A BUSINESS PROPOSITION

copyright: Lesley Tara, 2012


Her interest in me had been apparent – quite frankly, almost blatant – at our initial meeting, and Ms Brewster had smiled with the feline satisfaction of a cat who sees the bowl of cream about to be poured when I had suggested that the next stage of negotiations might best be conducted as a ‘confidential one-to-one meeting’ between her and myself, ‘quite privately’ and at a time of her convenience – if she preferred, as I was sure she was very busy, after the end of the normal working day, as I was ‘quite prepared to do whatever it takes … to arrive at terms of our mutual satisfaction’. Oh yeah, when called for, I can do blatant too.

I didn’t quite go so far as fluttering my eyelashes at her – at least, I don’t think I did – but on the final phrase about ‘our mutual satisfaction’, I did a little movement which looks like sitting up straighter in my chair, but which has the effect of thrusting my large breasts out even more prominently, so that they are straining against the thin fabric of my plain white pintuck shirt. As I know very well, this has quite an eye-popping effect, not least because it looks like it also might have a button-popping effect and that my frontage might burst into full view at any second.

I know that my breasts are my biggest asset in every sense of the word, although an equally well-shaped thrusting ass and a ruthless mind are rivals for second place behind them, a little ahead of my naturally straw-blonde hair, which I keep to a neat length that just brushes my collar. However, there is no doubt that my tits are (please excuse the pun) well out in front, englobed and supported in my 32-inch F-cup bras. I have no compunction at all about using my physical assets in any way necessary with any businesswoman who shows a hint of sexual attraction – but I’m not a whore, for I do it for my own pleasure, to slake my own voracious sapphic appetite, as much as for the networking and the deals that it facilitates. And I don’t do men – never have and never will, ever since my breasts suddenly bulged out at the age of fourteen, and my girl scouts leader found that she just couldn’t keep her hands off them and me, deftly seducing me and then four months’ later taking my cherry with a strap-on on my fifteenth birthday – which was the best birthday present that I have ever had.

Ms Brewster is a case in point – she is the charismatic and highly-successful CEO of her own business, which is an important buyer from the company in which I am a young but fast-rising executive. She is also – I’m sorry to be crude, but there really is no better way to describe her – a fucking hot bitch. She is forty-three years old, and does not try to hide that in any false, mutton-dressed-as-lamb kind of way. On the contrary, she exudes experience, confidence and authority, with the incipient crows feet at the corners of her eyes, the hint of fleshiness in her jowls, the slight thickening at her waist and the firm heaviness of her thighs only adding to her majestic presence. Ms Brewster certainly keeps herself fit and always dresses stylishly, having a figure still trim enough to look good in a tightly-cut business suit. Her breasts, though naturally having rather more sag than my twenty-five year old ones, are still shapely enough to give her some striking feminine curves – in fact, I think her jutting ass is really a hot number. It was shown off to definite advantage, together with her smoothly-tanned and well-muscled legs, in the short and tight mini-skirt of her navy blue pinstripe two-piece suit.

I am strongly attracted to older good-looking women who are in positions of power and authority, partly from the scout leader who started me off and then passed me round her circle of lesbian teachers, lawyers and businesswomen, but mostly because these capable mature bitches have the experience to give you an amazing fuck. I admire them and get intensely turned on by them, because I want and intend to be like them: hungry tigers in the business jungle, movers and shakers, and the ruthless predators of any pretty pussy that takes their fancy. So I left that preliminary meeting with Ms Brewster with a hot flushed feeling making the gusset of my panties almost sodden, and with the confidence that I had had a similar effect on her. We had been alone on that occasion, of course, otherwise my phrasing could not have trailed my cunt so obviously in front of her, but it was the middle of a busy business afternoon and she had a full schedule of other appointments to follow, so there was no opportunity to take things further. I left the standard contract for her to look over – it was essentially a renewal on similar terms as before, and once again only making a definite commitment for twelve months.

Ms Brewster agreed that ‘an open-ended meeting might be best’ (and I had no doubts about which of my ends she was intending to open), and arranged for me to return at 6.00 p.m. the next day – when, she said, ‘there will be no one else in the office, so we can explore the arrangements without interruption’, both of us knowing quite well that what would be explored was every jutting curve and deep crevice of each other’s lustful lesbian bodies. She rose and escorted me to the door of her large and luxuriously-appointed office, ostensibly from politeness but actually because it gave her the chance for a good firm and confirming squeeze of my butt as she ushered me into the outer room.

Here sat her PA, an efficient and attractive busty brunette in her late 20s, together with a very pretty little Asian babe with long glossy black hair who looked to be no more than sixteen due to her slender body and small A-cup breasts, but who was probably about twenty-one – Ms Brewster introduced her as a college student who was interning, and looked directly at me with a gleam in her eyes when she added: ‘and I’m showing her the ropes’, a double-meaning that was not lost on me at all, especially when the young woman in question looked demurely down at her desk, blushing and biting gently on her lower lip. I couldn’t agree more – those little Japanese sluts look their best when roped up in tight bondage, after you have torn most of their clothes from their bodies. The set-up gave me an extra hot flush of desire, so much so that I almost had to clamp my legs together to avoid moisture visibly dripping from my drenched panties down my thighs, for it was clear that an unwritten clause in the job descriptions of Ms Brewster’s aides was that they satisfied her sapphic lusts whenever she wished. Whilst I was sure that her PA and the intern were smart and capable in their jobs, I had no doubt that they had been particularly recruited for their sexy bodies and their lesbian orientation – for I had felt from both of them that unmistakeable current of sexual interest, as they had checked out my figure without trying to make it obvious (well, not too obvious!).

When I returned the next day, just before six o’clock, the cute piece of Asian jailbait already had her overcoat on and was standing by the door of the outer office, as the raven-haired PA closed down her computer and reached for her own jacket. The brunette smiled warmly at me, and I was glad that there was no hint of jealousy in her manner, for we both knew that I was going into her boss’s office to drop my panties and spread my legs wide open. Instead, she hooked an arm through the Japanese girl’s, gave the blushing young babe a possessive squeeze, and informed me that Ms Brewster had assigned them ‘some special research to do together’ and that she ‘hoped to see more of me on another occasion’. As the PA’s eyes were deliberately focused on my breasts when she said this, her message was quite clear, and so I replied that I would be delighted ‘to get to know you closely’, of course with Ms Brewster’s permission … and, I added questioningly, perhaps participation?

‘Oh, yes’, murmured the PA, her eyes still on my capacious mammaries, ‘I’m sure she’ll want that … mmm, and those!’ With a merry wink, she led away the cute Asian girl, and I had no doubt that before long the demure intern would be stripped, quite possibly bound, and then well-fucked by a strap-on thrusting remorselessly into her pussy – or perhaps her asshole.

I knocked on the door to the inner office, and the rich voice of the company CEO bade me enter, her tone already coloured with desire. Ms Brewster greeted me with a smile and a handshake, and ushered me to the seat in front of her desk, before resuming her own place behind it. It was an impressively long L-shape in a dark wood, with a computer, telephone and some other accessories placed neatly out of the way on the short arm of the L to her right, whilst the large rectangular main section which lay between us was completely empty apart from the contract that I had left on the previous day. Her manner was warm and welcoming, but also briskly businesslike, as if to get the necessary formalities out of the way as quickly as possible.

‘Well, this all seems quite satisfactory’, she said, lifting her pen in preparation for signing, ‘and I have been pleased with your company’s products and services.’

I smiled quickly in acknowledgement of the compliment, but made a hand motion indicating that she should pause. I then leaned down (the posture making my tits swing nicely forwards, and presenting Ms Brewster with a clear view down my cleavage), opened my small case, and withdrew another draft contract.

‘If you take a look at this alternative’, I interjected, ‘I think you’ll find I can improve upon our current service.’

Ms Brewster raised her eyebrows interrogatively, and then, with a hint of a smile playing around her lips, she took the proffered paperwork and began to scan through it.

‘If I can save us both some time’, I added, ‘the only differences are in paragraph 6 and the addition of a new paragraph at the end.’

She glanced at these; the first of them set the contract for four years rather than one, but fixed the price per unit at the current level, providing only for an increase each year in line with the official rate of inflation. This was actually a good deal for both our companies, and one which my bosses would be delighted if I could secure – but I knew that Ms Brewster was cautious in such matters, and did not make contracts for more than a year ahead, even on reasonable terms. However, the sweetener to tempt her was the new clause at the end, and, whilst a small frown had crossed her face as she read paragraph 6, this changed to an amused smile as she perused the addenda. This was a phrasing of my own, which stated that for monitoring purposes during the term of the contract, she would be entitled to a liaison meeting once a month, at a place and time of her choice (including outside normal office hours), and with any member of my company’s staff that she wished to specify.

Having read this through twice, Ms Brewster placed the revised contract on top of the previous version, and regarded me directly, with a hint of admiration as well as a gleam of desire in her eyes.

‘An unusual proposition’, she purred, ‘but not without … interesting possibilities.’

I nodded my head, my cheeks dimpling with a demure smile that deceived neither of us as to my intentions, as I replied:

‘Of course, I would hope that you would request me personally to provide …