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His racing costs a lot, and that's why it's so important to put on a good show, because of the sponsor — he really needs that sponsor. She seemed at a total loss.

Then, with pleading, anguished red eyes, she looked up at me. You could do it, it's not much work! Oh, please Anne? What a suggestion!

It was absurd, out of the question, and I had to let her know. It wouldn't be proper for someone in my position. It's just that I'm desperate — it on tomorrow morning!

Cheer up girl. Now she seemed even more dejected. I didn't know what was more disappointing to her: my rejection or the fact that she'd been desperate enough to ask in the first place.

I felt almost relieved when my pager beeped a message calling me back to the office to attend to some matters that had suddenly arisen.

Really, it's not the end of the world. I'll drop down later and see you before you go home. As I attended to the drama — a pedantic enquiry about the wording of one of our TV ad campaigns - in the back of my mind the lunchtime encounter with Kelly was troubling me.

It hurt me to see her so distressed. But it was more than that. I had to admit that I was also a little ashamed of myself to have so idly dismissed her cry for help with a simple 'it wouldn't be proper for someone in my position'.

Were I in her position, I thought to myself, I would have taken that comment as a snub, a put down. What made me so high and mighty? Yet on the other hand, within this firm I in fact was rather 'high and mighty' — especially compared with Kelly's status.

I was only 29 years old, but had worked hard for seven years to rise to the position I now held, which included a great degree of authority and autonomy within the firm, as well as a ludicrously large salary.

I was the youngest senior account executive, easily the highest ranking woman in the company. I owned my own home, a top floor unit in a fashionable part of town, and with an easily manageable loan I was about to add small rented flat to my property portfolio.

And I had done it all on my own. Life was good; I loved my job, and my job gave me all the good things in life that I could want.

But as I stared out of my window-walled office, absent-mindedly scanning the bustling city vista beneath me, I kept thinking about Kelly and her distress.

It kept nagging at me. Maybe I could just hire a pro model for her and pay for it myself? It wasn't as though I couldn't afford it.

The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that it wasn't that I actually wanted to help her at all. Rather it was that I wanted to make myself feel better about having snubbed her, a friend in need.

And in any case, while she was my friend, I was also her work superior — there was, I had to admit, something patronizing about throwing money at her that she couldn't afford and, knowing Kelly, she would forever feel as though she was in my debt.

I felt bad about this, and I felt for Kelly. I couldn't help but wrack my brain for a solution. That, in fact is my job: my whole working life revolves around problem solving for others.

Was there anyone I knew who could do it? Well, no — it wasn't as though I regularly hung out with bikini models. No one I knew would consider doing such a thing in their wildest dreams.

The more I thought about it this problem, the more it troubled me, the more I kept coming back to the single solution: if she cannot find anyone, I must do it myself.

She was in a jam and she asked for my help, because she thought I was her friend. But I snubbed her. So now I must help her. And it wasn't as though I had major plans for Saturday; it was going to be a relaxing day of cleaning the flat, reading, interspersed with a few hours at the gym.

Nothing that couldn't be put off till another day. Problem solved. I got Kelly on the phone. I mean, like anyone I know with the figure that could do it.

What does this entail? I mean, if I was to do it with you, exactly what is it we have to do? Not much, really — would you really help me?

Really, just stand around, look good and hand out stickers. That's about all it is. All you'd need to bring is a pair of boots. I've got these gorgeous knee-high black ones that I'll be wearing.

So something like that. You've saved my life! What time? With that all sorted I went back to my work, tidying up the various loose ends until I left for home later that evening.

My parents would be so proud, I chuckled to myself. Actually, that probably wasn't untrue. Both mom and dad had been actors in the theatre, and they always hoped that I would follow in their footsteps.

And they pushed me hard in that direction. From an early age I was enrolled in countless dance classes and kids' acting workshops, and I even ended up with a part in a TV commercial for a kiddies' ice cream.

In my teens they put me through a couple of modeling courses, and I earned some spare cash by modeling teenage fashion wear in a big department store catalogue magazine.

It was kind of fun, and I did enjoy the rush of performing, being the centre of attention on stage. But for true actors, that feeling is more than just fun; it's the centre of their universe, their entire being.

It's what they live for. My folks were like that. Acting is like a drug that you either need or don't, and in the end I found I didn't need it.

You could say that my parents either stayed true to their convictions or they simply weren't able to kick the addiction, because neither of them has ever done a day's conventional work in their lives.

But all through my childhood years nor did either of them ever get that Big Break, and that meant that most of the time as a family we were pretty short on even the most basic things in life.

I didn't want to end up that way, and that's why I studied hard to make something of my life. And I did just that.

And now here I was returning to 'stage', as it were. In a way I was kind of looking forward to that rush of performing, such as being a car model was going to be.

Maybe my parents wouldn't be that proud I slept restlessly that night. I had some strange dreams. In one, I was in a private meeting in our work video room with one of our biggest clients.

But instead of the conservative pants suit I normally wore, I was dressed in Victorian era garb, a beautiful, stiffly starched full-length crimson dress and white frilly laced blouse.

I looked like something out of a Jane Austen novel. The client, Luca, a swarthy Italian only a few years my senior, sat across from me, staring lustily at my generous cleavage the whole time I delivered my pitch about the media campaign we had devised for his company.

It was obvious he wasn't listening to a word I was saying. I have never liked Luca. With his black hair and dark Mediterranean features he was a physically attractive man, definitely, but I found him rude, over confident and arrogant.

I didn't care for his attitude, but his company was one of our biggest clients. And I mean big - we're talking a business deal almost in the millions here.

When I finished speaking, he continued to eye off my boobs, saying nothing. Then he suddenly got to his feet, stretched his arms, removed his expensive Italian suit jacket and loosened his tie.

The bulge in his trousers was obvious, enormous. He walked over to me and grabbed my hand, gripping it hard. Then he maneuvered my fingers gently onto the zipper of his pants.

Let's seal this deal. We both knew what was required for a satisfactory conclusion to this business arrangement. I slowly unzipped him and my hand slipped inside his clothing, reaching in to feel the hard outline of erect cock against his expensive silk boxers.

I slid them down and released his member. Freed from its confines, it suddenly sprung out and away from his torso to point straight at me, its tip oozing menacingly.

It was right in front of my face. I hated him. But there before me was that huge, beautiful appendage, mesmerizing in its size, its power.

I gently wrapped my hand around it, feeling the texture of the soft skin contrasting against the hardness under the surface when I strengthened my grasp.

My mind seemed to spin as conflicting emotions of shame, outrage and desire assaulted my nervous system as I slowly moved my lips closer to the head of the shaft.

And he'd seen me getting fucked by Brian — so did Roger and whoever else was there. He's probably telling the other bar staff right now that he got the greatest blow job of his life from some hooker slut at a Buck's night.

It repulsed me deeply that I had done such a thing, committed such an ultimate and fundamental sin. So shameful. A whore.

Last night I was a common whore. He told me I was a great little cocksucker. A great little cocksucker I felt the tears welling in my eyes as the BMW glided along the freeway on cruise control.

How had it come to this? I'm not a slut! I'm not a whore! I'm a respectable business executive. That's what I am. This is getting out of control.

This cannot continue; it was fun for a while but this is not me, not who I am, and now it must stop. No more of this modeling stuff or exposing myself to guys.

I must get my life back to where I was before Mercifully, my hangover was gone by Monday morning. I considered swapping back to my old dowdy work wear, as if to reinforce my resolve to get back on the straight and narrow, but at the last minute I decided against it.

The weather was warm and I would be more comfortable in one of my new skirts. Besides, the past was in the past now; I would throw all my energies into my work.

It was fun but now I am moving on. In the short term that amounted to a tedious few days with young Brad and Pete from the downstairs floor.

Hopefully they've come up with something better this time for the Luca deal. The meeting was at 1pm, and if my hopes weren't high I wasn't to be disappointed.

This time they'd gone the esoteric route, but they'd ended up with something so weird it was almost laughable. It reminded me of the Simpsons episode where Homer had got an ad agency to do a TV spot for his Mr Plow business, and they came up with an all-singing, all-dancing Georgio Armani style thing — completely out of context.

Well, not that extreme, but they were even wider from the mark than before. I was exasperated. I know it's not an easy product to sell, but this ain't it.

I don't know, if you can't come up with anything from the brief, why not try the environmental route? The product apparently has some green credentials, so if you're going to go down this kind of whimsical avenue, maybe that's the way to go.

Pete was just standing there staring at my tits. Damn it, I was wearing the same sheer blouse as I had the week before. Brad was checking me out too.

I hoped they had paid attention, but by the looks on their faces I wasn't sure. I bet they were thinking I was some kind of bitch to be rejecting their work for a second time.

I wished Kelly were here. But she was out on a course all week. She had more commonsense than these two put together. What do they teach these kids in college these days?

They weren't actually all that much younger than me, but I somehow felt so much older. After work I decided to go to the swimming centre.

Hadn't been for a while, but it might be a nice change of pace from the gym, I thought; a few laps in the pool will be great therapy, both mental and physical.

I took my new swim suit — using it for the first time as it was intended to be used. I pushed myself hard through the first 20 laps, then did another 10 backstroke, forcing my body hard through the water, admonishing myself, getting it out of my system.

I felt much better afterwards as I headed for the showers. My body felt good, nicely worked, almost but not quite exhausted.

Being peak time at the end of a working day, the pool had been fairly crowded. It occurred to me as I stripped off and headed for the showers, how nonchalant I was now about appearing naked in the women's locker rooms; how before I would have done my best not to be seen without my clothes on by any of the other women there.

Now being naked just seemed natural. Well, I thought, if that's what I have taken from the experiences of the past few weeks, that can only be a good thing, surely?

Soaping up under the warm shower felt very nice, invigorating. There were a couple of other women showering as well; one younger than I, one older.

The younger girl's pussy was shaved, just like mine. I noticed them both checking out my body, but then I realized that I had also been stealing the odd glance their way too.

There was nothing in it, really; just what people do in such situations. The young girl had a fantastic figure; she reminded me of Sarah. She looked familiar; I thought I'd seen her here before.

She looked hot, too; this girl was obviously a keen swimmer. I wished I had such broad shoulders, I mused to myself. She saw me looking and smiled at me.

I smiled back. It was a little embarrassing; I wasn't meaning to stare at her. I wasn't sure whether her smile was one of embarrassment, or if it implied something else.

As I dried myself, the girl was over in the other corner of the change room doing the same. She looked up at me a couple of times. But then I must have been looking at her to have noticed it.

She had such big dark eyes, there was almost something cat-like about her. She had jet back hair in a bob style, reminiscent of a '20s Flapper girl, slightly androgynous, but unmistakably feminine.

This girl would have to be bisexual, I thought to myself, maybe even a complete lesbian. But then, how would I know?

Who, for that matter, among those knew me would know that I was bi? Yes, she was looking my way, and she was smiling. She was still dressing by the time I was ready to go.

Something inside me urged me to wait, stall for time until she too was leaving. But instead I hauled myself up off the seat and threw my bag over my shoulder.

I had to pass near her on the way to the exit. She caught my eye as I went past. She smiled as I left the building. Her voice was like silk.

Outside the change room I stopped. Maybe I need to re-tie my shoe laces, and while I'm doing that she'll come out of the change room?

No, keep going. This is ridiculous. Go home, make yourself a nice meal and go to bed. That had been the plan, until I got a call on my cell on the drive home.

It was Kelly. How's the course? But that's not why I've called. It's Rick — the sponsor for the race car, he's signed!

Isn't that fantastic! Anne, we did it! I've got champagne! Opening the door, she embraced me in a big bear hug. It felt great to be hugged like that after what I'd been through.

Hugged by someone I loved. She gave me a big kiss on the lips and I kissed her back. Rick is so happy! It was good champagne.

Kelly was wearing in a little summer dress, no bra, I noticed. The dress was very short, way too short for work attire, even if she was on a course.

It's a bit casual, but it's not like I'm in the office. I couldn't help but look. And when she leaned forward to put her glass down, her leg splayed open a bit more.

Then I saw her clit ring — the little minx wasn't wearing panties. Such a bad influence on me! Then she stood up and stretched. The hem of her dress rode up above her pussy; I could see it clearly.

She watched me as I stared at her bare pussy. I can see everything when you do that! You can't have gone to the course like that?

But I took them off in the car. Thought I'd give Rick a little surprise," she giggled. Then she walked over to me.

She hitched up her dress so that now it was around her waist. Her pussy and ass were totally exposed as she stood in front of me. The ring in her clitoris was somehow fascinating — incongruous and almost obscene that how anyone could have such a lewd piece of jewelry, especially someone as seemingly sweet as Kelly.

She was standing directly in front of me, holding up her dress, basically offering herself to me. Her pussy was barely a foot away from my face.

It looked beautiful; the soft folds of her delicate pussy contrasting wonderfully with the hard steel ring. She was offering herself to me as I gazed on her sweet little sex.

I could feel my arousal building. My mouth was watering. I was licking a woman for the first time in my life! I moved down to her outer lips and licked them up and down, one side after another, trying to replicate the way she had done it to me.

She was so soft against my tongue. She was breathing heavily. She was moaning. She tasted so sweet! I felt encouraged — I was turning her on; I was going down on a woman for the first time, and making her wet!

I ran my tongue up her slit, top to bottom, tasting her wetness for the first time. The taste was familiar, intoxicating.

She shuddered under my touch and it thrilled me. I let one hand stray down to my pussy and rubbed myself hard. Oh Anne, that's so good!

Lick me! Ooh, pull my clit ring, pull it hard! Pulling the ring seemed to open her lips a little more.

Car Show Slut Video

SEX WITH HOOKER (almost got caught)

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