She had thought she could bear to sit at the party naked but for high heels. It seemed a small, though humiliating, price to pay to regain control of the incriminating material her manager held over her.
But when she tried to sit demurely, legs together, blushing, facing the gathered crowd of suited men, her manager slapped her across the face.
“Not like that, stupid bitch,” he growled. Kneeling on the chair, legs spread, tits against the chair back, facing away from us. No one wants to see your slut face.”
Leilani found the new position so much more degrading than she had imagined. There was something about the way her ass arched back, presenting and offering her privates, that made her feel so much more like a fucktoy. She could feel the air on her pussy, but had no idea who was watching her, smiling, making quiet jokes about her.
And as the evening went on, and her blush grew deeper, and her cunt grew disturbingly wetter, she became aware that her pussy was beginning to drool; that a long sticky line of fuck-honey was descending from her pussy-lips to pool on the chair seat, and that everyone present could see it…
Her agreement was only that she had to be present, naked, and on the seat, but when her manager walked past her some hours later, she moaned something unintelligible at him.
“What was that, bitch?” he asked, leaning down to cup her cheek in his hand.
“Please…” she whispered.
“Please what?” he asked, pushing his thumb into her open mouth and watching her accept it without complaint.
“Please,” she moaned again, barely understandable around his thumb. “Please… ask them to fuck me…”
And her manager laughed, and took out his cock, and pushed it into her mouth, and then as she began to desperately suckle on it, he said the words she wanted to hear.
“Okay, gents,” he laughed. “The bitch is ready now.”