Lunch at Antoines

I stole a quick glance at my lunch companion as she watched the distinguished gentleman walking back from the bar. Roger Morris is his name. There's nothing particularly distinguished about him from outward appearances other than the size of his bank accounts which are reflected in the near perfect shine of his Ferragamo shoes. My ex-husband has a pair just like them, $800 and he never wears them.

Kathy was one of the office cock hounds who had the utterly unoriginal idea that her prim little pink married pussy was a ticket to be punched on the Stearns corporate ladder. The problem with her logic is that a couple of the rungs on that ladder, particularly on the lower levels had become so slippery and worn that just the simplest misstep could place her flat on her back, plumbed deeply and with $20,000 of divorce lawyer debt hanging over her head. It wouldn't be coming out of Roger Morris' pockets, he'd make sure of that.

She fit the part; perky, young globs of tit flesh and thighs damn near to high heaven. If I was a man, I'd fuck it and be stupid not to. Roger was fucking it every chance he could and if he wasn't, one of his clients was. That's the price for being a company girl. You get the bigger desk and the travel account but you pay for it with your pussy being bartered for favorable terms on a contract and a couple of those guys at the Doubletree are a bad memory for most.

"Kathy, you didn't tell me Valentina was joining us this afternoon" Roger smiled with his conquering bull daddy smile.

"It was a last minute thing, Roger. I was starving and god knows I love Antoine's' crusted scallops" I smiled right back with my best demure oral skills game face. He's seen it before, up close and personal.

"Val, I didn't know you knew Roger." Kathy inquired. She didn't need to know but if she had known the truth, she would have feared the competition needlessly.

"Oh yes, I used to work for Roger. Did some of my best work with him."

Roger loosened his wolf smile showing his wonderfully capped charmers.

"Val was the best. She could show you a thing or two I'm sure." Roger caressed his little vixen's thigh as his eyes tried to set my vagina ablaze. "One of the best corporate practice attorneys in the city, bar none."

He was pouring on the charm now, perhaps thinking he could fuck two for the price of one. That's the problem with really talented big daddy bulls; they only think as far as that eight inches of steely prick will go and never further, never contemplating the power of the organ three feet higher.

Kathy's smile indicated she was most likely fair game for whatever perverted show Roger was interested in and I know there are several she never thought of.

The waiter brought our drinks as we ordered lunch fare off Antoine's delightful menu. I had dressed the part with two buttons loosened and just the slightest glimpse of sheer nipple barely encased in lace. I could read his face and mind. I knew his cock twitched in his trousers. I know his breathing quickened just a tad. I knew right where I had him.

"Yes, Roger and I go way back. He hired me right out of law school, gave me a set of travel cards and parked my ass right next to his for 16 hours a day. It wasn't all work. There was some playtime stuck in there occasionally but Roger dear here is a true work master... burned me out after 5 years but I have to admit, he prepared me for literally anything the world of law was ever going to throw my way."

Roger cleared his throat softly and said "You were the best".

The waiter brought our entrées and we enjoyed the fare while continuing.

"The thing about spending that much time with a man is eventually you become his 'work wife' whether you intended to or not. Now, don't take me wrong here, Roger is like the top of the class when it comes to being a woman's work man." I was looking at Kathy, watching her expression. "And Roger is better than most husbands in some ways, isn't he Kathy?"

She laughed with her pussy; a pussy laugh with a perfect smile, unassuming and innocent of consequences. Roger just silently boasted to himself.

"Does he do that thing with you where he flips you onto your belly and mounts you with his full body pressing you down? He has the perfect big cock for that. Not too many white man can pull that off, eh?" I had to stifle a laugh. Roger's cock was growing in his trousers as we sat there.

Kathy squirmed a bit in her seat.

I remembered it well. I was just like Kathy; young, perky married, horny as hell with a workaholic husband just like me and the perfect alpha male bull boss who had the cock, the stamina, the incredible magnetism of masculine manhood. I wanted it all and I never considered the cost and consequence. I didn't care.

Roger swept me off my feet and carried me into that suite above the offices and he didn't attempt to make love; he fucked me whorishly and worked my body magically until I just couldn't cum anymore lest I turn into a fucking puddle. Then he gave me a big raise and a corner office and initiated it by doing his best to inseminate my glowing pink vagina with semen that didn't belong there or anywhere near it.

I was so blinded by lust and consumed by that precious cock that I gave no thought when he placed my small hand into that of a big burley beast of a man at the bar of the Doubletree near the Philly airport. He was the CEO of one of our clients and my instruction, whispered in my ear was simple; 'pleasure this man just like you would me, understood?'

That was the start of my 'company girl' career. When we traveled, there was a 50/50 chance I was spending the night in a client's bed instead of my own or Roger's. I wasn't the only one. There were half a dozen girls being worked by him. Each of us was royally compensated. I made twice what my C-suite husband was making, not to mention the perks of clothing, dining, jewelry etc. I became exactly what was expected of a 'work wife'; I was a company prostitute.

Also I have to be honest; I loved being fucked like that. I wasn't coerced. I was seduced by sex and money, the best physical sex ever. It stayed that way until I got to sit where Kathy sits now. Then it all went to shit.

I looked at her for a bit, smiling, glancing at Roger. The light glinting off her large wedding diamond; her pedicure was perfect. Painted nails dressed her toes as her dress slit rode up nearly to her pink cunt. She was dressed for Roger and not her husband; that was certainly clear.

Roger reached over and took my hand as I smiled back at him. "Val, why don't you join the two of us up in the suite... just for old times' sake?"

I looked at him, not with lust but with purpose. My hand slid a dvd across the table to Kathy and another one to Roger as they both looked in surprise.

"I don't understand." One of them said. I didn't care. It was a déjà vu for me, one I didn't want to remember.

A big strapping man approached the table.

"Are you Kathy Monroe Stevens?" Kathy looked up and said yes. He handed her a white legal envelope. "You have been served."

"Are you Roger David Morris?" "Yes", Roger replied, "but what is this?" He was handed a similar envelope with the statement 'You have been served'. He took pictures with his phone and briskly walked away.

"Kathy, I represent your husband, Michael Stevens, in a divorce petition on grounds of adultery and prostitution. The documents you have received also include a restraining order keeping you from being within 500 feet of your former home, your husband and your children until a magistrate can rule further.

"Roger, I represent your wife, Marjorie Cole Morris in a similar petition with related restraining orders. My cards are in each of the packages along with those of one of the firm's partners who will be taking your spouse's case into the courtroom if it goes that far. The DVDs contain some of the evidences used for these filings. I recommend you both retain attorneys but I'm guessing you know that already."

"What the fuck kind of shenanigans are you trying to pull here?" Roger hissed through clenched teeth.

"The same kind of shenanigans you've pulled on every woman that enters your office."

It was three years ago that I sat where Kathy had just been seated. Roger and a couple of his 'clients' were plying me with food and booze knowing I was a short walk to the elevator and a sure thing once I was upstairs. They were absolutely right but unfortunately for all of us, the same big burley beast of a man approached our table and served me with a set of separation papers as I sat there with the hands of two different men on my bare thighs.

With the snap of his camera, he walked away and as I looked up, my husband strode out of the restaurant with his head held high, his pride and manhood restored while I sat there fully realizing what a cheating miserable cunt I actually was.

Roger attempted to sway me upstairs to continue the debauchery but I wanted to vomit. I thought I had covered myself perfectly yet what a stupid shit for brains I had become. I was sitting in a crowded Antoine's restaurant with three men, dressed to fuck like some well-paid escort and my husband watched the whole thing from a safe distance.

A year later I was divorced and my now ex was dating a divorcee from his office, happy as a pig in a poke. There weren't any joint counseling sessions and drawn out contesting of anything. It's a fucking joint property state, as antiseptic as a divorce can be. We both lost.

Both of my clients' spouses sat across from me as I watched two people rise from their seats and pass in front of both of them without speaking a word. Kathy glanced up from her shame.

"David" She shrieked.

"Remember the restraining order, Kathy. You'll go before a judge in the next 15 days and can challenge it then. Until them you need to sit down, let him pass or plan on spending the night in jail."

Roger watched his wife walk by and said nothing. He had consumed his nine lives already.

I rose and walked out behind my clients hoping my ex was now happy with his new wife. Right. The fuck I was. I'd crawl across shards of glass to have him back. Yet, later that evening, I'd settle for a single glass of Pinot Gris, alone.