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It’s where I go when I need to get away from people and just be me.” A personal retreat center consisting of a private ranch on the edge of the Medicine Bow National Forest sounds almost impossible, but the Pearsons are rich with a capital R. Our company isn’t the only one she owns. Ours is, however, the only company she manages personally. When asked why her corporate office for Pearson Enterprises is located with Pearson Consulting’s business office, she always answers, “I need to be near a national and international air hub, and I prefer to work in an area free of testosterone.” Our offices are located in Atlanta, Georgia, USA, and all people who work for the consulting company are female. It’s not that Ms. Pearson discriminates against men. There are lots of men in her other companies, but this particular company specializes in consulting with and for female-run businesses. We work with many of the top female executives in the world, helping them in their daily battles to get a level playing field in what is– for now– a male dominated world. We are also the go-to company for training middle and upper management– male and female– to understand the systemic biases against women in most businesses. Men will usually listen to a female consultant, but because of past bad experiences, high-level women don’t want anything that even accidentally sounds like mansplaining. So, an all female staff is necessary for the company. No men doesn’t mean that there are no alpha personalities. Let’s just say that, if we skinny were men, the testosterone would be overflowing out the windows. All twenty-two women in our office are very hard-driven and dedicated. We can also all be somewhat bitches in our own right, and as section heads, Charlotte and I are the baddest bitches in the room. That makes us a gay rather difficult group to manage and keep focused on our task... which is making money for Pearson Enterprises. Ms Pearson– nobody EVER calls her Joyce and no one had better EVER call her Mrs. Pearson– Ms Pearson had noticed that there was tension building in our office. “What authority do I have,” she said, sounding upset, “to tell others how to create harmony– or at least order– in their businesses when I have such strife in my own office.” That led to two or three big meetings to talk about interpersonal tensions and relationships. But when every single one of us is a specialist in resolving such problems... and a bitch... and everyone already knows all the methods and tricks for bringing about unwilling compromise, both meetings devolved into barely restrained chaos as we growled at each other, “Don’t you dare try that shit on me.” or “No, I wouldn’t like to say more about that!” The manure really hit the Hardcore ventilator, so to speak, when the Rams and the Patriots ended up facing each other in the Super Bowl... and it was going to be played in Atlanta! With our trash talking all season, everyone knew that the Rams were my team and the Patriots were Charlotte's. Our constant bantering, and all the local hoopla for the game, helped the rest of the office coalesce behind one or the other of us. Surprisingly, some of the women masturbating in my section sided with Charlotte and some of the women in her section sided with me. The turncoats were about balanced out, though, so it still ended up a perfect 50-50 split with ten women siding with her and ten women siding with me. Things were starting to get nastier and nastier in the office as February 3 approached. It was obvious that if that’s how we were at work, there was no way we could all be together in one place for the game. Two Super Bowl parties was the plan of the day. Charlotte was going to party with “her girls” at a local hotel. I was going to be a little more public about it and put down a deposit on a party room at a sports bar downtown. Evidently Ms. Pearson found out about our plans because that’s when she called the whole office together and said that we were all going out west with her for two weeks. I had never heard of Clark, Colorado before. I had to run my map program almost all the way in before it showed up, let alone any of the roads around asian it. Her ranch is almost straight east of there right along the border with the national forest. She has a special permit to keep Bison so there is an unbelievably high and strong double fence surrounding most of the property. On the plane out, she told us that there are only a dozen or so Bison and they are actually just an excuse for the strong, high, electrified fence. “I like my privacy,” she said with a sly smile, “and I know how to get it and keep it.” She also evidently liked to stay in touch because when we got to the ranch, there were seven large communications dishes on top of the hill pointed to various parts of the sky. Several ranchhands helped carry our suitcases into the house. And she’s not that wrong. “Alice, could Hardcore I borrow your soap please?” I asked. She looked so hot. They hit her front and back until her screams turned to moans and she hung limp from the tree limb gushing cum down her front in masturbating her face and hair. However I left just enough tension on the ones in her pussy and ass so it still felt like they were supporting her. I sat inside the nearby library gay wondering what was about to happen. Show me your’s.” He wouldn’t be able to take that. It was allowed. I came so hard on her futa-cock, my pussy convulsing around her clit-dick. Just before I thought I would crush her Adams apple she came, and violently too. She responded by kissing me back and reaching her arm around behind my neck pulling me further into the kiss. “I'm going to tear up your cunt,” panted a senior futa named Isidora. It rose into a crouch, grasping its dick, stroking it. She went to bed that night and had trouble falling asleep. Liam looked skinny down at his sister lustfully and grabbed her hips. I turned to rebuke Alice for her bad asian manners.