortunately the world demanded otherwise - but seeing him look actually pissed that my tits looked worse in the dress was fun.
I did feel a bit bad for the woman herself, since she got to be on the receiving end of his dissatisfaction, but mostly I felt good. It felt almost like rebellion, even if in reality it was just a guy being a dumbass (and a saleswoman not anticipating just how busty I was).
My joy was ultimately short-lived, though, because the saleswoman soon routed him to an outfit that absolutely, obviously, would be able to handle my tits - and he promptly made me get changed into it.
The reason the dress could fit was its heavy use of cross-lacing.: in the front, on the sides, on the back, and even on my thighs, too. I couldn't wear my bra under it, since it had a giant cut cross section that went from my breasts all the way down past my navel. It was a black thing that just barely reached my knees, and, of course, Theo ordered me to put it on as tight as I could get it without ruining my figure, and to let my hair down.
I stepped out of the changing booth a whole new, sluttier woman, and I could instantly see by Theo's smile that he was satisfied with our shopping trip.
That did ruin my own enjoyment of the thing quite a lot.
"There we go. You look great, Darla. Buy it for yourself," he told me, stepping towards me and casually groping my butt.
At that point, I processed that he was about to make me walk back to the car (at least) wearing this outfit, and I could feel the heat rush to my cheeks. As I fumbled through my purse to find my credit card, I also got a similar rush to the clit.
He's going to parade me around like this. He's going to make me walk around the mall dressed like this. He's completely, forcibly, rewritten my whole style, and now he wants to show off his work. The only reason I even still have on my glasses is that he thinks I need them to see. He probably would smash them if he knew I didn't.
"God, I want to just show you off to everybody," he said, making my anxiety spike right alongside my arousal. "You look so good like that, Darla. Doesn't it feel good, being on display like this? People looking at you?"
I resisted the urge to mewl pathetically. "I-I, I don't, ahm. I don't mind being the center of attention, or anything, but, I dislike it when it's for my body, it's-" I was so horny and embarrassed that I was willing to trauma dump on a second date. "-it's, you know, people are always judging women for our bodies, but I have real- lots of real accomplishments, objectively, they're the most important thing about me, but my whole life people have always just seen my tits unless I hide them, so, I prefer to hide them."
"Mm." He looked at me coolly. Not at all boyfriend-like. I was a project he was working on, I could see that in his eyes. "I think you'll be happier if you embrace the fact that you have an amazing body, and a brilliant mind," he said at last, "but honestly, seeing you in that makes it hard to think about wandering around. Let's get back to your place."
I nodded. What else could I do? I obviously didn't agree, but arguing would only make it more likely he'd give me some ridiculous order.
The temptation to try to kill him came to mind, as I walked alongside him back to his car. I could do it. I was strong enough to do so. Slam my fist into the side of his head hard enough that his brains flew out the other side, or use laser beams from behind him to melt his skull into a puddle. As a general rule, I didn't kill people - with my powers, I rarely needed to - but it was tempting.
It was also something to think about besides the looks I was getting.
Why not? You don't kill people because you don't have to. If somebody points a gun at you, it would be wrong for you to defend yourself with lethal force, because they're not threatening you with lethal force, because bullets won't hurt you. But what he's done to your brain does make it almost impossible to respond with anything less than lethal force.
Except, I didn't know that was the case.
I had to keep reminding myself of that. Yes, it was the most probable conclusion. Yes, it felt so obvious that other possibilities were unlikely. Yes, it kept making good predictions. But I didn't know it was the case.
Really, given my own mind was having all these furrows driven through it, I didn't even know how much I could trust my thoughts. They seemed to be my own, but if I was having a psychotic episode or something-
I was interrupted from my thoughts as Theo casually reached over for me, grabbing my ass and pulling me closer against him. I almost lost my balance altogether, it was surprising and sharp enough, but I managed to avoid falling over. If Theo was worried about that, he didn't show any signs of it, just casually pawing at my ass as we walked through the parking lot. With his free hand, he reached for my wrist, dragging my hand down towards his pants.
His erection pulsed inside of its confinement. I looked around as my hand found its way to feel out his size, wondering if anybody was looking our way. I spotted a mother placing a hand on the back of her young son's back, ushering him along quickly, sparing me a judgmental look. A furious, humiliated heat burned across my features, while Theo just smugly smiled and groped my ass all the harder, fingers sinking into muscled flesh with absolute certainty.
We soon got in his car. He was in the driver's side, of course. I was glad to not be paraded around in front of the whole damn town. My whole body trembled faintly as I put the bag containing my normal day clothes - shirt, pants, underwear - down in the footwell. I tried not to hyperventilate too much as I sat there.
It was hard to even quite put into words how I felt in the moment. Everything mixed together in ways it shouldn't have. The fear of judgment, of social approbation, of being looked at and looked down on - it mixed together with an intense feeling of arousal and sexual humiliation. Both flavors together became more intense, not less. The arousal was sharper for the fear; the fear was harsher for the arousal.
I wondered if this is what exhibitionists felt like normally. The alien high was disorienting, leaving me to just try to recover from it enough to actually think. I swallowed the saliva that had started to pool in my mouth, a thick gulp that attracted Theo's attention.
His gaze was an uninhibited leer. It immediately dipped down into my cleavage, eyeing up my tits in their confines - and then he started the car. I felt my whole body tingling with an ambient arousal as I sat there, mentally preparing myself for when we got back to my place and he (presumably) just decided to have my way with me in my own home. He probably wouldn't even give me time to properly undress, just bend me over and push up my skirt before shoving his dick in my sopping wet cunt, and-
"Put your head in my lap," he ordered me, as we pulled out of the parking lot.
I barely had time to consciously process the order before I was in his lap, his erection pressing against my face and cheek through his pants. Even through the layers of clothing, I could smell it.
I knew what he was planning, even though it was absurd. This was just something people did in porn. In real life, there was every risk that getting a blowjob while you drove would cause you to, you know, have a car accident.
I almost objected. He hadn't actually ordered me to suck his dick yet, and I could point out how dangerous and stupid this was, and that might actually dissuade him.
If he gets in a car accident, isn't that good for you? If this car was vaporized by an eighteen wheeler, you'd live through it. He'd be dead, and you'd be free.
That thought was enough to get me to keep my mouth shut.
Or, rather, open, really, given his next order: "Get my dick out and put it in your mouth."
I unzipped his pants, fumbling with them for a bit to eventually free his erect cock. It slapped at my face; you could still tell I'd been sucking it earlier that day, the saliva mixed with the cocksweat. I just shifted my head up to the tip of his cock, wrapping my lips around it, and drove myself down his length.
It was insane. It was stupid. A cop could pull us over, anybody could see if they just looked into his car, it was dangerous...
I was wet. Sopping wet. My thighs rubbed against each other as I slowly slid my lips down his hard length. His cock once more pressed against the back of my throat, prompting my gag reflex, but I didn't let that stop me, just closing my eyes and letting his dick press into it. Tears did form, but I was getting used to it, my breasts pushing into his thigh as I managed to take him all the way to the base. My glasses ended up pushed up my face, and I could hear him groan, could feel the way his body faintly vibrated with the tension of the moment.
My skirt was starting to ride up, in that awkward position, bent over the console like that. My mouth was wetly choking around his cock, instincts telling me I couldn't breathe even though reason told me it didn't matter. My throat wetly twisted and writhed around his length, producing intermittent groans from the man himself. The first time the car stopped like that - presumably, for a light, but I couldn't exactly check - he reached down for my hair, casually twisting it around so he could see me in profile. My pussy dripped and ached at that point, and my brainless arousal finally took charge of my hand, which found its way down in between my thighs.
I pretty much instantly came like that. As fucked up as it was, as much as I may have consciously hated it, everything from the moment he'd forced me into this dress had been erotic to my rewired brain. Being leered at by every man who happened to notice me in his peripheral vision. Being judged by a mother out with her son. Being groped in public. Being forced to put my actual clothes in a bag.
And, of course, being forced to suck off Theo as he drove. I'd never done that before in my life, but now my brain was dribbling out of my cunt as I spasmed in ecstasy, my hips bucking at the air as I came hard in that position. Strangled moans escaped my throat, serving to further stimulate Theo, who just groaned and planted one hand on the back of my head, forcibly holding me in place.
The casualness and presumptiveness with which he did it was an intoxicating addition to an already lethal stew of arousal, and my body just wildly spasmed in place, my hand in my cunt becoming ever more insistent. I bounced and jerked against him, a writhing thing beneath his domination, all thought and pride having dribbled out in the pursuit of orgasmic bliss. Maybe part of it was the desire to mentally escape the whole situation - but a lot of it was, instead, just the build-up. Everything up to that point had served to put me on a hair trigger, a messy mental state I never would have achieved naturally, and now it was exploding conscious thought and all self-esteem.
I lost track of time as I remained firmly lodged in his groin, intermittently coming and gurgling around his dick. He didn't try to take control away from me, only occasionally brushing hair out of my face so he could enjoy the sight of his boss choking herself out on his dick. Orgasm after orgasm hit me, my hips bucking against the air, my legs kicking around randomly, spasming wildly in the footwell.
Eventually, without my lips ever once leaving his cock, the car stopped completely. He shifted it into park, and then just grabbed my head and started to roughly fuck my face. I realized my glasses had tumbled off, falling into his footwell, and I just took the rough use of my mouth like that.
"Fucking yeah," he grunted as he pounded me up and down his length. My tits pushed into his thigh each time he slammed me down his length, my nipples straining against the thin fabric of the dress. Saliva flew out of my mouth, splattering his thighs and the seat beneath him, as I got brutally facefucked like that. "This is it. That's a good girl. Suck my cock and come your brains out, Darla," he groaned. "Keep masturbating until I blow my load down your throat."
I wasn't going to stop, anyway, but now I really had no choice. I was only dimly aware of that fact, though - the control always felt voluntary, and I had already been doing what he'd commanded, so I let him brutally facefuck me like that, wetly glugging around his dick with each and every thrust.
Soon enough, he did come, grinding me down into his pelvis as he ejaculated straight down my throat. I could feel the lively pulsing of his cock as he found his release in my throat, and I just quivered as I started to finally come down.
When he was finished, he let me pull off his cock, and I wiped at my face. He grabbed my glasses out from where they'd fallen in the footwell, handing them over to me, and I diligently put them back on. "You look too fucking good in that outfit, Darla," he said, and I felt a heat in my cheeks.
Possibly not even just the humiliation-arousal that I'd had inflicted on me; I had been spending much of my free time, the past couple days, alone with Theo, and there are certain basic responses your emotions have to being alone with someone like that.
I tried to put that fucked up thought out of my head. Being his orgasming cocksocket was bad enough, without adding in some emotional Stockholm syndrome too.
"Let's go," he said, unlocking the door. "Your place is nicer than mine."
I left the car and delicately followed him into my own home. As we walked, I remained silent, trying to both ignore the looks I got from every man (including the employees), and to think my way out of the situation. I did not want to be his girlfriend. I needed to think about how to escape from this situation, not to enjoy it.
When we got in the elevator, he casually pawed one of my tits, and my thighs knocked together as I just pathetically mewled.
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