Fiona Bruce Nude の小説・ストーリー

Krista exclaimed in well-acted shock. "Just some pictures I had laying around. I thought maybe it was time they saw the light of day." I reached down to the pile of pictures at Donna's feet, pulling out a truly damning picture. In it Donna was leaning back in a hot-tub, her arms stretched across the back, eyes closed. Her breasts were well up out of the water, and her nipples were clearly hard. Krista was standing between her legs, and leaning towards her, naked as the day she was born, her delicious ass just hovering at the top of the water.

Fiona glanced at Frederick, and a wave of bashfulness washed over her. Memories of the incident when he had seen her naked flooded back, turning her cheeks the color of blooming peonies. Anya was unaware of Fiona's inner turmoil. She saw Fiona's face erupt in a fiery blush, reminiscent of a ripe crab. Reaching out with concern, Anya touched Fiona's cheek to check for a fever. The touch sent a jolt through Fiona. She flinched, her own hand instinctively flying to her burning cheeks.

She clutched her bed sheet tight, her legs squeezing tight together. Fiona's eyes nearly popped out of her head because it was a sight she would have never associated with her boss. Ma'am Rosy always looked efficiently dressed in work suits and high heels, her long hair knotted at the top of her head and not a strand out of place. She always looked elegant, prim, and proper, like a classy princess. Now, staring at her writhing in her own bed, naked and oblivious of any other person, her face was a mask of pure, undiluted pain. It broke something in young Fiona's heart.

That would make me a peeping Tom. By the way, was the term ‘peeping Tom’ for males and females? Tom is a male, you know. **“I have to say, I am glad you chose my side,” Bruce told Fiona on our video call. The call had two people on each side. Bruce and I in his private library, Fiona and Kenzie in her store. She had to use such a crude place because it was likely other rooms had been bugged by Baldwin. “I still have some loyalty left inside of me,” Fiona replied calmly. “After all, I have been the CEO of Stamford Fashion for years now.

The fabric feels strange against my skin, and I'm painfully aware of the eyes that seem to be boring into me from all directions. Fiona struts out of the restroom looking like a plus-sized model fresh off a bikini runway. Her curves are on full display, and her chest is, well, let's just say it makes you wonder if she's smuggling melons. Her poor bra is hanging on for dear life, the lace trim waving a white flag in surrender to the pull of gravity.

Cynthia De'Lacruz is the name I recall. I'll never forget her. My Secretary entered seductively, revealing her boobs as usual, and I found it difficult to resist her because I still hadn't gotten over the girl with the grey eyes. She walked up to me, unfastening the upper button on my shirt and adjusting the tie, slid her hand into my trouser and damn it, I couldn't control myself any longer, I was already on the verge, and she just pushed me over.

His cock was as hard as fuck, fully ready to fill her up and give her the sex she had been craving for. Stacy licked her lips and turned away from his body. She didn't waste up to thirty seconds before she flung all the clothes she had on onto the ground. Bruce refused the temptation to look at her perfect soft body, his imagination of how she must look right now all naked and bare for his eyes took over his logic for thinking.

Instead, the blinding white light of professional studio strobes hit my eyes. I froze. My jaw dropped. The underground space was a clean, flawlessly clear, and incredibly well-equipped high-fashion photography studio. There were catering tables filled with fruit and sparkling water. High-end cameras were mounted on tripods. And there, sitting on a velvet couch, were three other beautiful models, entirely unharmed, casually chatting with a female stylist. In the center of the room, Fiona was standing against a gray backdrop, a professional reflector shield bouncing light onto her face. She wasn't tied up. She wasn't crying. She was in the middle of a high-fashion photoshoot.

Clifford and I pushed through, and my breath caught in my chest. Fiona. Her skin was marked with bruises, raw and red in places like she’d been burned. Her dress was torn at the edges, her hair a wild mess. She crouched on the ground, curled in on herself, clutching something so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Gasps rippled around us, but they didn’t touch me. My body felt cold, frozen stiff, my pulse hammering in my ears. Fiona… like this? I stepped forward before I could think.

Fuck, Fiona is here, in Los Angeles, she must be tired, a five hour flight from Rhode Island. ____ I let the water run over me one last time, about to put it off, when Fiona struts in, naked. I gulp, looking at her, every parts of her, divine, golden. "Stay still." She says, and falls to her knee, my cock shooting out, saluting her. "God, your cock makes me want to have a baby." She groans, and before I can speak, she takes me in, all of me, in one gulp.