Emma worked for a tyrant. Her boss truly was an ass, but given the economy she felt lucky to have a job at all let alone one in the art field. Not only did he own the gallery where Emma worked but he also owned half the city she lived in, needless to say he was a very wealthy and powerful man.
When she had first gotten the job Emma had been warned that Steve was kind of pervy. In fact, Emma had heard first hand from a female colleague that Steve had tried to start an affair with her, despite the fact that they were both married and that the woman was twenty years his junior. Someone else had advised Emma to wear a low-cut top to the interview and that she would be set. While Emma had a healthy sexual appetite of her own, she took offense to this suggestion. Yes her tits were large and a feature she took pleasure in herself, but she was not about to use them to get a job. She had a master's degree after all, by the age when most of her peers were slogging through their sixth year of undergrad in communications or something equally directionless.
Despite these misgivings, and sans a revealing top, Emma did get the job, and determined to conduct herself in a purely professional manner. During her first few months Emma had endured and witnessed the scathing temper and mercurial nature of her new employer, but had avoided anything sexual or untoward. A few weeks later Emma and four of her colleagues flew to L.A. for an art sale and conference on their boss's private jet. While Emma considered herself to be pretty cultured and unimpressed by ostentatious wealth, she had to admit that flying on Steve's jet gave her quite a thrill. The cool feel of the leather seat on the back of her thighs, the spacious leg room, see could see joining the mile high club in a setting like this (like I said, the girl had a healthy sexual appetite).
Following the flight the group drove to the hotel and checked in. Steve of course had his own room, the best the hotel had to offer, and then the rest of the group paired off. Emma's two male colleagues would share one room, her coworkers Lisa and Ann were inseparable and had already paired off as well, which left Emma with her own room, "No complaints here," Emma thought. The group headed upstairs to change for the opening reception.
The show was pretty high end and the art preview called for cocktail dresses for the ladies. Emma pulled her dress from the bag, and to her horror it was damp. "Shit," Emma thought, "what exploded in my bag?!" Then the cloying overly sweet smell of too much perfume hit her, and she realized that the lid on her perfume bottle had leaked and soaked through her dress rendering it not only wet but also reeking. Frantic Emma tried to wash the dress and hung it to dry in the shower, but it quickly became clear that there was no way the dress would be dry let alone freed from its vanilla fumes in the next half hour. Tearing apart her suite case Emma searched for anything else suitable to wear. Unfortunately the conference was pretty casual and she had only packed slacks and jeans—no skirts or back up formal wear appropriate for this event. Then Emma came across the slinky little red dress that she had thrown in just in case she and the girls decided to explore the L.A. nightlife after the event.
Too low, too short, and much too tight for a work function Emma would never wear something like this to an art event or in front of Steve! Glancing at the clock she realized that she was running out of time and there was no way she could wear jeans. "To hell with it!" she thought, and pulled the red dress over her head. The halter of the dress did not allow for the hot pink straps of the bra that Emma was wearing and she unbuttoned it and pulled it off. While the plunging halter revealed a hefty portion of her round 38DD breasts, she pulled it away from her nipples and tried to assess if they showed through the fabric. Emma had always liked her breasts, they were perky, large, and looked good on her curvy frame—but she had always been a little unsure about her nipples and was very self-conscious of them ever showing though her clothes. She didn't have the large brown nipples that she had always seen on TV, but small rosy pink nipples that seemed to always be hard. They were certainly hard now, "Well nothing to be done," she thought, and ran into the bathroom.
Emma had just enough time to run a brush through her long blonde hair, and quickly put some makeup on. She never understood girls who spent hours doing their makeup. Emma had learned early just what to do to make her blue-green eyes stand out, and quickly put on eye shadow, mascara, eyeliner and a little bronzer to bring out her cheek bones. Feeling bold, Emma swiped cherry red lipstick across her pouty lips "Might as well go with it," she thought. Emma threw on her black platform heels and then grabbed the little black leather jacket that she had brought with. The jacket at least would cover her bare back—the dress, held at her neck by a halter, had a daringly low back that nearly revealed the twin piercings in Emma's low back—one of the few outward indicators of her wilder and masochistic side.
As Emma clicked her way across the marble lobby of the hotel lobby she looked around for her coworkers and caught Steve's eye on the other side of the room. Steve was in his mid-sixties, thirty years her senior and actually older than her father. He played the typical posh rich people sports that actually exerted very little effort, and was in average shape. He had salt and pepper hair with a generous portion of salt, and the hint of a double chin. His eyes were a little beady and always incredibly intense. Not only was he infamous for his temper, but he was also incredibly smart. Emma did not so much catch his eye as catch his eyes on her. Steve had looked up at the sound of heels, always exceedingly impatient the world ran on his schedule and if he was already there then everyone else was late, that's the way it went. Surprised to see Emma out of her usually buttoned up and boring work attire Steve made his way up her well-heeled legs as she crossed the length of the lobby towards him. He enjoyed the feeling of possession he had looking her over knowing that she had no choice but to walk over to him while he let his eyes drink her in. As he followed her legs up he was delighted not to encounter the hem of her dress until more than halfway up her thighs, and even more pleased to see the bottom of her neckline so soon. While the jacket covered her up some, it was not sufficient to close across her now nicely bouncing tits. Steve let his eyes linger there for the remainder of her walk across the lobby, thoroughly enjoying the view. Emma blushed as she watched Steve leer at her, and dropped her gaze to the marble tiles. It was a blush that encompassed more than her pink cheeks and she felt a twinge in her pussy as she felt the humiliation, possession, and powerlessness of the situation.
When she reached Steve, he smiled at her, his smile falsely kind and his eyes darkly aroused, "Where are the others?" he asked, a hint of the temper and impatience coming through.
"I don't know," she managed to reply, "I'm in my own room and the others are on a different floor."
Steve stored this information for later use, even more pleased. "Well, you look nice," Steve said.
Emma cringed inwardly, this was definitely not the conversation she wanted to have with Steve, but her politeness won out and somewhat defensively she said, "Thank you. My perfume leaked all over the dress I had planned on wearing."
"Your dress's loss was my gain then," Steve said. Emma felt her stomach drop, and then was saved by the arrival of the rest of their party.
At dinner Emma somehow found herself seated next to Steve. The event came with an open bar and everyone had been helping themselves to the cocktails, Emma included. The first whiskey and water had been to cut her nerves. The second had been to help her get through the awkward shop talk with her coworkers and the third was currently helping her to ignore the leering glances from Steve and his male acquaintances. When the waitress asked her if she would like another, she accepted because after all she could use all the liquid courage she could get to handle sitting next to Steve. Something about him just gave her the creeps. Halfway through her fourth whiskey and water she felt a hand on her knee, under the table cloth. Seated among her colleagues and some major players in the museum and academic art world, Emma tried not to outwardly react, she certainly couldn't make a scene. This man not only controlled her current job but also had the power to blacklist her among all of his powerful contacts in the art world—which was all of it. She shifted her knee over trying to lightly shake him off, but to her chagrin he spread his hand up along her thigh all the while carrying on an intelligent conversation about the artwork in the sale.
As she was about to excuse herself to ladies' room he turned to her and asked "Who do you think is the most promising artist in the show?" As he asked it, he moved his hand up under her dress and squeezed the inside of her upper thigh. Emma's mouth dropped open and she tried to recover, she managed to say something acceptable but unfortunately it began a debate among the table, which she unwittingly became the center of. As she struggled to focus on the conversation, Steve moved his fingers up and stroked the outside of her satin thong, making her squirm. Steve continued to dance his fingers across her panties, and while Emma felt revolted she couldn't deny the wetness she felt building in her hot pussy—a feeling which only further humiliated her and in turn turned her on even more.
Emma finally found a way to excuse herself from the table and actually did make her way to the ladies room. Once inside she sat on the toilet seat trembling a little. What was going on? She hated Steve he was an old, perverted, mean, chauvinist! How could her body be reacting like this?! She had always fantasized about being taken, dominated, and used by someone, but not Steve! This was not at all what she had imagined. She pulled herself together and picked up her fifth whiskey and water. Emma managed to avoid Steve for the rest of the event, but when it was time to go she ended up sitting in the front seat while he drove home. Lisa and Ann had stayed to go out with some friends and her two male colleagues were engaged in a heated debate about some artist in the back seat. Emma felt the back of her thighs begin to sweat against the leather seat, being close to him made her nervous. Steve acted as if nothing had happened, and didn't make a single move to touch her the whole drive home.
When they arrived at the hotel they all piled into the elevator. The two men got off on floor five and as the doors closed Emma realized she was alone in the elevator with Steve. "Did you enjoy the show?" he asked.
"Umm yeah I mean, yes, yes I did," Emma stammered lamely. "What was that?" Emma thought. She was a jittery mess, and how dare he ask that?!
"I did too especially the third course of dinner." Steve said. Emma didn't need any more innuendo to know that he was not talking about the food. Steve enjoyed watching her shuffle her feet, clearly at a loss. Emma was usually so cold and composed at the office, had he know those tits and this submissive demeanor were underneath it all he would have taken her sooner. As the elevator dinged for floor twelve, Emma got off and Steve followed her. "I'll walk you to your room," he said. Emma was a little buzzed from the whiskey and knew this was a bad idea but also was afraid to argue with him so said nothing. Steve walked behind her and enjoyed that view almost as much as he had enjoyed watching her walk towards him earlier. The red dress clung to her tight ass deliciously and she had taken off her jacket sometime in the night giving him a clear view of her bare back and making it obvious that she was not wearing a bra.
