Hostile Takeover
Max Levington was a monument to male arrogance—towering, bronzed, and carved from the kind of ruthless ambition that left scorched earth in its wake. Forty-one, twice divorced, his empire was built on shattered careers, broken hearts, and the unyielding belief that he owned every inch of the world he looked down upon. If he couldn’t fuck it or fire it, he crushed it beneath his heel, swallowing rivals and women alike in a hunger that never satisfied.
He swaggered through his office like a predator in a glass cage, every step pounding with the thunder of entitlement, every gaze a razor that stripped the souls of women who dared cross him. Complaints were jokes to him—HR was a playground, and his desk drawer held more Viagra than the pharmacy. He ruled with a merciless hand, his voice a whip crack in polished boardrooms and dimly lit after-hours dens where deals and desires blended.
Angela White had watched this carefully choreographed display of power for months. She had seen the way his eyes roved, lingering like hungry wolves on every passing woman—interns, assistants, secretaries—all stripped bare by his gaze before a single word was spoken. The way his fingers “accidentally” brushed the curve of a hip in the elevator, his murmur about “in-house assets” dripping with predatory promises. The way he never once remembered her name in public but whispered “Angel” in private like a joke he thought was his alone.
But Angela was no joke. She was the shadow lurking beneath his empire’s golden light—the succubus who had waited, patient as sin, biding her time until the moment was ripe.
Tonight, she would starve him of everything he thought he owned.
It began like every other twisted game in this glass labyrinth—Max called her late, a “private quarterly check-in,” an excuse soaked in false professionalism and dripping with promise. Two glasses of scotch slid across the polished wood, the amber liquid catching the glow of the city lights like fire in a bottle. But Max’s eyes weren’t on the papers; they were locked on the trembling edge of her blouse, the hint of bare skin beneath the last stubborn button.
“Long day,” he smirked, voice rough, “you look like you could use a drink. And maybe... a raise.”
Angela tilted her head, lips parting in a smile soft enough to lure a sinner but sharp enough to cut.
“You always so generous to your girls, sir?”
“Only the ones who earn it,” he growled, hips tightening against his slacks where his cock throbbed eager and arrogant.
She stepped closer, letting the faintest hesitation flicker across her features. Bit her lip. Dropped her eyes just long enough to make him think temptation had finally won.
He took the bait with the reckless greed of a man who thought himself invincible. His hand landed on her hip, fingers curling possessively. He pushed in close, breath hot against her skin.
“I’ve been watching you,” he whispered, a predator’s promise. “You’re not like the others.”
Angela giggled, low and knowing.
She took his drink, lips brushing the rim with a mocking grace. Then leaned in, breath warm against his ear.
“You have no idea what I am.”
Confusion flickered across his face, just a moment before she kissed him—soft at first, then sharp, teeth grazing, tongue claiming. Her hand dove to his belt, undoing him with a smooth, confident touch.
Max groaned, arching against the wall, hands gripping her with a smug grin, convinced he was in control.
“See something you like?” he chuckled, cock aching in her hand.
Angela’s smile deepened, eyes glowing with wicked delight. She slipped out of her dress.
“Oh yes,” she purred, “I love leftovers.”
Then she took him into her mouth with a hunger that stole the air from his lungs. Her throat closed tight, hot and slick, tongue curling under his shaft like a serpent coiling to crush. She sucked slow, suffocating, her cheeks hollowing as she drank him like a demon thirsting for dominion.
Max’s legs buckled, knees trembling as his body betrayed him.
“Oh fuuuuckk—shit—you’re a fuckin’ natural—”
She didn’t gag, didn’t moan—only drank, relentless and cold.
His climax shattered him in seconds, spurt after spurt painting her throat and chin, his screams echoing raw against the glass.
“FUCK—FUCK—I’m cumming—”
But she didn’t stop. His cock twitched, pulsing inside her, still hard, still leaking, shrinking visibly before his incredulous eyes—an inch, then two, his balls aching, hanging lower as they lost weight, lost strength.
Angela’s body shimmered in the dim light as she rose, nude, skin glowing faintly red, hair curling with heat and unholy power. Her lips, still shining with his seed, parted in a smile that was both cruel and triumphant.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited to ruin you?” she whispered, voice velvet dipped in venom.
“What the fuck are you?” Max gasped, voice breaking.
Angela grinned, sharp and final.
“H.R.”
Then she shoved him backwards, through his private bedroom, the door slamming shut behind them.
She climbed over him, goddess mounting prey. He struggled for a moment—then the truth crashed down and he surrendered, hips arching as her wet heat wrapped around him like fire and silk.
“NO—fuck—fuckkkk—”
His back arched, his cock pulsing wildly, orgasms crashing through him like waves in a storm. One. Two. Three. In under three minutes he was undone, screaming, begging, but powerless.
He watched in horror as his cock shrank before his eyes—seven inches, six, five, down to a twitching stump, then gone entirely.
His balls withered, skin puckering, pulling inward like frightened children retreating to safety.
Angela moaned softly, milking every last inch.
“That’s it,” she hissed. “Give it all up. Every drop. Every lie. Every inch you’ve ever used to hurt someone—mine.”
He tried to crawl away, but slipped and fell. She followed, sinking her lips over his cock again, draining the last flickers of his power.
He came mid-plea, voice strangled, body shuddering.
Four inches.
Three.
Two.
One.
Nothing.
Just a twitching stump pumping the last shreds of seed until it sputtered and died.
She licked her lips, standing over him like a conqueror surveying her ruined kingdom.
Max was broken.
Sobbing.
Moaning.
Touching where his cock had been, now a soft, glowing slit that pulsed with a new, terrifying life.
Angela snapped her fingers, and heat surged through his thighs.
His voice cracked high.
His chest tingled, swelled.
Nipples darkened, puffed, growing exquisitely sensitive.
Breasts blossomed—full, round, heavy—filling his trembling hands.
His voice faltered, sweet and girlish.
Angela smirked, “That’s right, baby. You were never a man. You were just a vessel.”
His hips cracked, flared.
His ass puffed into soft, juicy mounds of submission.
Hair lengthened, skin smoothed, lips plumped, every inch of him transformed.
She crouched beside him, fingers sliding over his new slit.
He shuddered, slick and twitchy, begging in a voice dripping with new submission.
“You’re mine now,” she whispered.
He whimpered, trembling.
“Y-yours, M-mistress...”
She licked his cheek.
“Good girl. Now lick this pussy.”
**********
Morning came, and Max was gone.
Mia sat at his desk, tight blouse, skirt hugging her new curves. Hair long, lashes fluttering, eyes bright with fresh power.
Angela passed by, smacking her ass.
“Meeting in five.”
Mia blushed, nodded, crossed her legs, hiding the wetness dripping down her thighs.
Her cock?
Not missed.
Because she had a better asset now.
And it loved to be filled.
