Ch 2 — The Breast Reduction Threat

The engineers at Vieregg Industries had never been happier. Their productivity had soared, their sick leave had plummeted, and their morale surveys were practically glowing with the kind of suspicious enthusiasm usually only seen in cults or particularly aggressive multi-level marketing schemes.

Even Vieregg himself, a man constitutionally incapable of recognizing his own luck, was beginning to suspect that he might have done something right.

This suspicion only deepened during his latest visit to his parents, where his father, Carl Vieregg—who possessed all the warmth of an audit notice—sat scrutinizing company reports with the kind of intensity usually reserved for blood test results.

“Son,” Carl said, flipping through the pages. “I have no idea how you managed to so radically transform the company.”

A pause. A long, thoughtful pause. The kind of pause that suggested Carl was struggling with an unfamiliar sensation—praise.

“I honestly thought something was wrong with the numbers,” Carl admitted, his voice edged with the reluctant awe of a scientist realizing that his lab rat had somehow learned to file taxes. “But this is real. Real.” He exhaled sharply. “Son, I am truly sorry I so thoroughly underestimated your leadership skills. The way you managed to turn this company around is nothing short of genius.”

Povel Vieregg, a man who had been waiting for his father’s approval with all the patience of a houseplant waiting for rain, was basking. Basking. He felt like an abandoned puppy finally being acknowledged by its emotionally distant owner.

For years, he had been the family black sheep. A deeply disappointing son, reluctantly made CEO only after his far more promising younger sister, Petra, had made some unsavory life choices—choices so unsavory that they were now classified information.

In the Vieregg household, Petra was a forbidden topic. She had been removed from Christmas cards, family trees, and, quite possibly, reality itself. Vieregg had never dared to question this decision. He had simply nodded along, gone with the program, and accepted the new, Petra-less universe in which he now resided.

Yes, these were good times. Good, golden, father-approved times.

But there was just one tiny problem.

Vieregg knew, with the certainty of a man who had not done the work on a group project but was still receiving the A+, that his success had absolutely nothing to do with his leadership skills.

No. The company’s performance had skyrocketed for one singular, undeniable reason:

He had hired Idun Amalie Wang.

Vieregg’s engineers, a devout and technically competent sect of geekdom, had spent their lives in a world almost entirely devoid of female presence. Their social skills had atrophied like vestigial limbs, their understanding of women mostly based on anime, badly written sci-fi novels, and one particularly misleading summer spent playing Mass Effect.

And then, suddenly, Idun Amalie Wang.

She was, as far as they were concerned, a gift from the Machine God Himself.

Coming to work had taken on a new and glorious purpose. Seeing her walk down the lab, her big ass swaying side to side in a manner that surely violated several natural laws, while her breasts wobbled and bounced in a synchronized ballet of defiance against physics, had given life an entirely new meaning.

The engineers—men who could typically only be lured away from their workstations with the promise of free pizza or a newly released Linux kernel—had found a new reason to be present. Their dedication to their craft intensified, driven by the misguided but deeply held belief that if they excelled at their job, Idun would take particular interest in them.

It was a naïve assumption, but not an entirely irrational one.

These were geeks, and in their world, status was dictated by technical excellence. The man who could optimize an algorithm, build a more efficient power system, or deliver the most elegant lines of code was, by all measures, the alpha male. It only made sense that Idun—who was perfect—would judge them by the same standards.

And so, one by one, they paraded their latest innovations before her, eager to impress.

She always seemed thrilled to talk it over. A girl who liked technology? A real girl, not an internet profile suspiciously resistant to video calls? It was heaven.

Vieregg, meanwhile, had taken the time to learn more about the woman who had unwittingly revolutionized his company.

Idun, as it turned out, had grown up in the Eastfold as a tomboy petrolhead. She had spent her youth fixing cars and participating in races, speaking in a broad, unmistakably Eastfold dialect that declared, in no uncertain terms, that she was no dress-up bimbo. She didn’t talk like a bimbo. She didn’t act like a bimbo. She was, by all measures, one of the boys—which, paradoxically, made her even more beloved.

A few dozen engineers, men who had resigned themselves to a lonely future of ergonomic keyboards and suspiciously curated anime figurine collections, had suddenly entered a delusional state wherein each of them, personally, believed they could be Idun’s future husband.

Vieregg had quickly realized that this was a very useful delusion.

The Idun Factor was immense, and under no circumstances was he going to jeopardize it.

Which is why he would never, ever, tell his father the real reason for the company’s meteoric success. How could he possibly admit that their entire competitive edge, their entire newfound prosperity, was entirely due to the sculpted perfection of Miss Idun Amalie Wang’s breasts?

Instead, he had to invent vague, convoluted explanations about synergies and operational efficiency, which only made him sound like even more of a genius.

The truth, of course, was far simpler.

He had hired Idun because she had made him very horny that day in the job interview.

And now, thanks to that particular lapse in professional integrity, the company was thriving.

So much so, in fact, that it had drawn the attention of Imperial Norway itself.

“Son, I spoke with some of my old connections,” Carl Vieregg said, swirling his glass of Swedish apple cider, which he regarded with the same level of appreciation most men reserved for fine art. “The Matriarchs over in Imperial Norway want us to build up a large facility in Oslo.”

Vieregg nearly choked on his drink. “Wait—really? We’ve been trying to make that happen for years!”

Carl nodded. “My unofficial channels say they’re very pleased with what you’ve been doing with the subsea atmospheric suite.” A beat. “But more importantly, they love the work you’ve done on armor and Gauss guns. They’re ready to put a lot of money into this.” He leaned back, setting down his glass with great reverence. “And I mean a lot.”

Vieregg’s heart pounded. This was huge. This was the kind of deal that could put Vieregg Industries in an entirely new league.

“Very cool, Dad! What do we need to do to make this happen?” Vieregg asked, already envisioning himself as the mastermind of yet another triumph.

“Ever heard of Imperial Towers?”

“No, not really,” Vieregg admitted, twirling his cider glass in what he hoped looked like a gesture of thoughtful sophistication.

“You’ll see them if you ever set foot in Imperial Norway. Massive black towers, dotted with red signaling lights to guide Imperial Airships in for docking. Think Berlin, World War II flak towers—except bigger, meaner, and designed by people who took fortress architecture very personally.”

Vieregg frowned. “So… they’re anti-aircraft structures?” He recalled that Nazi Germany’s flak towers had been intended for air defense, but by the time Berlin fell, they had essentially functioned as medieval castles—impenetrable fortresses that even the Red Army couldn’t dismantle, only maneuver around.

“Exactly,” Carl said, refilling his cider with the slow precision of a man who considered Swedish apple cider a form of religion. “These things are built in layers of granite, reinforced concrete, and composite materials. Absolute monsters. And they don’t just look intimidating—they’ve got rocket launchers, particle accelerators, the whole package. They can knock out almost anything approaching.”

Vieregg raised an eyebrow. “Paranoid much?”

Carl took another sip. “Novi Soviets. They never want to live through that occupation again. And honestly, can you blame them?”

Vieregg conceded the point with a shrug.

“Anyway,” Carl continued, “that paranoia gives us an opportunity. They want an arms factory inside one of the Oslo towers, producing our armor and Gauss guns. Actually, they want the entire lab and development team stationed over there. They want to keep that competency domestic.”

Vieregg hesitated. “Is that smart, though? Just giving them our technology?”

Carl chuckled. “Giving? Son, they’ve got deep pockets. They’ll pay a ton of money for this. Believe me, it will be worth it.”

It was hard to argue with money.

And so, as Vieregg saw it, his golden age continued. His leadership had been validated, the company was expanding, and Vieregg Industries was going nowhere but up.

Up, up, and further up.

Or so he thought.

Because that was when the problems started.

First, sick leave shot up.

Then, deadlines started slipping.

Then, mental health issues—panic attacks, depressive episodes, stress leaves.

Then, outright hostility. Anxiety-ridden engineers were snapping at one another, tension crackling through the office like a poorly insulated power grid. People were bursting into arguments, something unheard of in a workplace where most social interaction previously consisted of debating the merits of different CPU architectures.

Vieregg was perplexed.

What was going on?

Was the Idun Effect over?

He had to get to the bottom of this.

Vieregg assembled a small delegation of engineers—his finest minds, his most dedicated workforce, the men who had, until recently, propelled his company toward the stars.

Per Lundin from Subsea was there, along with Alfred Ek, head of personal armor development, and a couple of other trusted engineers. Their usual enthusiasm, however, was conspicuously absent.

Vieregg leaned forward. “Guys, what is going on here? This company was thriving. We were making history! And now—this.” He gestured at the growing pile of absentee reports, the missed deadlines, the engineers slumped over their workstations, staring blankly at flickering AR overlays and abandoned polymer paper schematics. Some of them had even stopped bothering to adjust their goggles, leaving them sitting lopsided on their heads like forgotten sunglasses. It was a level of apathy bordering on the tragic.

“Burnouts. People losing motivation. I need answers.”

Silence.

They all stared at their desks, eyes unfocused, as though the blueprints before them held some secret meaning they were too emotionally shattered to decipher. Nobody wanted to speak.

Until finally, Alfred raised his head.

“It’s… Idun, boss.”

Vieregg blinked. “Idun?”

“She told some of the guys that she’s planning a… a… breast and butt reduction,” Alfred said, his voice laced with the kind of existential dread usually reserved for news of impending asteroids.

Vieregg frowned. “Okay…” He tried to process the information. It didn’t compute.

Now Per looked up. “It’s really hit the guys hard, boss. I gotta admit, it’s been hard on me too.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “The thought—the sheer, unbearable thought—of a beautiful young woman like Idun destroying those… those magnificent, divinely sculpted breasts that God himself has bestowed upon her is beyond the pale.”

Alfred jumped in, his voice rising with distress. “Yes! I can’t even think about it! If I start thinking about it, it’s just too much, you know? It overwhelms you!” He ran his hands through his hair, clearly on the verge of collapse.

“You come in to the office every morning,” Alfred continued, “and what keeps you going, what truly brightens your day, is seeing Idun walk down the aisle, those big beautiful breasts wobbling with every step. It’s—it’s life itself, boss. And then that big, beautiful butt passes by, and—”

He stopped himself, closing his eyes as if reliving a sacred memory.

“And you give it a nice, good slap,” he whispered.

Nisse, who had been quiet until now, suddenly spoke up. “How can she do this to us?” His voice trembled with something that sounded suspiciously like heartbreak. “Several of us have… organized support groups.”

Vieregg stared. “Support groups?”

“Yes, boss,” Nisse nodded solemnly. “Support groups. We sit around, and we talk about how much Idun’s boobs have meant to us—in our work lives.”

Vieregg felt an anxiety attack creeping in. He could certainly use one of these support groups right about now.

“We share stories,” Nisse continued, eyes glassy with emotion. “Stories of when some of us got to touch them. The transcendence of the experience. Mostly the guys fitting the armor. Or us in Subsea.”

The room fell into reverent silence.

Vieregg slowly exhaled. “Okay, guys. I think I’ve heard enough.”

The engineers nodded, as if he had just presided over a difficult but necessary confession.

“Thanks for your frankness,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “These are hard times. Difficult. Unprecedented.” He paused dramatically. “But listen—I promise to get to the bottom of this. I’ll talk to Idun and see what we can work out. I’m sure there’s a solution here. I’m sure Idun will understand just how important her boobs are to the… mental well-being of this company.”

A wave of relief swept through the room. Shoulders relaxed. Breathing steadied. The engineers patted Vieregg on the back as they left, their faith in leadership momentarily restored.

“Thanks, boss!”

“Really appreciate it, boss!”

“We love you, man!”

Vieregg exhaled. Now he understood the issue. Now he could fix this.

This should not be difficult.

This should be easy.

The next day, Vieregg summoned Idun to his office.

This was a bold move. The last time they had spoken, she had been yelling at him. And the time before that, also yelling. There was a pattern emerging. But Vieregg had confidence that, this time, he would handle things with tact and professionalism.

Five minutes later, his confidence was shattered.

“You are such an unbelievable fucking sexist asshole!” Idun yelled, practically in his face.

Hear Idun talk in her own voice

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This was not going according to plan.

Vieregg felt his brain scrambling to process the situation. Unfortunately, another part of him was also scrambling to process the situation, because Idun was leaning over his desk, furious, and those were very large breasts pressing against him as she invaded his personal space.

Focus, Vieregg. Focus.

“You are telling me,” Idun continued, her voice dripping with the kind of venom that could dissolve steel, “that me getting a breast reduction and butt reduction will cause psychological damage to my fellow employees?”

Vieregg nodded, relieved that she seemed to be following his logic. “Yeah, I mean… we’ve got several support groups going already. This whole breast reduction talk is really crushing the guys.”

Idun’s eyes widened, her entire body vibrating with incredulity.

“I don’t think you understand,” Vieregg continued helpfully, “just how much your boobs mean to the men working here. It’s something to look forward to every morning! You know, you walk down the lab, your, uh—assets—wobbling, and morale skyrockets. It’s a vital part of the work environment.”

Vieregg delivered this explanation with calm, rational clarity, certain that once Idun understood the stakes, she would see reason.

This did not appear to be happening.

Instead, Idun shoved him backward, rolled her eyes so violently that Vieregg was momentarily concerned they might pop out of her skull, and threw up her hands.

“What the fuck is wrong with men!?”

She made several aborted attempts to form words, her hands gesturing wildly, before finally settling on sheer, unfiltered rage.

Idun complaining about men to Vieregg

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“Do you have any clue how insanely objectifying you are?” she demanded. “To all of you, I’m just—just—” She gestured furiously at herself. “A pair of boobs and an ass in the office! That’s it! I got hired as a mechanical engineer. Not as a stripper. Not as a whore. Not as a goddamn workplace mascot!”

Vieregg held up his hands in what he hoped was a calming manner. “No, no, you misunderstand, Idun. We all love you here. Everyone loves you.”

“No!” she snapped. “You don’t love me! You love my fucking tits!”

Vieregg flinched. That hit… uncomfortably close to home.

“If you actually loved me, you’d care about how I feel!” Idun continued, her voice starting to shake, as though fury was giving way to something else. “But no. All you sexist assholes in this company can think about is yourselves. Your own selfish desire to jerk off to my body.”

Vieregg felt personally attacked. It was unfair, really. He, personally, had never done that. Probably.

Idun inhaled sharply. “Has anyone—anyone—ever asked me why I want a breast reduction?”

Silence.

“No!” Idun answered for him. “You didn’t ask me, Vieregg. You didn’t fucking care.”

Vieregg suddenly realized this conversation was going very, very badly. He scrambled to recover.

“Sorry. Of course, I should have asked.” He forced a smile, trying to sound reasonable. “Why, Idun? Why do you want to do this? Is your back hurting?”

Idun’s expression shifted. Her shoulders tensed, and for the first time in the conversation, she hesitated.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter.

“Because of how you’ve all been treating me here for months.”

Vieregg blinked.

“But we’ve been so welcoming,” he protested, genuinely confused. “Happy to have you here.”

Idun let out a short, humorless laugh. “Welcoming?”

She shook her head. “Every day—every fucking day—you’re all staring at my boobs and my ass. Every day, whispering your little jokes behind my back. And whenever I try to be a team player, whenever I help out, whether it’s with the Subsea guys or the Armor team, you always—always—end up putting me in a suit that’s too fucking small.”

Vieregg swallowed.

“They deliberately make the bra part too tight, so my tits get squeezed out all over the place,” she continued, her voice now dangerously calm. “Then you all stand around, pretending to be shocked. ’Oh wow, Idun, we had no idea your boobs were so huge!’”

Idun mimicked the faux-innocence in a tone so cutting it could have been used as an industrial laser.

“But your boobs are unusually large. It’s an honest mistake,” Vieregg tried, in what he would later reflect was perhaps the worst possible response.

“Not twenty times in a row, Vieregg!” Idun snapped. “Your engineers cannot keep making that same ‘mistake’! You use every opportunity to rub it in my face how huge my boobs are. Every day, I’m a walking joke. Every day, I’m a freak for your entertainment. Boys will be boys, right?”

Her eyes were wet now.

Vieregg, for the first time in his life, was beginning to suspect he might have miscalculated something.

Idun exhaled sharply. “You know what makes this the biggest joke?”

Vieregg gulped. “Uh. No?”

She let out a bitter laugh, looking up at the ceiling like she was asking the gods for patience.

“I’m a sex addict,” she said flatly. “Every woman in Norway is a sex addict, thanks to that fucking DOLL-3 retrovirus altering my DNA in childhood. That’s why I have these damn huge boobs in the first place. It’s also why I have to expend every ounce of willpower trying to be professional in a workplace full of fucking idiots.”

Vieregg, whose brain had been bravely attempting to process this information, abruptly lost the ability to think entirely at Idun’s next words.

“I masturbate in my breaks,” she said, her voice edged with despair. “With half a dozen sex toys I bring to the office just to get through the day. If I don’t, I get brain fog. Severe concentration problems. Sex isn’t a hobby for me, Vieregg. It’s a biological necessity.”

Vieregg’s brain completely short-circuited.

Because while Idun was explaining her genuine personal struggle, Vieregg’s brain—his useless, fucking idiot brain—was conjuring very vivid imagery of the hottest girl he had ever met, desperate and needy, stuffing herself with sex toys between meetings.

It was too much.

He tried to fight it.

He really tried.

But the sheer force of Idun’s existence overwhelmed him, and before he could stop himself—

He came in his pants.

Idun’s face contorted into an expression that was equal parts disgust, disbelief, and mild amusement.

“I just got you to cum in your pants, didn’t I?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

Vieregg let out a deeply unconvincing laugh. “*Hahaha, that’s a good one! Very funny. Now why would I—why would I do that? Hah. Ridiculous.”

Idun folded her arms. “You guys do it all the time here.”

Vieregg had no response to that.

Idun sighed, rubbing her temple. Then, with a sudden mood shift so sharp it could snap necks, she smirked, licking her lips.

“You know,” she said slowly, “I should be disgusted by you all.”

Vieregg blinked.

“But actually?” Idun continued, stepping closer. “I like to suck cock.”

Vieregg blinked again.

“Why don’t we pull those pants down?” Idun purred. “Show me your dick, glazed with cum, and let me lick it clean, Vieregg.”

“Oh, God,” Vieregg barely managed to whisper—right before he came again.

Idun arched an eyebrow, hands on her hips. “And there you just did it again.”

Vieregg blushed so hard his skin felt like it was boiling.

Oh, how embarrassing, he thought.

“You know,” Idun continued casually, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since I started here.”

Vieregg’s entire worldview imploded.

He swallowed. “Wha—you—you have?”

“But you know what’s stopped me?”

Vieregg’s soul hung on her next words.

She leaned in. “That you’re such a sexist asshole.”

Vieregg felt like he had just been hit by a truck.

“I want to tell myself I have some self-respect,” Idun went on, her voice dripping with anger. “That despite being a sex-addicted cum slut, I’m not going to degrade myself with just any man. That I’ll only share my private moments with someone who actually respects me. Who cares about me, not just my tits, ass, pussy, or whatever your favorite part of me is.”

Vieregg’s entire body was screaming internally.

I had—no, I HAVE—a chance with Idun Amalie Wang? The hottest woman I have ever met?! And I BLEW IT because I’m a sexist asshole?!

His entire life flashed before his eyes.

Idun exhaled, shaking her head. “If I get a breast reduction… if I can look normal… maybe people will judge me for who I am, rather than what I look like. Maybe I can find someone who values me for me—and not just my tits.”

Then, without warning—

She started pulling down Vieregg’s pants.

“Wait—what are you doing?!” Vieregg yelped.

Idun giggled, licking her lips eagerly. “I’m a cum addict, and I know you’ve got some for me.”

“This—this is not appropriate! I’m your boss!”

Too late.

His pants hit the floor.

Vieregg barely had time to comprehend his situation before Idun pulled down his boxers, and his cum-caked cock popped out like a perverse jack-in-the-box.

Idun smirked. “So, let me get this straight. You can sexualize me, objectify me, talk dirty about me, jerk off to me for months—but me getting some dick, once, is too far?”

Vieregg’s brain had officially left the building.

“You had yours,” Idun whispered. “Now, I want mine.”

She grabbed his cock, and before Vieregg could form a single coherent thought, his dick was inside Idun’s mouth.

“Oh, so this is what heaven feels like,” Vieregg thought, as Idun sucked and licked every last drop of cum off his cock with obscene enthusiasm.

And then she kept going.

A sloppy, wet, desperate blowjob, until Vieregg came a third time.

By the end, he was barely conscious.

Idun stood up, licking her lips with satisfaction.

“Don’t think this means anything, Vieregg,” she said coolly. “It’s just a physical need.”

Vieregg, still recovering from what might have been a literal religious experience, tried to process her words.

Idun smirked. “You’re still a total sexist asshole who just proved why I need to get this breast surgery done.”

She turned, ready to leave.

Panic surged through Vieregg’s brain. This was bad. He had somehow just received the best blowjob of his life while simultaneously losing his best employee—and possibly his company’s entire future.

“No, please, Idun!” he blurted. “I can fix this! Don’t have the surgery! Just—just listen! I have an offer for you!”

Idun paused, arms crossed, clearly debating whether this was worth her time.

Vieregg wasn’t entirely sure what he was about to say. He was operating purely on desperation now, flailing wildly for some kind of lifeline.

“I’m taking you with me to Oslo!” he announced, as though this had been the plan all along. “Back to your motherland! We’ll build up a Vieregg Industries factory there! Imperial Norwegian law requires a woman to formally lead the project. That can be you.”

Idun raised an eyebrow. The smirk vanished, replaced by something more calculating—surprise. Intrigue.

Vieregg was onto something.

“I’ll talk to the guys here,” he continued, doubling down on this sudden strategy. “I’ll tell them to treat you better. I’ll—I’ll work on myself! I’ll try to improve! Just… just give me a week.” He gulped. “One week. And then we’re off to Norway. You won’t have to deal with these guys ever again.”

He was pleading now, laying it all on the table, his eyes filled with earnest desperation.

Unfortunately, his dick was still hanging out of his pants.

Idun took in the sight of her supposedly serious, supposedly professional boss giving an impassioned speech about gender equality while his half-hard, post-orgasm cock flopped awkwardly in the open air.

She chuckled.

Then shook her head.

“Vieregg,” she said, amusement clear in her voice, “you are a fucking mess.”

Vieregg hastily tucked himself away, scrambling to restore some sense of dignity.

“Sorry!” he said quickly. “This will never happen again. I’ll be professional. We will be professional.”

Idun smirked again. “Sure, Vieregg. Very professional.”

She turned, finally leaving the office.

Vieregg exhaled, collapsing into his chair.

His brain had no idea what had just happened.

But somehow—somehow—he had bought himself a second chance.