The Reception 4

This story is a work of fiction. Any similarities to any real person are entirely coincidental.

*

I had started at Branson, Bosworth & Roberts straight out of law school. It paid well, but not as well as they tell me that it used to. In the old days, if you could survive seven or eight years at the same firm, you were pretty much assured of a partnership and job security for the rest of your career. Most of the people not deemed "suitable" for partnership were washed out in the first three or four years. That has changed too. Now, only about twenty percent of the associates will ever make partner, and even partners are let go with some frequency. In other words, you spend your whole career working like a dog trying to bill hours and bring in business so that the eight or so people on the executive committee will decide to let you work another year. You also suck up to them in a major way.

I had been at the firm for seven years. The major mitigating factor was that, a couple of years ago, I had met Gwen. Gwen worked at a bank which we represented. She was my age and was in a similar situation, trying to impress her bosses to get promoted and make the real money. Gwen was also drop-dead beautiful. She had a perfectly proportioned figure. She had long smooth legs which connected to a firm and perfectly shaped ass. She had a face that looked a bit like a young Diana Rigg (if you've ever seen The Avengers re-runs) with some very faint freckles. Her most immediately noticeable physical feature was her rich, deep red hair. She also had the sexiest laugh I have ever heard.

Beyond her stunning appearance, Gwen was smart, funny, and very easy-going. I'm not sure how I summoned the courage to ask her out and understand even less why she said yes. Some inexplicable chemistry developed between us on that first date. Very soon we were spending almost all of our scarce free time together and, within a month, we were lovers. We were, however, pretty mundane lovers. Our idea of adventuresome was for Gwen to be on top. On those rare occasions when we went to the lake or, even rarer, to a pool party hosted by one of our bosses, we stayed pretty covered. Gwen would not wear a bikini, although her one-piece suits looked great on her.

It was mid-February, if I recall correctly, when I received a still envelope in my mail at home. It looked like a formal invitation to something, which was odd. No one I knew was getting married and my friends don't send out formal invitations anyway. Opening it, I saw that it was an engraved invitation for Harrison Stone and Gwendolyn Spencer to attend a reception at the home of S. Robert Bartlett, my firm's managing partner, at 8:000 p.m. the Saturday after next. Black tie was required.

The invitation was strange on a couple of levels. First, S. Robert Bartlett and I were not social friends. I could imagine him summoning me to his house to cut his lawn, but invite me to a social event? Second, I had no idea that S. Robert knew about me and Gwen.

The next day, I went to Abbie Long, one of my best friends in the firm, who had made partner two years ago. I asked her about the invitation.

Abbie gave a sigh. "Well, Harry, on one level it is a good sign because S. Robert only invites associates who are still on partnership track. On the other hand, it is a very disconcerting event. As you know, anything S. Robert does for someone has strings attached." Abbie went on to explain to me what made the managing partner's reception unique.

When she finished, I was troubled. The invitation was made to me and Gwen. I'd have to tell Gwen what went on at the reception and Gwen would never agree to participate in something like that.

I asked Abbie, "When you went did you have to, uh...?"

"No," Abbie explained. "I got lucky. I was one of three associates invited. John Ross and his wife got chosen instead of me and Bill."

I was still in turmoil about the reception when I got home from work that night. Not long after I walked in the apartment, Gwen called.

"Harry, did you receive an invitation to a reception at your managing partner's house?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"The bank president's secretary called me today and told me that we had been invited. Apparently, he organizes the event with your managing partner. But, she also told me what they do there. Did you know that...."

I cut Gwen off. "I know," I said.

"Harry, what do we do? Neither of us can afford to piss off our bosses. I guess that they think this is an amusing game."

"Well, we can't go, that's for certain." I said. "I'll tell Bartlett tomorrow that we appreciate the invitation very much but we would not feel right participating."

"Good luck," Gwen said and sent the sound of a kiss down the phone line.

My meeting with S. Robert did not go well. I'll spare you his exact language. Suffice to say that he made it quite clear that Gwen and I both were attending the reception, on the same terms as other guests, or I was looking for a new job.

Gwen called again that night. I infer that S. Robert had called the president of her bank, William Jackson Sturdivant, after I met with S. Robert. Gwen was summoned to Sturdivant's office late that day. She was given the same explicit message: attend the reception or find a new job. I wasn't sure why they were so adamant about us going to their reception, but I had a suspicion.

We were sitting in Gwen's apartment that night, having told each other about our meetings with our respective bosses. "Shit, Harry, what do we do?" Gwen asked

"Start looking for other jobs?" I replied.

"No, that doesn't work. Sturdivant said in so many words that I'd be leaving with a negative reference if we don't go. That would mean that I'm unemployable in financial services anywhere. I don't get why they're being so heavy-handed about this, but I don't think that we have any choice but to go. Maybe we won't get chosen. I understand that there will be a lot of guests. The odds should be heavily in our favor."

I thought that Gwen's stated optimism was wishful thinking. However, the longer I argued that we were being manipulated and shouldn't submit, the more entrenched she became.

"I've put a lot of time and effort into building a career at the Bank," Gwen said. "If I have to tolerate some juvenile pranks from the top dog to hold onto that, so be it." I finally capitulated and agreed that we were going.

"Don't forget that you need a tux," Gwen reminded me.

I picked up my rented tux on the Saturday morning of the reception. Although the reception didn't start for another ten hours, I was already so nervous I was dropping my keys and forgetting my wallet. I made a point of not eating in order to avoid nausea or diarrhea. Although it took me a lot longer than it should have, I managed to fumble the tux on and get it straightened around until it didn't look too bad.

I picked Gwen up just after 7:00 p.m. She had bought a new dark green dress that went very well with her hair. The dress was low-cut in front to show a tantalizing amount of cleavage. The top was held up by two straps that came together behind her neck, leaving her upper back bare. While the dress was long, it had a high slit on one side that showed a lot of leg when Gwen walked. She looked exquisite and I told her so.

"Thank you Harry," Gwen said. "Uh, just in case, you see where the zipper is, don't you?" Gwen gave a nervous laugh.

We drove to S. Robert's house in my rather worn VW. I say "house," but "mansion" would be more accurate. The structure was positioned atop a small hill about a quarter mile off of the road. As we came up the driveway that night, the front of the mansion was brightly lit. The valet who took my car keys made his distaste for having to sit in my car very clear.

Holding hands, Gwen and I walked in the front door. Just inside was a cute girl wearing a white shirt, black bowtie, and black slacks. She handed me a slip of paper, saying "Your number, Sir."

Gwen grabbed the paper from my hand and looked at it. "Twenty-eight," she said nervously. "Please do not call twenty-eight." The girl who had given us the slip just smiled.

A young lady dressed identically to the first took Gwen's and my coats and pointed us towards the "drawing room." I could hear chamber music. Standing in the doorway to the drawing room were S. Robert, an older woman whom I knew to be his wife, and a much younger-looking woman in a bright yellow gown.

As S. Robert extended his hand, he said, "Miss Spencer. Mr. Stone. I'm so glad that you are kind enough to join us this evening." That, of course, was very hypocritical because he had ordered us to be there. S. Robert went on, "This is my wife Miriam and our daughter Yvette." We all shook hands.

As Gwen and I started to walk further into the room, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned. Yvette had a stern expression on her face. "What number do you have?" she asked.

Before I could decide whether to make up a number, Gwen blurted out "twenty-eight."

Yvette nodded, and said "thank you. I have number five."

We walked on into the drawing room. It was huge, with a very high ceiling and a highly polished wooden floor. The chamber music I had heard was coming from a string quartet set up in one corner of the room. Another young lady dressed like the ones outside came up with a tray of glasses. "Champagne?" she asked. We each took a glass. The drink server was swiftly followed by another server with a tray of hor d'oeurves. Gwen took something, but I passed. We walked around the room together. The room was already full of people. There was no one there whom we knew personally, but a lot of people whom we recognized. Along with Sturdivant and his wife, there were a number of prominent people from business and finance in the city. "All the movers and shakers,' Gwen quipped.

While most of the guests were older, there was a smattering of people whom I guessed to be roughly our age. I assumed that these people were in a similar situation to us, present because their careers demanded it and fearful of making a wrong move. I suspected that, like us, they were also half scared to death of what they might have to do. Sturdivant saw Gwen and walked up to us with, I assume, his wife. In a surprisingly high-pitched, whiney voice, he said "Ms. Spencer, it is so good to see you. I am glad that you could make it. I take it that this young man is Mr. Stone?"

Gwen acknowledged that I was.

Sturdivant jovially asked, "What number did you get?"

With as much fake enthusiasm as she could muster, Gwen said "twenty-eight."

The president chuckled. "Beth and I have three. I hope we draw a high number tonight."

With that, the Sturdivants walked away. Through the entire evening, I never heard Mrs. Bartlett or Mrs. Sturdivant utter a word.

As the Sturdivants walked away, a younger couple came up to us. "Gwen Spencer?" the woman of the pair asked.

Gwen said, "Yes, Oh, you're Sally Martin from compliance, aren't you?"

The woman almost grimaced. Nervously, she said, "Yes. Sturdivant wanted someone from compliance here to give him cover in case someone complains. It is funny, though, I've never heard of anyone making a complaint about this event. I guess Sturdivant and Bartlett have everyone cowed. I hope to god they don't call our number. Oh, I'm sorry, this is my husband Rich."

The man with Sally Martin extended his hand and shook way too energetically as Gwen introduced me. Rich said, "It does keep you on edge, doesn't it. When will they call the number?"

"I don't know," I replied.

A server came by and took our glasses. Sally and Rich Martin each got a fresh glass. "I'm afraid that I'm going to need this," Sally said. Gwen and I had decided to stay almost completely sober, just in case.

Since we didn't really know anyone else there, we stayed put talking to the Martins. Every so often, Gwen or Sally would say "hello" as some heavy-hitter from the bank walked by. I briefly greeted two other members of my firm's executive committee and their wives. The executive committee at BB&R was entirely male.

Looking around the room, it was obvious that there was a lot of wealth assembled. I saw women with elaborate diamond necklaces wearing gowns that probably cost what I netted in a year. Every man, except me, seemed to have been issued with a Rolex watch. Despite all the money that the guests had obviously spent on their appearance that night, Gwen in her relatively simple green dress was, far and away, the most beautiful woman in the room. I could tell by the long looks Gwen received that I was not alone in that opinion.

Gwen and I made small-talk with the Martins until about 9:00 p.m. Finally, Rich Martin said, "Jesus, I wish that they'd just call the number and let everyone else relax."

As if Rich had been heard, Bartlett, Sturdivant, their wives, and Yvette Sturdivant strode to the front of the room. The string quartet abruptly stopped playing. S. Robert raised his hand and the room suddenly became quiet. Everyone knew what was coming.

S. Robert boomed out, "Bill, Beth, Miriam and I want to thank you for joining us for this modest entertainment this evening." With false modesty, he continued "I know that it isn't much, but I hope that you will have a pleasant evening in our humble home." He turned to Sturdivant.

William Jackson whined, "As you know we host this reception once a year and there is one aspect of it that makes it very special. We will now commence with that part of the evening."

Looking around the room, I noticed most of the younger guests nervously looking at their slips of paper. Bartlett made a small gesture and one of the girls doing the serving came forward carrying a fishbowl filled with slips of paper.

With what seemed to me to be a leer, Bartlett boomed out, "This bowl contains slips that are numbered to correspond to the slips which you were given on your arrival here this evening. I am now going to ask my daughter Yvette to draw one of those slips now."

Yvette Bartlett stepped forward. Her father raised the bowl so that he was holding it level with her forehead. Yvette played it for a bit of drama, pausing before she reached into the bowl. She swirled her hand around in the bowl for a long time before she finally drew one slip out.

"Read it, Yvette" her father instructed.

Breathily, Yvette announced "the couple holding number twenty-eight is our very special guests this evening."

Gwen very distinctly said, "Shit!"

"Would whomever has number twenty-eight please raise their hands," Sturdivant whined.

Gwen and I very hesitantly raised our hands. As we did, the people around us began stepping away towards the perimeter of the room. My heart was beating hard. We stood there, with everyone staring at us, as two of the servers brought out an upholstered bench and placed in on the floor a foot or so away from us.

Bartlett boomed at us, "You know what to do?"

Gwen and I nodded in defeat. Gwen gave me a long look. Then she bent down and took off her shoes. One of the servers took Gwen's shoes. Gwen turned her back to me and stood facing some of the other guests. I lifted up her hair, undid the clasp holding the top of her dress. I gently patted her bare back and then pulled the zipper on her dress all the way down below her ass.

Gwen shrugged and her dress fell in a heap at her feet. The server who had taken Gwen's shoes was back and bent down. Gwen lifted her feet slightly, one at a time, as the server gathered up her dress and walked off with it. Because of the dress, Gwen had not worn a separate bra. She was standing in the center of the room in only her panties. Despite my near mortification, I couldn't help appreciate that she looked damned sexy. Gwen stood still, with her arms at her side, letting the guests stare at her bare breasts for a moment before she turned to face me.

I could see that Gwen was breathing hard and her nipples were very erect. In truth, I was pretty erect already too. Gwen gave me a smile and whispered, "Take them off."

I leaned forward and put a hand on each of Gwen's hips. I grasped the waistband of her panties and started pulling them down. I had to crouch some as I pulled the panties down Gwen's elegant bare thighs. When I had them at the floor, Gwen raised first one foot then the other so I could take her panties away. One of the servers stepped forward and extended a hand. I gave her Gwen's panties and she walked off.

I stood straight again and looked into Gwen's eyes. We held that look for a moment. Then, as we'd been instructed to do if we were called, I took a step away. Gwen slowly turned in a 360 degree circle so that the entire room could see her naked body, front and back. When she finished her turn, the other guests applauded briefly.

Gwen then stepped to me and took off my jacket. A server took that away. I slipped off my shoes and handed them to the other server. Gwen stepped behind me and undid my cummerbund. Placing that over her bare arm, Gwen came around to my front. She reached to my throat and undid my black bowtie. Gwen handed the cummerbund and tie to a server who took them away.

Gwen took the sides of my shirt in her hands and pulled the shirttail out of my trousers. Then she unbuttoned my shirt. I shifted my arms so that Gwen could take my shirt off of me. A server took my shirt away.

Gwen undid the claps at the top of my tux trousers and unzipped them. She gave a slight tug at the sides and my trousers fell to me feet. Gwen knelt down and I raised my feet so that she could gather my trousers and hand them to the server. Gwen then tapped my left calf. I raised that foot so that Gwen could roll off my sock. She repeated that process with my right foot. A server carried my socks away.

Gwen stood back up and looked at me. I was standing in only my boxers, with a very obviously tent in front. Gwen was smiling now. She leaned against me and whispered in my ear, "I was dreading this, but this is really hot." She gave a quick nibble on my earlobe, leaned back, and whisked my boxers to the floor. I stepped out of them and watched a server carry the last of my clothing away.

As I had done earlier, Gwen took a step away from me. I made the same 360 degree turn that Gwen had made. I know that I should have felt embarrassed and humiliated to be standing naked in front of these rich and powerful people with a raging hard-on. I didn't. I was surprised to realize that I was actually enjoying it. I received the same brief applause that the guests had given Gwen.

Gwen stepped back beside me. We embraced and kissed. Gwen was stroking my hard-on with her hand and I was fingering her pussy. Gwen was really wet.

Gwen broke the embrace, took my hand, and led me to the bench. She released my hand and lay down on the bench on her back. She spread her legs. I got onto the bench and eased my dick into Gwen. Above her, supporting myself on my forearms, I looked into Gwen's face. She gets a look on her face when we make love that is, well, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. She had that look now.

As we started fucking, the other guests moved in closer until they formed a circle only a yard or so away from us. Gwen and I were both very conscious that there were about a hundred people, including the people we worked for, watching us have intercourse. That should have been embarrassing too. Instead, I felt empowered.

Gwen and I had made love enough that I knew a little about how to get her off. I knew that she had a very sensitive spot inside her vagina which I could hit with my dickhead by flexing my hips a certain way. I did that twice before Gwen said in a loud whisper, "No, not yet, let's make this last." Gwen was getting off on the situation too.

There were times when we made love that Gwen wanted her orgasm and she wanted it right away. However, we had also played around trying to see how long we could fuck before either of us came. Before I met Gwen, I had thought of intercourse as just what you had to do to come. Gwen had taught me that intercourse was wonderful in itself. The orgasm was the very good icing on the cake. Gwen and I settled into what we called our "low intensity humping." Her legs were wrapped loosely around my waist. We kissed a lot. I nibbled at her nipples, she stroked my hair. We kept that up for what seemed like a really long time. It was wonderful.