Even good girls need to eat. So when I lost my job at the accounting firm, I ended up working at the Pink Pussy Clothing Boutique. True, the pay isn't great, but Jack, the owner, is really sweet. Whenever a girl has a problem or there's something on her mind, she can always talk to Jack. And afterwards, things are a lot better. It never fails.
When I first started, I talked to Jack at least two or three times a day. I guess I was a bit of a prude, but I really had trouble wearing the kind of clothes the store sells. You see, I've got these huge tits - DD on a slender, five-two frame. No matter how hard I worked to hide them, guys would stare at me as though I were some kind of freak. I remember one particularly bad experience in college where my date spent the entire evening talking to my boobs.
"Hey,' I finally said when I couldn't take it anymore. "How about looking at my face for a change?"
"Why?" he replied, smirking. "Those are a whole lot bigger. And they're certainly more interesting."
Needless to say that was one date that ended early. After that, I made a point of only wearing loose-fitting dresses and blouses. But, of course, the clothes the Pink Pussy sells don't give you that option. The very first day I tottered into Jack's office as fast as I could in my new three inch heels. I was upset because the dress Jack had chosen for me was skintight and barely covered my nipples.
Dear, sweet Jack listened patiently, but he just couldn't see the problem. "I know," he finally said, "pose for me. Clasp your hands behind your head and arch your back."
Jack was trying to be helpful, but standing like that made my breasts swell like twin blimps. It felt like any moment my knockers were going to burst right out of my dress.
Satisfied at last, Jack had me walk across the room. In my new heels, it was more of a wobble than a walk. I couldn't stop my butt from swaying, and my boobs kept jiggling. Finally, Jack had me get on my hands and knees while he circled around me.
"How does that make you feel?" he asked.
"Like a cow," I wailed in frustration. This new position was the worst yet. My tits hung down so far my nipples practically grazed the floor, and the bottom of my dress must have climbed at least halfway up my ass.
"I think I see the problem," Jack said. He was standing behind me, so I could hear him but not see him. "Our dresses aren't designed to be worn with underwear. It spoils the lines. If you take off your bra and panties, the dress will feel fine."
It took me a while to come around, but eventually I decided that Jack was right. Pretty soon, I was not only wearing Pink Pussy clothes during the day but buying them, too. They were so flattering. I loved the way guys stared at me when I wore them. I would wait on a customer, helping him choose a butt plug or nipple clamps for his girlfriend. By the time we finished, I would be so worked up I would have to scurry to the bathroom as fast as my high heels could carry me. I'd find a stall, hike up my dress and plunge my fingers into my throbbing cunt. I could spend up to an hour fingering myself and groaning as I worked to put out the fire. Jack was really decent about it. He never docked my pay or so much as mentioned my frequent bathroom visits.
The only problem was my boyfriend Tom. We had been going together for almost a year, and he didn't approve of my new job even though I had never been happier in my life. "You can make your own decisions, Melissa," he would say, "but I don't see how you can have any self-respect working in a place like that." Finally I went to Jack for advice. As we talked a plan came into my mind, fully formed. It was absolutely brilliant. I would invite Tom to dinner and go all out, really dazzle him. Once he got over his silly hang ups things between us would be great.
I left nothing to chance. I chose a restaurant that was popular with the other girls, and I got all decked out. I crammed my tits into a pink satin halter top and matched it with a flippy little skirt. Every time I took a step the skirt flared up and flashed my ass. At first, I wasn't going to wear anything underneath, but Jack told me that would be immodest. So at the last minute, I grabbed a thong from the display rack and shimmied into it.
As I walked out, Jack gave me a thumb's up. "Thatta girl," he said with a big grin. "Go get him."
I loved the look of astonishment on Tom's face as I made my grand entrance. When the waitress came, I ordered a pitcher of margaritas. That had been Jack's idea. "Get him drinking," he had said. "It'll help to loosen him up. And be sure you drink a lot, too. It's sexy."
As usual, Jack was right. By the time I had slurped down my fourth or fifth drink, Tom was openly staring. I couldn't blame him. My thong was soaked, and my nipples were so hard they looked like twin spikes, denting out my halter top. Just to make sure he got the idea, I reached up and rubbed a hand across my titties than back. That did it. Tom shot to his feet. "All right, you win," he said with a growl. He grabbed his wallet and dropped a wad of bills on the table. "Get your ass in gear. We're leaving."
I lurched to my feet and staggered after him. He was so far ahead I didn't think I would ever catch up. But at last, he stopped to wait, and I stumbled into his arms, so he could steer me out of the restaurant.
There was a hotel close by, and that's where we went. The moment we got to our room, Tom pushed me to my knees, so my face was level with his groin. Hastily I tugged at his belt and zipper until his cock came free. My mouth went to it, kissing and running my tongue along its length, savoring his cock's wonderful swelling hardness.
But Tom had something a little kinkier in mind. He lowered me onto the floor and straddled my waist, tugging at my halter top. "Yes, fuck my titties," I cried as his hands went to my boobs and mashed them around his dick. By craning my neck, I was able to capture his cock head between my lips on each upward thrust and give it a quick suck.
Tom came right on my lips. His thick white cum was the best gift a girl could ask for, and I lapped up every last drop. For a while afterwards, we just lay together with my face nestled in his groin. Then he flipped me over so my ass stuck up in the air, pulled aside my thong and thrust himself into my very wet slit.
My cunt muscles gripped his rod, milking it. My clit throbbed from the incredible friction. I came with a scream of pure ecstasy, but even then Tom didn't slow down. He kept plowing away, and my next orgasm was even more intense.
I woke up alone. My head pounded from all the alcohol I had consumed and my clothes were a disaster. My pretty pink halter top was torn in two, and my skirt had been wadded into a rumpled up, badly stained ball. At first, I couldn't think what to do. But then it occurred to me - I should call Jack. He would come and rescue me.
"Hi, Sweet Cakes," Jack said with a sympathetic chuckle when he sauntered into the room about an hour later. I had showered and redone my makeup and wore a towel knotted above my breasts, so I looked halfway presentable.
We sat together on the bed, and I told him about my date. It wouldn't take much for my towel to slip off. But all he did was pat me on the head and say, "Well, Sugar Tits, I guess we'll see. Maybe Tom just isn't man enough for a hot honey like you."
He handed me some items of clothing, and I sashayed into the bathroom to get dressed. It didn't take long. He had brought a white t-shirt and a pair of shorts. That was all. The t-shirt was way too small. It mashed my tits, and you could see my nipples right through the thin stretched out fabric. If that weren't enough, it had Property of the Pink Pussy Boutique silk screened across the front in bright red letters. The shorts were black Spandex, and they fit like a second skin. Through the stretchy fabric, you could see my ass crack and even my cunt lips. Jack had forgotten to bring shoes, so I climbed back into my heels.
On the way out, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and it stopped me in my tracks. The woman grinning back at me was a total slut, a big mindless fuck doll. No one with an ounce of self-respect could ever wear an outfit like that. I turned toward Jack. "God damn you," I shouted. "I can't believe how fucking cheap you've made me look."
"Now, now, Angel Cakes, I think you look very nice," Jack said in a low, soothing voice. He put his hands on my shoulders and brought me toward him. Placing his hand on my chin, he tilted up my face so we were looking right into each other's eyes. Jack has the bluest eyes I've ever seen, but until that moment, I hadn't realized how deep they were. They were the kind of eyes a girl could get lost in.
"Now what were you saying?" he asked.
For a moment, I just stood there trying to clear my head. Had I been saying something? I couldn't remember.
"I brought you a present," Jack said with a smile and reached into his jacket pocket for a pair of dangly gold plastic earrings. They were beautiful, just what I needed to complete my outfit. I put them on then fixed my makeup, touching up my lipstick and adding a bit more eyeliner and blush. Much better, I decided. A girl really shouldn't go out in public looking anything but her best.
I guess I wasn't too surprised when Tom didn't call. Finally, I swallowed my pride and phoned him. There was an awkward pause, and then he told me he didn't want to see me again. "You'd better watch it, Melissa," he said in that pompous self-righteous voice I had always hated. "There's a word for women like you, and it's not very nice."
They say work is the best cure for a broken heart, so after Tom's brutal rejection I started putting in lots of overtime. And I began to experiment with different clothing. I would wear teddies and T-backs and fuck me pumps with fishnet hose and just about anything else the Pink Pussy sold. It didn't take long for me to become one of the store's most popular sales associates. I had a date every night of the week and sometimes two or three.
Meanwhile, Jack began paying more attention to me. One evening as I was putting out the new porno mags, I heard someone come up behind me. Hands cupped my jugs.
"Guess who," a voice crooned in my ear.
"Hi, Jack," I purred, closing my eyes and wriggling my butt into his groin.
He responded by lifting up my blouse. I could feel my nipples swell as the cool air hit them. Then he forced his other hand inside my leather hot pants and down to my crotch. For the longest time, I was only aware of the wonderful way his fingers were teasing my cunt and nipples. Eventually, I noticed a clicking sound. I opened my eyes and saw I was being photographed.
"Congratulations, Melissa, I've decided to make you the Pink Pussy's official spokes-girl," Jack said. His talented fingers were still probing my cunt, pushing deeper into me.
I sighed with pleasure.
"Naturally it includes a raise and a clothing allowance," he added.
"Great smile," the photographer said. "Hold it." He was still clicking away.
"Fuck me," I told him. "Get over here and fuck me."
That got his attention. As he came came toward me, Jack was tugging my pants down from behind. His pecker pressed up against my bare ass cheeks, and I bent forward to give him a clear path.
Instead, Jack guided me to the floor, so I was sprawled on my hands and knees. His cock slid up my cunt, and I began to rock myself against it. By now, the photographer had unzipped. His rod stuck out hard and straight, and I leaned forward to capture it between my lips. He was still taking pictures.
It was the most deliriously wonderful sex I've ever had. Jack came first, flooding me with hot goo. That triggered my orgasm. Then the photographer came, which made me come all over again. After that, we rested for a few minutes. Then I sucked them both hard so they could fuck me some more. They finished by shooting their slick cream across my titties.
Jack did give me that raise, and now I'm featured in the Pink Pussy Calendar and the catalog. The photo I like best is right there on the first page. I'm wearing heels and fishnets and a tiny little vest. My hands are under my tits, holding them out. My nipples are hard, and, of course, I'm smiling. Above me, the headline reads, "Dressed like a Whore Forevermore."