Mr. Nelson asks her to grab something off the shelf

Mr. Nelson’s moustache wrinkled, seeming pleased. “Good. Good. They can be a handful,” he chuffed. He cleared his throat and glanced over at a stack of folders on a high shelf overhead. “Ahem, before you go, Miss Vargas, if you wouldn’t mind — New blood, a younger back than mine — could you perhaps reach that blue binder for me? Up on the top shelf.”

“Of course Mr. Nelson,” Maria replied, rising to her feet. He’s taller than me, not all that hard to reach it himself, but nothing wrong with ingratiating myself with the new boss on the first day. She stepped around the desk. Her breasts hung full and bare under the warm office light, blurring the faint tan marks. Maria remained blissfully unaware. Mr. Nelson — and the security camera in the corner she was now nearly nipple-to-lens to — followed her progress with placid satisfaction, as she rose onto the balls her feet and stretched her arms up. The binder was just high enough that her back arched. Both breasts rose, jostled tastefully, and drew tighter, before she got a hold of the binder. Cool air ghosted over her skin. The gap must be around there. I hope Mr. Nelson doesn’t catch a cold in here. She retracted her arms and retrieved the binder. Her boobs swayed slightly when she came down off her toes, but not enough to alarm or alert her. She’d always been of the opinion a good bra should allow for a hint of fashionable jiggle. Mr. Nelson’s smile remained constant.

“If you’d be so kind as to file it in the bottom drawer over there. Opposite. Thank you, Miss Vargas.”

Maria nodded and crossed over to a cabinet on the other side of the room. She stooped and pulled the drawer. The bend put her ass toward the desk and her tits toward the floor, hanging openly. The binder went in, and she pushed the drawer shut with her hip. The motion made her breasts swing inward and clap softly together before they parted again. Two dark peaks, tracing figure-eights, amidst a meadow of soft, warm skin, interrupted only by the black lace at her hips and thighs. She still didn’t look down, not wanting to seem vulgar in front of the principal by checking or adjusting her cleavage.

“That will do, Miss,” the principal folded his hands again, pleased. “I shouldn’t keep you. Feel free to collect your things and head on home, you’ve earned it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nelson.”

She left the office, her black panties and arch of her bare back disappearing out the door, the clacking of her heels receding in the distance.