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Dinner Dance
If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else. This material is Copyright, 2010, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous permission. All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination; any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. |
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Dinner Dance
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"I won't be back today," he'd told her on his way out. "Leave when you've taken care of everything." She had. She'd window shopped, actually bought something, and still been soaking in a tub at home sipping a cocktail before the office closed. So, she knew the answer Friday when he'd asked whether she were free over the dinner hour. "I don't have anything planned, Mr. Monroe." It was even true. Her social life was on hold. "That's very good. Please call Hobson's restaurant and reserve the smallest private room for tonight. Tell them you're calling from the firm. They know us. We don't know how late we'll need it." She made the call, but she was puzzled. She kept his appointment books, two of them. She penciled in requests as they came in or he asked her to set up something. She kept another in ink as he accepted invitations or scheduled the acceptances he received. Nothing was in either book for tonight. The matter didn't become clearer at Hobson's. "There are three parties ahead of you," was the headwaiter's greeting. "Would you care to wait in the cocktail lounge?" "I've reserved the smallest private room," Mr. Monroe responded. "Paul Monroe." "Yes, Mr. Monroe. George will be your waiter." A man, who must have been George, appeared in moments. "Mr. Monroe," the headwaiter said. "Room D." George led them through the main room and up a broad staircase. There were more diners up here, but George led them past those tables to a room with a solid door. The table might have seated six, but had plenty of space for the two chairs. George seated her while Mr. Monroe seated himself. "What would you like, Meghan," Mr. Monroe asked. She selected the roast beef. Mr. Monroe seconded her and chose a burgundy from the wine list. When George had served them and left a silver coffee pot on a side table he spoke almost his first words of the night from the door. "Open or closed, sir?" "Closed, please. I'll ring when we're ready for dessert." "Yessir." He closed the door behind him. At Mr. Monroe's gesture, she sampled the food. The beef was both tender and delicious. The wine, if a bit sour to her taste, complemented the taste of the beef. The room looked luxurious, even for this restaurant. There were convincing-looking copies of masters hanging on the wood-paneled walls. The one facing her looked like "Danae and the Shower of Gold" from an art-appreciation class in her junior year. She couldn't remember where the original hung -- the course had been nearly eight years earlier -- but she was damned sure it wasn't in a restaurant. "So, Meghan, are you finding your feet now? You seem to have got through your first week with no blunders." The HR man had warned her. Mr. Monroe didn't scold; he didn't micro-manage; he did fire. He was the height of courtesy, making requests rather than demands. If she didn't meet his requests, he'd have another secretary next month who would. Still, both the HR man and Mr. Monroe himself had emphasized honesty -- "brutal honesty" was Mr. Monroe's term. He could accept a mistake -- nobody suggested he would accept many; he wouldn't accept a surprise. "What I still don't see, sir, is what the company does," she said. He laughed. "Monroe Investments invests. That's too general, but it's true. A small new corporation comes to us for capital to buy equipment. We investigate. If it looks good, we lend them money at decent -- but not exorbitant -- interest rates. They put up the equipment as security. We also ask for options on a significant share of the company's stock. When things go well, we exercise the options. The interest pays for losses and for the market and engineering investigators plus a little. The dividends are pure gravy. "Banks make money on what they lent last year. We make money on what my father -- who started the business -- lent decades ago. Is that any clearer?" "A little." He was being gracious to her. Her nervousness was irrational. Still, knowing that didn't make her less nervous. She drank a little more wine to settle her nerves. "And, it's just a little description. Wait until you've been through a few cycles. Smith Corporation goes from being a prospect to being a borrower to being a success paying good dividends. Jones Corporation goes from being a prospect to being a borrower to going bankrupt. For now, enjoy your meal." And enjoy it she did. He was her host; he poured wine into her glass when she'd lowered the level. She was his secretary; she got up to pour more coffee when his cup was empty. When they'd finished eating, he drained his cup. She drained hers before going to the pot to refill them. "If you please, Meghan," he asked, "would you also lower the light level by about half? There's a rheostat by the door." She found the rheostat and dimmed the lights. She brought back the cups, and set his down. He said "thank you" while cupping her left butt cheek with his hand. Her shaking spilled her coffee into the saucer. She set the cup and saucer down wondering how to respond. "Here," he said. He filled her glass to the brim. "We might as well finish the bottle." It was quite depleted, but she'd had more than enough to drink. On the other hand, she'd learned to take Mr. Monroe's suggestions. She sipped until it was down an inch. When she put the glass down, he poured enough to raise the level half an inch nearer the brim. "Some of my friends," he said out of the blue, "wonder at the time I put in on the job. They regard work as a penalty they undergo to get the luxuries of play time. I prefer to have a pleasant workplace. You, for instance, are a quite lovely girl, Meghan. When HR vetted your skills and discretion, they vetted those of four other possibilities. I chose you because you were the most attractive. Your skills, and they are real, help assure that the work gets done correctly. Your appearance and personality help me enjoy the work." He raised his glass for her to clink hers with it. "To a long and successful association." When he drained his glass, she did the same. He got up for the first time since they had begun the meal. "Why thank you, sir." She should treat that as a compliment, although being regarded as part of a well-appointed office suite wasn't that great a compliment. He was walking very slowly around the long side of he table towards her. She felt a new kind of anxiety. She'd learned to fear his power to fire her. Did she have reason to fear him physically? "Stand up." He gestured that she should come towards him. Should she? Well, it was that or leave -- that or leave and never go back to the office. She stood, took his hand. The hand was chilly. "After the meal, my hands might be greasy. I don't want to get them on your dress." He pulled her towards him by her hands. The threat was plain; if she didn't go to him, he'd pull her by her clothed shoulders. Getting the dress dirty wasn't a knife at her throat, but it had been an expensive purchase. She moved so close that her breasts touched his coat. He kissed her forehead. Then he raised her chin for a kiss on the mouth. Little as she had wanted it, the kiss was pleasant. When his tongue touched hers, the nervousness started turning into excitement. He withdrew his tongue, broke the kiss, kissed the tip of her nose. "Meghan," he said. He was still holding one of her hands, and he pulled that hand to guide her in a half rotation. He kissed the left side of her neck and the back of that ear. She felt his hands on the snap at the back of her dress. Then it was open and the zipper was coming down to the bottom. "Place your dress on your chair," he said. When she had, he continued, "And the slip." He was right behind her when she straightened from that. His hands went to the snap of her bra. She shrugged her shoulders forward. That had kept her bra from being unsnapped when she'd used it in her high-school days. It didn't work this time; Mr. Monroe must be stronger than he looked. He didn't seem to be afraid of getting her skin dirty. He stroked his hands across her back and around her sides until they cupped her breasts. He kissed the back of her ear again. Her nipples turned traitor and rose to the strokes of his fingers. She was frightened and offended. She was also a little aroused. It was now impossible to leave the room, at least to leave before getting dressed again. His kisses trailed down her ear and then down her neck. Finally, he stopped touching her for a moment. Should she grab her clothes and run? Run where? The room was larger than two people needed to eat in, but it had no refuge. Right outside the door were diners. His jacket dropped on her clothes, and the opportunity passed -- if there ever had been an opportunity. He turned her around by her shoulder. He kissed her again, holding her breasts with one hand and her left butt cheek with the other. "Now my clothes," he said when he straightened from the kiss. She untied his tie; her clumsiness brought a smile to his lips. As she unbuttoned his shirt, his hands stroked her ears and neck. When she reached his belt, he held out one hand to her. While she removed the cufflink, the other hand pulled the front of his shirt above the belt line and unbuttoned the last button. Then he held that arm out to have her remove that cufflink. The only place to put them seemed the table. He turned to let her remove the shirt. He removed the t-shirt he was wearing as an undershirt. Before she turned around, he tossed it atop the shirt she had laid on the pile of clothes. When she did turn, he took her into his arms. He stroked down her back while he kissed her. Her nipples hardened to the feeling of the skin of his chest when their tongues met. When his hands reached her butt, he pulled her tight against him. She could feel his erection pressing against her stomach through his trousers. He broke the kiss to kiss her cheeks and then her neck. Meanwhile, one hand and then the other slipped under her panties to grasp her butt cheeks. He kneaded them alternately while his mouth worked its way down to her breast. Then he bent at the knees and pushed her panties and pantyhose down over her hips. He grasped her butt again, pulled her against his upper body, and straightened. She grabbed at his neck to keep from falling as he pivoted. Then her bare butt was resting on the table. "Take those off," he said. She removed shoes, pantyhose, and panties while he stood to one side stroking her breasts. Occasionally, he kissed her shoulder. When the shoes were on the floor and the rest were added to the pile of clothes on the chair, he parted her knees to stand between her legs. The kissing this time required less stooping on his part. One of his hands teased her nipples, going from one breast to the other. His other hand stroked her thighs. Despite the opposition of her mind to this, her body was responding. She even spared a thought to what her moisture was doing to the finish of the table top. "Lean back," he said. "No. Wait." he shoved the cufflinks and some plates further down the table to her left. "Now, lean back on your elbows." When she tried, she found that her right side was almost at the end of the table. She kept both arms close to her sides for the balance. He went around the end of the table. He kissed her on the mouth while his hand stroked the inside of her thighs again. Soon, he was kissing her breasts while stroking her labia. Even though her position wasn't all that comfortable, she found herself enjoying the caresses. As he sucked her breast and stroked her clit, she began to soar. Her mind gave up the fight to let her body receive its enjoyment. She was almost there; then he abandoned the caresses. He put a hand behind her back and took her right hand in his. "Now mine," he said. She couldn't think his what, but she let him help her to sit up. Then, with him pulling, she dropped off the table. The deep carpet felt ticklish against her bare feet. He turned his back to the table, put his hands on the edge, and swung himself into a sitting position. "Start with my shoes," he said. When she'd taken his shoes and socks off, she undid his belt. He raised himself from the table by pressing down on the edge of the table with his hands. When she'd pulled his trousers off, he spoke again. "Hang that on the back of the chair." Then he did the handstand again while she worked his boxers off around his jutting cock and then his hips. She knelt to get them off his feet. She stood and tossed the boxers onto the pile of clothing on the chair. He'd dropped off the table while she did this. When she turned back towards him, he pulled her chin up for another kiss. His tongue was exciting against hers while his hands roamed her breasts. Then he stroked to her butt. He pulled her against him. Her breasts were pressed into his chest, his cock hard against her belly. When he abandoned the kiss, he turned her around by the shoulder. Then one hand was teasing her left nipple while the other was parting her labia. He kissed where her neck met her shoulder. She began to soar again under the multiple stimuli. It was going to happen, she might as well enjoy it. And she was enjoying this prelude. Then he stood back. "Are you protected?" he asked. She wasn't. Would this stop him? He certainly shouldn't want to risk child support payments; at his income level, they would be more than her salary was. Somewhere in her mind, she gave thanks. Somewhere, she nearly screamed in frustration. "No," she said. "I didn't expect this." "Well." He stepped to the chair holding their clothing and took something out of his pants watch pocket. He handed her a condom in a plastic packet. "Put that on me." She fumbled with it. She'd gone with a couple of men who used them, but she'd never been the one to put them on. Finally, she got it open; she rolled it down his penis. "Now, face the table and bend over on your elbows." When she did, he stood to her side and resumed his caresses. One hand played with her nipples, mostly the left one. The other hand parted her labia and stroked her clit. She became resigned to this conquest. As the strokes went on, however, she enjoyed them more and more. Her feelings soared again. She felt his finger enter her more deeply. Then, before she could decide whether she enjoyed that more than she resented it, it was two fingers. When they were in deeply, his thumb brushed her clit. She really soared. Almost there, she found it too distracting to hold herself up. When she dropped onto the table, he removed his hand from her breast and moved behind her. "Reach between your legs," he said, "and put me in." His fingers were rotating inside her rather than going in and out. She needed something there; she'd even accept him. When she reached between her legs, his hand guided hers to his cock. The condom was oily. He spread her labia while she placed him at her entrance. He slid in easily. His hand went to her right breast and held it -- it felt moist there. His other hand went around her hips to her clit. He stroked it before he began to move. Then he was moving. The combination of sensations was overwhelming. She dropped her head on her hands. When he pressed inward, she pushed back against him. She soared as she had previously this evening, but this time he did nothing to bring her back. Indeed, his strokes within and his caresses on her sensitive parts were driving her higher and higher. Her delight was intense and growing greater. Then she broke. "Oh," she groaned. She felt herself shake. She felt her innermost being clamp around something. That something must have ben her boss, because he drove against her so hard that the table bruised her thighs. He backed off, drove into her even harder, then pressed against her. "Meghan," he called. She felt him throb within her. Then his weight was on her back. Sometime later, he pushed against the table so that he was only resting on her hips. Later yet, he rose completely off her. She felt him withdraw. When enough of her strength had returned that she could stand, he was pawing through their joint pile of clothes and dressing. She waited to one side for her turn at the pile. When he had resumed all his clothes but coat, tie, shoes and stockings, he hopped back up on the table. "Do the shoes, won't you?" he said. Still naked, she knelt before him and pulled his socks over his feet. then she put the shoes on him and tied the laces. He kept sitting on the table tying his tie while she donned her underwear. She handed him his jacket when she got to it in the pile. "Messy getting dressed afterwards, isn't it?" he asked. "Next time, we'll take a room and eat room
service. And speaking of next time. . ." He lifted the condom he'd dropped on the table. ". . . I don't like
these things. Get yourself some protection. If you choose the pill, and it has all sorts of advantages
long-term, get a diaphragm and jelly. The pill takes a while to kick in. And now, . . ." His voice didn't
change. "When you're fully dressed, we'll have dessert. If you like chocolate torte, theirs is delicious." |
The end Dinner Dance Uther Pendragon nogardnePrethU@gmail.com 2010/03/18 For another story involving a demanding boss, The directory to all my stories can be found at: Index to Uther Pendragon's Website |