Chapter 1: A sudden shock to the system

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Lesbian, Heterosexual, Cheating, Wimp Husband, Cuckold, BDSM, DomSub, FemaleDom, Rough, Light Bond, Humiliation, Interracial, Black Female, Black Male, White Male, White Female, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Fisting, Sex Toys, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Size, BBW, .

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1: A sudden shock to the system - A fem-domme romance. This is not the usual "you miserable worm!" treatment of this kind of topic. It has tender moments. Oh, and a lot of hot sex. Try it. You'll like it! Our hero did.

He'd seen her several times now around these offices. One of the cleaning ladies. There was a team of them employed by the building, responsible for keeping everything ship-shape.

Mostly they spent their time sprucing up the common areas like corridors and bathrooms, hoovering carpets and mopping lino floors and stairways. But every few days they came around to clean people's individual offices. Dust their bookshelves, vacuum the floor, empty the waste paper basket. It was like a regular ritual.

They came and went with great frequency - staff turnover, that is. Obviously a sign that the pay was lousy. And mostly they were older women. Serious women, with kids now all at school and needing some extra pin money.

None of them could be considered glamorous. They were care-worn, stretched by serial childbirth, buttoned up in some corporate-image cleaning-uniform that made them look as straight as pipe-cleaners.

Except this one. She alone stood out.

She was young, early twenties at the most. Black. Short and petite, with a high rounded bum. And breasts out of proportion to the rest of her slight build.

She did indeed manage to look glamorous. Though in a very low-budget sort of a way. Her uniform appeared to have been handed down from someone much bigger than her. It hung loosely on her, flowed around her curves, and seemed to accentuate rather than conceal.

Her face was cute, like a young Billie Holiday. Her hair was often arranged in "corn-rows" of tiny pulled-back braids, and sometimes she'd wear a small flower over one ear.

Sometimes she didn't even bother wearing the corporate uniform, and that used to make her really stand out. She'd wear something like a long stretchy split-skirt, down to her ankles and tight across her bum. A skirt better suited for night-clubbing, though it was now grubby in places and sometimes had cobwebs stuck to the hem.

This might be matched with a fashion t-shirt top, a bit too big and low in the neckline. One that easily fell away from her chest as she bent forward to vacuum. Anyone in the right place could really cop a good look.

And, standing up straight, it was apparent that on occasion her bra would be a couple of sizes too small. Deliberate? Or just another ill-fitting hand-me-down from somebody? Her big boobs would try to spill over the undersized cups, giving an appearance through the loose but clingy material of her top that she had four medium breasts rather than two good-sized ones.

She seemed well aware of the effect she had on men. She always had a very knowing look in her eye. She was almost smug in her prettiness. In ten years time she might end up as frayed as the others, but right now she still had that flush of youth.

If ever he caught her eye while passing in the corridor, she'd meet his gaze unashamedly. Look straight into his soul, with an inscrutable Giaconda smile and eyes that seemed to say "Yes, I know I'm gorgeous. And I know what you'd like to do with me."

He was meant to act proper. He was a professional in this place. Responsible, organized, meticulous. A workaholic, as his ex-wife'd be the first to tell you.

And he did act proper. Exceedingly proper. He'd always been shy around women anyway. Especially one as stunning as this. He started avoiding her gaze if ever it fell on him. Deliberately and self-consciously, he would refuse to catch her eye.

And she knew it. Knew he was dodging her knowing look, the one that said her mind could read every single lustful thought he'd ever had about her. Knew she made him uncomfortable with just a glance. Knew exactly how hot the blood would get behind his ears as she passed.

There was a polite knocking on his office door. He recognised it as the cleaners' usual knock, and reached across to release the doorknob. Three of them filed in, dusting implements at the ready. Two as plain as pikestaffs. And one sex bomb, looking ready to explode.

Or so his fevered imagination was telling him. The other ladies paid neither him nor her the slightest attention. This was just another office in a long string of offices. Dust, vacuum, empty the bin, and get the hell outta there.

But were they really as guiltless as their twin poker-faces made out?

If so, why did they let her do most of the work? Why did they dawdle in the corridor as soon as they'd dusted, while she did the vacuuming? Why did they say "We'll start on next-door, sugar", leaving her all alone with him?

It was as if a conspiracy was at work here. She could have faced any other point of the compass as she bent to vacuum. But no matter which part of the room she hoovered, she kept her body turned so that her dangling neckline was pointed right at him.

He was trying to carry on typing, trying to keep his eyes on the glowing computer screen in front of him. Weakening, he glanced across at her.

Fuck! What a cleavage!

She was bent forward about forty-five degrees, her top hanging well down. Through that gaping neckline, he could see both brown breasts in their entirety as they bobbed and wobbled and bulged out of their bra cups.

It must indeed be a conspiracy. She would surely know that her goods were on display. And be conscious of his gaze upon her. Yet she kept her own eyes demurely downcast, giving her full attention to ensuring the carpet became spotless. She afforded him the freedom to look as much as he wanted.

With a superhuman effort he dragged his gaze back to the financial data on his computer screen. He pressed semi-colons, apostrophes, random consonants, anything to make the keyboard clatter busily. A stream of nonsense inched across the screen. He wouldn't look at her. He mustn't look at her! It was embarrassing, humiliating, that without a word she now controlled all his faculties, drew upon every fibre in his being.

She knew what was going on. Gave him every chance to see her gorgeous chest without being "caught". She felt his look boring into her. And inwardly she exulted. Once you can get them to look, you're halfway home. It's the litmus test of possibility, but has to be carefully judged. If they take a good look, then something might be made of the situation. If they glance briefly then ignore, you know to back away.

She switched off the vacuum cleaner and started dusting. Along the bookshelf. Down the side of the filing cabinet. Along the front of his desk. Down the front of his desk.

Down the front of his desk... oh shit! She had to bend low for that one. Right in front of him, slightly to one side of his computer monitor. He only had to move his eyes a fraction and extend their focal length, and suddenly his view was into heaven itself. He felt like a rabbit, literally transfixed by two headlights.

She dusted her way around from the front of the desk to the side. Now standing to his left, she flicked away imaginary specks while he kept his eyes riveted on the screen. She was so close now that she could read the gibberish he'd been busily typing these past three minutes. Seeing it, she gloated.

She was standing next to him now, only inches away from him. Feeling his tongue getting thick in his throat, he forced himself to speak.

"Shall I move out of your way?"

"Don't worry, I'll just lean across."

She did, reaching out over his keyboard with her duster to flick its feathers over the computer mouse. Despite him leaning well back in his chair, her side-on leaning posture brought her dangling chest level with his face.

Time seemed to stand still. He didn't know where to look, or how he should react to her being so up close.

"Would you like to touch one?"


Her voice was so low as to be almost inaudible, but he'd heard correctly alright.

In case he hadn't, she repeated "Go on, feel them."

"No. I... I... it's okay, thanks."

She'd really put him on the spot now. Stripped away the handy camouflage of proper manners, the mask of good behaviour that was concealment for his shyness. She'd cut right to the chase. Knew exactly what he was thinking about, despite his efforts to pretend otherwise. On the one hand, he wanted to go for it. On the other hand he was too embarrassed - to do so would admit the truth in her crystal-clear reading of his base desires.

She turned to him and leaned with her hand on the top of his thigh.

"Do it. I know you want to..."

That deep, dark canyon was up so close, and looked so inviting. He caught a whiff of cheap perfume, and sweaty armpit. Her free hand pulled the neck of her tee further back, to expose still more black lace on brown skin. Her taunting eyes danced at his discomfort, and she smiled sweetly.

"... and I want you to." she added.

At this, his fortitude was reduced to jelly. Dreamlike, he raised his hand and it glided like a ferret down the neckband of her t-shirt. It was instantly enveloped in luxuriant warmth and soft sexiness. So stimulating, yet so maddeningly frustrating because of the obstacle of her undersized bra cups.

"Wait a second."

She straightened, turned behind her and snicked the door shut.

Then she hiked up her skirt just enough to be able to step one leg over. She sat upon him, straddling his thighs, though well back from his burgeoning cock. Slowly, like the theatre curtain at the start of a performance, she raised her slightly grubby fashion top up over her head. It dropped to the desktop behind her. Reaching around behind her, that too-tight bra suddenly slackened and fell away, ending the cruel distortion of her heavy breasts.

He gazed in awe, seemingly struck dumb and paralyzed all at once. She waggled her shoulders to show them off, and they jiggled and swayed inches before his nose.

She solved the paralysis problem by pulling his hands up onto them. Galvanized into action by this tactile trigger, he fell upon their fullness and warmth, lashed his tongue across their coffee-coloured slopes and underhangs, engaged each stiff nipple in turn.

"That's it!" she cooed softly, "Suck 'em, baby!"

She luxuriated in the attention he was devoting to her chest. He put his arms around to the bare skin of her back, the better to firmly pull her close and get as much boob into his mouth as possible. A sure sign of a confirmed titty-lover.

But she felt it was time to take things to the next level.

She reached down his front to his crutch, and easily located the upright ridge in his trousers. Unzipping him with difficulty in his hunched-down posture, she got the tip of it out, and played with it lightly.

"You want to come, baby?" she whispered.

His reply seemed affirmative, but was very muffled. Undoing his belt and waistband to open further access for her roving hand, she repeated the question.

"Shall I make you come?"


Definitely affirmative. Time to get down to hard tacks, in a manner of speaking.

"You just suck my titties, and I'll wank you till you come."

She started rolling his foreskin back and forth in a way that experience had taught her was very effective for reaching this goal. Then suddenly, she stopped.

"But it's gonna cost ya, honey!"

"MMM!!! What???"

"Got a hundred bucks on ya, baby?"

Oh fuck. Realisation began to dawn on him.


"Cos nuthin' comes for free. I got what you need. A hundred bucks and it's yours."

Her hand resumed a gentle tugging on his cock. Nice, but not enough to progress him anywhere.

But his realisation was being followed by anger.

Anger at being duped in this way. She was a prostitute? He'd never paid for sex in his life. And didn't intend to start now.

With his arms still firmly locked around her, he thought he might have the upper hand. She was only little, after all. And he felt that she deserved anything she got, now.

He dragged her hips forward toward him, and thrust his crotch upward, in an effort to get his cock up against her cleft. His hands thrust deep into her waist elastic at the back, trying to drag skirt and panties down off her butt, trying to expose her pussy to his upright prick.

But she was ahead of him. Her hand had already encircled his testicles, and now she squeezed hard.

He tensed up at the sudden agony of it, then went limp again as she eased off the pressure. Surprisingly, his cock stayed straight like a ramrod.

"You don't get to fuck ME!" she hissed, "Just do as you're fuckin' told, and if you're a good boy I'll give you some relief. But you don't get to fuck me."

She still had her hand right inside his trousers, at the place where he was most vulnerable.

"And you gotta pay for the privilege."

A flash of shiny stainless caught the corner of his eye. Where'd she gotten that little flick-knife from? It was tucked up in the palm of her other hand, and its blade was open. It's appearance had been so slick as to be almost magical - she was topless, and he hadn't noticed her skirt having any pockets. From down the side of her shoe seemed the only possibility.

This little minx was serious, and capable. In his genteel professional world he was unaccustomed to weapons, to violence. He knew he had a major size advantage if it came to a tussle, but his uppermost thought was that she might cut him somewhere obvious. How'd he explain that to his colleagues? His boss?

This ought not be romantic. His cock should be shrinking away and cringing like the rest of him. Why, then, was it still so rock hard?

"A hunnerd bucks, please."

He weighed options, analysed them for optimal solutions.

"Can I touch your pussy?"

"No. You get to play with my tits while I wank you."

It shocked him how easily he'd adopted the speech of a "john". All for the love of her ripe brown breasts. Their loveliness had not diminished even a jot upon the rude discovery of their possessor's street-smarts.

He fished about in his side pocket and came up with some crisp notes. These disappeared down into her shoe. The knife, however, didn't.

"Suck! And no more funny business!"

He sucked. She wanked. He licked. She increased her motion, but kept it delicate. It's not so easy wanking a guy to orgasm, there being a fine line between stimulating them enough to come, and pumping so hard it hurts. Faster and more reliable to suck him off, but that could come later, once she'd broken him in.

"Can I come on your tits?"

"That'll be an extra twenty."

Magically another note appeared, and she hunkered down on the floor between his out-splayed legs, pulling his cock out straight toward her tawny melons. Looked like he needed a little bit of an extra push, so she tweaked his nipple through his shirtfront while concentrating on getting his foreskin moving just right.

He loved this extra stimulation, and the sight of her big round boobs waiting to receive him. The smuttiness, the sheer filth of his entrapment by this jezebel, was more than his straight-laced mind could yet absorb. And her control of him, the firm limits she'd placed on him, made a mere handjob so much the sweeter. So sweet his spine was tingling.

And his cock was spurting.

She loved this part.

Loved the looks on their faces as they gazed in awe upon her dangling breasts. Loved the power of being able to make them shoot, and immediately see the results of her handiwork. Loved to tease them sometimes, by pretending to dodge out of the way and see how frantically they scrabbled to have their stuff land on her. Loved seeing the white rivulets standing in stark contrast to her own brown skin. Loved using gobs of it to annoint her near-black nipples.

"Lick it off!"

He hesitated, but then thought, why not? It added to his feeling of depravity. Not a feeling he ever thought he'd enjoy, but then he'd never found himself in this situation before. With outstretched tongue he delicately drew up all his silvery beads and threads off her warm smooth skin, and swallowed them down. He paid extra attention to her nipples, which had drips swinging from the teats.

Satisfied he'd attained a sufficient standard of cleanliness, she reached for her hand-me-down bra and snapped it back into place. The t-shirt came over her head, and all was as it was before.

Well, not quite.

"Don't forget to put your dick away" she reminded him.

He stood up. He towered over her - how the hell had she been able to intimidate him so?

She collected her vacuum machine and backed away to the door, resting a hand on its knob. Her smug, knowing look was back in place.

"I'll be back in a coupla days." She wasn't asking him, she was informing him. "I might make it a regular thing, if I can get you trained up right."

She stooped, pulled his proffered wad of notes from her shoe, and tossed them back onto the desktop.

"You don't want... but I thought... ?"

"Thought I was a hooker? The money thing was a test. You passed, by the way."

She slipped the door open, and was gone.

He sank into his chair in a daze. He still didn't know quite what had hit him. He felt shamed by his conduct, yet eager. Eager for more.

Fuck, he thought, those boobs of hers are truly impressive.

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