Hey to all my fans and my one stalwart hater (I love you just as much) I hope you enjoy this one. I think it's one of my better paced stories and I'm pretty proud of the dialogue. Please let me know what you think via the contact information on my profile page.
*****
It had been the worst fucking shift. Customers had been rude and mostly leaving shit tips. One asshole actually had the nerve to write on his receipt that my "big rack" had made him "forget his wallet" and he'd dashed without paying at all. Then, because the universe hates me apparently, one of the buttons on my shirt popped off and zinged across the room, rubbing in the fact that yes, I do in fact have a big huge stupid rack. To add insult to injury, I had already been trying to show them off a bit, the blouse had a plunging neckline that revealed acres of my creamy cleavage, why did they have to go off and try to show off on their own?
The damned things are just huge. Don't get the picture? You could put a honeydew melon in each of my bra cups and still have room left over. When my tits aren't destroying shirts, knocking over glasses and getting me creepy letters from assholes, they're resting uncomfortably in one of my expensive-ass custom-made bras. Today's was a white lace number, barely-present frills of fabric teasing at covering my humongous pair while actually doing very little to make that happen, serving them up and squeezing them together. I won't lie and say they haven't had the benefit of getting me out of a traffic ticket from time-to-time, but mostly they're just a hassle.
But I digress. The crap icing on the crap cake of this crappy day was one of the last customers of the night. He was at least easy on the eyes, I'll give him that. The hostess had seated him and given me a strange eyebrow raise on my way to pour his water and take his order. He was handsome, to be sure, with neatly cut brown hair and what looked like a fit figure beneath his bespoke suit. He was tall, I think over six feet though it was hard to tell with him sitting.
I don't know why someone who looked like money would be eating in our simple diner, but he definitely was rich given that he ordered our most expensive steak, our finest red wine, which he oddly insisted we not open, and coffee. Then he did the worst thing imaginable. I didn't see him leave when he was done, but when I came to pick up the check something was wrong.
First of all, the bottle of wine had been left behind. Maybe he forgot, but I seriously doubt someone drops three hundred dollars on overpriced Merlot and then just forgets it. I got excited when I opened the waiter-wallet (check-presenter is the official term) and saw that there were a bunch of a bills. But then when I took them out there was something else, a hotel key-card left in the credit-card holder. He'd scrawled "Room 517" on the little paper sleeve it came in.
A bottle of wine. Five-hundred dollars. A keycard. It all fit together and pointed to one inescapable conclusion: He thought I was a fucking prostitute! Just because I have big tits!
I cleared his table so angrily I broke the coffee mug when I slammed it into the dish-bin. I could have just kept the money, and god knows I did need it. I could have gone home, drank the whole bottle of wine and passed out... which is what I do most nights anyway, just with much less expensive wine.
No. This was a day where I'd had enough. I, Tessa McAllister, was 5-foot-8-inches of massively endowed, round-assed rage and the arrogant bastard who thought I was some cheap hoo-er was about to fucking pay. I passed right by the coatrack with my warm winter coat on it, told the cook I was done for the night, and stomped out into the cold December air in nothing more than a blouse, tight black skirt and boots.
Boy what a stupid idea. If the warmth of anger itself hadn't been boiling from my core, I probably would have frozen to death! I'm sure I must have looked kind of ridiculous, stomping my way down the red carpet of the nicest hotel in town. The door man bowed respectfully as he opened up for me, but I could see his eyes glued to the twin thimbles my freezing nipples were creating in my top, if they weren't so nicely rounded they probably could have cut the fabric.
I had one last violent shiver as I stamped over to the bank of elevators and pressed the "up" button. Some of the lobby staff were looking at me, and it took every ounce of self-control I had to not give them all the finger. The inside of the elevator was mirrored and I took a moment to try and straighten myself up a little; not that I wanted to look hot for this asshole, I just didn't want to look completely undignified. I breathed warmth onto my palms and held them to my protruding nipples, gently, it didn't get rid of all their stiffness but it did at least lessen it a little bit.
I held the warm hands to my cheeks so they'd be a little less red, and finally tugged my tits around in my bra a bit to make them look a bit more even. My reflection shook her head at me,
"Jesus girl, you've got some big ones," she said.
I could only nod in agreement, staring down at a cleavage that kept me from even being able to see my feet.
I walked down the hall, going down two turns before I found myself at 517, there was nice cello music playing through the door.
Fuck knocking. I slid the keycard into the lock in and out quickly and swiftly opened the door.
It was unbelievable in there. Despite my anger I was given pause as I stared out of the giant bay windows, the lights of the city in the distance, the stars surprisingly clear from this vantage point, mountains visible behind that. There was a polished grand piano taking up much of the spacious suite's living room and an elegant bar framing what looked like a full kitchen. The music seemed to emanate from the empty air, whatever sound system was in this place it was beautifully integrated.
And perhaps the most eye-catching thing of all in this place, there he was, standing with his back to me as he looked out that incredible window, a tumbler of scotch in his hand. He turned to face me, that handsome face in the attitude of a smile, his eyes almost imperceptibly giving me the once-over, he was ogling me to be sure, like all men did, but I had to give him credit for keeping it subtle. If it weren't for the fact that he'd just tried to book a paid fuck, I might have thought this asshole was a real gentleman.
"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," he said in a velvety baritone voice. I hadn't noticed it in the stress of the restaurant before. Something about it made my nipples take their previously fully-frozen state of hardness.
Traitors.
"I haven't!" I growled, not wasting more words, I crossed the room and stood so close to him that those stiff nipples were just grazing his chest.
Then I hauled off, reached back, and slapped him!
*CRACK!*
"HEY!" he put one hand to his cheek and wrapped the other around my wrist, "What's wrong with you!?" his demand didn't sound angry, mostly surprised and stung.