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She bends over to root through her props, and just as I’m getting a sense of her ass, she pops back up with a feather duster.
That’s what I’m talking about.
Looking back at me with a little smile, she starts swinging it around, as if she’s really using it.
And she starts humming. Seriously. And damned if it doesn’t sound like some kind of song you hear in church.
My balls had already been tight but now they’re screaming in protest, begging for the relief I’d starved them of for the past few days.
Calm down, you bastards. You’re about to get off.
I’m going to make this last. At least for the hour or so I’ve got the room for.
“That’s very good, Izzy,” I bark, following her movement. “Now, sweetie, while you’re working on that, could you just unbutton your dress for me? Not all the way, though. Just enough to see your tits.”
She might have been across the room from me, pretending to dust, but I clearly see that she stiffens at my request. Slowly turning, she finally faces me with an expression of combined humility and defiance.
And now, my dick’s full-on hard, straining against the trousers belonging to my three-thousand-dollar suit. I reach down to adjust myself, really wanting to just whip it out, but forcing myself to slow down. The session cost me a thousand dollars, after all, and while that’s a drop in the bucket with regard to my finances, I didn’t get rich by being a spendthrift.
Actually, I got rich ‘acquiring’ large contracts for building and trucking projects, and other lucrative activities like facilitating the movement of drugs, stolen art, and antiquities. Things like that, which, while incredibly profitable, have made it hard to have a woman in my life. A permanent woman, that is.
Thus, why Club Sin is so important to me.
Izzy’s wide-eyed gaze is directed right where I’m stroking myself with my flattened palm, and I widen my stance for more breathing room in my boxers.
Damn if her lips don’t open the tiniest amount, followed by the tip of her pink tongue moistening them.
Tucking the dusting tool under her arm, she reaches for her dress buttons, starting at the very top. When she gets to those just between her tits, she arches a little, pulling open the dress, and by god, this lovely little thing is not wearing a bra.
Thatta girl.
“What did I tell you about wearing a bra under your uniform, Izzy? Do you want to be like all those other sluts out there? Not wearing proper undergarments?”
She looks down and shyly unbuttons one more. “N… no. I don’t want to be a… slut, sir. But… I… can’t afford a bra,” she says in a whisper.
I cross my arms hard. “Why didn’t you tell me this, Izzy? If you need money, you know I’ll give it to you. Now, are you pantyless too? Because you’d better not be.”
The swell of her small breasts is just so delightful—thank god she doesn’t have fake tits, I am so over them—and when she reaches the buttons at her waistline, I catch my first glimpse of her firm tummy.
This girl is so what I need right now because there, what I am so goddamn desperate for I would actually have paid ten thousand dollars instead of one, before me is a peek at the waistband of her white cotton panties.
Goddamn.
“I do have underpants on, sir. Just like you told me. I… I don’t want to be a slut. Like those other girls,” she breathes. “Those sluts.”
She says it with just the right amount of disdain.
Oh god, my cock is aching. This girl is beautiful and plays the innocent with skill unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed. And I’ve done scenes with a hell of a lot of women, some where I paid, like this one, and some with women who were so good they should have been paid.
It’s my thing. What can I say?
“You look very pretty, Izzy,” I say, wondering how much longer I would be able to keep my cock in my pants.
She looks down at her sneakers, all blushing shyness.
Goddamn, this girl is gonna be my new favorite.
“Thank you, sir,” she says so quietly I can barely hear her.
