“Mis-Mister Jones,” I stuttered softly. “What’s going on? I-I need my towel back.”
He flicked an eyebrow at me.
“But maybe I want to see more,” he drawled.
And I shivered inside, my nips jutting out like rocks now, one boob literally popping out from the top of my swimsuit. Fuck, I was barely clothed, lying back on the lounger with one huge tit out for his gaze, the other straining to break free, my pussy shielded only by a string.
“Mr. Jones,” I whispered, my eyes begging as I met his. “Please.”
But the big man ignored me, instead shifting his board shorts a bit so that about three inches of dick stuck out over the waistband and oh god, but he was leaking from the tip, the deep purple head swollen so big and glossy that I could see a vein beating along the bottom, painfully throbbing. Immediately my lips parted slightly, my mouth opened as if in anticipation of a deep suck, knowing where that man meat belonged.
And Mr. Jones just chuckled deep in his throat then, his eyes on fire now, the blue so hot that it practically threw flames where it landed. He shifted his big body once more to make sure we couldn’t be seen. I guess from over by the food table, it probably looked like we were having a normal conversation, Mr. Jones’s broad back blocking any visual of me other than my legs sticking out. But still, this was so wrong and fucked up and dangerous … and I loved it. My parents were only twenty feet away chatting with friends, with no idea what their baby girl was doing with the boss man.
And gulping, my heart beating a million miles a minute, I tried again, eyes wide.
“Mr. Jones,” I whispered softly. “I need my towel. I can’t get up from this lounger without that towel, give it back.”
The big man chuckled, his fingers tightening into a fist around the soft terry.
“That’s what you get for wearing that fuck-me swimsuit,” he growled, his eyes running up and down my curves. I colored. This was a modest one-piece, I’d just grown out of it and had no opportunity to shop. But before I could interrupt, the big man continued. “Tell you what, little girl,” he rumbled smoothly. “I’ll give this back to you if you do something for me first.”
My cheeks colored and I whispered, “What is it? I’ll do anything, please Mr. Jones.”
And the dark slashes across his cheeks heightened, his chest and abs growing tight, the pre-cum leaking in a stream from his dick now.
“Play with your tits,” he commanded. “Rub and stroke yourself without making a sound so your folks don’t hear. And then take that thing,” he said nodding at the Coke bottle, “and put it in your pussy.”
I gasped. What the? That was the most depraved idea I’d ever heard of. I mean, I was being blackmailed right under my parents’ nose, Mom and Dad standing not twenty feet away, forced to show my body otherwise the rest of the guests were going to see my nudity. Plus, we were at my house! Chris was a guest here and yet he held all the cards. How in the world had this happened?
But something changed in me, a switch had flipped on ever since we began our conversation. Maybe it was from reading all the naughty stories, watching all the skin flicks, but suddenly my body pulsed uncontrollably and I was compelled to obey, magnetically drawn to Mr. Jones’s aura. So with a slow, hesitant hand, I began playing with my tits, rubbing them, massaging and squeezing huge handfuls of the white flesh, my nips pink and rosy.
“Take your other tit out,” Mr. Jones commanded darkly. “Let me see them both.”
And obediently, I pulled my left boob out of the suit as well so that both of my girls were free, mountainous and creamy, the Double D jugs standing out to there. With clever fingers, I pulled at my nipples, tracing circles around the sweet pink tips, corkscrewing off them with audible pops before bringing one, then the other, to my mouth for a deep lick, then a quick suckle. Because yeah, that’s one of the benefits of my changed body. I’m now able to lick and kiss my own boobs, there’s enough breastflesh so that I can push them all the way up to my mouth, tongue myself while sparks shoot from my nipples to my cunt.
And from the way the big man was breathing, his eyes glued to my form, his huge body rock hard, filled with unleashed power, I could tell he was massively turned on. So coyly, I raised one to Chris, waving it in small circles, the pink nipple hard and wet from my saliva.
“Come and taste?” I cooed softly, looking up at him between my lashes.
And something flared in the big guy’s eyes then. He wanted to, I could tell he would have given anything to get on his knees beside me and dive into my creaminess, but it was his bulk that was shielding us from the partygoers’ gaze. So instead, with deft hands, he pulled his entire cock out of his swim trunks and began fisting it, balls high and tight, the massive length heavy, deep pink, and glossy. I wanted so bad to taste, to feel that fuckpole inside me, but I was just as stuck. I couldn’t move on the lounger without giving us away, without letting other people in on our secret. So instead I did the next best thing. Reaching for my Coke, I picked it up and put to my mouth as if taking a sip. It was a throwback bottle, the kind that’s green glass with a narrow bottle neck flaring into a circular base. And with a coy smile, my pink tongue flickered out, lapping lightly at the neck before circling around the bottle head, lubing it up, getting it warm.