At the Summit

Copyright 2005, All rights reserved

Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website.

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by Prof. Richard W.

(formerly of the University of ____________)

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Part 11 - "Expense Account"

LATE IN 1997

It was the close of another day in Denver, and Sophia had joined me at what was becoming our regular table in the Cruise Room. The glass of white wine in front of her caught the light, and as I raised mine to meet hers in a toast to the day's accomplishments, the light caught both in a single flash.

"Here's to overcoming bureaucracy!" Sophia had pushed her project through a maze of regulations today. She deserved the celebration.

"Didn't you say that Dean's story was coming to something about bureaucracy? I'm ready to hear about someone else having to deal with that." My dark-haired lover tossed her head back in a sign of frustration.

"You might find Dean's solution interesting.... and enjoyable." I chuckled a bit as I thought of it. Yes, Sophia would enjoy this.

"You remember that one person did want to know what had happened on Dean's trip. Rose from Accounting was still after him about that unauthorized foreign condom purchase. Dean had violated the "Buy America" rules, and she wanted him to pay for it, literally. Here's what happened while Dean was back in the nation's capitol.

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BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT CONFERENCE

As he slipped through the office after reporting to his former boss, Dean once again felt a bit like a ghost. Officially retired, he was older than most of the people in the cubicles and corner offices. He had known the men who had battled the Axis intelligence activities in World War II, and they had seemed remote figures to him. Now, he must seem the same way to these people.

He still moved stiffly, a result of the combination of the minor beating he had received and then the energy he had spent in taking young Maria through the sexual roller coaster of her lifetime.

"Damn!" He almost muttered aloud. Which event took more out of him? It was not till three days after the night with Maria that he had again awoken with his normal erection. He paused in the office corridor for a moment and thought about it. He told himself that he should have felt bad about having her, but that was not the case. In spite of the fact that he was married, everything about the event had seemed right. He almost wanted to feel guilty, but could not.

Just as a renewed wave of confidence passed through him, a familiar voice crashed into his reverie. Rose from Accounting had caught up with him.

"Dean! There you are. I've been looking for you. Since you don't have a desk here anymore, I wasn't sure how to catch hold of you." Rose was not quite breathless, but just wanted to imply that Dean was trying not to be caught. She was right, too.

"Dean, the auditors demanded to know what happened to those three Japanese condoms that I expensed for you. They said there wasn't enough supporting evidence for the $50 charge from Kazakhistan. They're making it pretty hard for me." She swept her hand back to realign her long, red hair, and pouted. "I know you're busy right now. We should have lunch some time and sort things out."

Dean recognized his own words to her from before his trip to Denver. His suggestion was now her idea. Last time they had talked, though, he was still trying to stay on the straight and narrow. Now, he let his eyes drift over the late-30's, slim, slightly athletic figure, and found himself agreeing with her. His discovery that his home life was less important than ever to his family had lifted the burden of guilt from him, and he was beginning to feel like his old self. Wiser, perhaps, and not wanting to try and make points, but absolutely enjoying the sense of tuning himself to the woman now confronting him.

"Yes, and I guess you need it soon. The information, I mean. Me, I'm retired, so we can do it whenever you want to. Today, if you like that."

She smiled and suddenly blushed, as if she had caught the gentle double entendre in his words. Dean had wondered at how closely she might be paying attention, and was pleased to see the inviting results of his wordplay.

"I have to work out today at lunchtime, that's my schedule. How about tomorrow?" Rose sounded so professional, but Dean's careful attention noted a bit of insecurity in her tilted head. It was, he supposed, a result of being the person in the office who no one wanted to see. When a man in the office saw Rose coming to his desk, he did not see her trim shape or the sparkle in her eyes-- he saw a mistake in his expense account coming back to haunt him, or a purchase order error. When a woman in the office saw Rose, she did not see a potential friend or lesbian lover-- she saw someone who wanted to catch her in an addition error.

Now, that is just what her boss in Accounting expected of her. After all, she was not supposed to be a sex object-- that would be demeaning, but somehow she had instead become a piece of office equipment, and that was fine with her boss. Rose knew that, and now, as they gazed at each other for a moment, Dean knew that. He took her hand, as if to shake it.

"Then we're agreed on that," he said, and Dean held her hand in mid-shake for a moment, looking deeply into her emerald eyes. "I think that we can make it right when we get together."

He watched the blush spread beneath her freckles on her pale complexion, down beneath her sweater, and then felt her hand warming in his. "Yes," she murmured, shifting to a quiet tone. It was a "yes" to his surface question about his expense report, and as they both knew now, it was a "yes" to their unspoken understanding that when the right time came, they would make love. They completed their handshake and made arrangements to meet for lunch the next day.

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LATE IN 1997

Sophia smiled at me in a way that halted my storytelling.

"You know, I wouldn't have believed this story, I mean, believed how they knew so quickly that they would end up in bed together, before we met." Sophia was recollecting our first meeting on the "California Zephyr" and that was a good comparison.

"Yes, in one of my research projects I did a number of interviews with intimate couples at the university and found that about a third of them claimed to have been certain from their first meeting that they would eventually become lovers. For them, it was just a matter of coming into the right time and place together."

My own mind started to drift back to the pleasure of doing that study, and I told Sophia about Priscilla, my virgin intern that year, who became more and more tense as our research interviews progressed. Talking with one intimate couple after another was very hard on her. I had thought about trying to help her lose it myself, I confessed to grinning Sophia ("How noble of you!"), but I was too involved with another student at the time. I was almost as relieved as my virgin was when she called me one Monday morning and told me that she and her new boyfriend would be staying an extra day at the mountain apres ski, after the rest of the kids came back to campus. After that, Priscilla did a 180-degree turn, and was very effective-- eager to draw out the research subject couples' stories.

Sophia began to pull her things together.

"I think that we need to continue this story upstairs." My lover's dark eyes were smoldering. She marked our room number on the check, and we headed out of the lounge and up the stairs.

Once in the room, we left a trail of clothes to the bed. I stopped her as she reached the bed and we embraced, me in my cotton briefs, she in her black satin panties. The embrace was full of our joy and pleasure in each other-- she nuzzled my hardening penis through the cloth with her superheated sex, and grinned lustfully as her warmth drove me to crush her against myself. Then we wrenched off each other's last coverings and leapt into the bed.

Afterward, as I lay propped up on my elbow, tracing the entrancing curves of her full breasts, enjoying the way her large, dark aureoles capped them, we talked for a bit about how Dean and Rose each must have felt. It was one of those intensely adult moments in life, each of us glowing from our shared energy, each full of thoughts about love and sex and how complex and diverse our species' relationships are.

And then Sophia asked me to continue. I kissed each of her nipples, and then cleared my throat and struck a pose as if I was an old-time platform speaker.

"Mmmm, yes. Lunch the next day."

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BEFORE THE 1997 SUMMIT CONFERENCE

Dean and Rose found themselves in a loud, clattering lunch place. It was crowded with government employees, the support staff of lobbyists, low-ranking military personnel, and reporters for obscure publications. The object of the exercise there was to wolf down their food as quickly as possible, while exchanging information vital to the conduct of the nation's business.

That would not work for Dean and Rose, no matter how hard they tried to converse through the din. Finally, they reached a stage of mutual agreement-- to escape. Grabbing their soft drink cups, they tossed the rest of the lunch litter into a trash can and headed for the nearby park.

As they walked, it dawned on Dean as to why the single Rose was overlooked by some of the office Romeos. She wore a dark blue sweater, and a long, denim blue skirt that came down to her black stockings and black shoes. It actually was a nice color combination, setting off the asset of her long, red hair, but it was not an outfit that advertised availability. When she sat at her desk, as most people saw her, her slim figure did not fill out the clothing, which draped loosely on her frame. Now, though, as they walked, Dean saw her energy, and her clothing flashed interrupted images of her outlined figure. And her walk was purposeful, moving at a pace that Dean liked. A woman who did not mince words or take mincing steps, he realized.

In the park, at the feet of the graven image of an almost forgotten political leader, they continued their exploratory conversation.

"So you came to Washington and became a bureaucrat because of Reagan?" Dean was amazed at this thought.

"Yes. I wanted to see that our tax money was wisely spent. I already had some bookkeeping experience." She stiffened up and looked defensively at Dean as though he should say something sarcastic; apparently that was what usually happened when she gave her simple explanation. Dean gazed at her in silence, encouraging her to go on. He watched as she relaxed, and then continued her story.

"My mother was the secretary for a Model Cities program, back in the Johnson era. It was taken over by a bunch of crooks. I don't think that happened everywhere, but it did in my mom's, and when she tried to report it, she was told to go away, that it wasn't enough money to bother with. They didn't want to tackle the politicians who were in that community. I grew up hearing about how the money was wasted, diverted. When I was old enough, my mother told me more details. She had to tell someone!" She paused reflectively, recalling her mother's anguish.

To Dean, in this moment, the Lepenistes, Michelle, Laetitia, Maria, his wife and son, all faded into the background as he finally understood Rose's motivation. He wondered if anyone else in the office even knew this.

"I couldn't catch those crooks, but I could work to see that things were run honestly. I guess our agency seemed like a more exciting place to work, of course; even a bookkeeper gets in on secret agent stuff." Rose turned to Dean and smiled. Then she affected a stern look.

"So you have me telling stories on myself, but aren't we here to determine what became of those costly condoms?" They laughed. "You convinced me to convince the auditors that the purchase was justified in the first place. But what became of them?" She arched an eyebrow and her gray-green eyes sparkled.

"Don't you have to go back to the office pretty soon?" Dean parried.

"I marked on the board that I would be out till 2:30 p.m. on a cost study." Rose riposted.

"This justification is going to get pretty confidential, Rose. How would you feel about handling that?" Dean wondered if this would put her off his trail.

"I have a security clearance." She chortled.

"You know, I mean erotic, intimate. It's hard to talk about." Dean wanted to be exasperated, but found himself laughing with Rose at his unplanned pun. He had met his match. She swished her long hair back impatiently, as if to tell him to get on with it.

"Okay, but I assume that you can summarize this in a way that won't raise too many eyebrows." Rose nodded her head in agreement with him. "Or raise anything else, eh?"

Dean wanted to stamp his foot in objection to being fenced in with puns by the quick-witted redhead, but as they were stretched out on the lawn, that would not work. And so he gnashed his teeth and began his tale.

He explained how the Sakura condoms in the red-for-good-luck box had come home from the former Soviet Union intact. Rose nodded her head, "uh-huh, uh-huh. And then what?"

Dean rubbed his chin for a moment, trying to think of how to explain that he had bedded the daughter of his former lover, at his former lover's near-suggestion. When he tried to gloss over details, Rose caught him on it and extracted more and more of the story. It seemed, though, that she was not asking questions that would imperil his mission. She was enjoying the erotic side of the adventure.

The retired agent began embellishing his account with sensual details, and found himself choosing words for their erotic edge. As he continued, he watched Rose for any sign that she was being turned off by the tale, but instead her interest was growing. Her face was flushed, and her breathing paced his. As he straightened himself out to take a different position on the grass, so did she.

Dean began to describe his adventure with Maria and hinted at the stories which, in turn, the dark-haired young woman had told him during their hours of intimacy in the "Capitol Limited" -- and Rose involuntarily licked her lips. Dean caught the motion, and watched attentively as she subconsciously smoothed her skirt down over her legs, and then stroked out her cascading hair. As she did that, she arched her back a bit, and her erect nipples pouted at him through the dark blue sweater. Another woman might have been outraged by Dean's report, another might have feigned outrage. Rose took it in, and in her mind was becoming the recipient of Dean's skilled attentions. He halted the story.

"We don't have much time left, Rose. It's almost time to go in." Dean said it in a voice that Rose knew meant that he did not want their time together to end.

"Yes..." she paused. "... and you haven't accounted for the third condom." She was still trying to do her duty, even though the words now came out in a throaty tone that she barely recognized herself.

"Rose, let's get you back to the office before you have to do a lot of explaining." Dean rose from the grass, plucking a dandelion head. The retired secret agent looked at the soft, fuzzy weed for a moment, puckered as if to blow on it, then handed it to Rose as if it were a bouquet. She smiled and climbed to her feet. Her figure reappeared briefly as her skirt shifted.

"Here, you do it!" he commanded, ambiguously leaving open the possibility that he was talking about the dandelion puff. "You know that we only have a brief time together. This is our moment. You know how I am, what kind of person I am, and now you need to decide what we'll have to do to continue."

"It'll blow seeds all over the place; that's not very responsible." Rose was in a genuine moment of decision, although not really about the weed. She looked at the white fuzz as if it were a loaded weapon. He sensed the struggle between her desire to complete her investigation and the desire building within her loins. Dean felt his manhood surge in his briefs as his subconscious tuned himself to her and registered what was happening.

A passerby looked at them looking at the dandelion head, and shook his head in amusement. "Imagine," he seemed to be saying to himself, "two adults arguing over who will blow on a dandelion!"

"This isn't... right, but it feels right" she finally whispered, struggling to get the commonplace words out. And then, freed of that ordinary sentiment, she pursed her lips and blew. It was a firm, steady breath, and it launched the tiny seeds out into the sluggish Foggy Bottom air high enough that they began to move. Dean watched her with lust and with admiration at the same time.

They watched side by side, their hands cautiously, discretely intertwined, as the small ball of fuzz became a cloud of windborne seeds. Dean marveled at the turn in her, even though he had experienced it with other women so many times before. He could feel it in her touch and see it in her body language; it was the magic moment when the woman he was with would feel her femininity taking charge. She had taken down the barriers herself, and now she was reveling in the secret preparations her body was making to receive him.

"I have an idea. Come with me!" Rose put her assertiveness to new purpose. Dean followed along, knowing that the bookkeeper's sharp mind was working now on a plan for the two of them. It was hard walking back into the office, but they did. The two of them were still nearly invisible, Dean because of his retired status, and Rose because everyone had one reason or another to avoid eye contact with her.

She steamed ahead of him through some push-carts full of interoffice mail that blocked their path, went to the sign-out board and moved the magnetic bead over to the end of the scheduled workday. "Deep Archives" she scribbled next to the 5 p.m. column. A secretary started to say something to Rose about why she might need to come down to the Deep Archives, and Rose simply looked at her and said, "Oh, yes, you wanted to talk with me about the errors in your petty cash..." The secretary's jaw dropped and then clamped shut. No one else blinked or said a word to the couple.

Perhaps the only person who registered what was really happening had just the briefest glance at them. Jill Hardaway, Ms. Hardaway as she was known in the office, had been one of the first Playmates. Perhaps her adventures in the long-ago days at the Mansion had given her a particular gift for watching the body language of intending lovers. In any case, she flashed Dean and Rose a "thumbs up" sign as they hurried past in a corridor by the freight elevator.

Dean had never been in the Deep Archives before. He had never even been on this elevator before. Rose, though, had been down here on audit processes. The elevator door closed with a smashing sound, but that did not startle her. She knew which buttons to push for a security check, hit the old-fashioned brass elevator button, and then turned and looked into his eyes.

The elevator paused almost as long as they did. Then it lurched to a start just as they embraced. They fell against the wall, and into a passionate tangle as it crawled down past unknown and unnoted floors. Dean's hands were everywhere, and everywhere he found that the slim, athletic body which had been so hidden in the vague folds of her sweater and long skirt was perfectly tuned to his touch.