Chapter 3 of the series. For those who don't like stories about cheating wives, or interracial sex, please find a different story to read. This one has both, and I am not interested in listening to your anonymous whining. If you have a constructive criticism, I would love to hear it!
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A Work Party- Ch. 3
Ron was true to his word, and Tony got a promotion. From an area sales representative to a District Sales Manager. I think he would have eventually gotten the promotion, anyway, as he was good at his job, but now he was a manager. With it came some nice benefits. A raise, and he got a company car, better health insurance, and his retirement benefits increased. He had access to stock options, and better bonuses, too. With it came perks and responsibilities. Sometimes he could come home early, and sometimes, like near end of month, he was extremely busy. He had people to supervise, and problems to solve, not only his, but sometimes theirs. But he flourished in his new capacity. I also became a sort of trophy wife. I still had my own job, as financial analyst, in a different field of work. But it was steady, constant, and 9 to 5. There were few parties and celebrations for the worker-bees at my level in my company, while suddenly, Tony was going to many. Most of them were local-enough for me to be on his arm. Ron would be there, and we would have to behave as friends, and not the torrid lovers we had become. At a party, with me on Tony's arm, we spoke with Ron for a while, friendly and casually. Ron even let it slip that he was pleased by Tony's progress, and that his efforts were getting him and Ron noticed. It was even possible that they would both benefit from higher corporate ladder positions.
Tony was truly dedicated to his company, and loyal, and when it was required, he would travel, even leaving on a Sunday night. Every night my husband was away, Ron wasn't lonely. Usually we'd make a night of it at his house, but once in a great while, at mine. But Ron's place was where some of the wilder times we'd have occurred. See, I am a girly-girl. I love to be nicely dressed, and I believe dresses and skirts are what I should be wearing, and jeans were for Tomboys. I wore heels probably 90% of the time, and I had exactly three pairs of flat shoes, one of them being sneakers. Ron was a man's man, of sorts. I think that is why I was so attracted to him. Where I was soft, he was rough, and where I was gentle, Ron wasn't. Most of all, Ron took what he wanted, and appreciated my beliefs that a woman was a woman, and a woman's place was not to be the boss, and not to be in charge.
Tony, without realizing it, was also reveling in Ron's dominance to me. Not in the BDSM sort of dominance, like leather, whips, and chains, but Ron was making me more demure, more feminine, and Tony was being just his normal, gentle self. The difference was I was showing more of my female-ness to Tony, which was making him think he was more of a stallion than he really was. Not that I didn't love Tony. I truly did, to my very core. But I also loved Ron, or more precisely, what Ron did to me with his cock. Tony was gentle, kind, and caring in bed, and would ensure I wasn't hurt. He treated me like I was made of crystal. Ron treated me like a woman. He would use me, hard, and wring me tightly, until I was worn out. Then we'd start all over again.
Tony had decided to take some of his new-found raise, and ensure that I had a clothing allowance, and he told me to start buying more outfits meant for a wealthier life. Short was good, revealing was great, sexy was in but slutty was out. An elegant nudity he coined the term. So I did as a dutiful wife would. I went shopping! But I took Ron with me.
Ron had a flair for fashion, he knew what he liked to see on a woman, or in this case, me. Both men allowed me to indulge my own fashion fetish, wearing satin garments, which had a nice side-benefit of being a little flashy, which Tony was looking for, and Ron appreciated especially when he took me to his own parties on his arm. We'll talk more about that later.
So it was sheer panties and bras, or even some racy, lacey stuff. Thongs became the order of the day, too, and I had several pairs, along with a switch to French bikini-cut over the hip panties, satin or otherwise. Nylons became thigh-highs, and even a few garter and hose sets. I bought a few pairs of Louboutains as well. Long gowns grew shorter, and bodycon dresses became looser, either skater-type dresses, or pleated, fuller skirts, with shorter hemlines. Circle skirts were a particular favorite of Ron's, as he liked to watch me exposed to him. I even wound up with a few more daring pieces, like a dress that was mostly like a Halston off-the-shoulder flowing number seen on some Hollywood-types and wealthy wives, only mine wasn't off the shoulder. It was no arms at all, just a neck –opening and three buttons to allow my head to fit, ringed by a high collar. Basically, it was a giant circle skirt, but with a neck opening, instead of a waist opening. The material was sheer and light satin, but double-sided. I could wear it either baby pink or red side out, but the hem ended pretty high. Like about 3 inches below my butt. Both men loved me in that one, because it restricted my reach, and limited my modesty.
One Thursday night, I got an early call from Tony, who was at his office. "Hey, baby. How's your day going?" he asked, his voice coming from the speakerphone I had clicked on.
I shrugged into the phone. I was still at work, and up to my knockers in a series of spreadsheets that weren't totaling right. "I'm good, just slogging through..." I replied, half-paying attention.
"Ummm... listen, I sorta' have to extend my trip until Sunday." He led off with. That got my attention, and now I picked up the phone, taking it off speaker.
"Excuse me? Ummm, we had plans this weekend to host a party with some of your co-workers. Ron's supposed to be there, along with a few of the upper muckety-mucks, in case you forgot..." I had just had a sudden rush of shit to the heart. I wasn't about to try and entertain a bunch of couples alone. Fat chance.
