Taking Care of Business By Vy Rhodes

I don't usual fancy women, especially not the usual types that get dragged to dinner at my house. It's the usual set up, husband needs to get this client's business, I have to act like the hostess with the mostess. I just didn't expect us all to end up in the bathroom this time.

It was a business dinner. Tom was assigned to woo a fat cat client away from his fat cat ad agency, and bring him over to Saunders and Miller, the small-and-struggling agency where Tom had worked for the past five years. Rather than dining out on the town, Tom had decided that I should help his worthy cause by cooking up irresistible lasagna and bonding with the client’s wife.

I was less than thrilled with the prospect. All of Tom’s clients were the same; stuffy old men in expensive shoes, wives with poodles and lip-liner. Bores, all of them. As I dutifully checked the oven, I imagined our dinner conversation: the stock market, how Paris was overrated, name-dropping, wrinkle cream. I had turned into the perfect homemaker. Like a politician’s wife, I was meant to say things just intelligent enough to show that I was cultured, but not intelligent enough to overshadow my brilliant, dear husband. He didn’t like it any better than I did but that was the way this business worked, and it paid the bills.

I sighed louder than I intended when the doorbell rang, two minutes early.

A peck on the cheek, and a “Put on your game face” from Tom, and he was off to the door to start the show. Handsome, I thought, watching the way his pants moved as he walked. Watching the way they clung to his backside, just a little too tight. If I told him, he’d buy a new suit. I decided not to tell him.

“Welcome!” he said. “How was the traffic?”

I ran my fingers through my hair, smoothing it down, ready to be “perfect.” I imagined their false greetings at the door, glad they were out of my range of vision for just another few seconds. Hors D’Oevres. I’d almost forgotten. Potato puffs, mini-quiches, snap peas… all in a lovely serving basket, which I picked up and deftly showcased like a cocktail waitress. Time to face the music.

“Darling,” said Tom in his “I’m being charming” voice, “This is Mr. and Mrs. Walberg.”

I turned in time to hear, “Carl and Julie,” coming out of the lips of a leggy, mesmerizing lady in a dangerously short skirt and thinly rimmed glasses. This was Mrs. Walberg? She couldn’t have been more than thirty. Her hair shone, flipped up just slightly at her shoulder, and our eyes locked like magnets. I was staring. What in the world was I doing?

Breaking the gaze, I looked down at the pretentious basket of finger foods, and thrust them forward toward our guests. That’s what I was supposed to do, right? Serve. Serve. I wanted to serve, all of a sudden, but that had nothing to do with food. She looked so powerful, in command. The smooth legs, encased in sheer black pantyhose, seemed to dare us. She was no eye candy, no quiet-little-housewife on his arm. I knew it the instant I saw those eyes, smart and driven. Lust at first sight. No. I could not think like this.

“Hi,” I said nervously, conscious of what my voice would sound like to her. I wanted it to be husky, sexy, experienced. “I’m Elizabeth. Would you like a… potato puff?” My voice went up too much at the end, like a schoolgirl eager to please. Just how I felt.

She smiled, lips closed and tight, and my thoughts drifted, wondering if she was tight everywhere. Wondering what it would be like to peel those pantyhose off of her, inch by inch. Wondering if she tasted as hot as she looked.

The thoughts kept coming, no matter how I reminded myself that I was straight, married, and entertaining business guests. She dipped her fingers into my bowl, and slowly selected what she wanted while I worked on ignoring the rounded tips on her French manicure, imagining the ease at which she could slip one inside me. I tried not to make eye contact, but this time, she leaned into me, and I could feel her command. She wanted me to look as she wrapped her tongue around the food, engulfed it into her mouth, wet her lips.

Another hand reached into the serving bowl, breaking my trance. I hadn’t even noticed Carl, who was already engaging in small talk with Tom, to my relief. But now it was his hand, bony and solid, in the bowl. I looked up and saw a man with smoky, understated good looks and a delectably crooked smile. I glanced at him with a bit of guilt; it’s tough to fantasize about a woman when our two husbands stand just a few feet away.

She wasn’t making it any easier, though, twirling the toothpick around in her mouth, pressing it against her lips, making indents, forcing her mouth to part just the slightest bit before she sucked in the tip. It was a seemingly careless move, playful and off-handed while she focused her attention on my husband. But still, I felt the tingling between my legs, the faint tension growing in my pubic muscles.

I forced my thoughts to the lasagna, certainly ready now. “Excuse me,” I murmured, brushing in between our guests. Julie didn’t move, and I didn’t waste the opportunity to graze her bare arm as I made my way to the oven. Oven mitts in tow, I bent over deeper than I needed, to retrieve the pan. I lingered, pretending to check the food that I already knew was done, praying that she was appreciating the view.

“Ready, honey?” Tom’s voice snapped me out of the indecency. Had he noticed that I was showcasing my ass? Certain that I was blushing; I turned my head to the side and gave a quick affirmation.

Mindlessly, I set the pan down on the dining room table and retrieved the warm rolls and wine.

“Can I help you?”

I felt her presence an instant before the question.

Yes, you can help me. Rip off my skirt, shove those fingers deep inside me until I burst.

Instead, I said, “I’ve got it, thanks.”

She was undeterred. Leaning over me, she grabbed the tongs and doled out a roll onto the first plate. As she stood back up, I felt her breast brush against my shoulder. A mistake? It had to be. My clit swelled, the pulse stronger.

We wordlessly set out the salad, the dressing, and the wine glasses. She stood across the table from me, and I wanted to make any excuse to get her to stand over me again, to run that breast against me hard enough so I could tell if her nipple was hard as mine was. But the men came in, perhaps a good thing, to save me from making a fool of myself as I stared at her cleavage like a teenage boy.

Tom put his hand on my thigh twice during dinner, and I pretended it was her. Julie, who dabbed at her mouth with a cloth napkin after every bite. Who refused to lock eyes with me again, but tormented me by tossing her head back to laugh, exposing her long neck, demonstrating what she might look like clutched in the depths of ecstasy.

I was growing so hot I couldn’t sit still. I fingered my necklace to keep my hands busy.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Tom asked. I nodded absently, and Julie’s grin flashed. She placed one finger to her lips, biting down gently on the flesh of her fingertip between her teeth, and I caught a tiny glance of her tongue, glistening and pink, rolling against her finger. I couldn’t take it anymore.

Quickly excusing myself, I went to the bathroom to cool down—but there was no way around it. I had to satisfy this ache. I locked the door and sat on the sink top, hiking up my skirt and running my fingers around my pussy. Light stokes, gentle but fast. I sank one finger deep inside to release the wetness, then spread my legs wider and dragged my fingers up and down on either side of my clit, which was so sensitive I couldn’t make direct contact.

I held my breath, self-conscious that someone would hear. This had to be quick and quiet. Closing my eyes, I envisioned Julie’s tongue making its way up my thighs, dancing in circles, until I could feel her moist, hot breath signaling she was taking me into her mouth. My hands seemed to move with a mind of their own; more insistent, demanding pleasure as I felt my hole opening wider. My own scent filled the air, and I started really getting off. Her nose was buried in my pubic mound, I imagined, whipping me with the deft and strong movements of her tongue. Oh, yes. I was ready. I was going to come, right there in the bathroom, while they had their perfectly proper business dinner two rooms away. I drew in my breath, let my head hang back, and felt my fingers firmly circling, pressing hard, faster, as I got set to release…

Knock, knock.

Oh, God. Oh, no. This wasn’t happening! I caught my breath and yanked down my skirt, clearing my throat.

“Beth?”

No one called me Beth, but I didn’t mind it, coming from her. I couldn’t even respond. How could I face the woman whose face I just imagined glistening with my juices?

“Just a minute,” I managed, turning the faucet to wash my hands quickly.

“Don’t,” she said. It was an order.

“Don’t what?” I asked, flushing with embarrassment.

“Just let me in.”

I turned off the faucet and straightened my clothes. My face was flushed, I saw in the mirror, but there was nothing I could do now but obey. I took a breath and unlocked the door.

She saw right through me, I was sure, as I nervously smiled. She didn’t smile back. I wished myself invisible, or at least in more control of my impulses. How foolish a woman I was to need to masturbate in the middle of dinner like th…

She grabbed my hand, brought it up to her face, and inhaled. The humiliation was nearly unbearable, right until she slid my finger into her mouth. I felt the gush in my panties. Holy shit, she wanted me.

Locking the door behind her, she wasted no time in separating me from my bra. Holding my breasts with both hands, she kissed me tenderly, invitingly. Her mouth quickly moved to meet her hands as she squeezed the tits together and licked both nipples in a sweeping back-and-forth motion. I leaned against the tub, and she pushed me backwards until my head hung upside down and I couldn’t see what was coming next.

If I could have, I might have seen those fingers before they plunged into my pussy. Two, then three, pulling me open, exploring the silky folds. Dripping wet, I felt those nails against my inner walls. I had to come. I just had to. My stifled moans came out as whimpering breaths, scared and intoxicated and rocking with a desperate need I’d never felt before. She was rough with me, fucking me with every part of her hand, and clamping my protruding nipple between her teeth.

I knew I was moments away, and I needed to fuck her back while I came. I reached out and grasped a part of her pantyhose, ripping a hole in the ass, inserting my finger quickly and realizing there were no panties underneath. As soon as I touched her moist snatch, my body erupted in a violent and deep orgasm.

“Ohhh, yes!”

I was too loud. I knew it the instant it came out of my mouth, but my pussy was spasming with such force that I couldn’t control it. It crashed over me, in charge of every wracking muscle in my body, and left my legs quivering. Although I could barely breathe, I wanted to return the favor… now.

I pushed her down on all fours and pulled the pantyhose down to her knees. From behind, I entered her with my tongue, probing her soft depths unexpectedly. Just as I imagined, she was tight, even around my mouth. She gasped with delight, and I loved her velvety feel against my face. The deeper I buried it, the more she writhed. I stretched her ass cheeks apart with my hands, and teased her as I ran one finger along the crack. I pressed down slightly with my knuckle as I reached the puckered hole, and she grabbed onto the shower curtain so hard that it came crashing down.

Stop, my brain said. They heard. I knew they heard, and I knew they’d come, but she was burning, and I hadn’t finished her yet. Just one more minute, I thought, as I rubbed her with my index and middle finger, still rhythmically thrusting my tongue in and out. I felt her contracting as she rocked herself back, deeper against me. I sucked her in, sealing her with my lips, tasting her desire. Her breathing was erratic, losing its small grasp on restraint. She was going to come for me, and nothing would stop it.

“What happened? Are you okay?” I heard from the other side of the door.

“Mmm-hmmm,” I managed, but the vibrations of the hum pushed her over the edge. She cried out as she exploded, tightening and releasing with a liquid gush.

Although I heard the men’s shocked utterances as the door flew open, I couldn’t stop to look. She was still clinging to me, and still cresting. I grabbed her hips and kept bouncing her into my mouth, needing to taste every last drop.

My face was hot. I didn’t expect Tom to forgive me, but neither could I deny my desire.

An understanding hand found its way to the small of my back. It was attached to Tom, leaning over to watch. This just made me hotter. As Julie finished, I interlocked my fingers with Tom’s.

Before long, I felt a hard shaft begging for entry, and I tilted upwards to comply. Slowly, smoothly, Tom guided his cock into me from behind. It felt harder than ever. I hummed with delight, involuntarily pulling him in deeper as my muscles contracted.

A few moments later, my mouth was replaced by Carl’s cock, and Julie and I kissed as the men filled us. She held tight to my nipple as we rocked in rhythm, side by side.

I clung to the bathtub for levity as the pounding got harder, more urgent. Julie turned over and let Carl take her in the missionary position.

We seemed to feed off of each other; as their breath became heavier, and little grunts became prolonged moans, so did ours. I leaned back, forcing Tom’s body down on the rug, taking the dominant position. I encircled his shaft with my thumb and forefinger, stroking it up and down in unison with my body’s movement.

We fit so perfectly together, I thought as Tom’s strong hands guided me, pulling me down so hard I could feel his pelvic bones. I could feel him starting to throb, and I spun around, needing to kiss him. I caught a glimpse of Carl and Julie doing the same.

As my lips pressed against his, he cried out—or did I? Sounds and movements swirled together, forming a cacophony of bliss in perfect harmony. I held out for just a moment, watching Julie bite her lip and Carl’s eyes fluttering in that “just-before” instant. I slowed just long enough to let us all come together.

Saunders and Miller got their client.