Business Trip from Hell (Parts One & Two) by John Knuckles

He's a big favorite around here, so here is a John Knuckles piece for June.

There's Part 3 and 4 by now but you'll have to visit John's page.

http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1988069-Business-Trip-from-Hell-Part-One--Two

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"How could you only have one room available?!  I specifically requested TWO rooms -- one for me and one for my marketing director, Jeff Jones.  I demand to speak to the manager!"

Rachel Queen could feel her face growing flush.  The auburn-haired 34-year-old owner/president of Queen Swimsuits, Inc. had just endured a 17-hour plane trip to sign a multimillion-dollar contract with the Crown Prince of Abu Dhabraii.  Of all the brands in the industry, Queen Swimsuits was selected to be the official swimwear for all the schools in the oil-rich kingdom.

The contract was worth millions.

"I'm sorry, madam," the concierge replied.  "The manager is away at the moment, but the fact remains: We are overbooked.  You have my sincere apologies.  We only have one room available.  It's a lovely single bed suite on the second floor."

Rachel pouted and stomped her foot.  "You -- you don't understand!  We have a meeting with the Crown Prince tomorrow.  The Crown Prince!  We've flown all the way from New York City...  We each need our own private rooms!  We DEFINITELY cannot share a bed!"

"I understand perfectly, madam.  But we only have one room and one bed available."

The exasperated businesswoman looked over her shoulder.  Jeff Jones, her 20-something new hire, had wandered off to flirt with a slutty-looking stranger behind them in line.  Rachel glared at him.  Asshole!  She couldn't wait to fire his arrogant ass... but she needed him to complete this deal.  The Crown Prince was his personal contact and she didn't know another soul in the Kingdom.  But after this deal was done, so was Jeff.

Rachel LOATHED cocky men.  Especially when they were young and handsome...

Jeff was supposed to be a hot-shot rainmaker, and she paid a mint for his marketing services.  But she soon discovered he was a rude, condescending JERK -- and it sickened her how the well-educated ladies in her office would suddenly turn into brainless bimbos around him: "Hee hee, Jeff!  You're so clever!  Oh, Jeff!  You're so dreamy!"

She also knew that he was the one spreading rumors about her getting "freaky" with subordinates.  That was the rumor: Prim and proper Rachel Queen, with her fancy clothes, outrageously large breasts and sexy, womanly curves, was a secret BDSM whore on the weekends!  She might rule with an iron fist from 9am to 5pm, but she turned into a submissive slave-slut off-hours, begging the same subordinates whom she'd browbeat in public to "punish" her in private!  She couldn't prove he had started it -- but she knew it.

The moment this deal was done...

"Fine!  Give us the room!" she snapped.

Jeff skipped over with a bounce in his step: "We're sharing a bed?  Sweet!  Hope you're a sound sleeper, Rachel -- har, har!  Just kidding.  Kind of.  Ha!"

He put his arm over her shoulders.  She instantly threw it off.

"Don't touch me, Jeff!  Ever!  And you will address me as Miss Queen!  If you tell ANYONE about this, so help me --"

"I'm sorry, madam," interrupted the concierge.  "I'm afraid I cannot let you share a room.  At least, not until you tell me something first."

"What?!  Why the hell not?!"

"Because it's against the Kingdom's morality laws for an unmarried man and woman to cohabitate.  It's forbidden.  But if you tell me you're married... I would simply take your word for it."

"Oh, for fuck's sake..."  Rachel looked at her watch.  She was tired and her poor back ached, and her mental clock was off-kilter from the long plane trip.  All she wanted was a cocktail and a hot shower.  "Fine.  We're married.  Give us the damn room.  Please."

"Married, huh?" exclaimed Jeff.  He put his arm back over her shoulders and squeezed tightly.  Rachel looked nauseous, but smiled weakly.  "Hey, as old maids go, you're not half bad, Miss Queen -- I mean, Mrs. Jeffrey Jones!  I can see why I married an, ahem, older woman.  You're holding up pretty well.  In fact, I think I oughta call you Stacy's Mom -- 'cause your ass has got it going on!"  He playfully gave her rear a slap and blew a kiss near her ear.

Rachel was fuming!  Jeff was SO dead!  And his hand was STILL firmly on her ass!  She could feel his fingers kneading her butt cheeks...

"See, we're obviously married," she grimaced.  "Are you going to give us the room now?"

"But of course, madam.  It would be my pleasure.  Welcome to the Kingdom!"

"Great.  Give me the key."

She held out her hand and impatiently tapped her foot.  Instead, the concierge reached past her and handed the key to Jeff.

"Mr. Jones, I wish you and your wife a delightful stay.  But I must warn you, as her declared 'husband' -- even for just tonight and tomorrow -- YOU are now responsible for all her behavior, including damages to the room.  Legally, she's now your personal property."

"Property?!" shouted Rachel.  "I'm nobody's property!!"

Jeff patted her on the butt again.  "Hush, pookie.  Men are talking."

"What?!"

Before she could protest any further, Jeff spoke again:

"How do you recommend I keep my 'property' in line, my good man?  We certainly don't want to offend the Crown Prince."

The concierge shrugged.  "Spankings, whippings... whatever kind of obedience training it takes, sir.  A disobedient wife reflects poorly on the husband."

"Spankings, eh?" Jeff wondered aloud.  "Bare or clothed?  What's the local custom?"

"It's at the husband's discretion, sir."

"Excellent!" the young employee laughed.

Rachel stared daggers at both men and grinded her teeth.  "Don't even think about it,  Jeff!  I'm serious!  Don't forget, YOU work for ME!  At least, until I change my mind, " she hissed.  Oh, if he DARED lay a hand on her...

Jeff pointed at Rachel and snapped his fingers.  "C'mon, pookie.  It's our first night together as newlyweds!  But be a good little girl -- or I might have to spank your bare butt in the hallway.  Ha!  Can you believe my luck?  This is gonna be GREAT!"  He turned and walked to the elevators, grinning from ear to ear.

WTF!

Stunned, his snobby boss trudged her feet and followed... unsure what would happen next...

END OF PART ONE

Jeff Jones triumphantly sneered at his haughty boss, Miss Rachel Queen, as she sulked in the corner of the hotel lobby.  Normally a take-charge tyrant who ruled with an iron fist, she cowered by the long row of elevators, standing all alone. 

Her head shook in disbelief.  WTF!  How... how did this happen?!

Still, she looked beautiful: Her designer dress wrapped tightly around her long legs, and her large breasts cast an impressive shadow.  But although she was beautiful, her discomfort was self-evident: Her knees knocked together and her light-green eyes darted about nervously...

Back in New York City, she was single and fabulous -- the socialite CEO of Queen Swimsuits.  Her flawless face and gorgeous body were seen on billboards and magazine ads, showing-off her company's sexiest bikinis and most glamorous one-pieces.  But here, thousands of miles from her Manhattan high-rise, she was the "wife" and "property" of her junior employee.  And worse, in this patriarchal Kingdom, it was socially expected for men to exert physical dominance over their wives!

Now she had to share a bed with him...

"C'mon, pookie," teased Jeff.  "Be a good wife and don't stand so far away from your husband!  Get your cute tush over here and give Daddy some sugar!  Ha!  Oh, if the guys at work could see this!"

Rachel shot a look of pure hate and thought quickly.  Her nostrils flared and her hands formed into fists.  Come give DADDY SOME SUGAR?!  That snide little punk!  How dare he...

"Didn't you hear me, pookie?" Jeff called again.  He was clearly having the time of his life, verbally abusing his hard-assed boss.  Well, fuck her!  He had just hand-delivered her the biggest account in Queen Swimsuits history.  "Your husband is calling you.  Chop, chop!  Don't make me pull down your panties and give you a spanking in the lobby!"

Three Arab businessmen walking by overheard her "husband" and started snickering.

Ooh... he was SO dead!!

Miss Queen stood up straight, smoothing down her sleek dress.  Her eyes narrowed and she snarled like a tigress.  SPANK me?!  As if!  The taunt activated her adrenaline gland, spiking it into overdrive.  SPANK me?!  She hadn't built a successful swimwear company from the ground-up by being passive -- or by putting up with bullshit threats!  She was Rachel Queen, dammit.  HE worked for HER.  And who the hell was HE anyway?  Just another pretty boy.  Just another junior employee.  Just another desperate horndog who'd NEVER get in the pants of the great Rachel Queen. 

Fuck Jeff Jones!

It was time to put him in his place:

With her normal, confident stride, she strutted over to Jeff, her hips swaying seductively -- and SLAPPED him in the face!  Shocked, the younger man stumbled backwards and held his cheek.

"Ow!  You -- you BITCH!"

Miss Queen's blood red lips formed a wide smile and she cackled in delight.  The older woman proudly stood with her large chest puffed out.  "Now that I have your attention, Mr. Jones, let's get a few things clear: My name is not 'bitch' or 'pookie,' and you ARE NOT my husband.  Are we clear, Mr. Jones -- or do I need to slap some more sense into you?"

Jeff rubbed his face.  He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could --

"We have to share a hotel room tonight, Mr. Jones.  Here are my ground rules: One, I sleep on the bed; you sleep on the floor.  Two, I have, er... a personal morning routine, one that I will not discuss with you, and I will therefore expect you to be showered and out of the room by 6:30 a.m.  You will not return until 8:30 a.m. under ANY circumstances.  Three, you will tell NO ONE about this -- or I will fire you on the spot!"

The younger man's eyes watered.  That bitch!!  What the fuck?!  He cursed her again (under his breath).  How did she turned the tables so fast?  ...Dammit!  He was a FOOL for underestimating her!  Well, he wasn't going to make that mistake again...

"I -- I was just fooling around after a long-ass flight.  Jeez...  You didn't need to slap me,  Miss Queen!"

"Aw, is widdle Jeffrey gonna cry?" she mocked, pretending to rub away a tear.

"No, b -- b -- but you'll be crying when I beat your fat ass bright red!" he retorted, hoping to intimidate her.  "Don't forget, in this Kingdom, a husband is allowed to use corporal punishment on his wife!"

Rachel shrugged indifferently, looking like a woman who had figured everything out:

"Mr. Jones, if you so much lay a FINGER on me, and I'll file a civil lawsuit against you for sexual assault.  I'll go on all the talk shows, telling everyone what a horrible sexual predator you are.  Your reputation wil be ruined.  You'll never work again in this industry, I promise you."

"Lawsuits!" he cried.  "What the fuck -- we were just fooling around on a business trip.  Honest, I was just joking!  How -- how could you threaten to fire me, Miss Queen?  I just delivered you the biggest account of your life!  Tens of millions of dollars!  I -- I just made you a mint!"

"Right.  So after tomorrow... I don't need you anymore, do I?"

"But -" 

"And if I were to hold-up your commission by filing a complaint, there wouldn't be much you could do, is there?"

Her "husband" gasped.

"Wait... wait a minute!  What are you trying to say, Miss Queen?  The Crown Prince of Abu Dhabraii was my personal contact!  I'm the one who introduced you to him!  And -- and you know I just bought a new apartment in Manhattan.  I still owe the deposit!  I need this commission!"

Now it was Rachel who was smirking.

"Mr. Jones, we can do this two ways: One, if you so much as LOOK at me funny, I will fire you, withhold your commission, file a civil lawsuit and move forward with an H.R. complaint against you that will destroy your career forever."

"An H.R. complaint against me?  For what?!  All the other girls LOVE me and you know it, Miss Queen.  You're the only one who has a problem!"

Rachel poked her finger at Jeff's nose and arched her back.  Her large tits pointed firmly at his face.

"For sexual harassment, Mr. Jones.  I know you were the one who started those stupid rumors about me being a closet BDSM freak -- that I spend my weekends getting paddled and punished by my underlings.  As if!  Don't even try to deny it, you little shit!"

Jeff didn't even try to protest.

"Fine.  You got me.  Fine.  Bravo.  Now... what's the second way we can do this?"

"Simple, Mr. Jones.  You stay on your best behavior on this trip, do exactly what I tell you like an obedient little slave, and I won't tie-up your six-figure commission check.  In fact, I'll give you two months pay and let you resign for 'personal reasons' as not to humiliate you.  I might even give you a letter of recommendation.  After all, a recommendation from ME carries a lot of weight in this industry!  Now, do we have have a deal?"

Jeff sighed.  He knew he had been out-dueled...

"Okay, Miss Queen.  Fine...  We have a deal."

He held out his hand for her to shake.

She reached forward.

At that exact moment, the elevator doors opened and three little kids zipped by.  They sprinted so fast -- Rachel stumbled backwards to avoid being run over...

...but she tripped and fell, landing awkwardly on the hard lobby floor!

"Ow!!" she cried.  "My -- my spine!"

Jeff looked down.  His tough-talking boss was sprawled like a ragdoll, laying flat on her back.  One of her heels had flown off her foot, landing on the other side of the hall.  Miss Queen looked so... vulnerable like this.  Her dress had climbed halfway past her upper thighs, nearly revealing a glimpse of her panties when she kicked her legs in agony.  Her left shoulder strap had snapped in half.

"I -- I can't move my arms!" Rachel screamed.

A crowd of tourists began to gather around.  Jeff thought for a moment.  And then he smiled:

"Help!" he yelled.  "My WIFE is hurt!  Is there a doctor in the house?"

A Middle Eastern-looking gentleman walked to them.  "I'm the hotel doctor.  How may I assist, sir?"

"Help me up!" Rachel screamed, struggling to get to her feet.

Jeff reached down to his fallen boss, reaching to her with both hands.  Grateful, she moved her wrists in his direction and waited for his help...

But instead, he grabbed her dress from the bottom hem -- and began peeling it off her body!  Right there -- in the hotel lobby, with a crowd of strangers staring!  He was PULLING UP her dress!

"Jeff!!  Stop!!  Wh -- what are you doing?!"

"I'm sorry, pookie," he answered with a mischievous grin.  "But that was a nasty spill you took.  You need to let your husband inspect your body and make sure nothing is broken.  So let's take a peak at all your girly bits... Ooh, Miss Queen, nice legs!"

Two-thirds of her meaty thighs (with a slight ripple of cellulite on the inside) were now in full view.  As the hotel guests were entering and exiting the elevators, they couldn't help but gaze at the disheveled woman on the floor.

"STOP!" she cried.  "No!  Put my dress down!  Jeff!  People are staring!"

He didn't stop.  In fact, he raised it even higher:

With one hard tug, her beautiful dress was quickly lifted completely past her thighs -- and racing fast for her hips!

"I don't see any bruises yet, Doc," Jeff calmly observed.  "But we should be thorough."

He tugged harder.  Rachel felt her dress sliding under her butt -- and then pulled free!

"No!!  Jeff!!  OH GOD!!"

Her dress was now pulled to her belly button, FULLY revealing her bright red panties (with an adorable Hello Kitty image in the middle!) to the gaggle of onlookers in the hotel lobby.  And what a sight to behold:  A few long dark pubic hairs jutted out of the sides...

"Don't argue with your husband, pookie.  We need to check you for injuries.  And then we need to buy some razor blades.  Hello Kitty?  Pookie, your Kitty needs a shave!  Nobody wants a long-haired pussy!"

"STOP!!  You --"

But instead he pulled even harder:

He had now pulled the dress up nearly to her arm pits!  Her big TITS were just seconds away from being fully unveiled!

Rachel screamed.  She was getting stripped naked in the hotel lobby by her snot-nosed underling, and now her entire belly was exposed to a room full of slack-jawed strangers!  But if her tits were exposed... OH GOD!

Miss Queen was a very sexy woman.  At least, she was marketed that way.  Photoshopped images of her modeling her company's adult swimwear was the cornerstone of their advertising campaign.  That's what made Queen Swimwear so special: It was the only national brand that was personally modeled by the company's CEO.  Miss Queen wasn't just the public FACE of Queen Swimwear; she was the public BODY.

All the girls wanted to look as good as Rachel Queen!

But without spray tans and Photoshop, it was painfully obvious that the beautiful body of Miss Queen was, well... plumper than she looked when clothed: Her tummy rolls hung over the top of her panties' waistband, showing off a pale potbelly.  She must've regained use of her arms in a hurry (Hallelujah!), because she was suddenly fighting like crazy to keep her breasts covered; her eyes were on the verge of tears, but she still battled with all her might!  Alas, it was obvious that her strength had been sapped: The fabric was quickly slipping away...

"Jeff!!  Please!!  Don't take my clothes!" she squealed.

"Sorry, pookie," Jeff answered.  By this time a large crowd of hotel guests had formed a circle around them.  "I know this is a little embarrassing, but we need to look you over for injuries.  Ain't that right, Doc?"

'Yes, that's true," the doctor replied.  "After all, a husband knows what's best for his property."

"But -- but I'm not wearing a bra!  Please!  STOP!"

Instead of stopping, Jeff pulled even harder:

And inch by inch, her dress was slipping past her chest!

Rachel was fighting like mad to keep her breasts covered.  Her legs were kicking and thrashing angrily, and her bright red Hello Kitty panties were getting increasingly bunched-up around her crotch.  An outline of a camel toe began to emerge in the base of her undies... and the more they bunched around her crotch, the more of her gnarly pubic hairs could be seen around her hips.

Then -- without warning -- a silicon bag fell from the top of her dress, tumbling down her side like a gelatinous blob, where it landed on the floor with a loud PLOP! 

It was a very large falsie.  At least five pounds of jiggly, bouncy silicon.

The audience gasped.

"Noooooo!"

Beet-red, Rachel hastily grabbed the baggie and stuffed it back up her dress!

This... can't... be... happening...!

Her legs were still kicking and thrashing, but now there were tears rolling down her face.  Her secret shame!  NO!!  NO, NO, NO!!!  One arm was desperately clinging to her chest, refusing to let her dress slip past her breasts.  Anything but that!  She couldn't bear it! 

Her other hand was frantically trying to reinsert the silicon baggie...

Jeff started pulling even harder.

"STOP!!  STOP!!  Don't leave me topless, Jeff!  Please!  I -- I beg you!  I'll do anything!  Please!  Don't expose my -- my secret!"

A cruel smile spread across Jeff's face.  So the rumors were true: The great and powerful Miss Rachel Queen DID stuff her bra.  For many years, there had been whispers in the industry that Rachel would, ahem, "artificially enhance" her bust during modeling shoots, but Jeff assumed it was just jealous innuendo.  But by the size of that falsie, she must be almost completely titless!  Like, NOTHING up top!  And she was always so vain about her figure, wearing clothes that showed-off her big, firm chest...

This was too good to be true!

"Doc, examine her closely," he directed, still holding onto Rachel's dress, but no longer pulling.  He was now content to leave the humiliated CEO dangling in a half-naked stalemate: Her red Hello Kitty panties were getting increasingly wedged up her pussy lips, revealing a surrounding forest of dark pubes.  He tummy rolls jiggled like jello as she hyperventilated, but still, she refused to surrender.  She was pounding her fists and kicking her legs, unwilling to submit.  It was almost admirable how determined she was to keep her "secret" breasts hidden from her crowd of admirers.

The doctor smiled.  "She is adorable, sir.  Despite certain, er... shortcomings," he added, motioning towards her chest.  "But we really should check her stomach, sides and upper torso.  I doubt very much if she has hurt her spine, but I suspect that her ribs might be bruised."

"My ribs are fine!!  Just lemme GO!!"

But the doctor ignored her and knelt down, placing his calloused hand on her bare hip, gripping her like a basketball.  Goosebumps shot up and down her body.  His other hand was lightly tracing her thigh...

"Don't fight me, madam.  Let me examine you." 

With a happy smile, the doctor let his fingers glide along the contour of her inner-thigh, atop her panties, over her pubic mound and then up to her stomach, where he seized and gripped her belly rolls.

As the audience watched with keen interest, the doctor shook her tummy fat, singing: "Jelly-belly!  Jelly-belly!"

"Stop!!  Stop that!"

"So sorry," he apologized.  "In my country, we shake a jelly-belly for good luck.  And your belly has a lot of jelly!"

Jeff doubled over with laughter, but the crowd of rubber-neckers murmured in agreement.  In fact, two of the little kids who tripped her ran up and gave her jelly-belly a shake!

"Hey!!  You -- you gaddamn BRATS!!" she cried, futilely kicking her feet at them.  Oh, the indignity of it all!

The doctor's hand then journeyed to the top of her panties.  He inserted one finger inside her waistline and slowly started pulling her panties open...

Rachel's jaw dropped.  No... he COULDN'T!  But as he kept pulling, she could feel the cool air blowing down on her hot, steamy pussy.  And it felt... good.

"Oh!" exclaimed the doctor, gazing inside her undies.  "That's a lot of hair.  Take a peak," he recommended to Jeff.  "She's a regular Hairy Mary!"

Jeff peered over to take a look at her snatch.  "Wow, pookie.  It looks like you tried to smuggle a ball of yarn past customs!  You're quite the furball."

The lobby echoed with laughter.

Rachel wanted to die!  NO!!  Jeffrey Jones, the boy-faced CREEP from the office, had just gotten a free view of her pussy!  Her PUSSY!  Her most intimate, private body part!    KILL ME!!  Oh, Jesus... she'd NEVER live this down!

The fiery CEO fought with all her might -- summoning every ounce of strength she had left -- FINALLY pulling her dress free from her subordinate's hands.  There!  Still on her back, she pushed away the doctor; her panties snapped back sharply, exposing her left pussy lip to the hotel guests.  Miss Queen paid no heed to her undies, however, focusing instead on pulling down her dress until it fully re-covered her stomach, hips and her thighs.

"You bastards!" she seethed.  "You'll PAY for this!"  If looks could kill, Jeff and the doctor would be corpses! 

With tears running down her cheeks, she gallantly tried to put all her "parts" back in place.  But despite her improv handiwork, one of her boobs looked misaligned... almost like the nipple was pointing at her armpit.

Jeff turned to the crowd of onlookers and cleared his throat:

"It's okay," he explained in a loud voice.  "My wife, Rachel Queen, stuffs her bra."

"What?!" gasped Rachel.  "You... you..."

"She's embarrassed by how small her tits are," Jeff continued.  "That's why she doesn't want anyone to see her naked."

"Jeff!" she shrieked.  "Sh -- shut up!"

Instead, her junior employee pled to the onlookers: "Guys, you won't make fun of her for having itsy-bitsy boobies, will you?  We need to make sure her ribs aren't broken.  So try not to stare too much."

"It's a medical emergency," added the doctor.

"We won't!" agreed the crowd.

Rachel stumbled to her feet.  By now she was barefoot and disheveled, with her mascara streaking and her lipstick smudged.  There was a crazed look in her eyes...

"Nobody but NOBODY is going to see my breasts, I promise you that!" she spat at the two, holding her chest in her arms.  "Get away from me!" 

She turned to the crowd: "The peep show is OVER, you perverts!  Go back to your boring lives!  Do you hear me?  GO AWAY!"

"But pookie, you're hurt," Jeff tried to reason.  He put his hand on the small of her back.

Miss Queen screamed in pain, almost dropping back to her knees.

"I really need to examine you, madam," said the doctor.  "Please take off your dress."

"No!" she insisted, pouting.  She stomped her foot for emphasis.  "Just... just give me the stupid pain pills!  I'll see a REAL doctor when I get back to New York.  Please!"  She wiped a tear from her eyes.

The doctor turned to Jeff.

"I can write her a few prescriptions, if you like.  But we need to do everything we can to protect her back from unnecessary stress."

"Perhaps I can help," said a new voice.

Rachel squinted through her tears to see who it was.  It.... it was that skank -- the one from the concierge line -- the one Jeff was flirting with.  What did SHE want?!

"I have a medical background," the voice added.  "I used to go to med school in Brooklyn.  Right until I got my big break in the sportswear industry."

The sportswear industry!

Rachel rubbed her eyes with her palms, ruining her mascara completely; it looked like she had given herself a raccoon mask.  Who WAS that?

She squinted again -- and then her stomach dropped. 

No...

NO!!

OH GOD NO!!

Miss Queen hadn't recognized her right away; it had been a few years and the former brunette was now a platinum blonde.  But it was her.

Genevieve Princess.

Rachel's old assistant.

"Hello, Miss Queen," cooed Genevieve.  "Fancy seeing you here.  You're looking as... well, lovely as ever.  I looove your new look!"

"G -- Genevieve!  What are you doing here?!"

"I'm with Speed Demon Swimwear now," the blonde replied.  "We received word that the Crown Prince of Abu Dhabraii was about to make a terrible mistake and sign a contract with an inferor line of swimsuits.  I've come to put a stop to it."

Feeling horribly self conscious, Rachel covered her chest with her arms and squeezed her thighs together.

"How... how long were you watching?" gasped the older woman.

"Long enough.  And Miss Queen: Your left tit is crooked."

Jeff and the doctor started snickering.  Rachel turned fire engine-red and hid her tits in her hands.  Oh, no!  Her head was spinning: Genevieve had discovered her secret!  She... she knew!  She KNEW!

And if anyone had a motive to get even with Rachel Queen, it was Genevieve Princess:

Several years ago, when Rachel was still struggling to launch her company, she received an unsolicited resume and fashion portfolio from a medical student.  The patterns and concept was intriguing: a line of swimsuits that were medically-designed to alleviate back pain.  It was ingenious.  Rachel instantly knew it was a game-changer.

She hired Genevieve for pennies on the dollar -- and slyly had her sign over the rights to her designs.

It was a phenomenal success.  But when it was time to choose a model, Genevieve BEGGED to do it herself:

"Please, Miss Queen!  It was my idea, after all.  And being a model has always been my dream!"

"Forget it, Genevieve.  No offense, but you just don't have the body to pull it off.  I mean... LOOK at you!  Mousy brown hair, teeny little titties and a beer belly.  You could be cute -- if you got a boob-job and hit the gym.  Sorry, sweetheart.  You're just not model material."

Rachel modeled the line herself.  The campaign -- with the voluptuous Miss Queen teasing America with her giant tits and perfectly-fit body -- was a smash-hit.  Suddenly, she was a global brand and an international sex symbol.

Rachel fired Genevieve the following day.  And hadn't seen her since.

Not until today.

She looked so different!  Her mousy hair was now blonde; by the looks of her cleavage, she had also gotten that boob-job.

Rachel looked down at her own chest... and nearly burst into loud sobs!

"Genevieve, please -- I -- I --"

Her ex-employee winked at her.

"Don't be silly, Miss Queen.  You and me... all that stuff happened years ago.  I hate to see you in pain like this, so let me help.  The first thing we need to do is remove any unnecessary pressure on your back.  Miss Queen, hand me your falsies!"

"WHAT?!" yelled Rachel, flabbergasted.

"You heard me," said Genevieve.  "Those big, heavy silicon bags you've stuffed in your top.  The WORST thing you could do for your back is to walk around with an extra 10 pounds on your chest."

"Madam, this is quite true," nodded the doctor.  "I want your back as stress-free as possible.  That is the doctor's orders."

"You heard 'em," snapped Jeff.  "Hand over your fun-bags to the blonde girl, pookie."

"NO!!  I --"

"Do it," he demanded, "Hurry up!  It's late. I wanna go to bed... with you."

Rachel desperately wanted to escape these prying eyes.  The solitude -- and privacy -- of a hotel room sounded wonderful (even with Jeff).  But then a terrible thought entered her mind:

"If I give my -- my falsies to her... um, I mean... my clothes... tomorrow... I... I..."

"What are you yapping about, pookie?"

"My clothes won't fit!  These falsies... they're the only pair I brought on this trip!  I can't face the Crown Prince of Abu Dhabraii without my... um, you-know-what's!!"

Genevieve snorted, scarcely able to stop laughing.  But Jeff had a serious look on his face:

"Pookie, what kind of husband would I be if I placed more importance on your appearance than your health?  Your health comes first, baby cakes.  Now hand over your breasts to this pretty lady for safekeeping."

"Aww, what a nice guy!" exclaimed an old woman in the crowd.  "He's a sweetie.  You should do what he says."

"But -- but -- but --"

"No buts!" shouted back the old woman.  "Do what your nice, handsome husband says, and hand the blonde girl your tits!"

The still-growing crowd murmured in agreement.

Jeff leaned close to her and placed his hand on her ass, seizing it firmly.  He rubbed in a wide circle...

"Yes, pookie," he growled.  "Do it... or I swear to God, I'll strip you naked and spank your bare ass in the middle of the lobby.  Now DO IT!"

Rachel closed her eyes and imagined how humiliating it would be: Her now-gorgeous ex-employee Genevieve looking down at her... getting to see the great Rachel Queen humbled before hundreds of prying eyes... her clothes removed... her flat tits and hairy beaver exposed... her naked body revealed in all its glory -- as she gets SPANKED ON THE ASS by her 20-something-year-old subordinate! 

Oh my...

The CEO of Queen Swimsuits gulped.  The throngs of onlookers huddled closer, to see what she would do...

Trying her hardest to choke back her tears, Rachel reached inside the top of her beautiful designer dress.  Her "breasts" jostled around beneath the fabric, heaving like a woman jogging.  Then out popped one silicon bag -- and then the other.

The audience oohed and awed!

Her top now baggy and loose, Rachel turned to Genevieve.  Her body burned with the most soul-crushing, ego-destroying SHAME she had ever known.

She turned to her ex-employee, too mortified to make eye contact... and literally handed over her tits!

Genevieve held one baggie in each hand.  With a loud cheer, she held the falsies up high, for everyone to see.

"Don't worry, Miss Queen," the younger blonde teased.  "I'll hold onto these make-believe-boobies for you.  When your back is feeling better, let me know and I'll give back your womanhood!"

This was too much!  Rachel exploded in rage:

"My womanhood?!  Excuse me?!  I'm STILL more of a woman than you'll EVER be, little girl!!  And don't you forget it!"

She stomped her foot.

Then, all at once, her now-loose-fitting dress dropped down to her waist.

Whoosh!

Miss Queen's TINY TITS were completely exposed!

She had no breast tissue to speak of.  Not really. Just a pair of round, pink nipples in the middle of her chest.  And maybe it was cold, because her nipples were as hard as rocks!

Genevieve pointed and laughed.  Cameras and cell phones were flashing like a disco ball.

"You're calling ME a little girl?!  Ha!  All you have are a pair of mosquito bites!  The famous Miss Queen has the tits of an 11-year-old!  Ha!"

"Mommy?" called out a small boy.  "Why didn't that woman get any big girl boobies?"

"Hush, Timmy!" the mother reprimanded.  "I'm sure that flat-chested woman feels bad enough without you pointing at her."

"Holy shit!" giggled Jeff.  "She has nothing!  She's as flat as a table!  And THIS is what our company's swimsuit model really looks like?  Christ, we're doomed!"

Rachel was frozen with fear.  She just stood there, her mouth agape, her tiny titties poking in the cool air.  It seemed like everything was moving in slow motion.  All those faces, laughing and pointing at her... laughing at her small little boobies.  God!!  The same boobies she always kept hidden from EVERYONE were now part of the lobby scenery.  Maids, guests and business execs were walking by.  Worst of all, the more embarrassed she'd get, the more her nipples hardened. 

By now they were diamonds.

Was this REALLY happening...???

Then... she sneezed:

KERCHEW!!

And her dress slid off her waist and onto the floor, landing by her bare feet.

Just like that.

Miss Rachel Queen was wearing her red Hello Kitty undies -- and absolutely nothing else -- in the middle of the hotel lobby.

"Ha ha!" giggled Timmy.  "I see her panties!  She has a PUSSY on her panties, Mommy!  Meow!"

The laughter was deafening.

Rachel was in a state of shock.  Everywhere she looked, someone was either pointing at her -- or filming and recording her topless body!  In all her life, she had NEVER been so exposed.  She was shaking -- which was making her engorged nipples bob up and down.  And by now her panties were stuck half inside her pussy lips, giving her something far worse than just a camel toe for all to see.

A Japanese tourist ran up to take a picture with her.  With an oblivious smile, he gave the camera a thumbs-up, then turned around and shook her stomach!

"Ahso.  Jerry-berry!  Jerry-berry!" 

Then he bowed.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!"

She blacked out.

Rachel awoke in her hotel room.  She was laying on her back, gazing at the ceiling.  She turned her head and saw Jeff Jones with a handful of pill bottles.

Then a HORRIBLE thought crossed her mind -- and in a panic, she looked down and checked her body:

Phew!  She was fully clothed.  Maybe it was all just a nightmare...

Jeff noticed she was stirring.

"You wakeup yet, pookie?  Good.  You poor thing, you pased out earlier.  I'm glad you're feeling better.  The nice hotel doctor left some meds for you.  Now get some more rest.  We have a big day tomorrow -- and I'll be damned if well let Genevieve Princess steal my commission!"

Rachel closed her eyes, too exhausted to think...

END OF PART TWO