James pulled the big Chrysler to the front entrance of the Ritz Carlton, then turned his head and chuckled as he watched Louisa pull down the visor mirror to check her makeup for perhaps the tenth time during the short drive from the office to the hotel.
"You look beautiful," he said, and Louisa blushed at such an effusive comment coming from her boss, a recently-divorced man twenty-five years her senior. He looked pretty damned nice as well, she thought, in his dark blue suit and red tie. She was the first to admit that she loved a man in a suit, and he filled his out perfectly. The invitation had said 'cocktail attire'; she hadn't known what that meant, but hoped her green halter dress and black shawl would not be out of place.
It was the MAEM Awards. Though she'd asked repeatedly, Louisa couldn't remember what the acronym stood for, but she knew it had something to do with marketing. She had only worked at the magazine for a month or so when James asked if she'd like to attend the dressy shindig with the rest of the staff, and naturally, she had said yes. Not because she gave a rat's ass about the advertising business, of course, but because it would give her an opportunity to make her move. After tonight, she might well be unemployed, riding the next bus back to Indiana. But after weeks of analyzing and fanaticizing, she was ready to risk it all.
Inside, about six hundred people, mostly impossibly attractive, impeccably dressed and coifed advertising executives, packed the Grand Hall, milling about and making liberal use of the bar. The theme was something Spanish-related, apparently, as a salsa band blared and flamenco dancers whirled on a raised platform at the front of the room. Then, directed by some imperceptible signal, everyone broke from their chatty clusters to array themselves at tables of ten. Louisa slid into the chair beside her boss as the lights dimmed, a massive screen appeared, and what promised to be an interminable multimedia presentation of winners began.
"Get comfortable – this is going to take a while," he said to her as he poured her a glass of wine. Had he been keeping track, he would have realized it was her fourth.
Beneath the table, James's legs bumped Louisa's, but neither of them pulled back or muttered apologies. They were knee to knee, wool suit pants touching silken leg. Impulsively, beneath the folds of the tablecloth, Louisa gently put her hand on his upper leg and squeezed.
James glanced at her, a bit surprised, and smiled. Louisa smiled in return and moved her hand slightly, a bit higher.
As the hubbub around them continued, and as the Chablis worked its magic, Louisa felt herself grow moist at their proximity, and excited at the prospect of forbidden touch. On James's left sat Bebe, his publisher, and around the table sat the president of an advertising agency and partners in two real estate firms. They chatted amongst themselves, chuckling and pouring more wine.
Louisa's hand hesitated, then moved up further until she encountered an obstruction that was clearly not bunched fabric. He was erect, and his organ was splayed across his thigh, stretching and straining to reach her waiting fingers. How far would he let her go? She glanced at him and noticed that his forehead was perspiring as he attempted to make casual conversation. But he made no move to stop her.
So she moved her hand again, her fingers gripping his zipper and slowly pulling it down. He seemed to take a deep breath and close his eyes, just for a second. Then he valiantly resumed a conversation about escalating home prices in east Orlando. Reaching inside and pushing away a second layer of softer material, Louisa grasped the shaft and pulled him free.
He was thick - her fingers were a fraction of an inch shy of totally encircling him - but that was moderated by a more modest length. As she explored him further, she encountered the bulbous, velvety-smooth head sitting atop the shaft. Running her thumb over the tip, she found a drop of slick seepage, and spread it liberally. Reluctant to move her hand too rapidly for fear of calling attention to her ministrations, Louisa continued holding the shaft tightly in her fist, rapidly rolling her thumb over the increasingly swollen and lubricated head. She knew it was the most sensitive part of the penis – almost too sensitive to stimulate directly – but still, he made no move to stop her.
Taking a sip of wine and trying desperately to seem interested in Bebe's chatter, James took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed at his forehead. At a break in the conversation, Louisa leaned over and, her lips tantalizingly close to his ear, whispered, "I want to make you come. Put your handkerchief down there to catch it. "
James said nothing, but discreetly took the handkerchief and laid it in his lap, placing it atop his organ and the hand that grasped it.
Sensing that it would take a bit more to put him over the edge, Louisa slowly slid her fist from the base to the tip, gently pumping until she felt him grow thicker still in her hand. He enclosed the handkerchief around the tip as the spasms began, releasing stream after stream of hot semen. Designed more for show than utility, the handkerchief caught some, but the rest oozed over her hand as she squeezed, released, and squeezed again.
"Would you like some coffee, sir?"
Gripping the table and grimacing, staring straight ahead, James didn't hear the server holding the stainless steel pot.
"James, pay attention," said Louisa, speaking up for the first time since they had sat down. "Are you thinking about work again? You've got to learn to relax." Beneath the tablecloth, she felt him shrink and retreat, and she carefully tucked him back inside.
"Let's get out of here," James suggested when the server departed. "I mean, do you want to?"
A coy smile played upon Louisa's lips. She'd dreamed about doing these things to her boss, creating elaborate scenarios in her mind as she lay in bed, a hand pressed between her legs, but had never imagined that she would ever become emboldened enough to act upon them. She traced circles, then the letters of her name on James' knee, and replied, "Of course I want to, silly."
The awards ceremony had just begun and their category had not yet been presented, but at the moment, that was of little concern to James. He bid farewell to his dinner companions, tossed off an excuse to Bebe, and rose from the table. If not for the intoxicating combination of wine and Louisa's touch, he would have realized that this departure appeared somewhat suspect, but that was of little concern to him as well and he followed her out of the banquet hall.
How convenient it was that the gala was held in a hotel, Louisa thought, as James crossed the sprawling lobby to check into a room. She hung back, trying to look inconspicuous, but found it hard not to giggle. She had wiped the product of James' climax on her napkin, which she had then tossed on the chair upon their departure, and the thought of the hapless busboy who would find it was almost too much. But she successfully composed herself as he returned to her side, room key in hand.
James and Louisa strode casually to the elevator, but as soon as the doors drew closed behind them, they pounced upon each other. The meeting of lips was tender at first, then aggressive as their tongues thrust and swirled with abandon. Her arms flung around him, Louisa ground her body against his, desperate to relieve the urgent throbbing in her womanhood. She tensed with anticipation as his hand reached beneath her skirt, but it dropped away again as the elevator came to a stop on the third floor and a middle-aged woman holding an ice bucket walked on.
"No machine on my floor," she explained to the disheveled couple, now standing a respectable distance apart. Another floor and she was gone again, and they snapped back into their desperate embrace as the elevator climbed to the top of the building.
James fumbled with the plastic key, one of those electronic, credit-card-style devices to be inserted in a doorfront slot. The tiny light flashed an annoying red. "Goddamn it," he said, tugging at the door handle and rattling the frame.
