Not really

“You're right, Will.” She sighed. “Can you at least fire him?” Samantha asked hopefully and as soon as Dr. Marque looked down at his drink she knew what his answer was going to be.

“Not without cause.” He told her “I'll start looking more closely at his record; I doubt you're his first victim but...” There was something about Dr. Marque's honest emotion that Samantha found compelling and she rested her hand on the smooth fabric of his shirt stopping him.

“I know you will.” She assures him and then before she even realized what was happening their lips met. Samantha really wasn't sure who kissed who, but she knew that this was different from any kiss she had ever experienced in her life. It might be the way Rhiain's body instantly responded to Will's kiss, her oversized breasts tingled with electricity and a rush of warmth heated her insides. It could also be the quality of Dr. Marque's adept kiss. Samantha had never had anyone kiss her with this kind of practiced confidence; it was nothing like the bumbling slobbering of her boyfriend or the soft breathy kisses of her college girlfriend that Samantha had found pleasant, but uninspiring.

The doctor's lips almost as soft, but there was nothing soft about his kiss. Her lips were crushed under his and his arms were like bands of steel that held her tightly to him. Her mouth opened almost instantly and he took advantage of her invitation spearing his tongue past her teeth and into the softness of her mouth. Samantha could taste the **** in his mouth and smell the distinctive sent of his expensive cologne as her fingers ran through his thick dark hair clinging to him like a lifeline as her world spun out of control.

Somewhere during the kiss Dr. Marque shifted her body and she was lying on his lap cradled in his arms as he leaned over her, his mouth never once leaving hers. This new position gave Will much better access to her breasts and Samantha felt his fingers gliding over her mounds as his tongue continued its persuasive ****. The old Samantha would have slowed the pace that this embrace was escalating. She hated losing control of the situation and neither was she at all comfortable with anyone touching her tiny A-cup tits, she hadn’t even let her girlfriend under her shirt after weeks of heavy petting.

This however was very different. Samantha’s old breasts had never been this sensitive; she remembered giggling skeptically at the way harlequin romances greatly exaggerated the impact of having a man's fingers stroking the heroine’s bosoms. She was now a believer, each touch and gentle squeeze sent pulses of need straight to her core, instead of stopping the skillful manipulation of her breasts she wanted to rip open the brown workshirt that was the only protection between his fingers and her throbbing tits. What kind of whorish needs had she inherited with this fantastic body of hers? Or was it because of Dr. Marque’s skillful technique? Perhaps she was responding this way because he was used to bringing young women up to his exclusive penthouse, plying them with **** and then kissing the naïve things until they could no longer think.

“Wait.” She begged weakly, stopping his hand just as it was about to slide through the gap that had suddenly appeared in her drab brown shirt. “Wait, Stop!” Her voice was a little louder now and she sat up pulling away from the Dr.’s embrace. “Don’t take this the wrong way Will,” She said afraid to face him as she spoke. “That was amazing, but I don’t even know you.” She sealed the seam of her shirt all the way up to her neck before finally turning to face him. “I don’t even know who I am.”