“Please? I promise I’ll be good at it. I promise You’ll like it. Please, Sir? Please, Master?”

His former ex-girlfriend knelt down before him, begging to suck his Cock. Her knees pushed anxiously together, pressing into the floor. Every part of her hot young body did everything it could to make herself presentable, desirable, fuckable.

Just a few months ago, she had broken his heart. Left him because he would “never make anything” of himself.

Now he was a city councilman. Now he ran an office. Now he had two other gorgeous mindfucked office fuckpets aching and eager to obey his every last command. They were docked on either arm, tits rubbing up and down his biceps, whispering dirty thoughts into his ears with his ex on her knees.

“Make her beg more, Master,” said Delilah, on one arm. She had masterminded this whole affair.

“Make her beg for an hour.” This was hot blonde Mona, her hand skillfully stroking her Master's Cock already. “Make her watch me suck you off instead.”

Lily, his ex-girlfriend, was desperate for a command from him. She would cum the second he told her to suck him off. That was the power he held over her.

Any part of her that had broken up with him—her new Master—had been erased. Forgotten completely. If you suggested to her now that she had done something like that, she would have completely denied the possibility. If she saw video of it, she would have broken down in tears, wondering what could have caused such a terrible circumstance.

“Please.” Lily clutched her hands together. Praying to him. Her cunt vibrating in heat because of his nearness.

He owned her—mind, body, and soul.

She would beg for his forgiveness. She would continue to beg to suck his Cock. She would beg to be his slave.

And all because Delilah had taken the initiative—because she wanted to be Miles’s Perfect Slave. His Top Bitch. His Number One Girl.

Miles nodded at Delilah, and with his approval, Delilah guided Lily’s willing, pretty mouth onto his Cock. The office filled with feminine moans. All three beauties were all so turned on by his Cock. Whenever it was Hard, they were Happy.

Delilah came from watching this mindfucked girl’s mouth become violated on his amazingly hard shaft. Lily came—as she knew she would—by following orders. Their orgasms matched, crescendoing together, their bodies vibrating and writhing in wet, hot, dripping unison. All of them grinding, moaning, pressing into their Master and whispering how much they needed and loved him and only him.

Delilah looked at the man she loved—the Only Man Alive to Her—and thought of how strange and hot it was that all this was set into motion only the day before.

The morning of the day before, Delilah sat on top of the desk, legs crossed, looking down at Mona. Conversely, Mona sat in a chair looking up at Delilah with open, blank eyes. It was obvious that Mona was hypnotized by Delilah’s gorgeous gaze, her entire beautiful visage. To Mona, Delilah was all that was woman, and it was easy to see why.

Though they were at the office, Delilah could have easily been on the red carpet somewhere in her tiny Valentino dress and red-hot five-inch heel Gucci ankle boots. The boots were soft calf leather with a silver chain sliding from the outside in.

They smelled like money. Their boss—their Master—Miles mindfucked anyone and everyone he wanted, and so he had a lot of disposable income. That meant Delilah had a pretty much endless bank account to spend on pretty, expensive clothes.

With a body like hers—tall, leggy, busty, achingly thin, effortlessly fit, with gorgeous long hair and a face that could stop air flight traffic—she felt she deserved a new pretty outfit for pretty much every single day she was alive.

Miles was all too happy to bankroll this.

“Anyway,” the gorgeous Delilah said to Mona, who stared up at her blankly and with no small amount of adoration, “you don’t really need college.”

Mona wore a tiny plaid tan skirt and mega-hot Balenciaga thigh-high knife boots.

“Don’t need college.”

Her voice was empty, like her head.

“Not like you need Master’s Cock.”

Mona blushed, biting her lower lip. Her legs spread automatically, as if she were programmed (which she was) to open her legs and touch herself at the merest mention of her object of worship—Miles’s Cock.

Miles was their boss, but he was much more than that. Delilah and Mona both interchangeably referred to him as their Master, their Owner, their God, their King, and their Daddy, depending on the level of their arousal and how many times their tight, toned, tit-heavy bodies had been wracked to bits by cunt-shaking orgasms that day.

Usually, the more orgasms they had meant the more they would run the terms together, so by the end of the day, proclaiming him as their DaddyGodKing was perfectly within the realm of possibility.

“Master’s…Cock.” Mona’s smile was gorgeous.

In fact, everything about Mona was gorgeous. Miles had taken care of that—about Mona’s appearance and Delilah’s too.

Before he took over their lives, they had both already been more than a little attractive, both rather inundated with offers from eager men whenever they ventured out into the world.

Now, however, they were both certified stunners, the kind that looked like they had walked straight off of magazine covers. Their hair was thick—Delilah's deep chestnut brown and Mona's blond—and long and impossibly shiny. Their skin bloomed with healthy vibrancy, free of any blemishes or marks. Their tits bounced happily without bras. Their abdomens were tight; their bellies were flat; their faces were lush and lustful and their eyes bright and empty of any thought save Obeying and Worshiping Master.

Delilah wasn’t sure how it had all worked, how her body had changed. She didn’t need to be sure—all she needed to do was Worship Cock. But why that was, and how that was, were more than a bit beyond her to put together.

From the best she could tell, Miles went to some ancient tomb in South America as a normal twenty-something and came back with the confidence, body, and Cock of a God.

It only made sense, then, that something had happened in that tomb. He had been inhabited by some spirit of masculinity, or made some kind of offering, or cast some ancient spell…

In the final accounting, it didn’t matter. All that really mattered to Delilah these days was that she was gorgeous, that she adored Miles, that she adored His Cock, that she got to go to sleep with her lovely young mouth wrapped around its massive girth and got to wake up with hot cum in her belly and more of his Cock to suck (usually with Mona’s gorgeous face right there with her so that the two of them could start their hours with long, easy, soulful make-out sessions on top of Master’s Cock).

“That’s right,” Delilah said to Mona. “If you go to college, think of all that time you won’t spend worshiping Him. Think about that. That’s called opportunity cost. You’ll miss out on blowjobs, babe. Lots of blowjobs.”

“So many…blowjobs.”

Mona, drooling now, looked up at her and repeated dumbly what she said; this was happening kind of a lot lately. Like Delilah had the same kind of influence that Miles had over her, to a lesser degree.

Mona’s brain seemed to drain right out of her ears whenever she and Miles were alone in the room together. One day, he had experimented and convinced her that her name was actually Marlene instead of Mona; later he tired of it and switched it back. It so thoroughly fucked with Mona's reality that she had asked Delilah just yesterday when they thought they would see that cutie Marlene again.

“You’ll quit college. For Master.”

Mona nodded. “I’ll quit for Master.”

“You don’t need to go.”

“I don’t need to go.”

“You don’t want to go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

But the point remained that the influence Delilah held over Mona—and the point to which Delilah was able to think for herself and not feel so Cock-cravingly overwhelmed that she couldn’t even add two and two together—was a gift from Miles to exclusively Delilah.

The other women he fucked didn’t seem to share this privilege: the ability to think independently. And Miles fucked a lot of women. Even Bonnie—the official office secretary, who Miles didn’t fuck at all—was getting so stupid she couldn’t even put together the office coffee without YouTube tutorials every morning.

Delilah felt rather proud of that, actually. The corrupting, body-altering influence of Miles’s Cock meant that Bonnie got hotter every day. The once-attractive fifty year-old now looked like she was barely pushing thirty, if that, with tits that seemed to grow with every passing hour. Yet Delilah’s cruel streak, activated for no other reason than that Bonnie wasn’t naturally young like herself and Mona, meant that she didn’t want to see Miles fuck Bonnie.

And so he didn’t—because Delilah whispered in his ear about how fun it was to make Bonnie suffer for his Cock only to never have it, how sexy it was to make Delilah flaunt what she had and what Bonnie wouldn't get, how cruelly hot it was to visibly fuck Mona from his office while Delilah stood by the blinds and made sure Bonnie watched.

And all that time he got harder and harder because Delilah stroked him beautifully and said he deserved more. Deserved younger. Deserved hotter. She whispered heat into his ear about the hot fucking casting call she was going to hold for models to come to his office exclusively to pick the hottest women in the city to Serve. His. Cock.

She meant every word, of course. The casting call would be next week. Preparations were already underway.

“Repeat it back to me, Mona.” Delilah smiled, slowly uncrossing her legs. “All of it. And I’ll let you lick me.”

Delilah didn’t wear panties, of course. They just got in the way. Miles fucked her at work at least three times a day, and that was only if he wasn’t out most of the day fucking up lives of other influentials in the city. He’d be mayor soon, and then governor, and then President. He’d need a wife—someone stately, serene, gorgeous. A perfect aching dark fuckpet to whisper hot evil things in his ear and tell him everything he wanted to know so that his rule could be perfect and absolute.

She thought of all kinds of dark and wicked acts for him. Delilah wanted to hold his Cock while he ordered drone strikes; to moan and beg and suck him off during a state of the union address. Anything at all that he wanted, that would make him feel powerful, she wanted to give him.

There wasn’t a doubt in Delilah’s mind—she was the wife he deserved, even without a ring on her finger.

Mona looked at Delilah’s pussy—her stately, serene, gorgeous pussy—and the drool that had begun to develop formed a slow line from her lips down to her chin.

“Nnnng.” She moaned, leaning forward.

Delilah put a long finger on her forehead, holding Mona back. “Nuh ah ah. Repeat it back. All of it.”

“Y-yes, Mistress. You are my Mistress, Mistress. I am your slave. Miles comes first. He always Comes First. But otherwise I belong to You. I’ll do what You say. I Worship You. You are a Goddess. I’ll do anything You say. I’ll quit college. I don’t need it. It just gets in the way of blowjobs. I don’t want to go.”

This was out in the open, right in view of the foyer of the office where visitors came. Bonnie sat at the front desk, obediently looking forward, not even allowed to touch herself. Lips quivering. Breath shaking and hot.

Bonnie wanted to touch her clit desperately. Delilah had taken care of that, had told her, “You want to touch yourself desperately all the time. When I'm around. When Miles's around. When we're not around. All you want to do is finger yourself stupid and cum.”

She also told Bonnie she wasn’t allowed to do just that except at the very end of the day before bed.

So as Mona came forward, her soft wet teenage tongue sliding up Delilah’s pussy, earnestly searching for her clit and finding it after only a few probing licks, Delilah moaned extra loud. Letting Bonnie know what she was missing.

They had gotten to work at about 7 that morning; Miles liked to start early.

It was now 7:15 AM.

Delilah had a wonderful feeling about today.

[TO BE CONTINUED]