"In some ways, watching a woman like you dress is even better than watching you undress."

Lana's head whipped around to the open doorway of her private room. Stark was leaning in it with his arms crossed, a smug grin on his face as if he belonged there. She was lacing the thin strap to her left sandal in a criss-cross pattern up her shin. She could have used the footstool under the vanity, but she'd opted to lift her foot onto the edge of her chair, forcing the bottom of her short, white dress to gather around her hips.

The dress had a tapered hemline that was longer on one side. Her supple thighs shimmered in the bedroom lamplight. Her skin was an enticing shade somewhere between copper and melted butter. Stark hardly blinked, and she could see his Adam's apple bob every time her bare pussy flashed. He wasn't supposed to be there. He should have been in his own room on the other side of the suite, respecting his boss's privacy.

It was the final night of the four day conference. The location was a tropical resort, which had given Lana and Stark a much more relaxed environment to work in. Café meetings overlooking white sand beaches and the comfort of a five star hotel suite made all the last minute details they had to work through sail along with barely a stressful moment.

In fact, the greatest stress of the conference so far might have been the foot massage Stark had given Lana the previous evening, after several hours working out the final touches on Stark's presentation. His hands were large and confident, and the way he'd touched her feet and ankles had put Lana in a zone of relaxation that was completely unprofessional. By the time he'd finished, she realized her pussy was wet and aching, and she'd nearly staggered back to her room.

Now Lana's spine stiffened and she cocked her head to look at him with haughty disdain, but she didn't move to cover herself. After a moment, she slowly continued wrapping the strap around her leg. If he was going to be so bold as to invade his own boss's privacy this way, then she could damn well make him suffer a little before sending him off to join the ranks of the unemployed. She hadn't worked so hard as a minority businesswoman to build a successful company only to have her cockiest employee barge into her room and gaze at her like some kind of lap dancer.

"Stark, how long have you worked for me?" she asked.

"Not so long you couldn't fire me right now," he suggested calmly. His arms looked thick and solid, and his grin conveyed a smug sense of ease that couldn't have been much more annoying.

"You think I wouldn't fire you thirty minutes before you address the entire conference?"

"Oh, I know you would. But you won't."

He walked into the room and sat on the edge of her bed. He was wearing loose linen trousers and a plain, silk jersey. Casual, but professional enough under the circumstances. She followed his movement and felt his eyes burn up the shimmering flesh of her raised thigh. She was painfully aware of the way her hairless pussy was exposed in all its pouting glory, but she felt the heat of defiance flush through her lips.

"Oh really," she said, skeptically. "And why is that?"

"Same reason you treat me like one of your unpaid, college interns back at the office," he said, his hand drifting toward the crotch of his trousers. "Calling me into your office to look over plans I've already given you notes on. Asking me to fetch you coffee and tea when you know I'm working under deadlines. Same reason you always find some excuse for me to lean over your desk where my head is full of your perfume and that soft, creamy valley between your improbable tits is all I can see."

"You're fired," she said. She almost sounded convincing except for the noticeable tremor in her voice. "Just as soon as you're finished with your presentation."

"Good. That means you're not officially my boss anymore."

"Ha! Like you ever take anyone's orders but your own," she spat.

In another minute he'd be able to see how wet her pussy was threatening to become. The hand resting over his crotch gave his package a lazy squeeze. Her eyes drifted toward his hand despite her knowing how easily he could follow her gaze. She could feel curiosity prickling over the surface of her dusky skin.

"Know what I think?" he asked, openly staring at her pussy.

She let her raised thigh lean out to the side, revealing more of herself in a taunting act of defiance. "No, but you're going to tell me anyway."

Stark half chuckled and half groaned as his eyes lit up. "I think deep down, you really don't like giving orders at all. I think you're tired of having to be tougher than you feel all the time, but you keep doing it because you're good at it, and because now your company is too successful to turn back ... so you play your role as reigning queen."

Lana took a moment to absorb what he said, then slowly put her foot back on the floor and stood up. The wedge sandals were just high enough to set off the fluid musculature of her legs without being difficult to walk in. She felt young and vital, even powerful, and yet Stark was making her knees feel like rubber. Her nipples made conspicuous points in the plunging halter of the dress, a stark contrast against her fine skin.

"You're history, Stark. Ancient history. Like the rest of the fucking Neanderthals," she told him as sweetly as if she were offering tea.

He watched her hungrily, openly fondling his cock through his trousers. He was getting hard, and the prodigious shape of his erection was growing clearer and clearer under the fabric. Lana felt heat simmering under her skin as she followed the growth of his arousal with barely concealed anticipation.

"The day you first interviewed me I was struck by how beautiful your eyes are, but I've never seen them look as beautiful as they are right now," he said, his tone skirting dangerously close to a groan.

"You," she nearly fumed, " ... stop touching ... cock." She realized she was biting her bottom lip as the head of his cock became a clear shape in the drape of his trousers. "We ... conference ... fifteen minutes."

"We better find you a pair of panties to wear, then, shouldn't we? You can't go to a business function in slutwear like that without them." His tone was measured and calm, as if he'd been talking about whatever was going to be on the dessert menu.

The spinning in Lana's head slowed down enough to connect with the reality of having to walk into the teeming conference. She realized how good she felt without panties. The burning flush in her core hit her with a warm glow of delirium she didn't want to deny, but she knew he was right.

Stark got up and walked to her bureau, a faint scent of almonds reaching her senses as he passed. He pulled open her top drawer and rummaged through it, taking his time to handle the various styles and colors. He held two or three pair up with both hands, trying to judge how they'd look on her body. He settled on a simple yet scant black thong.

"No," she complained. "Black is going to show right through this dress. Maybe a lighter color would..."

"That's the whole idea." He smiled like a kindly professor explaining new concepts to a classroom of bewildered freshmen. "I want to see your ass move when you lead me to our seats."

"You're ... fucking impossible." She tried to sneer at him, even as the quiet audacity of his demand felt like a rush of warm air under her dress.

"Come, now ... boss. Come get your slutty little thong before I put them in my pocket and keep them until the meeting's all over."

"You're a filthy, arrogant pig, Stark," she said. "It's going to be such a pleasure firing you it might even make me ... cum."