A Perfect Candidate

He worked, he stayed in shape, he was kind to his family, and he wasn't happy. Michael was 39 years old and listlessly going through the motions. Lately, he worried that the last throes of his virility were upon him. After all, his 40th birthday was approaching. Long, solemn stares into the bathroom vanity marked each passing morning. But, despite the lack of attention his wife gave him, he was still proud of his reflection. His thick auburn hair was just starting to turn gray. He kept his beard, still very much a youthful red, trimmed close, and his jaw stood out in hard angles, framing a large handsome face. The blue eyes turned heads. All 6'3" of him was lean muscle. His broad shoulders and long torso were sculpted for walking tall in tailored suits.

So in that light, Michael felt more attractive at work than he did at home, though he took no pleasure in that fact. He tried to look on the bright side: at least it was a good job, and he made good money, and he wore nice suits to work everyday. He had few complaints, he knew, and often felt absurdly guilty for the anhedonia that lately gripped his mind and soul.

"It's the sex, fool, it's just the sex." he said to the mirror this morning.

And it was sex that had him so down. It had been too long since his cock had been inside her unsheathed, too long since he had emptied his balls and planted his seed in her fertile womb. His wife didn't want another baby, so condoms were the norm, but he longed for the happy days and nights of flesh on flesh, adding his fluids to her's, finishing and continuing, with no pause for awkward prophylactic disposal. But unfortunately, though he craved sex constantly, and gave as much as he got, his wife had grown less interested since the birth of their last child. She wasn't frigid, but neither did she burn hot - a box of condoms lasted for months. Often she would suggest they have sex as if it were an overdue chore. He supposed her initiating should make him feel better, but then the lights would go out and it would occur to him that he could be fat and ugly and it would probably not make any difference to her. And with that thought burning a hole in his ego, Michael readied himself for work, kissed his beautiful wife on the way out the door and briefly considered swatting her big ass before his confidence disappeared in a storm of self-doubt. He went to work depressed, stressed, and horny.

There was also plenty of scenery at work in the form of beautiful, equally well-dressed women. Although he was careful to never get too close, lately he was beginning to wonder why he bothered being careful at all. Would his wife even care anymore? Would she notice if he didn't come home until late at night? That was his mood today as he made small talk with Tonda from customer service. Michael didn't think of himself as the savviest player in the office, but when Tonda laughed at his lame jokes, touched his arms while talking, sidled up to him to whisper gossip in his ear, allowing him free glances down her top, well, he was fairly certain she was giving it off and all he had to do was make a move. He never did, but her heavy-lidded eyes, weighed down in dark mascara, plump red lips in a resting pout, and smooth brown skin would be hard to resist if she ever made a move herself.

Right then, he imagined reaching out, grabbing her blouse and tearing it open to expose her heavy bra-encased tits. He doubted she would even try to stop him. She caught the insane, desperate look in his eyes as he lifted his gaze from her chest and she smirked, and then winked. Nonplussed, Michael returned to his desk. He passed Carla, the twenty-something skinny blonde accounts assistant, and she flashed him a warm smile, unconsciously brushing a few strands of hair away from her face and back behind her ears. She did that every time they talked, Michael remembered. Then he chastised himself for being a desperate old man, eager for any kind of attention, no matter how subtle or even imaginary. Carla was just being nice. Nice did not equal attraction, he reminded himself

His boss was waiting for him and his heart went into his throat. She had been watching him talk to Tonda and exchange smiles with Carla and she kept staring as he made his way over. She had a very odd expression on her face, full of stern trepidation and distraction. Oh God, I'm in trouble now, thought Michael. Taylor was a good boss, but strict, and she had a temper. Michael worried about facing her wrath over normal fuck-ups, so facing Taylor's wrath over sexual misconduct? He couldn't even imagine. It didn't help that Taylor was stunningly beautiful: tall, skinny, perky tits, always dressed in tight, silky suits and high heels. Like Michael, she also had red hair – beautifully long and thick, flowing down her back. Her legs were long and her ass was tight and round. Every male (and female) in the office could not help but ogle her when she walked past them. Michael had caught Tonda licking her lips while watching Taylor bend over Carla's desk to help her with an account. When Tonda saw Michael grinning at her, she shrugged. "What? Nobody's that straight." Right now, however, was not the time to be thinking about Taylor's perfect ass, or even Tonda's latent bisexuality.

"Michael, can I see you in my office?"

"Sure thing, Taylor." and Michael literally gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing, his ears burning red. I must look ridiculous, he thought.

Taylor marched to her office and Michael followed close behind, admiring her tall, elegant body enclosed in a navy suit, expertly tailored to accentuate her hindquarters. He could feel every eye on both of them as they went inside her spacious office. Taylor gestured for him to sit down on the sofa beneath the window. She shut the door. She locked the door. That was odd. Taylor turned and stared at Michael for a few seconds and he thought he detected the slightest tremble in her legs. She took a deep breath, and then came and sat beside him on the sofa, turning to face him, crossing her legs and resting an elbow on the sofa, propping her head up with a closed fist on her temple. Michael could smell her perfume. Her cheeks were red against her pale skin. If I'm in trouble, Michael thought to himself, it was going to be an up close and personal rebuke. He hoped his breath smelled ok.

"Michael, I ... don't know where to begin. I know I'm your boss, but I'd also like to think of you as a friend. Are we friends?"

If he was going to answer honestly, Micheal didn't think they were friends. He didn't know where she lived, had met her husband only once but couldn't remember his name (Jason), and they never discussed anything but work. He vaguely recalled that her husband also had red hair, but thinner than theirs, and closer to orange, while both Taylor's and Michael's were more of a wavy auburn.

"Well, yes of course, Taylor. Of course we're friends." Michael lied. Taylor smiled, but seemed on the edge of tears. She put her hands over her face and took a deep, ragged breath.

"Oh, Michael, I don't know if I can do this!" Michael still wasn't sure if he was about to get fired and Taylor simply couldn't muster the courage to pull the trigger, or if this was something else. Either way, he figured he'd better do something. He tentatively reached out and placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Everything is going to be alright. You can tell me anything." seemed to be the appropriate thing to say in this situation. Taylor took his hand in hers and squeezed hard. It seemed to give her courage.

"Thank you Michael. I knew you were the right choice. It's a long story, but I have a, well, a very big favor to ask of you, but I'm afraid to ask and ruin everything."

Michael's heart returned to his throat as he listened. When Taylor started talking, she didn't stop for a long time and when she was finished, she finally asked her favor. In between multiple tangents about medical expenses that she hoped to avoid incurring, reputations that she hoped to avoid destroying, and a husband whose feelings and love she hoped to avoid crushing, Michael learned that Taylor wanted a baby, desperately, but could not get pregnant. The preliminary tests seemed to indicate that she was fine, but her husband, in typical male medical procrastination, had put off getting tested himself. Jason kept asking her to give it another month.

"That was a year ago, Michael! I've given it 12 months! I'm sick of giving it another month! I need a baby and Jason won't even take the time to find out if he can give me one!"

And slowly but surely, as the story progressed, Michael was beginning to figure out why he was there, in that room, on his boss's couch with the door locked behind him. When she finally asked the question, he was (mostly) ready for it.

"Michael, you are my friend and I trust you. You're handsome and kind and smart. And you also have red hair, red like mine and my husband's. We even have the same color eyes. You're the perfect candidate for this. Will you make a baby with me?"

Michael didn't answer right away. He asked a question first. "How would this work?"

"The week around my ovulation cycle, we should meet in private, probably a hotel. I promise it will be as professional as possible. Just missionary sex with the lights out. I think it would be best if we don't allow ourselves to go beyond that. No one can ever know but the two of us."

Michael was still holding her hand. They'd been holding hands for so long that their palms were hot and sweaty, but he didn't let go. He stared into her blue eyes and saw a mixture of fear and hope, but also ... a tingling connection. Michael realized that he was going to say yes, but he wasn't going to be that easy. Now that it had come to it, to sit here and listen to this beautiful woman beg for his seed in this twisted, deceitful way, he had begun to feel something that he hadn't felt in years: power, and control over his life. Michael's most important decision that day wasn't to say "yes", but rather it was to never again let another woman decide the terms and conditions of his sex life as if it were business. His wife treated him like that already and he despised it. He'd be damned if Taylor was going to do the same. He took his other hand and brought it to Taylor's face, brushing a stray hair away. When she didn't flinch, he caressed her cheek, running his thumb along her jaw, over her chin and across her lips. Her mouth parted and her eyes closed.

"What are you doing?" She asked, tilting her head back, exposing her slender, white neck. He resisted the urge to surge forward and suck on her exposed flesh. Instead, he lowered his hand from her mouth, brought his other hand from her shoulder and gently gripped her throat. His fingers were long enough to meet at her nape. He spread his fingers out to encase more of her skull, his index fingers brushing along her soft jawline, his thumbs feeling her swallowing air, her jugular pounding against his palms. He held her there. Taylor could not contain a halting, desperate moan as she grabbed his arm, feebly resisting his unexpected dominance. Her eyes opened wide and found Michael staring at her still. Panting, she could not look away. He held her gaze for a long, electric pause.

And then he answered, "Yes, Taylor, I will make a baby with you,"

Taylor began to say thank you, but Michael cut her off, "But it won't be at all professional, nor on a schedule. If you want my seed, I will give it to you, but I will give it to you as much as I want, whenever I want, for as long as I want. Do you agree?" Taylor began to ask what exactly he meant but Michael again cut her off. "Do you agree?"

Taylor hesitated. Michael was a confident employee, it was one of his most attractive features, but she never imagined him to be so arrogant. She was both repulsed and more attracted to him. She thought of letting him be a beast to her, of her being his pliant whore ... it wasn't a terrible notion, it just wasn't expected. But here she was, not even trying to push him away as he lowered his left hand from her neck, grabbed her blazer by the closed buttons and slowly, but firmly, pulled her toward him. She came, unresisting, to be straddling his lap and facing him. His hands began to freely roam, over her thighs, her back, her belly, briefly stopping to unbutton her blazer and squeeze her breasts through her white blouse, and then up over her shoulders and sliding down her arms until he was once again clutching her hands. He brought them to his chest and guided her in caressing him in turn, until he let go and she continued to run her fingers over his hard body by her own free will. Michael kept staring, and waiting for an answer. Taylor's face was red with shame and lust, but there was no doubt in her mind, or her voice, when she finally replied.

"Yes, I agree."

Michael smiled. He leaned forward, kissed her on the forehead, and said, "I promise I will be a gentleman."

Taylor laughed and nodded. They hugged. They hugged some more. Soon they were kissing and it was desperate, hungry kissing as both realized they had needed this for ages. Taylor's husband had lost his spark from the constant pressure of making babies. And Michael's wife had lost her spark from the pressures of a man whose lust could not be satisfied. But now they had discovered each other, both desperate and horny and eager. Michael eventually broke off the kissing and seized Taylor's ginger locks in his hands. He massaged her head and enjoyed the feeling of another woman's hair running through his fingers. It really is just like mine, he thought, just more of it. But soon his mind returned to why he had broken off the kissing; the time had come to test her commitment to their new understanding.

"On your knees," he commanded, "You're going to suck the first load into your mouth."

Taylor hadn't planned on that either, but now that she was his, there was no more hesitation. She obediently slid off his lap and down onto her knees. Michael's hands remained tangled in her hair. She leaned into his crotch and inhaled deeply, smelling him. She could detect salty sweat and a faint whiff of body wash as her nose ran along a stiff bulge, bigger than she was used to finding down there. She looked up at Michael with some trepidation. He had felt her nose discovering his manhood and liked the look on her face.

"Go on, take it out and tell me what you think."

Taylor undid his belt, his button, his zipper, each sound familiar and yet surreal and intoxicating to them both in this new situation. The blood was pounding in Michael's ears. She pulled his waistband toward her, reached into his briefs and closed her small hand around an enormous cock.

"Oh my god!"

Michael laughed. He knew his penis was large, but he'd never gotten this classic reaction; it made him even harder. She pulled it out and studied it, her eyes wide. Michael's circumcised member was thickly-veined and pulsing, but smooth to the touch with a big, soft, mushroom head that was the same color as his shaft flesh. Everything about it was big. It curved gently upward, straight toward her, a 10-inch specimen, so thick she could barely get her hand around it. Even his piss hole gaped large and she idly wondered what it would look like when thick spurts of white cum shot out of it.

Michael had to ask, "Am I bigger than you're used to?"

Taylor nodded and felt horrendous clit-tingling guilt for what she was doing to Jason, her faithful, loving, trusting spouse. "Yes."

"Am I bigger than your husband?"

"Yes."

"A lot bigger?"

"... Yes."

"Say it." and Michael gripped her hair a bit tighter and she acquiesced under his firm clutches.

"You're bigger than my husband. His cock isn't nearly as big as yours. Your cock is longer and thicker and your balls are bigger too. It's the most beautiful cock I've ever seen."

Michael sank back into the couch and relaxed. He loosened his grip on her hair and laughed. He felt like a god. Taylor began kissing his entire package, starting with his shaft, working her way down to his massive balls, back up to the tip , finally taking the head into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it in slow, methodical orbits. He tasted like he smelled, salt and fresh sweat. Michael groaned appreciatively and closed his eyes, letting go of her hair, content that his new woman was talented and committed to finishing the job without his guidance. There would be time enough for fucking her face with real purpose, he assured himself. For now, he wanted to appreciate her enthusiasm and obedience.

Next, Taylor began licking him in the same pattern that she had just kissed, working her way down his shaft to his balls. She sucked each one into her mouth. My little sperm factories, she thought. Down there on her knees, submitting to Michael's will, Taylor was taking solace in two facts: one, that no matter what Michael said, she was going to make sure his seed found its way into her womb every time, thereby giving the (many?) fuck sessions to come an air of credibility, at least in her own mind; and two, that her husband, her poor, kind, trusting husband, was never going to find out that she was another man's cock slut, another man's whore, a man who was bigger and stronger and sexier than Jason in every conceivable way. Her husband would be a father to her children and she would love him forever, but right now, and for many days to come, she belonged to Michael. That feeling was more powerful to her than love she realized, to her everlasting shame.

With that thought, she engulfed Michael's cock into her mouth and began blowing him in earnest, taking more and more of him with each down stroke, until her nose nearly reached his red, wiry pubes. She gagged. She couldn't quite make it, for his cock was truly massive, but given enough time she was sure it would slide all the way down her throat. She grabbed his cock at the base to use as a guide for how deep she could currently go. Faster and faster she bobbed, her lips expertly suctioning his shaft, her tongue lapping and swirling and worshiping. Michael groaned deeper and louder, his orgasm building in an ever-tightening scrotum. Taylor felt his thighs tense and his whole body stiffen. His cock grew yet again, impossibly big. She backed off until just the tip was in her mouth and she returned to swirling her tongue around the spongy head. She jerked him the rest of the way. She was ready for his cum, but not for the size of his load. He exploded with a guttural roar and blast after blast of hot, tangy semen filled her mouth and overflowed it, pouring down her chin onto her blouse. When he was finished, she scooted backward, off her knees and into a sitting position, holding the cum in her mouth. Michael eventually opened his eyes and found her staring at him. She opened her mouth and showed him his deposit. He was still breathing hard and the sight of her filled him with unspeakable pride. His orgasm was barely seconds behind him and already his cock began to twitch in anticipation of more to come.

"Swallow it." he ordered.

But Taylor shook her head. She unzipped her pants, loosened them to give herself access to her pussy and then, while Michael sat there practically mesmerized by the obscene display, she spit his load into her hand, reached into her panties and began rubbing his seed all over her slit. She laid down on her back, lifted her ass off the floor to allow gravity to assist her, and impaled herself with her sticky, cum-coated fingers. She kept staring at him the whole time.

"I will be your whore, Michael, I will do anything you ask. But all your cum will end up here. That's the price you pay for my obedience."

"I'm not sure insemination will work that way." Michael smiled.