And the story continues... Enjoy! K+ appreciated.
The next day I dress up, putting on one of fancy tailor-made Italian costumes--a gift from one of my previous employers who had contacts in Milan and who wanted us to look cosmopolitan and sophisticated. I have to admit that wearing these expensive Italian suits indeed gives you that business-aura which brings about confidence, a sharpness that you do not get when you are wearing--let us say--shorts or a sweater. I have found that being well-groomed and taking care of yourself attracts the type of women that would normally be out of your league. When I participated in conferences or had meetings abroad I often met these attractive women at the conference or in hotel lounges that blew you away. Usually, this involved some flirting, a good dinner with nice wines and ended up each going their own way. But on some occasions such an encounter would continue in the hotel room and evolve into something more physical... Anyway, I was half hoping to seeing Bethany again, after what happened yesterday. Instead, I am greeted by a handsome young man with strikingly good looks.
- Welcome, M. Rosenberg. I am William and on behalf of the company I offer you a warm welcome. Miss Bethany asked me to prepare a tour through our main building, where most of the offices for the legal department are situated. She excuses herself for not welcoming you in person, but as you can imagine, she has a full schedule.
I hide my disappointment for Bethany's absence, but I half expected this. For someone that high in the chain of command, welcoming a newcomer like me is below her level. So, I quickly get back to business.
- I understand.
William is very nice and introduces me to some members of the management team and guides me like a good host through the building with offices. We stop at spacious corridors, beautiful passages, meeting places and relaxation rooms. They all breathe an air of luxury. No dollar has been spared to create a nice and cozy work environment. What strikes me is the gender ratio of the people working here. I estimate it must be something like 1 man to 10 women, or even more. I ask William if that is company policy.
- Well, ... uhm. ... You're right, M. Rosenberg. The ratio must be something like 1 to 10, but most men work in cleaning, and services, which is in the huge underground facility here. So, up here, among the upper echelons, the ratio must be even higher. The owners of this company very carefully select their employees, both male as well as female. ... ...
He hesitates for a moment, as if he considers whether it is a good idea to continue, to take confidence in me or not. He decides not to. So, I decide to push him somewhat...
- Yes, that's what I noticed. The women here are simply stunning!
And I take the risk of adding:
- Almost as stunning as Bethany herself.
Indeed, another striking feature is that all women I met this morning--and the ones I did not meet but saw walking around--are absolutely gorgeous. Drop-dead gorgeous: ultra-sexy ebony queens, buxom blondes, sultry brunettes, ravishing redheads, raven-haired Asians. Holy fuck! This is more like the personnel of a top modeling agency. I find nothing wrong with a B or C-cup, but the amount of double-D cups I saw this morning sexily pushing through a shirt, stretching tank tops or simply showing massive cleavage, reminded me that size indeed does matter sometimes... Certainly when it comes to being über-sexy. Mentioning Bethany's name seems to have created an opening with William.
- ... Uhm... That's right. And if I may add: you ain't seen nothing yet.
That sharpens my curiosity and it reminds me of Bethany's intimate actions yesterday.
- How so?
He starts to talk more quietly now. More carefully. Almost in a conspiratorial whisper. We are standing in the corridor of the legal department. My department.
- Well, M. Rosenberg, you are going to find out anyway. And probably rather soon than later. All women working here have been carefully selected, headhunted, and are paid astronomical amounts to work here. As far as I know, they are selected based on three criteria--there may be more, but I'm quite sure about these three, because you can see them immediately.
I look at him in disbelief--he sounds like a professor who is citing a research paper. I look for cues of humor, but there are none. He looks serious about this.
- One, they are gorgeous. Not just beautiful, but drop-dead gorgeous: their facial beauty is amazing, their bodies are stunningly beautiful. Super-model looks and porn-star tits. Two, they are smart. Very smart. IQ's of 130 and higher. And three, they are addicted to lifting weights. Building muscle. Some do Bikini or Wellness, but most do Figure and Physique. Only top-management and owners do hardcore bodybuilding. And I mean truly hardcore. And believe me: they are as strong as they look. These women warm up with dumbbells you and I could not even move, even if we would use both our hands. It is insane!
I interrupt him and quickly ask:
- Like Bethany?
His eyes start to shine. I am not sure whether they shine in awe, in fear, in admiration. Or in anything else.
- You've already met her? In person?
I nod. It was quite the encounter indeed, but little does he know--I guess.
- Then you know what I'm talking about. That body of hers is simply out-of-this-world. You know, M. Rosenberg, the top floor has this huge and luxurious penthouse, which houses a monumental, fully equipped gym. All female employees have badges to go training there and they do so daily. For hours. Men are only allowed there when invited by a female employee.
- That sounds like discrimination to me!
I try to lighten up the conversation a bit, because William suddenly acts seriously, gravely, choosing his words carefully.
- I was invited there once. By Bethany. What I saw there, defied imagination. You would think such jaw-dropping scenes only existed in fantasy books, but in the penthouse I saw all these gorgeous, big titted women working out, half-naked. Thongs and hot-pants seemed to be the dress-code, few women wore tops. If they did, these tops hardly covered anything of their busty chests. And then their bodies! O my God, they were pumped! Their muscular splendor was shiny with sweat and oil that had been used to rub them in with, to make their muscles stand out. And they stood out! Inches of hypertrophied, vascular mass caught my gaze. O, the beauty of it... They arrogantly swaggered around like they owned the place. Parading. Strutting.
Williams starts talking quickly now. As if he has waited for a long time to tell his tale and now finally gets the chance to do it.
- And they were so aggressive. All were accompanied by men like me, colleagues who had been invited to assist them, to help them. I noticed that one misstep, one mistake or one moment these men failed to live up to the expectations of these big titted gym rats and they were kicked or punched. Hard and brutal. You could sometimes hear bones crack. Bethany and her friends were the worst. Rumors go that they are part of a Pentagon top-secret program to create the ultimate soldier, to engineer ruthless killing machines. Well, I don't think it's a rumor. I've seen them in action. O God, I wish I hadn't.
His face turns white, whiter than it already was.
- These huge female bodybuilders did not stop humiliating us. Mocking our lack of strength. Or laughing with our frail white bodies which were no match to their pumped-up physiques. It was when they started to physically tease us, that things got out of hand. It was playful at first, but it soon started to get sexual. When one of us protested when Bethany put her hand into his trousers, she really got aggressive.
I remember Bethany's hand alright.
- O dear. What happened?
He continues in a whisper:
- She jerked off his penis. ... I mean ...
I feel myself starting to blush. It is a pattern. Fuck, this woman is so sexually forward with everyone...
- ... I mean ... She ripped it off. Balls and all. She castrated him with her bare hands!
- Holy fuck, you cannot be serious. ... O my God!
William has that stern look on his face that immediately makes clear he is deadly serious. And when I think about the kinky muscle beast I saw yesterday, there is no reason not to believe him. If her ultra-muscular physique has only a fraction of the power it looks to have, she can crush steel. The ultra-sadistic streak of this femme fatale shocks me and petrifies me: if such a dark mind is combined with a body like hers, Bethany is a monster. A gorgeous monster, but a monster nonetheless. An ultra-sadistic beast. Now I remember her words yesterday, when this guy called her. Something about "swallowing your balls". I wonder if she always punishes her male employees like that? This is sick...
- Yeah, it was shocking to see! And you could tell she enjoyed it. Actually, most women seemed to enjoy it: some took snapshots of the screaming man, others filmed the whole scene on their mobiles. But Bethany was not finished making her point. O God... ... I ... I haven't told this to anyone, but it haunts me. It keeps me awake.
- Go on, William. Go on... Please.
- Well, thanks ... I hope you do take me seriously. ... My words, I mean.
- I do.
- Suddenly Bethany savagely grabbed him by his hair, pulled him up and then she started feeding him his cock and balls... Can you believe that? Of course he did not open his mouth at first, but when she started punching the side of his torso, just below the rib-cage, he squealed in total agony. The pain must have pain excruciating as she time and again hit the unprotected side of his torso, his mouth opening in a primal scream. When he started gagging, because he was naturally repulsed to eating his own body-parts, she threatened to tear off his limbs. So he ate. Swallowed. Chewed. And swallowed again. Bethany mocked him with his small penis. Said he was lucky he was not shaped bigger. When he was finished eating, she ripped off both his arms and legs anyway. Just like that. It was horrific. And all the blood splattering around! She simply used her hands to tear them loose. She did not even have to work hard. The crunchy, squelchy sound of breaking bones, of ripping tendons, of a man pleading for his life while Bethany and her friends roared with laughter will haunt me forever. They got off torturing that man. ... ... It keeps me awake ever since. And if I sleep, I have terrible nightmares. It wrecked me.
"O my God" was all I was able to blurt out. The object of my fantasy turns out to be a psycho-killer. A sado-domme using her muscles to crush men. To snuff them out. I cannot help but being somewhat excited about that. And especially about the fact that she gave me a hand-job. I got a hand-job from such a gorgeous beast.
Suddenly I notice how William startles as he spots someone coming behind me. He looks terrified, shocked, like he has seen a ghost. He whispers.
- I need to talk to you. I've got something. Let's meet tonight. OK? I'll tell you more. We are in danger. Just drive over to my place, 231 East Filmorestreet. 8:30. OK?
- ... uhm ... Yeah, sure... OK.
And then I hear the sultriest of voices, husky, sexy:
- William, report in Meeting Room 5. Any delay will make it worse. Denise is very strict, you know that.
- ... O God ... Miss Aletta ... Not Denise. ... No, please. ...
The woman interrupting our conversation looks absolutely stunning. She towers high above me, wearing these ultra-sexy black ankle boots with long and sharp stiletto high-heels--at least 7 inches! And her one-piece, ridiculously stretched see-through catsuit with leopard-print fits her curves like a second skin. She does not have Bethany's size and bulk, but most figure competitors would envy her muscular development and ... boobs. Holy fuck! What a rack! What. A. Fucking. Rack. Her tits are bolt-on miracles, firm and protruding, huge and arousing. But despite their gravity-defying size, they fit her over-developed torso exceptionally well, perfectly complementing her bulging bodybuilding physique, an impressive v-taper. My eyes stay fixed on her nipples, which are rock-hard and clearly pierced. I see no bra through the body hugging catsuit--who needs a bra with tits like this?
- Like I said, William. Any delay will make it worse.
William seems to be panicking. He starts to shake all over.
- ... God, help me. ... Not Denise. ... O please, Miss Aletta. Tell me it's a joke. You're just scaring the shit out of me, don't you?
He looks for a cue in her beautiful eyes, for a sign she is mocking him, but she is not.
- I'm glad you appreciate my sense of humor, but I saw guys from Security preparing Meeting Room 5 for some action. And by the looks of it, Denise plans some serious action. The paraphernalia they carried in there: madness! Wish I could be there!
And then she adds with a mischievous grin:
- And I saw Denise wearing these long black leather gloves this morning. You must have seen them before, William. All personnel from section C had to report to Meeting Room 5. Makes 53 men. Mmm. Great crowd...
I can see William is petrified, but he seems to obey and hastens himself to what I assume is Meeting Room 5. The gorgeous brunette grins as her eyes follow William's rush with a kind of amusement.
- We won't be seeing William for quite a while.
Then she introduces herself.
- Hi M. Rosenberg. I'm Aletta. I'm your personal secretary. I'm here to make your life comfortable. Your professional life, that is. Hehe!
Fuck, she cannot be serious. Make my life comfortable? How can I concentrate on anything if this muscular sex-bomb, this ultra-fit porn babe walks around in clothes like this? I start looking for a hidden camera--I suspect I am on a show like "Candid camera" where you are framed into a situation that turns out to be a hoax. The thing is that this seems to be really happening.
- Hi Aletta. Nice to meet you. You look stunning!
She wantonly smiles, slowly moving up her hands over her armor-plated, cobble-stone abs, grabbing her protruding breasts and pushing them forward.
- I know, Mr. Rosenberg. I spend a lot of time building this body the way it is. I'm glad you like it.
She turns around, showing off her smooth, firm glutes, beautifully showing through her overstretched catsuit. Like a professional stripper, she lasciviously looks over her broad shoulder and slaps one of her ass cheeks. The firmness of her incredibly sexy round bubble-butt is all too obvious: thousands of heavy squats have molded her ass into a hard and tightly round asset, a ballooning and improbably curvy bottom only equaled by her delectable tits, which expand out from either side of her impressively broad back. They resemble heavenly orbs so large that they are clearly visible from behind.
- Bodybuilding makes my curves stand out, don't you think M. Rosenberg?
The sheer expanse of her muscular back stands in shrill contrast to her impossibly slim wasp-like waist. I see no sign of a thong, unless high-up over her lush hips I see the tiniest of strings beautifully curving and then disappearing between the bulging cheeks of her ass-crack.
- I'm addicted to weight training, but it is only one of my addictions. It gives my body its bulging, intimidating look.
I indeed like the way she looks. She is absolutely gorgeous. I nearly cream my pants. And then the muscle-packed bimbo turns around again and wantonly points at the obvious bulge in my pants. She steps closer and moves the long nail of her index finger along the length of my erect shaft.
- You want me to take care of your penis here? Or you want me to do you in your office?
Again, just like yesterday with Bethany, the insolence of her forward questions shocks me. It is the lightheartedness and seemingly obvious character of "doing" men that intimidates me. They are like sexual predators. Why would they bother asking their prey for permission? These women just take you, control you. I manage to stammer:
- ... In the office?
- Good choice, M. Rosenberg. It is wise to reserve a place with a little privacy to experience your first intimate confrontation with me. 6 feet 3 and 224 lbs of pumped-up female muscle is all yours to enjoy. It'll do more than blow your mind.
She pushes me into a large and richly decorated office, and closes the door. My God, this woman is simply breath-takingly gorgeous! When she zips open her catsuit, she reveals her impressive cleavage, the sheer size of her huge tits open up the zipper some more, stretching the top of her catsuit to bursting point. It is like her boobs want to escape from the tight prison of her suit.
- Want me to blow it or jerk it, M. Rosenberg? Consider this one of the perks of having me as your personal secretary. As you can imagine I'm quite used to dealing with erections. The guy who had the privilege to oil my tits this morning came six times. And I did not even touch him. Hahaha!