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“No bra,” she said with finality. “Not necessary.”
And I’d given in because I was young, inexperienced, and it was my first day. I figured I’d slip some lingerie on afterwards, when I had some time to myself.
But now that no-bra command was my downfall. Because as my girls came into view, it was obvious I as desperately turned on, the pink tips like bullets pointing straight at Mr. Dawson.
And he looked right back, that gaze hungry like a ravenous lion.
“Very nice,” he rumbled, eyes eating me up, trailing all over that creamy flesh. “Very nice.”
But he didn’t touch me. Not yet at least.
“Kneel,” was his command. “Right here,” he said, gesturing to the aisle next to his seat.
I gasped again. I was supposed to kneel at his side like an obedient dog? But it got worse because dog was too generous a description. Instead, I was supposed to kneel at his side like a silent piece of furniture, an ornament even, the almonds proffered on my creamy breasts, available for his pleasure.
And what could I do? I’d already gone so far. My dress was already scrunched down to my waist, big boobies out. The pink nipples were hard as diamonds, and the smell of hungry pussy had begun to waft in the air.
Oh god, oh god.
Because the billionaire could detect it for sure.
Those patrician nostrils flared, sensing the aroma of aroused female, and another knowing grin crossed his face.
“Down,” he commanded, blue eyes seizing mine.
And with trembling legs, I obeyed.
Slowly, I lowered my curvy form so that I knelt next to the billionaire in the aisle, facing his lap. And then my small hands swept upwards, sliding over my waist until they cupped my tits, the flesh overflowing.
“Push ‘em together,” he growled, voice tight. “Tight so it’s like a plate.”
Oh god, the strong smell of wet cunt was unmistakable in the air now. A slight sheen of sweat broke out on my back, but there was no denying the alpha. Because never taking my eyes from his, I obeyed. Cupping my tits, I pushed them up and together so they formed a luscious tableau, a human plate for his pleasure.
And Mr. Dawson was pleased indeed. His eyes ate everything up, sweeping over my kneeling form, the subservient angle of my bent head.
“Perfect,” he rasped. “Perfect, pretty girl. I like it. A lot.”
And with that, he casually scattered a handful of almonds across my white breasts. A couple bounced, leaving small trails of salt, but pretty soon I was adorned like a milk-white platter.
My boobs, naked and creamy, pushed up so that they formed a flat surface.
The nuts scattered carelessly across my flesh, a few even sliding into the shadowy crevice in between.
And Mr. Dawson grinned then, that white smile flashing.
“Perfect, Ms. Evans,” he drawled. “Thank you for setting this up.”
And with that, he leaned back in his chair, opening his newspaper with a snap.
Was that all?
Was I really a piece of furniture, nothing more?
It seemed like it for sure.
But then one big hand snaked out, trailing lightly over my sensitive tits until finding a nut. Then he popped it into his mouth, eyes meeting mine over the paper.
“Tastes good,” the man growled. “Real good.”
