<span style="font-weight: bold">Samantha Belweather</span><br/><br/>One of the perks of owning your own business is being able to wear whatever you damn well pleased at the office. For some, that might've meant dressing so your legs and breasts could be ogled... for Ms Belweather, it meant having the power to<span style="font-style: italic">enjoy</span>it. Her tight pinstriped mini wrapped her butt but left her legs bared, and the view through her glass desk it quite impressive. You've never seen her breasts devour someone, but it seems likely they're capable of it, and acres of cleavage slide out of view, as she leans back from her digital-paperwork and into the comfort of her chair.  Her fingertips steeple, guiding your eyes up to her face. You'd never dare to ask her age, but you know she caught the tech wave as an adult woman, and its made her a millionare several times over.<br/><br/>"My my my, Jules," she purrs. "Whatever are we to do with you?" Her stomach growls loudly, making<span style="font-style: italic">its</span>suggestion known. She waves a hand, expansively, inviting you to pull a chair and sit before her desk, then lowers it to rub her belly for a moment. "My lunch is running a little late, I'm afraid," she smiles. Being offer a chair beats being called onto the carpet for a dressing down... on the other hand, being seated would make it harder to run...