You’ve asked about my job and what I do. So, here’s a little taste of what I do.
My job keeps me on the road across the U.S., spending about four days in each big city meeting building owners. Being away from my husband and the low odds of getting caught make these trips ideal for indulging my deepest cravings. Before I found Redit, I had to rely on bars and chance encounters—most guys were only after a quick fuck, paying littleattention to what I really wanted. I’d often have to take charge just to get my tits the worship they demanded. Random men who didn’t share my fetish left me unsatisfied, so I learned to use my exhibitionist streak to spot fellow tit lovers: their reactions to my teasing told me everything. When I did find true tit worshippers, they lavished my breasts with the adoration they deserved—but even those encounters took too long to arrange. Then came Redit, where I connected with guys who craved exactly what I offered, and now I’ m treated to extended worship sessions— and sometimes raw, hardfucking when the mood strikes.
As many of you know, I’m an executive assistant to our CEO. This is the simplest job on earth. The hardest part of my day is getting the coffee maker to work. If I’m being honest, I’m just the office eye candy for the 72-year-old CEO. I’m also the distraction during meetings, when he wants to get someone off their game. I know, when he asks me into a meeting, I need to take notes and show some skin.
I never wear a bra and favor sheer tops that display the heft and firmness of my tits, along with the length and prominence of my nipples. Even if I’m not trying to tease, my outfits do it for me. There’s nothing like accidentally arousing a man during a boardroom pitch. Once in New York, I was meeting six company execs, with my boss, in a chilly high-rise conference room. I suspected my boss needed me to be the eye candy, and I was perfectly fine with that. I showed up in a white silk blouse so snug that my erect nipples pressed visibly against the fabric, every outline and contour of my breasts on display. The silk was so fine that any chill or stir of arousal threatened to make my nipples pierce the material. I looked in the lobby mirror before walking in and wanted to pinch my own nipples seeing how exposed they were. My top looked like I was dipped bare-breasted into liquid silk.
Once we entered the cold 68-degree room, I shrugged off my coat, letting my hard nipples demand their audience. I sat at the center of the table, flanked by four men across from me and one on each side, with my boss at the head. They all wore wedding rings, which only fueled my excitement. I wasn’t covering up, and they were taking every opportunity to sneak glances at my tits. My pencil skirt had a slit that climbed nearly to my ass cheeks; I wasn’t wearing panties either. When I crossed my legs, my thigh was fully exposed, and I could’ve flashed my pussy if I wasn’t careful. One must always be ready for anything.
During the first twenty minutes, I leaned back in my chair, letting my tits press insistently against the silk. The men across from me couldn’t hide their stares. One even rose under the pretense of pointing at the blueprints, bending forward to get a better view of my tanned thigh before offering some irrelevant comment. Amateur move. I decided it was time to take control. I asked where the restroom was, excused myself, and slipped away. Inside, I released my long, wavy strawberry-blonde hair and undid the top three buttons of my blouse, so my cleavage threatened to spill free. I shook my head, letting my hair tumble into a sexy, messy cascade, and prepared to make my entrance.
When I returned, the room fell silent. Every man, my boss included, stared as I strode back to my seat, flipped my hair over one shoulder, and thrust my tits forward. My nipples were rigid, straining against the silk. I met each pair of eyes in turn, felt the surge of power as their gazes roved over me. “Where did we leave off?” I asked, my tone casual even though I’d just commandeered the atmosphere. The men snapped out of their hypnotic state and resumed the discussion, though my boss lingered in a daze until I flicked my eyes from the blueprints back to him.
Across from me, the older VP droned on about electrical layouts. I leaned in to mirror his posture, arms gripping my chair so my chest jutted forward and my blouse gaped even wider, revealing deep cleavage and the rounded fullness of my breasts. He stared down my shirt for what felt like forever. I held the pose, nipples pointed at him, as the other men shifted uncomfortably but couldn’t tear their eyes away.
My boss’s reaction was even more telling: parted lips, a bead of sweat on his flushed cheek. I flipped my hair back, drew a slow breath so my tits rose and fell against the silk, and soaked up the tension crackling in the room. Then the older VP, his voice low and rough, turned to my boss. “John, can I have a word with you?” They stepped out, leaving the rest of us in awkward silence until John returned and motioned me into the lobby. I sauntered out, heels clicking, to find the VP waiting with a greedy gleam in his eyes.
“What’s going on?” I asked, pretending surprise even though my pulse raced.
“Mr. Walker wants us to have the contract,” John said, jerking his head toward the office, “but he wants to discuss terms with you. Alone.” Which made no sense, I’m just here to take notes. If there are terms to discuss, it’s with John, not me.
I felt the truth land like a punch: I was the product now, not just an assistant. I walked into Walker’s office on tiptoe heels, each step making my tits jiggle beneath the silk. He closed the door and immediately buried his face in my neck, inhaling deeply. I leaned back, arched my spine, and thrust my breasts toward him. He groaned and cupped them, kneading the soft flesh through the blouse until I felt him trembling with need. Then I stepped back.
“Why am I here, Mr. Walker?” I asked, my voice steady despite the heat coursing through me.
His eyes darkened. “I want you to come work for me in New York,” he confessed, voice thick.
I laughed. “I’m a Georgia girl—I’d never survive the city.”
“Be my executive assistant, then,” he rasped. “Come every other month…and take care of my needs.”
I arched an eyebrow as I toyed with the last button of my blouse. “There are others at my company who could handle that.”
His grip tightened on my wrist. “No one else can give me what you can.”
In one swift motion, I yanked my blouse open. Buttons flew, silk peeled aside, and my full, round breasts spilled free. “Is this what you need?” I breathed, thrusting my chest forward. He moaned and dove in, tongue flicking over my nipples, mouth worshipping every curve. He worshiped me for what seemed like hours but was only 15 minutes, his fingers digging into my skin as he claimed me. His mouth was locked on my left nipple, sucking it until it was long and hard. As soon as my nipple was fully erect, I felt his teeth sink into the tender flesh. I put my head back, pushing my tits out even more. His hands had hold of both of my tits from the sides, his face buried into my left tit. I could hear and feel his hot breath on my tit flesh as he groped me and sucked like an animal on my tits, his teeth every so often sinking into me.
When I finally pulled back, my tits were swollen, slick with spit, creased with his handprints. “I’m not a prostitute, Mr. Walker,” I said, voice trembling with power. “You can’t buy me, but I will come see you once in a while.” He nodded, eyes still glazed with lust, and I laid out my terms: he’d put me up at the Ritz, make himself available whenever I wanted, marriage be damned.
He agreed in a whisper—and then admitted he had ED and could only pleasure me orally. I smiled. “Perfect,” I purred, brushing a kiss across his cheek. “Every time I’m in the city, one night with me. You worship my body, and I’ll handle the rest.”
And so it goes. Every other month I fly to New York, luxuriate at the Ritz, and he kneels before me, tongue tracing every inch of my soft, tan skin, sliding between my thighs, even worshipping my asshole like it’s his last meal. I cum so hard I scream, while he laps up every drop of my wet pussy. I run up the charges—room service, shopping, nights on the town—and he pays without a word, eyes shining with satisfaction every time he looks at me.
It’s a twisted little arrangement, maybe, but it works. And as I lie limp and spent with him between my tits or buried in my thighs, I can’t help wondering…how many more times can we get away with this? To all my NY friends, I’ll be back soon!
Posted Feb 16, 2026, 8:26 PM UTC