The Futa Pill: You Press Paris's Ass Down on the Desk and Fuck Her From the Front

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You're going to fuck her from the front so you can stare into her green eyes as you thrust deep into her. You're going to see the lust kindle. Watch as she whimpers and moans, eager for you to bury deep into her and cum hard. You want that badly. You ache for it. You're going to get back at your rival and make her your bitch.

Just the way she is.

“What are you fucking doing!” she gasps as you shove her down on your desk. She sits on your keyboard. Your computer beeps in protest.

“I'm fucking you hard,” you snarl as you shove up her light-blue pencil skirt. You expose more and more of her ivory thighs leading up towards her pussy covered by a black thong. She's shaved and you can tell she's soaked, darkening the cloth covering her snatch.

Your fingers wrench her thin gusset to the side, exposing her thick labia and a gold ring pierced through her clit. It's the kinkiest thing you've seen. Of course, she has a clit piercing. Your dick throbs. This is it.

“Time to get fucked by a futa!” you moan, lust to your lust.

You line up and thrust at her pussy.

Paris's hand shoots down. She seizes your cock right before you penetrate her pussy. Her grip is intense. She's crushing down on your new appendage. Her fingernails bite into the spongy flesh as agony shoots down the shaft and radiates through your pussy. You can feel it following the nerve endings, reaching up into your abdomen.

“Fuck!” you whimper, tears suddenly brimming in your eyes.

She twists your cock. Your entire body winces. Your knees buckle. You let out a whimper of protest, fighting the impulse to fall to your knees. It's the worst pain you've felt in your life. The tears spill down your cheeks as Paris...

Paris grins in delight.

“Well, well, well, you're like a guy in that respect, futa,” she hisses. “Mmm, you thought you'd be the top bitch, huh? Make me into your little slut with this cock?”

She squeezes again.

You clench your teeth to keep from screaming out as you half-bend over.

“Don't fight,” hisses Paris, “or I'll rip it off. You wanted to play big, didn't you?”

“I... I...”

She tugs hard as she rises, circling you until she's backing out of the cubicle and pulling you along with her. Her skirt works down her thighs as she walks, leading you along. You have no choice but to stumble after her. That grip is intense.

It's like nothing you've experienced.

You totter on your heels as she leads you by the futa-dick past other cubicles. The men and women inside are working, hardly noticing what is happening. You could cry out for help, hoping someone get her off of you, but they'll see what you are. Or you can let her take you to... you're not sure where you're being taken. All you know is it hurts.

What do you do?

Do you cry out for help? 

Do you keep quiet and let Paris lead you by the dick?