A Capital Affair

Have you ever lost something but you were happy about it? That happened to me at an embassy party. I got into this paradoxical situation because of a rather well set up quickie with the Ambassador in his office. At some point during the, uh, event, my panties went flying and I couldn't find them afterwards. Either there's some incriminating evidence for his secretary or the cleaning staff to find or else the Ambassador has a kinky souvenir of me.

As a result, nothing, no nothing, could go wrong for me at work the next day. I sailed through the day on a cloud, complimenting everyone whether they deserved it or not. Everything went so well for me that my part in opening the new store was all but over by the evening. There were just a few loose ends to tie up tomorrow and then I would fly home that night. For most women, that would be good news. After wrapping up a project successfully, they would go back home to enjoy their children and loving husband, not necessarily in that order.

Unfortunately, I fell well outside the norms of what a good wife and mother should be, unless secretly getting it on with an African ambassador while away on business in Ottawa was your idea of the perfect motherly role model. I dreaded returning to the cheerless existence of a double life pretending to be a good Jewish wife and mother while harbouring the secret of an adulterous affair.

If you've been counting, by now I had sex with a man not my husband not just once, not twice but three times. You can add another illicit sex act to that total because I fully intended to do it again tonight. Actually, it will be six times in total by tomorrow if you include my fantasies with the Sean Michaels dildo. Not only that, I did it last night on the ambassador's desk on what is technically foreign soil. That adulterous encounter in the embassy must be banned by all international treaties as well as the Ten Commandments.

Upon returning to my hotel room after work, I was of two minds, as was my family. Michelle and Ethan were excited Mamele was coming home but Barry sounded less than enthusiastic. I could almost hear him texting his whatever, "One last chance tonight, baby". Not that I was any better than Barry, unzipping my business suit and preparing for my hot date while talking to my children on the phone.

After I showered, dried my hair and put it back the way Mr. Bruce had styled it, I thought about what I should wear tonight for Damien. A woman can't show up in the same clothes twice and, besides, my party dress was at the cleaners so I picked a cap-sleeve dress from my luggage. Probably, I never gave up hope of making a date with Damien when I packed it. I sighed. I wouldn't be going to any parties with Barry as long as he was fooling around. Tomorrow, it's back to mom jeans and sensible panties while doing my house work.

Since Damien had my sexy panties, I managed to find panties with a matching white lace bra in my luggage. The thigh-highs had dried while I was at work so I put those on. I lamented that the hem of the dress hid the tops of my stockings. Since I was hoping to spend most of the night on my back, I put on some spike heels that matched my purse. Some light makeup plus a light scent to complete the effect and I was ready for Damien.

All eyes were on me as I crossed the lobby. I knew I would punch Damien's buttons tonight. The doorman almost fell over himself opening the door and offered to get me a cab. I flashed a smile but declined, pointing to the embassy limousine waiting for me. The Embassy security guy stood with the car door open but alert to any possible dangers. I got in and did up my seatbelt on the drive across town to the embassy. Diplomatic licence plates apparently kept the limousine immune from the rules of traffic and common courtesy. Security drove me to the rear of the embassy instead of making my grand entrance at the front door like yesterday

The corridor to the ambassador's private dining room led past a door to the kitchen. The distinctive aroma of cooking lamb filled the corridor with the overtone of some Moroccan spices that my mother-in-law used when we went there for dinner on Shabat. How did Damien know that was my favourite dish from my mother-in-law's kitchen? I assumed that it was a coincidence since Morocco is located in North Africa. Security ushered me into the dining room and closed the door quietly behind me. Damien stood a few feet away dressed far more casually in an open-necked shirt and smartly creased pants.

Once we were alone, Damien embraced me warmly. "Mmmm. You smell so good, Regina." I just smiled that my scent was working. It was a given where tonight was headed but I had to do it at my own speed. There was the mystery of my missing panties, what was it Damien needed to talk about and could an Xxxxxxxian cook do Moroccan as well as Barry's mother? While I was pondering all this, Damien motioned to a chair for me to sit at a long table set for two.

"Shall we enjoy a glass of wine before we eat?"

From somewhere a sommelier appeared with a green bottle of wine, chilled so a few beads of sweat graced the bottle. As he poured, the towel slipped enough for me to recognize an Argentinean Sauvignon Blanc that I was particularly fond of. Had Damien guessed that as well? We made small talk over the wine for some time, talking mostly about our children. At some unknown signal, the sommelier brought another bottle of my wine, chilled to perfection of course, and a waiter who served the meal. Damien's chef had prepared a lamb harira with couscous exactly like Barry's mother makes. It was like a scene from the Koran with mountains of couscous, perhaps less than a lake of wine but only me, who wasn't exactly a virgin.

"That dinner was superb, Damien. Everything so far has been exactly what I love. Is this typical Xxxxxxxian cuisine?"

Damien looked down at his glass and paused as if he was forming an answer carefully. Finally, he looked up at me directly.

"I didn't think a Canadian woman would like our food. Xxxxxxx is a poor country with a very basic cuisine that's not exactly Western taste. I had my security staff tell our chef what to make for dinner this evening."

I think the wine affected my hearing or my judgement or both because the word "security" went right over my head. Instead, I had to assert that I was a woman of the world: "Damien, I'm not like any other Canadian. We Jews have always adapted their customs and food to whatever country they live in. I would love to try the food from your country, as long as it's reasonably kosher. We haven't had dessert yet. Do you have anything typical from your country for dessert?"

Damien must have anticipated even that because almost immediately his staff cleared the dinner dishes and brought an assortment of tropical fruits to the table. There were papayas, mangoes, guavas, passion fruit, cherimoya and even more kinds of fruit that never grace the shelves of my local supermarket. Damien must fly them in direct from Xxxxxxx. His extravagance distracted me so much that I temporarily forgot that I needed to solve the missing panties mystery and why Security determined the menu.

Over dessert, Damien's conversation, despite being witty, rambled all over the place as if he was avoiding talking about something. What was it that we needed to talk about? I didn't think needed to discuss getting into my panties - it was a given that the evening would go in that direction. I had to confront him so he could get it over with.

"Damien, am I the only woman you're seeing? Are you having an affair with your secretary, Mrs. Okele, for example? The two of you have a very good working relationship and she seems to like you very much. I know she does because a woman is always alert to any possible rivals."

"You can't be serious that I would ever have an affair with Mrs. Okele, Regina. We work closely together, that's true, and I depend on her a lot but it's not possible. Precious Okele is her husband and my head of security. He'd lay down his life but not his wife for me. That's why Chastity Okele never could happen for me."

"But what about Ms. Umfalosi. She's younger than either me or Mrs. Okele and she's prettier than both of us put together. Did you ever consider an affair with her?"

"Ms. Umfalosi's boyfriend plays for Xxxxxxx's National Football squad. I don't want to jeopardize my country's chances at the World Cup by creating a love scandal. No football fan in Xxxxxxx would ever touch Ms. Umfalosi. Before we go through every woman on my staff, let me point out that Xxxxxxx has strict laws on sexual harassment. Since the present government already doubts my loyalty, they wouldn't hesitate to remove me on the least suspicion of sexual harassment"

"I'm not satisfied, Damien. There's something going on and I need to know what it is. Maybe we should start with what it is that you said last night that we needed to talk about. I want the whole megillah. We have all night to work this out."

Damien took my hand in his and led me silently from the dining room down a corridor to the same conference room where Lubumble and Umfalosi shnorred for someone to mine their unobtanium. A computer and projector sat at the end of the long table. Instead of the large map of Xxxxxxx, a screen had dropped from the ceiling. Damien held out a chair for me so I sat and waited while the computer booted up. He was posed like the professional public speaker he was. Obviously he had carefully thought over what he had to tell me.

"Please don't worry, Regina. This room is secure so this conversation will never leave this room. Security won't monitor us tonight. I need to start with the time when I was still married. I was so in love with my Iretiola. We produced two fine children and gave them a happy home to grow up in. Iretiola shielded me from the mundane household worried so I could build my career. That perfect life of mine came crashing down when she fell sick. There was nothing that the doctors could do to cure her. I sought out our bush herbalists but they had no cure for her. I even sent Iretiola to Europe but she slipped away from me until I was left with nothing.

My children were my sole consolation. They alone prevented me from taking steps to join my late wife. Gradually, my feelings of loss and sorrow gave way to a very empty period of loneliness. One of the loneliest times was in bed. I don't know how to politely discuss this with a lady but I missed regular sex. Iretiola and I had a fulfilling sex life in every way."

That gave me a horny shock that started a strong flow of moisture in my panties. I envied Damien's wife, having him in bed every night. Then my mind snapped back to reality and Damien's story.

"When Xxxxxxx posted me to Canada, I felt completely isolated except for my staff at the embassy. My work suffered because I was so, what you North Americans call, depressed. Fortunately, my staff was able to cover for me because I surrounded myself with people from my village or neighbouring villages. Precious Okele and I had many talks to try and overcome my depression and return to my old self. I told him that I needed a woman in my life again if I was ever going to be the same again.

Precious tried to discourage my desire to meet a woman in every way. He raised security concerns that an enemy of Xxxxxxx could plant an agent in the embassy through a paramour. In his experience, honey traps were common. Even if the woman wasn't a foreign agent, what would happen to my career if she turned out to be an indiscreet blabbermouth about her relationships? Precious even quoted St. Paul to discourage me: 'Now to the unmarried and the widows I say: It is good for them to stay unmarried, as I do.'

If Precious could argue from the Bible, so could I. 'Doesn't St. Paul say after right after that call to celibacy: But if they cannot control themselves, they should marry, for it is better to marry than to burn with passion'. My career will likewise crash and burn if I can't quench my desires. Remember that if I'm replaced as ambassador, it's likely that all my staff, including Security, will be sacked as well. Surely you and Injeke are capable of instituting all the necessary security measures.'

Faced with the prospect of losing their jobs, Security came around to my point of view. They agreed to help me look for a woman if they were in control of the process every step of the way. It was embarrassing to involve them in my personal life but there was no other way. They set up a secure profile on Ottawa Discrete Encounters and bought me a burner cellphone that nobody could trace to the embassy. Every woman who made contact with me they researched thoroughly. Security kept the details from me but they kept telling me that every woman was quite unsuitable. Either they lied about their circumstances or else they exploited men in previous relationships or they lied about their sexual health.

But you were quite different when it came to candor. In fact you were exactly what I was seeking in a woman. You were financially independent so there wasn't any danger that your motives were mercenary. You had an education which indicated that you would have no difficulty in carrying on a conversation. We assumed you had high moral standards due to your regular attendance at your synagogue. Having children posed no problem because children are a sign of a healthy interest in sex. When Security dug deeper into your life, all the facts checked out. You were honest and open about everything you wrote, even that you were married with children. Security couldn't find anything wrong with you.

I was curious as to why you were so honest about being married when most women who contacted me said they were unattached but Security found out otherwise. So I asked Security to take their investigation further into your husband. It seems that they took such a dislike to him that they put him under heavy surveillance for a week. I think you need to see what they found even though it may hurt you."

Damien turned on his computer and projector and started to go through a series of files on the flash drive, the content of which shocked me. I wasn't shocked that security discovered that Barry was cheating on me - I knew about that already but I was floored by the amount of evidence the two creepy dudes obtained. Security rented an office across the street from Barry's office and set up a surveillance post. They used an IMSI-catcher to bug Barry's cellphone so they had recordings of their clandestine conversations. Security made detailed transcripts of their phone calls as well as all the dirty sexting going on between them. The stupid, infantile terms the two of them used between them almost made me barf up my dinner.

They had clear photos of Barry and that woman together in restaurants, bars and hotels. Apparently they hacked into Barry's credit card account and the restaurant and hotel billing systems so they had financial verification of all the liaisons to back up their photos. It hurt to think of Barry in another woman's arms but now I could put a name and a face to the other woman. My rival was Amanda Quimby, an articling student in his firm and, obviously, a shikse.

If I doubted the competence and thoroughness of Damien's security team, the last file erased any doubt. They set up an observation post across the street from Barry's office and made a reasonably quality video of Barry shtupping Amanda on his desk. That made me wonder if that was the true inspiration for Damien taking me on his own desk. Damn, Damien's security guys might look creepy but now I didn't doubt their competence at their job. They got the evidence that my high priced detective couldn't get. Secrets of the spy trade, I guess. Damien closed all the files on the flash drive and then turned to me.

"I hope you weren't hurt by all that, Regina but you had to know what's been going on behind your back. Now I must erase this it so nobody else ever sees this but you. What Security did isn't exactly legal, either here or in Xxxxxxx. Our colleagues at CSIS will be very grumpy if they knew Xxxxxxx was spying on Canadian citizens. Okele and Injeke could be expelled and my government would recall me because I can't control my staff."

"I'm not hurt. In fact, you've made me happy. Now my lawyer can prove in court that my husband has been cheating behind my back. Then I can get divorced and we're not doing anything wrong." Suddenly, I realized that my missing panties could get me the key to my freedom. "How about this: Let me have that flash drive and I'll let you keep my panties. Do we have a deal?"

"If you promise me that your lawyer is the only person who will ever see this material and he'll never know where this came from. Can you do that, Regina?"

"I promise and you can keep my panties but could you tell me why you took them? Were you afraid that I would "forget" (making quotes with my fingers) them on the floor so that somebody would find them?"

Damien looked ashamed of himself as if he were a little child caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. "No, that's not the reason. I know you're not that devious. I have your underwear in my bedroom. I wanted to spend the rest of the night with you but that wasn't possible with the reception still going on. So, I had to do the next best thing and have something of yours with me."

Emotions of love and attachment welled up inside me. Tonight Damien gave saved me from a no-win situation in a loveless marriage. I needed to give myself to him completely as my gift in return. It may have been my overwhelming love for Damien or it may have been too much wine but I spoke words I never thought I would say to any man:

"You don't need any surrogates tonight. You can have the real thing. I'm all your, Damien. Do with me what you want."

Damien removed the flash drive from the computer and I put the precious object in my purse. Then he led me by the hand from the meeting room and up the stairs to his living quarters. He closed the door to his bedroom before taking me into his arms and holding me so tightly. He kissed me and I let his tongue explore my mouth. His kiss ended and left me breathless.

All evening, Damien seemed more comfortable around me but saying I would be his toy that night unlocked something inside him. His hands ran down my torso to mid-thigh. He tortured me with a slow glide up my thighs, stopping and playing with the top of my stockings. He unzipped my dress with one hand while holding me tightly with his other arm. Then he unclasped my bra, standing back to let them both drop to the floor. He embraced me again and I felt his hand slide down my back and slowly under the elastic of my panties. His hand cupped a cheek of my tuches as we kissed and swayed almost in a slow dance.

I felt goose pimples running up the backs of my legs, and the short hairs on my forearms were rising synchronously with his shlong. The scent from my hoo-hoo soon permeated the room as his fingers did their dance, and his full lips smothered me in his kisses. He stepped back to admire my bubbies for a second. I swayed precariously, so caught up was I in a cloud of stimulation. Fortunately he caught me, picking me up so forcefully that my shoes dropped to the floor. Placing me on the bed, he pulled off my panties, leaving me clad only in stockings. Damien undressed adding his clothes to the pile on the floor.

Damien's foreplay was different from our first two encounters. He was sensitive and patient but determined to get where any man wants to go. Damien had learned in a short time what I wanted and gave me plenty of it, with quite a few additions of his own. He knew how to properly caress my breasts, lightly squeezing my nipples and rolling them between his fingers. He kissed me up and down, from my neck to my thighs, worshipping my body despite its obvious defects. He kissed inside my thighs from my knees to just short of my bush. His every touch zeroed in on my various erogenous zones, distorting my perception of time and space so that I didn't know whether I wanted him to slow down or get right to coitus.