Claire Currie stood ready for inspection. She sucked in her stomach to make her already generous brown breasts strain against her white button shirt. The six inch heels forced her ass to push at a lovely angle against the short black miniskirt of her uniform. Her legs were already a deep shade of brown but the uniform required the black stockings anyway on her legs. To complete her outfit, her black hair was braided and tucked behind her head. Black glasses framed eyes that were eager to please.
“Unacceptable,” Mr. Dillon said. He shook his head and closed his eyes.
“Sir?” Claire said carefully. Mr. Dillon was her boss and his standards were often impossible to achieve. Considering that they were librarians for the exclusive Collette-Ashbee collection, the world’s greatest collection of written erotica, Claire had come to accept that the standards of the collection were as rare to achieve as the books they collect.
“Your breasts,” Mr. Dillon said. He placed one hand on her right breast and squeezed. “They are much too large today.”
Claire whimpered as his fingers painfully squeezed her breast. She also shivered a little for Mr. Dillon was not only a demanding boss and a cruel inflictor of punishments; but he was also quite attractive. His brown hair was cut to his head with a military shortness. Worry lines crossed his face like cracks in a leather bound book. It was the eyes that always did her in. His brown eyes were always intense; ready to correct, judge and inflict punishment at a moment’s notice.
“Can’t you make them smaller somehow?” Mr. Dillon said. “I worry that Professor Ulrich will think you were hired purely for your mammaries instead of a slightly better than average skill with handling rare books.”
Claire forced herself from responding to his comment. Most people would think he was insulting her book handling skills but Claire recognized it as a compliment.
“I do have a bra that is more, constrictive,” Claire said. “The only problem is that the bra is white and today you had scheduled me to wear a cherry red bra with matching thong.
Mr. Dillon released her breast and waved his hand in the air. “Fuck the dress code, woman! Put on whatever it takes to get those tits under control.”
Claire was taken back. In the years that she had worked for Mr. Dillon, the dress code for her lingerie was the most vigorously enforced rule. She lost count of the endless whippings with his belt that she had endured for dress code infractions. For Mr. Dillon to be dismissing the code meant that he was very tense indeed.
“Sir, you appear to be stressed regarding meeting Professor Ulrich today,” Claire said. To help his nerves, Claire unfastened the buttons on her shirt very slowly. Experience had taught her that the sight of her breasts had a calming effect on her boss. As Mr. Dillon’s assistant, it was Claire’s duty to do whatever it took to assuage his nerves.
“I have a right to be nervous,” Mr. Dillon said. He was staring at the slow reveal of her dark breasts. “Professor Ulrich collects rare erotica but because he is a lowly member of academia, he often has to sell pieces of his collection in order to finance new acquisitions.”
Claire removed her shirt and took her time folding it. It was a waste of time to fold a shirt that she planned to put right back on, but Mr. Dillon did so enjoy watching her breasts jiggle within her bra as she moved.
“Sounds to me like it is the Professor who should be nervous,” Claire said. “After all, he needs the money from us.”
She reached behind her and undid the clasp on her bra. Mr. Dillon watched as the red fabric peeled away from her skin. Sadly, the worry lines on his forehead only deepened.
“You would think, Ms. Currie,” he said. “But Professor Ulrich is that insufferable type of book collector who thinks that only he is qualified to care for erotic books and everyone else is a casual amateur who uses cheese for bookmarks and leaves books outside in the rain. Can you imagine such arrogance?”
“It is beyond my comprehension,” Claire said. Inwardly, she remembered all too well the seven inch dildo Mr. Dillon made her carry in her ass because she used the wrong cloth to clean a hardback book. Mr. Dillon did not react well to ill timed comparisons.
Claire picked up the white bra. It was a cruel monster that crushed and concealed her breasts. She only hoped Mr. Dillon understood how uncomfortable it would be for her to wear. That was a silly hope of course. All he cared about was watching her slide the bra over her plump breasts.
“Professor Ulrich has offered to sell the Ashbee-Collette Collection a total of eleven books,” Mr. Dillon said when Claire had clasped the bra. “Six of the books he had withdrawn from selling because he found fault with something done by the Librarian sent to collect the book. With three out of these six, it was a fault he found with my predecessor, Ms. Wei. With the other three, it was something he found fault with myself. I have no interest in committing a fourth offense.”
“He sounds like a complete loon,” Claire said. “How rare is the book he has now?” Claire began to button her shirt, starting from the bottom up. The white bra didn’t give her much cleavage but she hoped to tease out whatever cleavage she had left. Poor Mr. Dillon needed all that he could get.
“Today he is willing to part with the Breastinomicon,” Mr. Dillon said.
Claire froze in the process of buttoning. “The Breastinomicon? I thought it was just an urban legend.”
Mr. Dillon shook his head. “It was until a mad Frenchman decided to create a version. I have heard that it is quite impressive. Over one thousand pages of endless breast descriptions; it is written in Arabic and Latin with a splattering of a new language designed purely to describe breasts. It also contains fragments of poems and verse from older works that were equally obsessed with breasts. It is a book created by a mad man but also one hell of a breast lover. The Collette-Ashbee Collection must have this book.
“I am sure that you have nothing to worry about, sir,” Claire said. She finished the top button on her shirt and put her hands back behind her. “What could Professor Ulrich possibly find at fault with us?”
Mr. Dillon pursed his lips. He looked her over from head to toe. “You do appear much more presentable, Ms. Currie.”
Claire allowed herself a tiny smile.
“No, your insatiable sex mania might still be our undoing,” Mr. Dillon corrected himself. “You have a tendency of getting into sexual hijinks and this would not be the correct time.”
“I get into sexual hijinks?” Claire asked. A little bit of disbelief had slipped into her usual subservient tone.
“Don’t try to deny it, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “You are a modestly adequate librarian but your propensity towards sexual deviancy is sometimes a distraction.”
“Like the time you suggest that I stroke myself every five minutes in order to appreciate proper time management?” Claire asked.
“I may have suggested it, but you were the only who benefited from the practice,” Mr. Dillon said.
“What about the time that you had me give you a handjob while we were on the plane to this city?” Claire said.
“I merely required your assistance in personal release,” Mr. Dillon said. “You were the one that coated your fingers with the juices from your cunt in order to aid lubrication.”
“And so I assume it was my sexual hijinks that caused us to act out all twelve sexual positions in that Greek book we found yesterday?”
“Quite,” Mr. Dillon said. “I was more than willing to only do the first nine but you were the one who assured me that your anus could handle the other three positions.”
“I respectfully disagree, Mr. Dillon, but I will defer to your superior judgment when it comes to sexual deviancy.
“As well you should, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “Now lift your skirt. We must make sure that your greedy cunt does not ruin our chances at making a good impression.”
Claire did as she was told. She pulled her skirt up past her stockings and past her thighs to reveal her cherry red thong. A spot of dampness was clearly visible on her thong and Claire wondered if perhaps Mr. Dillon was correct in his assessment.
Mr. Dillon reached for her thong. He pulled it aside and ran his fingers over the thick bush of pubic hair that was part of her required uniform. Mr. Dillon could be old fashioned when it came to a woman’s pussy.
“I bet if I slipped two fingers into you right now, you would be wet,” Mr. Dillon said.
“You may be ri-oh yes!”
Claire shivered as Mr. Dillon’s fingers penetrated her. No foreplay or preparation for Mr. Dillon. When he set his mind to something, he goes right in.
“This is what I am talking about,” Mr. Dillon said. His fingers pumped at an unnatural speed within her. “You are as wet as a typical stewardess in a 60’s erotica novel.”
“Ahhh,” Claire said. She was having difficulty with forming complex thoughts. Mr. Dillon’s fingers were brusque and efficient and Claire was enjoying the thoughtless violation.
“Hurry up and climax, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “I do not have all day to finger fuck you. We have an appointment to keep.”
“Yes, sir,” Claire said. She braced her legs as she tottered on her heels. Mr. Dillon’s fingers were thrusting with relentless speed.
Mr. Dillon sighed. “You obviously need mental stimulation to finish properly.” He said this as if this was a personal defect of Claire’s.
“It may help,” Claire said between moans.
“I imagine a nymphomaniac slut like yourself would rather that I took you into the hotel hallway and let you expose your hungry cunt to every one,” Mr. Dillon said. “You would stand there happily with your skirt up and allow any one to touch you. Your greedy sex would take their fingers, their cocks and even their mouths without a second’s hesitation.”
Claire trembled and tried to stay on her heels.
“You would be available to anyone but I imagine that you would enjoy that,” Mr. Dillon said as his fingers continued to fuck her wet sex. “Your cunt would be the plaything of other hotel guests, the bellhops and even the maids. I bet you would love to have some young maid kneeling between your legs and lapping away at your sex, you shameless hussy.”
Claire shuddered. Her hands clenched her skirt. She moved her hips to match the movements of his fingers.
“But even with your sex exposed, there will always be one who will want more,” Mr. Dillon said. “Some horny older man will rip open your blouse and play with your tits. You shouldn’t let them but I know you. You wouldn’t say a word as the man pulls one of your lovely dark tits out of your bra and sinks his teeth around your nipple.
Claire cried out as her orgasm exploded between her thighs. Mr. Dillon’s fingers stroked deeper until every last shudder of pleasure was worked out of her body. She was amazed that she was still on her feet.
The fingers pulled out of her and a second later was at her lips. Claire opened her mouth and tasted herself on Mr. Dillon’s fingers. She sucked hard, enjoying to mixture of her juices and his skin.
“Now be sure to clean my fingers completely,” Mr. Dillon said. “We can’t be visiting Professor Ulrich with fingers smelling of your cunt.”
Claire’s mouth did a very thorough job.