The peach velvet trim on the vintage bustier complimented the tone of Leslie’s tits fantastically. She pinched her nipples and they livened with the playful touch. Satisfied, Leslie pulled the cups of the bustier up just enough—a seductive peek of areola was almost visible against the velvet. She then aimed her phone with one hand and brought the other to rest coquettishly on her cheek. She snapped a photo. Her red-tipped pinky slipped into the corner of her mouth as she tapped her thumb to capture a second snapshot. 

Leslie quickly selected the two pictures she took and texted them to herself before deleting the original files. She was always taking photos for her work projects on her phone. She had everything from American Civil War era lace collar patterns to Edwardian Era pintucking saved to her photos folder. The last thing she needed was a client seeing the risqué side of Leslie’s degree in historical textiles. 

Leslie set her phone aside and gathered her breasts fully into the bustier cups, careful not to tear the vintage fabric. She had a few errands to run this morning. But when she threw a suit jacket over the lingerie, she looked quite presentable. The piece was from the 1930s and covered more skin than what she noticed most people wearing in the grocery store line on hot summer days. 

She grabbed her phone from the side table. The screen lit to life, but she had no new messages. She frowned. Usually the photos showed up in her sent list right away.

Panicked, Leslie tapped the back arrow to see the list of recent messages. At the very top with a happy green “sent” symbol was “Gina S.”

Her most recent text conversation had been with Regina Saville, the director of the Sullivan Wallace Museum of History and Art. 

Shit, shit, shit! she thought. You did not just send that to your boss.

Leslie’s brain somersaulted over a gaggle of excuses. Regina isn’t technically my boss, she’s the museum director. I was hired to do the inventory on the textiles and date the wallpaper patterns. She’s only sort of my boss. She’s like a guidance counselor or… or… a boss. 

Yeah. She’s my fucking boss. 

Leslie groaned out loud and sank down on her bed. She knew it was an accident but she couldn’t help feeling there was some sort of self-sabotage at play. Ever since Leslie had been hired on for the summer season she had been batting away incessant lustful thoughts about the museum’s director. 

Regina was sharp, knowledgeable, and wore her age with grace and pride. In other words: Leslie’s type. Hopelessly and tragically Leslie’s type. Worse still, she had sworn that more than a few of Regina’s glances had lingered. During staff meetings. In the shadows of the inventory hall. Under the bright display lights as they folded delicate Victorian silk. Where Regina was stern and focused with other staff, Leslie noticed a playful lilt in some of Regina’s comments when they were alone. Sometimes Leslie even thought Regina was sending her a flirty vibe. But Leslie’s doubts overshadowed those vibes. They seemed to vanish like wisps of smoke from an autumn fire, leaving only a soft, earthy scent that might have been just a false memory. 

Maybe some things had passed between Leslie and Regina. But nothing more than achingly subtle looks or comments. Nothing direct. Nothing like this. 

Leslie rubbed her temples. Perhaps she could pass it off as an idea for a future display. She was, after all, wearing a historical piece in the photos. The bustier was structured with boning and the peach velvet trim was in exceptionally good condition… but fuck it, Leslie, she’ll probably notice your tits are half out and your pinky is in your mouth. 

With an exasperated huff, Leslie threw the phone into her open bag at the foot of the bed. She smashed her feet into the nearest pair of pumps. They happened to be bright blue, but she wasn’t exactly thinking about what footwear went well with a brown pencil skirt and peach bustier. Without another thought, she flung on her suit jacket, and snatched up her purse. What was done was done, and now she had to take care of things.

Her plan was to march right into Regina’s office, explain the photos were an accident, and that would be that. Honest. Direct. Put on her big girl garters and be responsible.

---

The hot July sun baked the pavement of the museum’s parking lot, and Leslie was happy to see there were not many cars. If Regina was busy on a tour or in a meeting, Leslie might lose her nerve. 

The crisp air-conditioning enveloped her as she rushed into the entrance. The receptionist, Samantha, glanced up long enough to see it wasn’t a patron and immediately turned back to flipping through her magazine. Which was perfectly fine—Leslie knew her way to Regina’s office, and she didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself than she had already managed. 

The director’s office was through the back beyond a small kitchenette and break room. Leslie’s shoes clipped a staccato beat onto the tiles and her joints jumped with nerves. 

The door to Regina’s office was open just a sliver. 

Leslie brushed the blonde bangs from her forehead, the longest layer of her pixie cut, and squared her shoulders. She threw the door open. 

Regina was a tall, dignified woman with a swirl of dark red hair that swept up across her forehead, and down the length of her shoulders. Thick-rimmed glasses enhanced the wisdom of her hazel eyes that were edged with a touch of crow’s feet. She wore no makeup except bold, ruby lips. 

These were all details that Leslie expected to find behind the director’s door. There were a few things, however, that were completely and utterly unexpected. 

Regina’s left hand was clawed about the corner of her desk and her right was down her dress pants. On the opposite corner of the desk was her cell phone, with a picture of lingerie-clad tits set to full screen. 

Even from across the room, Leslie could tell they were definitely her own tits. 

Leslie stopped suddenly, tried to backtrack, missed the opening, and fell back against the door in a tangle of high heels and panic. The door started to close behind her, but she kept herself up by holding onto the doorknob. 

Escape thwarted, Leslie sputtered, “I’m sorry! I—I…”

Regina straightened up and slipped her hand from her pussy with a steady calm, as though nothing untoward had taken place.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to explain…” Leslie stopped as she watched Regina’s gaze lower and settle upon the peach velvet peeking from beneath her suit lapels. Regina wasn’t looking for an explanation. 

“You’re still wearing it,” Regina commented. 

A beat passed between them. Leslie held in her breath. Everything had happened so fast. Through her fear and exhilaration, a little voice managed to whisper, It’s now or never. 

“Not for long.”

Regina slinked around her desk. 

“I believe you are correct.” A ghost of a smile played on her lips. “Please, close the door.”

Leslie shut the office door. There was a firm click as her thumb pressed down on the lock.

Her heart thumped hard, even beats as the reality of the situation sunk into her body. Every color, from Regina’s ruby red lips to the pale brown flecks of freckles on her cheeks, was bright and vibrant in Leslie’s vision. Regina approached her with purpose and Leslie was immediately overwhelmed with the other woman’s scent—sex, soap, and the pulp of paper.

Regina reached around and pulled Leslie in, one hand behind her neck and the other firmly cupping Leslie’s ass. She pressed her ruby lips across Leslie’s cheekbone, before she sunk a sharp fang into her earlobe.

Leslie’s hands latched a timid hold on Regina’s hips and she let out an inhibited sigh into Regina’s ear. 

Regina shifted her whole body closer. “No need to be gentle with me.”

With those words, the desire in Leslie’s body took control. Her hand plunged between Regina’s legs, directly against the hot little pearl of her clit, which was already revved and hard. The sensation of fire set upon her fingertips. The heat of Regina's flesh tingled on Leslie’s skin as she rocked her hand further inside. Leslie curled her fingers, and Regina responded with a hot hiss in her ear. Leslie made a "come here" motion with her fingers, and Regina’s entire body swelled closer, tighter. 

Regina’s clit pulsed beneath Leslie’s thumb, a throbbing that felt like it was going to explode at any moment. Come here, come here. A band of sweat broke about Leslie’s temples, as she gave all her focus to the motions of her touch. Come here. Where are you?

Ah, here you are. 

A quiver that began at the  Leslie’s fingertip rose through Regina’s body as she tilted her head back in a polite nod to ecstasy. 

At once Regina let go and pulled back, leaving Leslie cold and empty. Leslie reached out reflexively, confused and hurt.

But Regina had only paused to fix her hair.

“Don’t look so sad, dear. We aren’t finished yet.”

Regina slipped her hands beneath Leslie's suit jacket, and pulled it down to bare Leslie’s shoulders. The cool air caressed Leslie’s back, and the delicate fabric of her bustier painted a hot tension over her skin. Leslie’s arms became caught in the sleeves, and Regina used this moment to spin her backward toward the desk. With Leslie planted firmly on the desktop and her arms confined behind her, Regina had her just how she pleased.

Leslie had lost one shoe in the transaction and she kicked off the other as Regina moved in. Leslie set her hands flat on the desk behind her, surrendering to the bondage of her disheveled clothes and the dominance of her superior. 

Regina’s touch played across Leslie's antique bodice, teasing her plump nipples. Leslie’s skirt rode higher up on her thighs, and Regina pushed her knees between Leslie’s legs to open them.

Cool, cutting fingernails trailed up Leslie’s thighs and a hitch of pleasure spiked in her core as Regina pulled down Leslie’s lace panties. They were thoroughly modern and Regina didn’t seem the least bit interested in them as she pushed the panties over Leslie’s knees and let them fall past her ankles to the office floor.

Leslie’s skirt was up over her hips now, her bare ass on the cool surface of Regina’s stately walnut desk. Regina nipped at Leslie’s jawline and collarbone. With a soft moan, Leslie widened her own legs to reveal her glistening pussy. 

Regina started with two fingers inside her and after only two thrusts, graduated to three. Leslie panted and her whole body tensed with the maddening rush of her rising arousal. Her mind and body were caught between sweet submission and the vicious fight to capture as much pleasure as possible. Leslie’s tangled arms twisted for freedom from her jacket in an effort to pull the other woman closer. 

But Regina kept a dominating distance, her rock hard gaze taking in the feat of her finger fucking—the way Leslie’s tits bounced beneath the decadent peach fabric and how her ankles drove together in pleasure on each upshot. Regina's hand slapped hard and wet against her flesh, and Leslie tried frantically to remain quiet. 

Leslie thought Regina looked positively Elizabethan standing over her, as regal as the Virgin Queen herself. But her skill was anything but virginal as Regina’s hand plummeted deeper still and sent Leslie over the edge. Luckily, Regina had the forethought to reach up and cover Leslie’s mouth, as her orgasm shook her from head to toe.

Winded and tousled, Leslie didn’t know what to say. She knew she had a sloppy grin on her face while Regina looked serious and composed, but in that moment Leslie really didn’t care.

“Well,” Regina said, matter-of-fact. “And I thought I was crossing a line thinking all this week of a way to ask you out for coffee.”

A new wave of ecstasy welled in Leslie’s chest. An actual date with Regina was almost as good as what had just transpired on top of her desk.

“I would like that…” Leslie managed to pant. “What time?”

Regina gave an uncharacteristic but altogether adorable smirk. 

“As soon as we get through fucking around on my datebook, I’ll write you in.”