"Peter! You didn't tell me he was so cute!"

I almost bumped my head climbing into the rear seat of the car, and was consumed with a coughing fit as I tried to regain my wits. Not only had Peter forgotten to tell Christine I was cute (!) he had also neglected to tell me his wife was a gorgeous slut. Not that he would even if he did notice; not that he was likely to notice. The only three things I'd ever seen Peter get excited about were the Bible, rabbits, and small Asian women much younger than Christine. The Bible was prominently displayed on his desk, and he managed to stay just within the company's parameters for acceptable evangelism. The rabbits were displayed in pictures on his desk; he bred them on his small suburban plot of land, which I'm sure Christine and his neighbors enjoyed no end. The small Asian women were all coworkers he would hit on subtly in the lunchroom. I'd never even seen a picture of Christine, and from Peter's rare descriptions I never would have envisioned the lovely flirtatious 50ish woman who'd just greeted me.

I looked up cautiously. Peter was riding shotgun, talking to Christine as though she hadn't just acted like she wanted me to ravish her on the hood of the car. Maybe I'd been imagining it. I am subject to the occasional hallucination. I looked in the rearview mirror to make sure. Christine looked back with deep blue eyes, tilted her head back and winked at me, her pink tongue darting between ruby red lips over pearly white teeth. I grinned back. I couldn't help myself. I definitely hadn't imagined it. But I was still in such a state of shock that I couldn't remember what the hell I was doing in that car, or where we were going.

Oh yes. Company Christmas party. Christine was driving us there, and Peter, who never drank, was driving us home. Some day I'm going to have to personally thank whoever came up with the designated driver idea for getting me one of the best screws of my life. But I'm jumping ahead to the story's obvious conclusion. Forgive me, please. I will now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

I've always been annoyed by the obvious downside to Peter's belief system that women don't have any rights. But suddenly, on that night, I was beginning to see the advantage for Christine. She might not be equal in the eyes of God as far as Peter was concerned, or have voice or vote in church, but since stoning pretty much went out when women got the vote in the real world, there was no incentive for her to follow any rules. Peter had to stay sober, Christine could drink whatever she wanted. Peter had to limit his sexual urges to his fetish flirtations and rabbit breeding, Christine could screw whoever she wanted. And on that particular glorious night, Christine gave every appearance of wanting to screw me.

The party went well. I danced with several of my better looking coworkers, paying special attention to the small Asian ones, but never taking my eyes off Christine. Peter was dancing with her most of the time, and he danced better than I would have suspected, which wasn't saying too much. He had a certain elegance on the floor, but it was a rather stiff elegance. He was twirling Christine around gracefully while the rest of us were getting down and dirty.

We'd been there a couple of hours when I saw that Christine had wandered off to the bar and Peter was starting to look restless, As luck would have it I was slow dancing with Ann-Li, Peter's favorite at work. My hand was on her back, just above the belt, just under her shirt, wishing it could go lower. Her head was against my chest, and she was sighing contentedly. I bent forward, my mouth poised above her head. She turned, her ear to me. I flicked it with my tongue, and she giggled, subtly pushing her hips against my hard cock. "Bad man" she whispered.

"Bad girl" I whispered back, imagining her in a black leather corset with thigh high boots and a riding crop.

She raised her head, our lips brushed. "Yes I am" she answered, and my cock got even harder.

"Can you be a really bad girl and dance with Peter? Get his wife a little jealous? She's ignoring him, and he's looking bored."

Ann-Li pouted at me. "Only if I get to dance with you again!"

"I promise" I answered, as I led her by the hand to talk to Peter.

"May I dance?" she asked Peter demurely, suddenly transformed from dominant to submissive. One of these days I will have to sample her more fully. But that will be another story. This story is about Christine, who I found at the bar, predictably flirting with the bartender. I stood next to her, my hand remembering where it had been on Ann-Li's back, adjusted slightly for height differential. Christine turned, and smiled, slightly drunk, and very lustful.

"Your hand is on my back" she slurred. "Thank you."

"And your husband's hand is on hers" I slurred back, indicating the dance floor with my free hand.

"All the better" she answered, dropping her hand between my legs and tickling my cock, still hard from thoughts of Ann-Li. "He'll be much too distracted by her to notice me doing this."

"Is that the drink talking, or are you this bold sober?" I asked slowly and carefully between the shockwaves emanating from my erection.

"Do you really care?" she asked back. "I am the way I am right now and my hand is where it is."

"Philosophical too. I like you better and better every second I'm with you."

She laughed at that, a high lilting laugh. "That's not philosophy, it's a hand on your cock."

"Potayto, Potahto," I shrugged, and she laughed again. She was as intoxicating as she was intoxicated. I wanted to grab her and kiss her right there at the bar, but Peter, no matter how distracted, would probably notice that, and I was still depending on him for a ride home, so I leaned forward instead.

"I want to kiss you right now," I whispered to her, "But I'm going to have to wait."

"Not really," she whispered back. "Didn't you leave something important in the car?"

It was my turn to laugh. "Indeed I did. Do you have the keys or do I need to interrupt the designated driver?"

"You'd need to interrupt him, but he won't give them up. We can always claim we forgot he had them."

I leaned in closer. "For a drunk slut you're a damn good planner," I whispered in her ear.

"Drunken sluts have to be," she whispered back "especially when they're married to puritans."

We both started giggling at that, so hard that we almost fell over and so loud that even standing at a bar next to a dance floor people were turning around to stare. Realizing that we were attracting attention and that our objective had been to sneak out mostly unnoticed we straightened up, smoothed out our clothing in a pantomime of respectability and began to edge our way slowly toward the exit.

The door wasn't easy to figure out, at least not as drunk as we were, but I finally got the hang of pushing down on the bar and away from me at the same time. We were out the door, we were in the parking lot, we were free, and the door was closing behind us with a god-awful crashing slam that made my head spin.

But before I could wonder how we were getting back in or where an actual entrance might be, Christine was taking me by the hand, half-stumbling in front of me, me half-stumbling behind her through the dark, which was when I first realized that we'd been in the party much longer than I'd thought.

I trailed her around to the front of her car, where she gave a little backwards hop and landed neatly on the hood still holding my hand, a damn good graceful trick for a woman of her age and current mental state, and pulled me in to kiss her.

It was a fucking awesomely intense, warm, wet, pliant, urgent kiss, made all the more urgent when her legs came up around my back. I don't know how long we were out there. I hadn't suddenly developed a better grasp of time, but I knew I wanted her, and wanted her fast, and I was about to do something about it when I heard that horrid door slam and the voices of my coworkers and their dates walking to their own cars.

Fuck.

We pulled apart reluctantly. Separated, leaned back against the car respectably apart. "We came out here looking for him" said Christine.

"Check," I answered. But it turned out to be "them" not "him" because pretty soon Peter was walking across the parking lot toward us with Ann-Li leaning on him.

"She needs a ride," he explained unnecessarily when he finally reached us.

Ann-Li smiled happily at me and waved rather randomly. I waved back just as randomly. And then I swear she winked at me.

"That's fine," slurred Christine, really putting it on for Peter's benefit, "you drive us all back to the house, drop us off, I'll drive him home in the other car, and you can drive her."

"That's not gonna work!" I think I shouted for no reason, "Her car's here and she's gonna have to get back to it in the morning. Peter can drop us off, drive Ann-Li home, stay over at her house, and then bring her back here in the morning."

"He's not spending the night with her!" shouted Christine back, which seemed like an awfully counter-productive move at the time, but maybe she knew what she was doing.

Peter, calm, unflappable Peter, was clearly close to flapping. "I am driving you all to our house," he said. "One of you can sleep in the guest room, one of you can sleep on the couch, and in the morning we will figure out who is driving where." With that he ushered the ladies into the back seat, and me, silently cursing my luck and Peter's tendency toward gender segregation, into the front.

We rode in silence, Peter clearly annoyed and concentrating on the road, the rest of us lost in whatever semi-coherent thoughts we could muster. At his house Peter showed me the living room couch while Christine showed Ann-Li the guest room.

Within seconds after tossing my jacket, shoes, socks, pants and shirt on the floor I was out and probably snoring.

I was awakened in the still dark living room with a hand on my cock and a mouth, Christine's mouth, brushing against mine. I was rock hard in an instant, reaching up and pulling her down on to me. She let me for just a second, kissing back as hard and urgently as she had in the parking lot, but then she pulled back, stood up, and pulled me up with her, stepping away from me and shushing me as I started to ask what the hell was going on.

I looked at her then, really looked at her, at her sharply defined features, her dark curly hair, her beautiful eyes with wrinkles around the corners that I personally found adorable, at her shushing mouth, and her tan, taught, athletic little body, clad in a spaghetti-strap red negligee that just made it down to her hips, barely covered by an open just-above the knee silk flower print robe. She was utterly delectable, and she was holding her hand out again for me to take, and follow.

I wasn't going to ask any more questions. I really wasn't, but she was leading me toward the door dressed like that, with me in my underpants and undershirt, and the weather unseasonably warm, but still December after all, and I could see by the clock next to the door what time it was. "Where the fuck are we going?" I whispered, "It's four in the morning."

She just shushed me again, and I finally gave up for real and followed her out the door to the driveway, which was really, really dark, but I could make her out in front of me. She walked to the car, but didn't open the door, just walked around to the front, and hopped on the hood again, reached up under the robe, lowered the straps of her negligee exposing tan beautiful breasts, and pulled me in for another kiss.

It was cold, and my head still hurt from the drinking but God was I ready, and so was she, her nipples hard and her cunt wet beneath my exploring hands. The foreplay had been back in the parking lot, now it was time to fuck, this time without so much fear of interruption, though I couldn't quite shake a feeling that we were being watched. Without worrying about it too much, I whipped my cock out of my briefs and entered her, her legs wrapping around my back again, this time for real. We both moaned at the filling, the tightness, the closeness of our bodies, our mouths, our hot breath, and our souls. We were kissing again as I slid out and then in, slowly at first, and then gathering speed until the car was rocking with the force of our pumping. She was tensing around me, legs, arms, and cunt all squeezing tight.

"Oh... Fuck.... Yes," she moaned into my mouth as she came.

Which was great for her but I wasn't anywhere near close to coming. I pushed her back on to the hood, her legs still around my back, my hands on her legs and hips and ass and began to pump for real, big long strokes until she was moaning and writhing again, pinching her own nipples, staring up at me all wanton, disheveled and perfectly slut-like, her face a mask of exhausted pleasure until I could feel my seed rising and she could feel me tensing, see the agony in my face and she sat up hard, burying her face in my chest, coming again as I shot my load into her, grimacing and gasping with pleasure.

I stood there sweating with exertion in the cold dark night, taking pleasure in the warmth and closeness of her small firm body, her head under my chin, rocking slowly back and forth, just holding her. Finally she tilted her head up, I tilted my head down and we kissed tenderly and lovingly before I stepped back and she stood, and we both straightened ourselves out and walked back quietly into the house. At the bottom of the stairs she kissed me again, just a little peck, and tiptoed back up the stairs to Peter.

Back on the couch I thought about what we'd just done and smiled. Wondered at the thought of Peter in his bed, and Ann-Li in the guestroom while we were out fucking in the driveway. That was when I heard the rustle, saw the movement of the curtain, watched Ann-Li emerge from her hiding place, from her watching place, and walk slowly toward me across the living room carpet, her small tight body and dark hair so much like, and yet so not like Christine.

She knelt beside the couch on the floor and leaned over me, her dark nipples inches from my chest. "Bad bad bad man," she whispered "you still owe me a dance."