Beg Me-Sold to My Dad's Boss

“Oh thank you, thank you,” he blubbered. “You won’t regret it Mr. Jones.”

And after the door shut, I just sighed. Really, what the fuck was wrong with me? Seriously, I had money to make, a business to build, and I’d just been roped into going to a loser party, put on a happy face so that this thief could make his wife happy. Had the world gone crazy?

But I knew the real reason. I’m no Mr. Nice Guy. I’m a sick fuck, an asshole through and through and Jim-boy here had something I wanted. I hadn’t seen Lindy in a while, not for a year almost and she’d been captivating, young, nubile, shy but exciting. It was summer break now, she’d be at the celebration, right? And when my dick jerked, growing hard and twitching uncontrollably, I knew I’d made the right decision. Because Lindy was worth it, I wanted to set my eyes on the beautiful girl even if I was firing her dad.

CHAPTER THREE

Lindy

I lay on the lounger, sunglasses over my eyes, drifting a little. Most of the guests had gone and I was shaded by a huge tree at the edge of the pool which partially blocked the view. With my eyes closed, I reached a hand out to grab my soda, my fingers questing for the drink sightlessly as I fumbled.

Suddenly the cool bottle was pushed into my hand, firm and solid.

“Hey!” I gasped, sitting up, startled.

And oh god, but chills ran up my spine, my body going weak because Mr. Jones stood over me, his big form looming, throwing me in shadow. And he was so close, so near that I literally began to pant. His massive form was only inches away and I had a perfect view of that huge chest, the chiseled six-pack, and that package. Oh god, that package. A small trail of hair ran from his belly button downwards to his waistband, pointing down, down, down to a bulge that made my mouth go dry. I could see the strong arch, the curve underneath the fabric and my cunt started tingling, sparkling deep inside. Oh fuck, I was seriously losing it just being around this guy.

And Mr. Jones chuckled, following my line of sight.

“See something you like?” he said smoothly, eyebrow raised.

I flushed, immediately flicking my eyes away, embarrassed, pulling my towel over my breasts, trying to look cool although my insides were dissolving, warm and melty. God, I was such an amateur, caught head on, staring at his bulge like a virginal girl.

“Um hey Mr. Jones,” I said with a weak smile. “How are you? Thanks for coming to my parents’ anniversary party,” I added lamely.

The big man’s eyes became impenetrable for a second but then it passed, and I shook my head, sure it was a mirage.

“No problem,” he said smoothly, not sitting down, still looming over me. “I wanted to come, it’s been a long time since I saw you, Lindy. You look great.”

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.