The Generator: The Succubae Seduction (17 page)

“Wanna fuck?” I ask, not even caring about my language. What does it matter if I swear?

“But I can see that you—wait, what?” Confusion paints her tone as she tries to assimilate my question. I really can’t blame her. With the exception of that kiss last Thursday, I’ve never really hit on her. She’s made very overt advances towards me; maybe even enough to create an HR complaint, but to be honest it’s never really bothered me. Embarrassing, sure, but I’ve never been offended. Asking her like this is completely out of character for me, but right now I can’t seem to care.

My girlfriends, Becky and Lisa, pass through my thoughts. There’s a term I’d never thought I’d say, relative to myself. ‘Girlfriends.’ They’d woken me up slightly early this morning with a fantastic blowjob. And yet, here I sit mooning over two people who’ve abandoned me, and propositioning a woman whose only real sexual attraction is her inhumanly massive breasts. Oh, and she’s a great kisser.

I dismiss those thoughts. What does it matter? What does anything matter? Sooner or later one of TanaVesta’s goons is going to come for me, to haul me back to her. Brooke and Angela have abandoned me. I might as well enjoy life as much as I can, while I can.

I’m in a dark spot right now. I know I’m acting poorly. Lisa and Becky deserve better.

And Lansbury has some really big tits!

“Wanna fuck?” I ask again and watch as her cheeks turn red in embarrassment.

“I. . . but you. . . um. . . I mean. . . huh?” She’s actually kind of cute with that bewildered look on her face, a slight flush to her cheeks.

“Of course, we’ll have to find a spot that doesn’t have any security cameras watching,” I continue as if she understood me completely.

“Are you feeling alright Mr. Snow?” she returns to her original thoughts. Almost like a computer that gets rebooted by an illegal command.

“Fine enough,” I lie to her cheerily, “and call me Lyden. Of course, if you’d rather not. . .” I leave that hanging, not truly caring one way or another.

Her blue eyes blink a few times as she realizes that I’m actually serious. I watch as she chews on her cheeks, trying to come to a conclusion. “Come with me, I know just the spot,” she says as I see steely determination enter her eyes.

Somehow I know that she feels this might be some trick at her expense. With her size, her childhood would have been rife with cruel teasing. Flashes of mean kids taunting her because she was overweight, flit through my mind. I see a younger version of her as an eighteen year old, going to her senior prom with some guy that looks like he was custom built as a linebacker. I see him dancing with Lansbury, and know that this is the highlight of her life at this point. The mental imagery blurs, and I see the two alone in a hotel room as Jennifer (I now know that’s her first name) gets undressed, expecting to finally lose her virginity. Why isn’t he getting undressed, she wonders as she frees her enormous breasts from her bra. She blushes rather prettily under his gaze. Just as she starts to tug her panties down, already soaked with anticipation, the door to their room bursts open. Half the football team streams in, some with cameras, pointing and laughing at ‘the delusional heifer’.

I stop in my tracks as my mind pulls out of hers, and I have a better glimpse into this woman. I now understand that her raunchiness and general attitude is a shield: a way to protect herself against anything like that ever happening again.

I also know that she’s still a virgin. She’s never allowed anyone to get that close again.

Shaking my head, I try to come to grips with this new ability of mine, probably acquired from Angela.  Despite all the conversations I’ve had with this woman, I was never aware of this side of her. Somehow it makes her more human to me, rather than just a fixture in my office building.

“Jennifer, wait,” I say to the large woman’s back.

“I was wondering when you’d spring the joke,” she tells me, and I feel a lance of emotional pain pierce me. She thinks I’m just like those bullies from high school.

“No, that’s not it,” I try to say, but she talks right over me.

“You want to know the sad thing?” Her back, still turned to me, is stiff. Her tone is bland and emotionless as she talks. “You’ve always treated me well. You never treated me like the fat tub of lard that I am. I thought. . . I mean, after that kiss last week, I thought that maybe. . . .”

“Jennifer, you don’t understand.” Placing my hand on her shoulder, I’m not prepared for her to spin around and jab a finger into my chest. Apparently her arms are rather strong as my chest is now smarting where she’d poked me. Tears pour from her eyes and run down her cheeks.

“I don’t understand?” she demands of me, jabbing my chest with her finger again and knocking me back a step. “Oh, I understand just fine. Do you think I don’t notice how people look at me? That I don’t realize that I’m a large woman? Yes, Mr. Snow, I understand just fine what a delusional heifer I am!”

Before I have a chance to respond, she turns and storms off. For a larger woman, she can move faster than I’d thought.

Now I really feel like shit. She’s always treated me well, if a bit like a sexual object instead of a human. And even though my intentions weren’t to hurt her, I’d gone and done that anyway. Why couldn’t she have taken two breaths to let me explain?

Wait, maybe I can email her. I know it’s not as good at doing it in person, but right now I think it may be my only chance of getting her to understand my intentions.

Great! Now then, what are my intentions? I wonder as I pass the checkpoint into the building–noticeably absent of Guard Lansbury—and head for my office. When I’d asked if she wanted to screw, I’d been serious. It was only after viewing into her past that I became hesitant. My intentions were never to hurt her.

“You failed to come to church yesterday,” AnnaBelle greets me as I walk through the door. “Your eternal soul will never be cleansed and free of the evil that surrounds you if you don’t make the effort. Our Lord and Savior is willing to help you, but you have to be willing to meet him halfway. I know Reverend Michael Chilton can help you come to terms with God. He is the holiest man I know.”

This is the
wrong
thing to say to me at the moment. I spin on her, piercing her with my gaze. My mind floods with images and thoughts, while my mouth begins speaking without me consciously forming the words.

“Is that what you tell yourself when you lie awake at night fantasizing about your college aged neighbor’s son? Or what about that one time when
you
were in college and your roommate invited you to join her and her boyfriend?” There is heat in my tone now, but I don’t let up as knowledge about this pious woman flows into me. “Maybe, when you’re sitting in the pews at your church, you can convince yourself that you’re the epitome of goodliness. That you don’t covet your neighbor’s large screen TV. Or how you have to lie to yourself about how happy you are in life?”

Tears, brimming in the older woman’s eyes, pull me from my anger, and I shut my mouth. I know I shouldn’t have said all that, but her high and mighty attitude, coupled with the last few days really tipped me over the edge.

“I may not be perfect, Mr. Snow,” she tells me, and despite the tears in her eyes there is steel in her voice, “but I’m trying to be better.” Without breaking eye contact with me, she stands, grabs her purse, and finally looks away before heading for the door. “Tell Ms. Lance I’m sick today.” And with that, she’s gone.

What the hell is wrong with me? I wonder as I sit down at my desk. Both Thomas and Debbie refuse to look my way, and I don’t blame them. I feel like scum right now. I used language that I prefer not to use down in the garage, ended up hurting a friend of mine, and then came up here and aired AnnaBelle’s dirty laundry for all to hear. Brooke and Angela abandoning me doesn’t give me the right to act like this. Maybe they were right to leave. I’m turning into some kind of monster.

But maybe I can make amends to at least one of them right now. Logging into my computer, I type up a quick but heartfelt email to Jennifer Lansbury. I check the box for a read receipt so that I’ll know when she’s read it.

Sheila Lance walks in, just as I hit send. She gives me a slight smile as she walks to her desk, but otherwise doesn’t say anything.

Debbie tells her that AnnaBelle called in sick and leaves it at that, though she shoots me a dark look.

A popup on my screen informs me that my email to Guard Lansbury was deleted without being read. Dammit! No. . . darn it. I need to stop swearing, even if it is such a minor word. I may not be able to change the past, but I can at least control myself.

“Mr. Snow,” Sheila’s voice rings out, and I realize I’m getting sick of being called by my last name today, “I need to talk to you about your last report.”

My last report? Yeah, right! She’s trying to look stern, but there’s no mistaking that gleam in her eyes. I’m actually kind of glad that AnnaBelle isn’t here at the moment. Thomas and Debbie across from me can’t see her face, luckily.

As I stand up behind my desk, I see my boss grab a stack of papers before walking out the back door. Following her, we head for the same conference room that I’d taken control of her in last Friday. She’s wearing one of those tight light-colored skirts that hug the hips, then goes slender down the legs, and a pair of black pantyhose underneath. Her torso is covered by a white, frilly, sleeveless blouse.  I know what she’s after, even before the door closes behind me, and I feel her plaster her body against me. Her lips press against mine, and I feel her tongue try to force its way in, but I just stand there, neither helping nor stopping her.

After a few futile seconds of this, she steps away with a bewildered look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

I could tell her about my very long weekend, or about the scene in the parking garage, or even my conversation with AnnaBelle, but I decide not to. I probably shouldn’t have followed her back here, but I can feel all of my frustration and anger come together, and before me is a way to release it.

“I didn’t tell you to speak.” My voice is soft, but firm and I see a spark of defiance blossom in her eyes.

“Now Mr. Snow, last time was all well and good, but—” My boss yelps as I cut her off using my additional strength to pick her up, sit in an armless chair, lay her across my lap, and deliver a solid smack to her behind. “Mr. Snow!”

Whack
! Some of my frustration leaves me. This is better than therapy!

“I’m your master,” I remind her, and she slumps in my lap, shaking slightly. “Now then, are you going to be my obedient slave, or do I need to remind you of your place?”

“No master,” she says breathily, weakly. “I will obey.”

I smile, even though I know she’s not looking, and gently rub her behind. Her skirt displays her slender contours nicely, and I can feel myself growing harder under her as my hand explores her buttocks. Moving my hand to the side where the zipper is, I slide it down. She lifts her hips to allow me to remove the clothing, and I’m shocked to see she’s wearing a G-string.

“Did my slave wear these sexy panties just for me?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yes master,” she purrs. “Your slave only wants to please her master.”

“I am pleased,” I tell her evenly as I slip my right hand under the thin string and rub along her crack. I easily find her already wet snatch, and slip my pointer finger inside.

She moans as I use my thumb to rub across her anus, and slip a second finger into her front. “Mmm, yes master! Your slave thought about you all weekend, wanting to serve her master.”

The third person speech seems a bit odd, but I don’t let it get in the way of my enjoyment. Or my relaxation.

“If you’ve been wanting to serve me, then why are you the only one getting pleasure?” I ask, pulling my hand out of her and giving her a light tap on her right butt cheek.

Without hesitation she jump out of my lap, turns, pulls down my zipper, and reaches into my underwear to pull free my hard penis. She shudders slightly as she lays eyes on my member, before slowly moving her hand up and down. The feel of her fingers wrapped around my stiff wood elicits a moan from me.

“That feels better, slave,” I tell Sheila, “but I want you to suck it.”

“Your slave has missed the flavor of her master’s cock,” she announces right before swallowing the head of my snake between her lips. My rod conforms to the shape of her mouth as she sucks me deeper into her throat. I can feel her tongue moving around my shaft as I grab the back of her head and moan at how good she is. I can sense her beginning to choke, and I pull her hair back, until she can gasp for air.

My cock is covered in her slippery saliva, and the look in Sheila’s eyes is not one I expect. A combination of adoration and subservience pours from her, and my mind seems to enter hers, before she gobbles my prick back down her throat.

All of a sudden I understand why she is the way she is. A lifetime of trying to climb the corporate ladder, always taking charge and being in command. She had approached sex the same way, always finding it dissatisfying and even sometimes like work. She’d been worried that there was something wrong with her, something that was stopping her from enjoying sex. She couldn’t even get herself off.

So instead she had devoted that energy to her job and become a bitter woman, receiving little satisfaction in what she did, but moving up in the business world.

That is, until I’d come and turned everything upside down for her. Last Thursday I hadn’t accepted her control, and instead took charge. At first she’d been angry with me, but as I spanked her, she’d found herself getting turned on, until her pussy was veritably dripping from excitement. She’d decided to see how this would play out and had been shocked when she’d been able to get off while her employee had watched. What’s more, she’d been even hornier after he commanded her to suck his cock.

I now know that she has even undergone laser hair removal on everything below the neck, because she couldn’t stand the thought of anything on her not under her direct control. She didn’t truly understand herself, but with my help, she is beginning to.