Lying Milf Employee Gets Titfuced

Looking down, my cock nestled firmly between the massive, sunburnt, freckled, thirty nine year old breasts of my coworker Carly, I was finally vindicated.

Nothing else could have gotten me to this moment. Not even having her on her back while I pricked her, not even getting my cock in her smug, pink mouth. Only this: putting my dick between the two things that gave her all her power and influence.

I saw Carly every morning for nearly ten years. For the first few years we were on distant but polite terms. She had a big smile, and she welcomed everyone with it every morning, but it was a fake smile, and those who had occasion to peel beneath the makeup and the mirthless grin were confronted with the grim truth of the abject and conniving careerism that was at the heart of her work. Her attitude belonged on Wall Street, though she lacked the mind; her surface level nature would have done her well in fashion, though she lacked all sense of poise and charisma.

The sanctimonious attitude she brought to her writing for the nonprofit was seen by our less rigorous coworkers as passionate, but anyone with a sharp eye could tell it was forced.

So too were the compliments she lavished on our much older, male bosses, compliments she spoke from her cavernous cleavage.

"Trevor, I love your tie," she would say two or three times a week to our 78-year-old CEO, regardless of what the tie was. On a more sincere woman it would've been a cute exchange, but early on I suspected her of other motives, because I watched how quickly that flirty smile vanished once Trevor walked away.

"Aaron, that haircut is looking shaaaaarp," she cooed every Friday at our finance director.

Seems innocent? Perhaps. But remember, I saw her five days a week for a decade. I saw the pattern. The deeper her neckline vanished that day, the deeper the compliment she gave.

She was the lone semi-attractive woman in the twelve or thirteen-person nonprofit, and she knew it. Aaron and Trevor responded with great enthusiasm to the giggles and flirtations thrown their way, and soon they promoted her to "director" of content. A few more years went by and she became "vice president" of content. These titles are ironic and absurd because her job never changed, nor did anyone ever start working for her. She simply appeared to be far more important than she was.

As for Carly and me, we were cordial. I was a relatively important and long tenured employee, and she was motivated to wink at me with her milky, alternately ghostpale or sunburnt udders from time to time. I didn't flirt back with her, and I harbored a few idle fantasies of her jacking one out of me onto her tits, but she rarely crossed my mind.

Until it came time for Aaron to retire. An intern was brought in to take on a wide assortment of duties, a delightful little recent college grad named Maggie. Maggie was a brilliant writer, and also, it seemed to me, a genuine environmentalist. She was there for six months before she left for the Peace Corps, and she left behind a long litany of beautiful essays and other content for us to use.

I can't imagine why Carly thought she could get away with plagiarizing Maggie's work. She waited only two weeks before passing off one of Maggie's most brilliant essays as her own. The story, which Carly had very lightly edited, went viral online. The bosses praised it effusively. Carly was awarded another promotion, I'd lost track of what new title now, while Maggie, nearly twenty years her junior, was teaching children in a village in Malaysia.

There was a small office party to celebrate Carly's latest promotion. I waited until it had cleared out and I went over to Carly's desk, where she was playing a game on her phone.

"I know what you did," I said to her.

She looked up at me, full of fake vim and vigor, cheeks blushed from too much wine.

"Oh hey, Jack," she said. "What's this now?"

"You took Maggie's work," I said. "You gave her no credit. You didn't ask her permission. That's called plagiarism."

She stared at me with mouth agawp for a full four or five seconds and her wine blush deepened before she recovered herself. She wore an expensive collared white shirt with a cut down the middle of the neckline that appeared conservative, but actually showed a tremendous expanse of cleavage if she turned her flesh the right way in the right light. She did so then, I caught her plentiful side boob.

"You must be misunderstanding, of course," she said.

"There's no misunderstanding."

"But Jack. C'mon now. You wouldn't want some baseless accusation get me in trouble for no reason."

"Maggie doesn't deserve this."

That triggered her. Her face completely transformed, like it did when the CEO turned away. The veneer of flirtation was gone, the red flush was no longer surprise but anger.

"Oh I see what this is about," she said, with a tinge of jealousy. "You think you can fuck Maggie."

I shook my head sadly.

"You're going to leave that poor girl alone," I said. "You're going to admit what you've done. To both the boss and to the public."

"Isn't there something I can do?" she was reeling tipsily back, holding her hands up to her shoulders in an effort to be seductive.

"I highly doubt it."

"I'm sure there's something," she said.

"Not that you'll be willing to do."

Her eyes flickered nervously and she stammered her next words out.

"T-t-try me."

"OK, here's what I can do," I said. "I'll let you be the one to tell the bosses and then they can decide what to do about it. I won't go public myself. But I'm going to fuck your tits."

She feigned a stunned look, or it could've been real. Maybe she hadn't expected me to really be bold enough to call her on her boldness.

"My...my what?"

"Your titties," I said. "I'm going to put my dick in there and rub it around until I ejaculate."

She sat there quietly for a time, digesting it all. I watched her proposed titfucking flash across her pensive and angry brow. Finally she nodded.

"Ok," she said quietly. "We'll do it, then. But later," she hastened to add.

"No," I said sharply. "Right now."

I was surprised at my own aggression and at how hard I'd gotten thinking about it. She noticed my erection. It was about eye level for her where I stood over her sitting at her desk.

"On your knees," I said.

"But wait," she said. She ruffled her dress. She pretended to be thirsty. She went to the bathroom and came back ten minutes later and sat there wordlessly staring up at me.

"On your knees," I repeated.

She tried all manner of stall tactics. Her tits were her power, and actually giving them away represented her ultimate failure. But she was cornered. Knowing her, she'd probably done things just as bad as the plagiarism, if not worse, to get to where she was. But now, finally, she was caught.

I took her hand and placed it on my steel hard manhood. She blinked at me. Silence passed in the buzzing of the office silence, the lights, the traffic of Newark blipping by far below.

She knelt.

I felt a thrill run through me. I grabbed at the buttons on her expensive dress shirt and yanked hard. Two of them popped off and clattered across the floor like so many dominos. She gasped.

"Hey," she said. "That's expensive."

I reached down and peeled the shirt roughly down to her elbows, exposing her shoulders and a large white brassiere. Without unhooking it I scooped her breast meat up and out so it hung over both shirt and bra.

She kept expensive hand lotion on her desk and I took it and squirted it copiously down her cleavage. The white liquid hit her chest with repeated splats. She shrieked, shook her chest in surprise and annoyance, her tits quaking back and forth. I reached a hand down and slathered the lotion everywhere I knew I wanted my dick: focusing on the inside of her cleavage but also all over the long expanse of the top of her breasts and under them too, relishing in the warm and heavy feel of them, weighing them in my hands and looking in her eyes as I fondled them.

She trembled with rage as the reality set in. For a woman obsessed with power and control, a woman who had used the fat of her breasts to trick men into giving her things she hadn't earned, this was the ultimate role reversal.

I dropped my pants, I widened my legs for leverage. I took my stuff dick in my hand and slapped the tops of her long, wide breasts with it. Fully exposed, her tits were sunburnt on the tops and ghostpale in a sharp line beneath her bra.

I dragged my frenulum along the top of her left tit. Then I plopped it down and used my hand to run it up through the dark cleft between the meat. It came out the top with a satisfying pop and then I dropped it back down again.

The feeling was warm, wet, deep, satisfying. But I needed more.

I grabbed her forearm and placed it under her weighty jugs to suspend them up. Now I had friction. Now I began to fuck.

She bore the smug, arrogant look that was permanently pasted to her mouth, but with it now, as I thrust wet lotioned thrusts between meaty flesh of her breasts, came flashes of extreme annoyance bordering on rage. She'd been got and she knew it and now she was paying the price, one long stroke at a time.

"Do you regret what you did?" I asked her, standing over her, my hands on her shoulders, letting my dick thump comfortably in the nestled folds of pressed flesh where it had vanished.

"Fuck. You," she growled.

In response I took her tits in my own hands, grabbing them from the sides, and began stroking her more forcefully. She gave out a little involuntary grunt when my hips met her chest, particularly on the harder strokes. That was one of the most satisfying ways to do this to her: just pure savagery, pure usage of her, slamming my whole middle against her like slap, the top of her tits reddening over time with the abuse. She was sweating too, and the harder I thrusted, the more I growled, the more the cuntish pallor to her demeanor slipped away. To be replaced slowly with a dark lust.

"You know you deserve this," I said.

I gave the flank of her udder a whack with an open palm. The smack resounded. She tried to bite back a moan.

"You like getting what you deserve, don't you?"

She looked away from me, as if to shake off her enjoyment of it. I shoved her back sharply and she fell onto her back with a gasp, a big pile of tits of makeup running with her sweat. I quickly clambered over her and slapped my dick betwixt her orbs and commenced to fuck. But as I watched her eyes growing with sex I suddenly reached down and worked a hand down the front of her slacks and palmed her cunt.

Her eyes rolled in the back of her head. She wanted to push me off, I could tell, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Her lightly furred cunt was soaked.

"I thought so," I said to her, and worked a pair of fingers inside her heat.

She instantly bucked on me, her hips were thrown in the air to meet my prodding. All the while I kept stroking down the tunnel of her breasts. She tossed her head to side and shut her eyes as I finger blasted her. I timed my strokes on her to the prods of my middle fingers up her. With time I felt a small amount of cream gathering where I worked her.

I brought my fingers up and slapped the wetness and small bit of white cream down onto her breast. She gasped, appalled. I then took both of her tits in my hands again fucked her slime into her cleavage, fucked it till it mingled with her spit and the lotion and her sweat and the growing heat from the friction of my thrusts.

It felt sublime. The meat of her tits clapped against my pelvis. The tip of my dick knocked the underside of her chin at the end of each thrust. I felt myself growing closer and I growled and I grabbed her elaborately coiffed hair and held her head up off the ground and fucked and wetly fucked and thrust and thrust and her titmeat was bright red and then with a growl.....

Splat.

A long, thick rope ejected from my dick directly into her eye. It covered her entire eyebrow and eye. The next splash splintered across her nose and ran down to her upper lip like snot from a runny cum nose. The third rope hit the same eye and then a general volcanic eruption spilled milky jizz along her throat, over her heaving bosom, dripping off her ears.

She gave out a little moan. I looked down. Her hand was down her pants and her legs were shaking.

"Fffffuck," she whispered as she came.

I wiped my dick on her shirt, which now draped around her waist. I stood up and buckled up and looked down on the heaving mess, a wet, heavily jizzed pile of tits and curly hair and jizz. Her eyes were shut tight against the cum which she tried to pick off of her face with her fingers. A particularly beautiful string of my semen had pasted itself to the ridge of her forehead and dropped down like a slowly melting icicle over the rest of her face. Her tits were shiny with it and I could not resist giving the wet meat a final smack.

"Fuck," she repeated.

It would be a while before she would get up. I grabbed my backpack and left.

***

The next morning, Saturday morning, I got through to Maggie, deep in Malaysia, on Zoom. I had, of course, told her everything as soon as I found out.

"She's going to the bosses to confess on Monday," I said.

"Good," she said, laughing. "I'll wait till then to tell the world."