2:30 pm
"We're going to have company for dinner tonight," you tell me in a rush. You're late for a meeting it sounds like so this must be very important. "My boss is coming over to talk about my new promotion. He's Italian so make your grandma's spaghetti and a salad. I'll text you what to wear later."
You don't even give me time to reply before you hang up. I stare at the kitchen wondering if I have everything I need for tonight. I wasn't planning on making spaghetti today and even though I know I have sauce frozen I doubt you'll appreciate that. I head to the store to get all the ingredients I need for the sauce and stop at a farmers market on the way back to pick up vegetables for the salad and homemade pasta from the retired Italian lady up the street that sells her cooking on the side.
I start with the lettuce, breaking off the leaves and letting them soak in the sink while I get the meat cooking in a frying pan on the stove and open the cans and bottles to start the sauce. I chop all the vegetables for the sauce and throw them in with the meat to cook up while I dice the lettuce up and spin it in the salad spinner. Once the vegetables and meat are cooked and the sauce is boiling, I add them together and let the sauce simmer. In two hours, the sauce will be ready and even though I know you like my spaghetti, I'm still nervous as hell.
4:30 pm
I'll be home in an hour, I want you in your nicest white blouse and the black skirt that goes to your knee. No bra and no underwear. I'll be home in an hour and supper better be ready.
Your text comes just as I take a baking sheet of bacon out of the oven and I rush to reply before I pat the grease off the bacon and break it up to add to the salad. It makes me laugh that you want me to dress so conservatively and yet at the same time not wear any under garments. But I don't imagine anything will happen in front of your boss, it's probably yet another way you try to humiliate me without even doing anything.
By five, I have the garlic bread in and I start shredding the Parmesan cheese the lady down the street gave me, I swear the seventy year old Italian grandmother has a crush on you, she always sends little "treats" for you. When I'm done with the cheese, I go down to the basement and get a bottle of wine from the wine cellar beside out little "Play Room". I giggle as I stare at the door but can't stay long, I have a dinner to finish and the door is locked anyways.
I open the wine, to let it breath, and set it on the table beside the salad I toss lightly and let get room temperature. I top the salad with a little grated Parmesan and set the farmer's market homemade salad dressing beside the bowl. I start to panic as I pull the garlic bread out and see that it is twenty after five already and I still have so much to do. I put the bread in a bowl and place it on the table too. In a bit of a hurry I set the table with silverware and plates, bowls for the salad and our best wine glasses. I folded my best cloth napkins and race upstairs to get dressed. I dress exactly how you say, the white blouse you like that buttons down the front and clings just a little too tight to my breasts and the black skirt that rids up if I'm not careful but sits just above my knee. You didn't tell me if I should put pantyhose on so I don't, I pull my hair up into a more put-together ponytail than before and head back down.
I'm back in the kitchen and barely have time to put dessert in the oven and put the spaghetti into a pot of boiling water. Luckily, with fresh pasta it only takes a minute or two to cook and I can plate it up quickly. When I hear you open the door, I place the last plate down and quickly dish out the salad before you and our guest can walk into out connected kitchen dining room.
"Mr. Gregson, this is my wife Amy," you say as you put your arm out for me to come stand beside you.
I come to you with a smile on my face and I offer your boss my hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you Sir." This is not completely true, we've met before for two seconds at a company picnic and other business function but he never remembered meeting me and it was just more polite this way.
"You have a cozy little home here," he says politely and I smile sweetly even though I know the whole first floor of our house could fit in his living room.
"It looks like dinner is served," you say to cut the awkward silence and you give my ass a squeeze that goes unnoticed by your boss even though my cheeks blush a bright red.
"I hope you enjoy," I reply as I lead the way to the table. "The wine is from our personal collection, and Mrs. Russo down the street would never forgive us if we served anything but her freshly made pasta." I tell your boss with a smile as we all sit down.
"You've out done yourself baby," you say as I pour you a small bit of wine and you taste it before giving me the nod. I top off your glass, pour your boss some and then pour myself a little also.
"A very Italian meal," your boss beams. "Just like my own mother used to make."
As the meal goes on, your boss talks about his childhood, his parents, "The Old Country", and how food never tastes as good as his Nona used to make. You are listening intensely but I know it's just your good manners showing and not actual interest. You can't stand your boss and you never try to hide it when we're alone.
Finally, about half way through the meal you look over at me and frown. "You spilled sauce on that nice blouse." I look down slightly embarrassed and try to wipe it with the napkin. "Don't do that, you'll make it worse," you scold and I look up at you. I know that tone your voice has taken on and it's not going to be good for me. "Take it off."
"What?" I look at you in shock and your boss almost chokes on the mouth full of wine he has.
"Stand up and take it off," you reply in a much rougher tone. "Now." I can tell you're getting sick of my disobedient and that you have a plan, reluctantly I stand up and start to unbutton my shirt. "Hurry up girl or I will rip the shirt right off of you." I move as fast as my fingers will go and soon have them all undone. "All the way off and hang it on the back of the chair." I desperately want to melt into the floor. I know you have a plan I just wish I knew what it was.
The minute my shirt comes off your boss stares at my breasts and I can feel his eyes on me as I place my blouse over the back of my chair. "Beautiful aren't they," you say as you pinch one of my nipples and pull it before letting go.
"Are you insane man?" Your boss is stunned and yet he's still staring at my breasts.
You laugh but it's not your normal laugh, "This Sir, is why you are going to give me that promotion."
It's your bosses turn to laugh this time and he finally looks away from me to look you in the eye. "I'm not going to leave my multi-million dollar company in your hands just because your wife flashes me her tits."
"Oh you misunderstand me Sir. My promotion won't come because of how my wife looks, but how my wife acts." This peaks your bosses interest and you know you have him hooked. "Shall we adjourn to the living room," you ask as you stand up and wait for him to do the same. "Clean up the table and start the dishwasher, than you can serve us desserts and drinks." I start cleaning and you lead our guest to our living room.
Once everything is put away and the dishwasher is loaded I cut the cooling cheese cake and serve it on small plates. I bring the food to you first with dessert forks and quickly go back through the kitchen to your lounge and get the serving tray you like your drinks served on. It's just a normal tray with an added strap that goes around my neck, but it sits under my breasts and displays them for you perfectly. I take the ice bucket, fill it and place your best scotch on the tray, with two glasses and come back into the living room.
You smile as I walk into the room and look me over when I come stand beside you. You look over at your boss and then up at me. You take a piece of ice out of the bucket with the tongs and I know where this is going. You take the ice cube in your hand and slowly run in over my left nipple. I gasp as the cold ice touches my hot flesh and beg you with my eyes to stop. You laugh and then eat what's left of the ice. "You can put the tray down now, thank you baby."
I place the tray on the coffee table between the two of you and prepare your drinks. Two fingers of scotch and two ice cubes, just the way you like it and hand both of you a glass. "Good girl," you said just to make me blush and I see the smile playing at your lips. You point to the floor beside you and now I know this night will be a very embarrassing one for me. I get down on my knees beside you and look up at you waiting for your next instructions.
"As you can see, my wife is very obedient; that's because she's been trained well."
"Trained," Mr. Gregson looks over at you in amusement as you tie a collar with the leash around my neck.
"Oh yes Sir, she wasn't always this well behaved," I can hear the pride in your voice and I feel your hand tighten around my ponytail. "Isn't that right babygirl." You jerk my head up so I'm forced to look at you.
"Yes Sir," I can't help but smile.
"Get on all fours and turn around," you tell me and then set your attention back to your boss.
Your boss is watching all this amused and still stunned but I know he's enjoying the show. He always was the handsy type and rumours spread quickly about how touchy-feely he gets with the other wives. I know he is craving my body, he wants to touch me. Apart of me wants that too, I hate when you share me with other men but it does turn me on knowing strange, old, perverted men are allowed to touch me.
"Employees are like women Sir," you say as you yank my skirt up over my ass and show it too him. "If you train them properly they will serve your purpose to the best of their ability." You grab another ice cube and run it over my ass cheeks. "If you teach them right, they'll strive to please you." You run the ice cube down the crack of my ass and push what's left of it into my tight ass hole.
"You can't possibly train employees like this," Mr. Gregson says in bewilderment but I can still feel his eyes on my body.
