Helping myself to a glass of wine and the bosses wife at a dinner party
To be frank, I had never liked Larry… true he was the boss and you had to work with him but you didn’t have to like him. In fact there were only two ways to get on in the company- you were either extremely good at your job or you licked ass and brown-nosed your way up. I like to think I was the former- one of the few of the former type in fact. Larry had started out young, hungry and good at what he did. He had built the company from nothing over the last 40 years, but he’d lost touch with the basics. Plus he was a rotten judge of character. I don’t think he realized that the bulk of the work was done by yours truly, and the junior partners just took the credit, smarming their way up the greasy pole. There were maybe 3 of the fifteen employees that the company really couldn’t afford to loose… but Larry was oblivious to that fact and I (like the other two) caught the rough end of any jobs going, copped the blame for anything that went “tits up” and none of the credit for whatever went well. Having said that- it was good experience for me at a time when I needed to get it. I got to work on some major contracts- stuff I wouldn’t have got into on my own, and I learnt from them all. I knew I wouldn’t be “Larry’s man” for ever- there was a whole new career out there and unbeknownst to him, I was making pretty good contacts with the major players in the field. For now it suited me, it wouldn’t be for ever- and as I said I didn’t have to like him.
Larry wasn’t a great socializer; there was the obligatory summer barbeque, Christmas piss-up and so on but nothing too personal; until that is we contacted the Germans. A new stadium was going up in Hannover and we were tendering for the contract. The German negotiators were a real team. I met them at the office- thorough and organized, I think everyone of them had a specific job to do in the team visit and part of that was to get to know the “man” –in this case Larry. He knew that, and the idea scared him. He had no idea how to do this. I remarked that as a student one of the first things you did when visiting a new acquaintance was to sneak a peek through their CD/DVD collection- get under the skin a bit. Larry looked a bit lost so I elaborated- “You need a dinner party- at your place- not a restaurant” Light seemed to be dawning- “You know, show off a few hobby pictures, sports trophies…” Larry winced- I don’t think he had any “…photos of the grandchildren… holiday mementos… you know! A sort of instant get-to-know you set up”. Light dawned, I saw him mentally working out where he might be able get that sort of stuff.
“Of course you can always get in caterers” I added
“Good idea Mark” (my name was Mike, and it had been throughout the three years I had worked for him) “I can sort that - but no need for outside catering- Angela is a great cook”
So that was it- the three brown-nosers and I were invited along with the Germans and a date fixed for the coming Friday. I can’t say that I was looking forward to it- an evening with the socially dysfunctional host and his dried up wife didn’t seem like a great lure.
The evening came- I turned up, on time, with a bottle of a halfway decent red under one arm. As I’d said, Larry didn’t do socializing, so I hadn’t been to his house before. It was large, imitation art deco; built to be both fake and imposing and succeeding in both- “Suits him” I thought. I rang the bell- and got the surprise of my life- a gorgeous young Asian girl answered the door. Her dark hair was cut short around her pretty face, framing her almond eyes to perfection. She was wearing a pink kimono-style dress (Eastern influence, Western style) that clung in all the right places. Her figure was a delight- smallish but pert breasts that seemed larger because her body was so slight, a trim waist swelling to slender but rounded hips that stretched the fabric tight across her abdomen, displaying the smooth flatness of her belly as it tapered to vanish between the curves of her thighs. Since Larry has to be 58 at least and this vision couldn’t be more than 25, I assumed she was from the caterers that Larry had said he didn’t need – but then guess how wrong I was.
“Hi, I’m Angela and you must be…..?”
“Mike” I quickly replied- hopefully looking less gob-snacked than I felt. She smiled at me. I couldn’t imagine how Larry had ended up with a vision of loveliness like this, although I later came to realize that after wife Mk. 1 had taken him to the cleaners, he had made a more business-like arrangement. For her part it was based on immigration, finance and support for her family. For him it was ... well you can guess what it was!
“ANGELAAA--- where’s my…” came a bellow form upstairs. Angela winced “You’ll have to excuse me… Please go through- help yourself to a drink”
She ushered me into a neat side room with a bar on one wall. “I’ll be back soon” she said and silently slipped away. I heard her soft footsteps going up stairs and then a gruff bass tone as Larry moaned about something else- her reply was shrill and sharp but I couldn’t make out the words.
More rings at the door and Angela reappeared. She didn’t look as composed as before, a little flushed and redder round the eyes. The newcomers didn’t notice and were ushered in with me- the three brown-nosers had turned up together. As Angela left in response to another bellow from above, they sniggered like schoolboys and set about helping themselves to the Gin.
A moment late the Germans arrived. This time Larry himself came downstairs and greeted them. We were all introduced (although we had met already) but I noticed that Angela wasn’t. Then the Germans were ushered through and the business of getting to know the “man” began.
Well I won’t bore you with the details. It was every bit as bad as I had thought it might be. Larry had taken me at my literal word and put some golfing pictures about- just causally lying there. As I (and probably anyone else) would have expected this stimulated a conversation- and it quickly became apparent that Larry didn’t play golf! There was an awkward silence, a story about his brother and Larry glared at me and changed the subject-
“Hell not my fault” I thought- “I didn’t say fake it!”
The nosers kept up a stream of inane banter, punctuated with admiration for anything Larry possessed, the Germans frowned and Angela fussed in and out, moving silently, almost like a maid, when Larry demanded something new. Angela wasn’t eating with us but served the dishes and dealt with the requests for drinks.
There was one good thing though, Larry had not lied about Angela’s cooking abilities, and the meal was superb. Well lubricated with a variety of wines and spirits the mood around the table gradually lightened. The Germans were well into character- their voices were getting louder and their calls for beer more frequent, maybe they weren’t getting to know Larry but I was getting to know them pretty well- there would be other contracts I thought to myself.
Angela brought the main course, Beef Wellington.
“Where’s the gravy” snorted Larry rudely, “My friends can’t eat this dry!”
“Oh Sorry” wailed Angela realizing her error- “I forgot to make it!”
“Well get it sorted now!” Ordered Larry before turning to the Germans and muttering snidely “She can’t help it you know”
My glass was empty- although there was plenty of white (German) wine on the table I was the only one drinking red. As the Germans can’t make a decent red to save their lives, I had brought this one with me and it was French. Larry had purposely not put it on the table. He saw I was dry, and the reminder annoyed him. As Angela was out of the room he simply waved me off imperiously - “Go and get your own”
Actually I was glad to get away for a bit and so I rose from the table, left the room and went to find the kitchen. The raucous noises of the dinner party became more muffled as I crossed the hall and correctly guessed which of the doors led to the kitchen. The kitchen was large and well lit with a picture window overlooking the landscaped lawn. There was a sink and worktop across the front of the room, Angela was working on the counter facing the view, her back towards me. She was beating some eggs in a bowl.
“I’m just looking for some more red” I said,
She indicated to the left of the room without looking round. I thought I heard a soft sob.
“Are you ok?” I asked concerned
No answer. I crossed the room and stood behind her. The sobs were clearer now and I saw the run of a tear down her cheek. I reached out with the beck of my hand and gently stroked the hair at the back of her neck “Hey- are you ok?” I asked gently.
She stiffened at the touch, I quickly withdrew my hand.
“Sorry” I muttered aware I had invaded her space
“No- its OK” she said "It’s just been a long time since anyone asked me that; Larry isn’t really interested” I stroked her hair again “…and he doesn’t touch me gently”
“Well I can’t think why not; you are a gorgeous woman”
She half turned, tears glistening in her eyes “Really?”
“Really” I said
She seemed flustered “I have to get on with this, I can’t be late” she turned and started beating the bowl again, the intimate moment over. I found the wine and poured myself a glass, but somehow I was reluctant to go back to the party. The sounds from the dining room were muffled but clear, Larry holding court again, a braying sound from the nosers, and every now and them something gruff and Teutonic from our German friends. They all seemed settled.
I approached Angela again and reached out once more to touch her hair. She stiffened and then she relaxed, signaling her acquiescence. She carried on beating the bowl, perhaps trying to ignore the forces that might be gathering inside her as they most surely were inside me. I stepped closer, I could smell her. I buried my nose in the hair and skin of her neck and inhaled deeply. She tensed, freezing momentarily and then gave a small “Ohh”.
I let my hands run across her shoulders and slide smoothly down her sides, in below her bust, emphasizing the inward curve of her waist, and then outwards again, smoothly over the sensuous curves of her hips. She started beating the mixture in the bowl again as though performing this mundane task could excuse her indecision, somehow give her permission.
I used more pressure, pressing my hands across her body, over the firm curves of her buttocks feeling the flesh move, its motion retrained by the tight. I slipped my hands up and reached around to cup her breasts, they were surprisingly heavy, their texture firm under my palms.
“Please” she whispered.
I stopped moving, prepared to leave quietly and without fuss- was that “Please stop?”
Then she pushed back against me “Please” she repeated.
I’m not sure that she really knew what she was doing; she thrust her bottom back into my hips as I continued to run my hands over her, She was still beating the bowl of eggs but the movement was, erratic and distant, as though she didn’t quite know why she was doing it. I needed no more encouragement. I paused to listen to the sounds from the other room- a steady murmur, it seemed settled. Then I reached down to lift the hem of her dress. She gasped as the cool air hit first her legs and then her thighs. I gasped in turn as her panties came into view, a gorgeous confection of white lace. I sank to my knees and buried my head in their gusset. She pushed back rhythmically onto my face and her body shook as she beat the bowl, “MMmm; MMMmm; MMMmm” she murmured, pushing with each sound. I inhaled deeply of her scent- all woman, I drank in the female muskiness of her. I stood and held her hips, pressing down slightly to test her readiness. She responded to the pressure, stepped backwards slightly opening her legs and leaning forwards more onto the counter as she did so. If that wasn’t an invitation I didn’t know what was. Almost in a daze I hooked my fingers into her waistband and pulled the panties down. My nail caught her soft flesh as I did so making a small scratch- she winced slightly. I froze,
“No don’t stop”
“Sorry” I muttered and resumed the pressure, her panties slipped off easily once past the width of her hips, I could feel the heat coming form her. Now it was my turn to wince, for the sight of her bum cheeks framed by her uplifted dress and the crumpled panties between her thighs was unbelievable. Her dark pubic curls glistened, lining the deeper recess of her bottom and flowing smoothly between her thighs and under her body. Her delicate pink folded pussylips protruded through the glossy ringlets. The scent of musk was heavier now. I felt intoxicated from the sight and smell of her, but just had enough presence of mind to unfasten my trousers and let them drop around my ankles. My prick sprang out aiming straight for the round firmness of the target she presented. I slipped myself between her thighs; she pushed herself back a little more onto me, proffering her rear and making the lips of her pussy pout towards me through the thin black hair.
I grabbed my prick and eased the prickhead up and down her slot, separating the lips and lubricating a passage. She moaned, “Uhhhh”
I ran my prick head along her groove a few times until I judged she was ready. Then I changed angle, flicking the head up ever so slightly where it would part the folds instead of smoothing along them. I was surprised at the immediacy of the penetration; I seemed to slip into her at once! I had expected to go slowly but this woman simply opened up to me and I slipped into her to the hilt with my very first thrust. The sensation was unbelievable. The sudden contrast between the cool air in the kitchen and the tightly clinging sleeve of moist warmth inside her made me gasp out loud.
“Shhhh” she hissed.
I froze, soaking in her deliciousness for a moment, listening… the murmur from the other room continued unabated. They had not heard me. I eased backwards, withdrawing almost completely before I rammed back in again. This time it was her turn to moan “MMmummmp” she seemed to say, and again with each of my thrusts…
“Mmmump; MMmmump; Mmmummp”
She seemed to have stopped trying to beat the mixture now. Instead she was holding the counter edge with one hand to brace herself to receive me, whilst the forgotten whisk was held upright in the other.
I was finding my rhythm now, Push, Mmmump; Push, Mmmump over and over again. I was motoring smoothly now, the engine was purring under the hood, the tyres crunching on the gravel drive- just cruising up the hill…
Suddenly from the sound of the next room came the sound of a chair scraping across the floor- someone getting up!
“Where’s that bloody gravy” boomed Larry’s voice- “Do I have to come out there and make it myself?”
We froze, I was embedded balls deep in the wife of the voice’s owner- I can’t be found like this- but I lacked any will to pull out of her.
“Uuh .. NNooo” gasped Angela- “No need, I’m just coming”
A response from the other room “Well make it quick” There was another scraping as Larry sat back down.
We both breathed a sigh of relief – Angela hissed at me- “You heard him, make it quick”
I needed no second instruction, but resumed my thrusting rhythm, pistoning a series of even but silent strokes, fighting an inward battle between restraint: trying not to slap against her buttocks too loudly, and abandon- needing to get as deep within her as I possibly could! I could feel the ring of her cervix at the end of each stroke, at first it was a soft spongy contact but I realized it was getting firmer, now it was more like a doughnut, then a peach and later solid like an apple and then suddenly it contracted; hard! I felt her vaginal muscles go into spasm, squeezing me, pulling me and squeezing me some more; almost sucking or milking at my prick. Her vagina was encouraging me, urging me on towards my own orgasm. There was no fighting it; there was no need to fight it: she wanted me to come and she wanted it now! I gave in to the needs of her pussy, and the needs of my own prick. I burst inside her, flooding her vagina with my semen as I pulsed into her, blurting out thick streamers of creamy goo to coat her depths. The feeling was fantastic; I think I must have passed out for a while with the intensity of my release, but I recovered to find myself shivering and covered in goose bumps, whilst my thighs were trembling against hers. I was still pumping in and out of her although the movements were less regular and more superficial now. However this was still enough to pump some semen past the tight seal of her pussy to stream down my prick and onto her thighs. Some escaped and dripped onto the floor.
She too seemed frozen for a short while, unmoving, silent; lost in the intensity of her own coming. Then she seemed to come round as well and realized where she was.
“Quick” she said, “We must be quick”
I reached behind me and grabbed some kitchen towel. I pulled out of her and collected the small flood that followed in gloopy mounds on the tissue. I gently wiped her pussy as best I could and then dried myself. By the time I had put on my pants she was composed again and was smoothing her dress over her hips. She looked breathtakingly beautiful- even more so, now that I knew my sperm still clung to her innermost, most intimate membranes.
“Go… go!” she hissed at me, I held her briefly, inhaling again her scent as she tried to push me away. I kissed her quickly on the forehead, grabbed my wine glass and returned to the room
“Where have you been” snapped Larry- “How long does it take to get a glass of wine?”
“Bathroom” I mumbled and sat down, hoping I didn’t look too flushed.
The “nosers” looked at me strangely, then seemed to discount whatever they were thinking and returned to the conversation. I did my best to forget my brief excursion to heaven and its environs and joined in as best I could.
The door opened and in came Angela with the sauceboat, she put it on the table and left.
As she did so I thought I caught the slightest glimpse of a smile- certainly the happiest she had looked all evening.