Beg Me

By: Cassandra Dee

I colored. I hadn’t seen Chris since high school graduation and that was a year ago. Did he remember? I looked completely different now, no longer a skinny beanpole, now outfitted with a woman’s body that was acting extremely womanly at the moment, creaming slightly down below, my nipples tense, tight with excitement.

“Oh thanks,” I said with bright smile on my face. “How have you been?” Better to pass my gaffe off as nothing, pretend nothing had happened.

And big man chuckled low in his throat, taking a swig of his cocktail.

“Good, I’ve been good,” he rumbled, before fixing me with an electric look, those blue eyes piercing, seeing through my towel like x-ray vision. Oh god, my nips grew harder under his gaze and I cursed my body. Why now? Why, why, why?

But Chris just shot me another grin.

“You’ve changed a lot,” he remarked.

And this time, I was determined to shield my body’s reaction. I pulled my towel even tighter, wrapping it around me like I was a mummy in a blanket. But instead of hiding things, it had the opposite effect. It was so tight on my breasts that my nips stuck out like missiles, hard and pointy, poking out so that the big man couldn’t help but see, his eyebrows rising with amusement.

“Miss me?” he growled low in his throat, shifting his stance so that the rest of the party was blocked from our intimate exchange, his big body shielding me from other’s gaze. “Your body certainly does, those luscious tits are sending me a message.”

And I colored again, my hands still. Oh my god, was this really happening? Was Mr. Jones coming onto me, talking about my body, my creamy tits, his dick only inches from my face? Wasn’t this wrong? He was in his forties, more than twenty years older than me, plus he was my dad’s boss.

But that was the problem exactly. I didn’t want to offend the big man because he was my dad’s boss, and besides, I kinda liked his eyes on me, the way his gaze slid warmly over my curves, eating me up, looking approvingly at my wide hips, my big ass. So I managed to smile and looked at him brightly.

“My boobs are sending you a message?” I murmured. “I didn’t realize,” I cooed, pulling the towel up, hoping to cover more of myself, like a drape over my torso. Except this effing towel wasn’t a beach towel, it was your standard bath towel and it rose up so that my crotch was bare, my thick thighs on display, the pale skin joining at the top in a beautiful vee.

And Mr. Jones just chuckled again, not even bothering to hide his amusement, his eyes fixed on my vag, his dick lengthening, growing so hard, so big that it strained against his waistband before popping a bit over the fabric, the pink fleshy helmet gleaming wetly in the low light.

“Little girl,” he said, “I think you forgot something.”

And I looked down and gasped, horrified. Because the swimsuit wasn’t doing its job at all. The leg holes had pulled so high, so tight, so that the nylon was basically a string between my pussy lips, bisecting the plump, swollen flesh.

“Oh god!” I squealed, trying with hasty hands to adjust the towel again. But I just made things worse. I was so clumsy, so awkward that somehow the towel got tangled up over my head and crept up even more, baring more of my exquisite cunt, the lips wet and glistening.

“Fuuuck,” growled Mr. Jones hoarsely, holding out a hand to stop my thrashing. “Still little girl, still.”

And like a skittish mare sensing its owner, I calmed under his reassuring touch, the way his big hand was so calm, so dominant.

“I gotcha,” he murmured again, slowly pulling the towel way entirely, disentangling it from my body, the soft terrycloth dropping away to reveal my lush curves in their full glory. “Fuck Lindy,” he breathed again. “How did you get so beautiful?”

And I blushed once more, this time a full body blush, the pink spreading from my chest all the way down to my cunt, every part of me slightly rosy from hairline to toes. And I had nowhere to hide from his gaze, there was nowhere to go although truth be told, I didn’t want to hide anymore, his eyes felt so warm on me, so delicious, leaving tingles wherever they landed.

“Mis-Mister Jones,” I stuttered softly. “What’s going on? I-I need my towel back.”

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