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.
