Dark intentions

You drive the Lamborghini up to the north, towards the headquarters of your target. To anyone else, the two-seat car would seem a poor choice for three people to travel in; for you, it puts you at delightfully close-quarters with your slaves. For the first leg of the journey you drive whilst Amy sucks your {if Futa==true}balls and clit{else}cock{endif}, leaning over from where she sits on Emma's lap, who gropes her bum mercilessly. Then Amy takes over the driving, and Emma gets to ride your cock, not caring that she hits her head on the low ceiling with each bounce as you bring her to orgasm after orgasm in full view of the rest of the motorway. Eventually her formidable stamina is exhausted, and she collapses asleep, her scantily-clad body lovingly embracing yours.

The weapons manufacturer has exactly the sort of lobby you expected: clean, modern, but dull. You feel next to no attraction to the sweaty, overweight receptionist, but she is nonetheless seduced by your mere presence, and agrees to arrange an immediate meeting with the company's executive sales officer. As you wait, you make an effort to limit your pheromones.

When the woman herself comes to meet you, you eye her admiringly. A brunette in her mid-forties, she's aged well, wearing a grey suit which is businesslike yet form-fitting, showing off her trim figure. The way she holds herself, the perfectly styled waves of hair which cascade down to her mid-back, the reflective diamonds glistening in her ear and around her neck, all indicate a wealthy, confident professional. Not a stereotypical MILF, but a MILF nonetheless.

She extends a hand to you, looking you up and down {if Futa==true}almost disbelievingly, her eyes lingering on your mountainous chest. "Hello, Miss..."{else}suspiciously. "Hello, Mr..."{endif}

"Abbott," you reply, shaking it firmly. "But please, call me {if Futa==true}Mikaela{else}Michael{endif}. These are my assistants, Amy and Emma. And you would be Amber, correct?"

"I would prefer Mrs Platte," says the woman cautiously. "Now, I'm not sure who you represent, but Ms Wright insisted that it was extremely important that we meet."

You smile disarmingly. "Oh, it certainly is - if we could move somewhere more private I will explain everything. May we?"

"Certainly," replies Amber, looking none too pleased. "If you'll follow me."

She leads you to an office with her name labelled in an engraved metal plate on the door. It's spartanly furnished, with little more than a bookcase and an uncluttered desk with two chairs opposite.

"Sorry there's not enough chairs," nods the brunette. "Let me just get another -"

"It's alright, they don't need to sit," you dismiss, taking a seat yourself, your two 'assistants' flanking you, each of them placing a hand on your shoulder.

Mrs Platte looks at them bemusedly, but accepts your word, sitting opposite. "So. What is this about?"

You recline, eyeing her with a curious gaze. "We're aware that you sometimes provide, shall we say, off-the-books services to private institutions. I'm looking for your company to supply my facility with a full suite of defensive measures."

The woman stares at you for a moment, before stiffly replying, "I'm afraid that you mustn't believe everything you read. In any case, we would never agree to a contract on an impromptu meeting like this."

You sigh, feigning disappointment. "And I can't persuade you otherwise?"

"No." Mrs Platte stands, gesturing to the door. "If you'd like to give your details to Ms Wright on reception, we may be able to develop a relationship with your institution."

You remain seated, making no movement to leave. "Maybe so, but I don't have the patience for that. Girls?"

Wordlessly, Emma and Amy saunter around each side of the desk, Mrs Platte frozen as she watches them. Gently at first, your slaves take hold of each of the MILF's arms, and begin pushing them towards the desk. As her brain kicks in, the brunette begins to struggle, but the two teenagers' moderately enhanced strength is enough that they easily resist her attempts to break free, slowly but surely pinning the older woman to the desk. You unbuckle your belt. Your {if Futa==true}grey {endif}trousers and underwear fall to the floor.

"Fuck - FUCK! Let me go!" She draws a deep breath, before screaming, "SOMEBODY H-"

The businesswoman's cry for help abruptly turns to ****, as Amy stuffs a ball gag deep in her mouth. She again fights against the babes holding her in place, but it's to no avail: each of your slaves hooks a leg around one of Mrs Platte's, prising them apart until they form a wide V, presenting the skirt-covered mound of her rounded arse to you. Utterly helpless, the brunette looks back at you, her eyes widening{if Futa==true} in shock{endif} as they see you advancing towards her, stroking your massive meat column.

"Well, Mrs Platte - though I'd really rather call you Amber. It's more... intimate." You lift her dark grey skirt, revealing plain black panties beneath. "I would like to re-open negotiations." You sharply pull down her underwear, and she flinches, still watching you fearfully. You rub your dick against her soft pussy lips, feeling them engorging at your touch, a trickle of fluid leaking from inside her cavern.

You look up at your two gorgeous partners in crime, who seem barely able to contain their arousal at the situation. "Now, girls, would you recommend a hard or gentle strategy of negotiation?"

"Soft," coos Emma, biting her lip. "I can't wait to see her resistance slowly crumble to you, {if Futa==true}mistress{else}master{endif}."

Amy, however, grins maliciously. "Go hard, {if Futa==true}mistress{else}master{endif}, and crush this bitch. Make her regret ever even thinking of defying you."