Be gentle, my first submission. But seriously, any comment is welcome.
*****
While we were talking you mention that you're receiving an honor, by your company, for being the humanitarian of the year. You tell me that there's a formal dinner dance, to honor you and other recipients and you ask if I'd be willing to be your date. Being proud of you, I quickly say yes, even though it only sounds like "I suppose so..."
I get myself dressed in my finest tailored suit and make myself look "purdy" for you, hop in the truck and motor over to pick you up. I ring the doorbell, with a bouquet of roses behind by back, and a bottle of good wine, for when we come home, when much to my surprise you appear before me, wearing a stunning blue, form fitting dress.
The bottoms of my feet begin to sweat.
Being coy, I attempt to subdue my growing erection by presenting you with the bottle of wine and then the roses, as a personal token of my admiration for both you and your achievements. The smile on your face warms my heart, as you just light up when seeing both. I can't help but look you over from head to toe, as the dress leaves almost nothing to the imagination. You lean in to hug and kiss me, I wrap my arms around you and the dress is so sheer and so finely made, that I can't tell where the dress ends and your skin begins, as my hands slide up and down your back.
So, we grab the necessary things and head to the party. Since you are the guest of honor, I decide to make us fashionably late by about 10 minutes. I do this for two reasons. First, is when we make our entrance, ALL eyes are on you and everybody can see how simply amazing you look; and secondly and more selfishly, I do it so all of the gentlemen can see the beautiful woman I get to spend the entire life with.
After all the pomp and circumstance, we have a nice meal, followed by a carafe of very tasty, yet potent wine. We admire you award, hold hands under the table and make small talk with the steady stream of people passing by to congratulate you.
A little later, your boss grabs the mic and announces that the dance floor is open and he would be honored if you, the other winners and their dates would honor the rest of the crowd with a dance. We oblige. As you get up, I attempt to be a gentleman by pulling your chair back as you stand and then presenting you with my arm, so I can escort you out on to the floor. All eyes are on us. It's a slow, jazzy tune, so we are arm in arm and holding each other very close.
Feeling your body close to mine has always excited me, but tonight, the wine, the excellent company and seeing you looking more beautiful than I've ever seen you look before (which is a feat unto itself, as you always look fantasy inspiring to begin with), images begin to race through my mind of the things I'd like to be doing for you, with you and to you. The song goes on and I decide to behave myself by not moving my hands to any areas that other people may feel scandalous. But every now and then I lean down and whisper into your ear, and tell you how incredible you look, how good your body feels against mine and then how it may be a good idea for us to dance our way out to the truck as there is some what of a protrusion attempting to work its way out of my slacks.
You giggle and whisper seductive things into my ear, teasing me and all I can do is whimper. Being the dutiful date, I am content to dance as long as you wish as it's your special night. After the first dance concludes, we sachet over to our table, take a few more sips of wine and continue dancing, as your boss opens the floor up to everybody.
As we resume dancing, we spin around and I observe the room and how packed it actually is and then the thought hits me: I can grab her ass and nobody will notice. I go for it, when you least expect it. The lights are dimmed, they are playing a slow Ella Fitzgerald song, "At Last" I believe, when I slip my hand down on to your curvy tush and squeeze. Until then your head was resting peacefully on my shoulder, but at that moment I hear a soft gasp and before I know it I'm looking at you eye to eye. You raise an eyebrow, to which I simply say, I was completely caught up in the moment and in you and I couldn't control myself. I lean in and kiss you softly and then whisper into your ear, telling you again how beautiful and sexy you are and that I would be honored if you would allow me to accompany you home and make mad passionate love to you.
Well, wine being wine, you stop me abruptly, excuse yourself for a visit to the ladies room. I stand around nervously, with my hands over my bulge, praying to God that nobody notices, when you come out of the ladies room and take my hand. I hear you giggling, but what startles me more is the lump that separates the palms of our hands. What's soft, silky and feels like 2 or 3 pieces of string? My mind is racing struggling for the answer, until you tell me to put the object in my hand, into my jacket pocket, as you have a surprise for me.
I can tell by the texture (and the dampness) that it's your thong. Needless to say I'm speechless, yet I manage to take every opportunity to caress your lower back and your sweet tush cheeks when I'm positive nobody's looking or can see.
The party finally starts breaking up, so we decide it's our cue to head for home. Being slightly buzzed, I take my time and focus on the drive. You, being the ornery one that you are, slide over next to me, and buckle yourself into the center seat and commence to teasing me.
