The Perogatives Of Power

The Prerogative of Power

It was going to be quite the evening. Not only one of the trendiest restaurants in town, but the chance to meet someone who could be Prime Minister one day! That's why Sonia had acquiesced to her husband's demands when he had chosen a rather revealing outfit. He had a good taste in clothes, but they were usually far more modest that what she was supposed to wear tonight. And, given the trendiness of the restaurant and the guests who would be there, Sonia was now wearing the outfit he had chosen. . The dress was a silky grey thing and far more revealing with its plunging neckline and high hem than she had ever worn before. And, making it worse, the cut prevented her from wearing a bra. Sonia certainly wasn't a prudish woman. She had worn western dresses, revealing saris, but nothing like this. The material clung to her body and accentuated every curve. And yet, as she looked at herself in the mirror, she also knew she looked amazing. She felt like a Bollywood star. Unlike most men, Adnan knew clothes.

When they arrived, the restaurant wasn't too crowded. They were a bit late and were led to a private room on the mezzanine where they were let in by a hulking bodyguard. It was like a fish tank - a rectangle of glass that lent a sense of privacy while giving views of the main restaurant below one side and the twinkling nights of the city on the other side. The others had already gathered at the long mahogany table and, disappointingly the only available chairs left Sonia and Adnan separated. They took their seats with apologies that were quickly waved away.

Adnan had ended up at the far end of the table, diagonally across the table from where Sonia sat. Beside him, another executive and his wife. Beside them and across from Sonia sat a deputy from the Ministry of Trade. He was a rather sleazy looking man. Behind him stood a hulking bodyguard with the cliched earbud. Then a couple more of the Minister's functionaries with the remaining seats filled by Adnan's colleagues and their wives. She noted that the only women were from one side of the negotiations. And, of all the guests, the most out place was man dressed in saffron robes with a red tilak smeared on his forehead sitting at one end of the table. He had the air of a hindu priest. One of the idiosyncrasies of the Minister of Trade. He was known to hold a great deal of faith in the esoteric.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet, you Mrs. Malhotra." The CEO said as he pulled out Sonia's seat next to the Minister of Trade. Dinner itself was a rather regal affair catering to the sensibilities of the illustrious guests, but that was all a blur of tastes and colors that had little weight compared to what happened to Sonia during the after-dinner cocktail hour. Even the conversations - business and otherwise - that occurred were forgotten by the time it was all over.

When she looked back on the night, she realized even the seating arrangement had been planned. She had always been a negotiated part of the bribe package along with the expected suitcase of black money that was openly exchanged by the CEO and the Minister's secretary. Sonia was placed between the Minister of Trade and his senior aide, a man named Vikram Seth. Had Adnan been in on it? Did he know what was supposed to happen? He certainly had made no protest about being sat so far from his wife. Regardless of her husband's complicity, she knew it was the CEO who was ultimately responsible. A man like him was diligent in his research. He would have learned of the Minister's tastes in pretty young women, so had made sure she was where she was supposed to be.

As the last course finished, the Minister suggested that after dinner drinks be ordered. Even for the wives. Drinks were brought and the serving staff dismissed. The restaurant below had nearly emptied. The atmosphere became more relaxed. Then, Adnan started telling one of his stories - an old village folktale, drawing everyone's attention to him. It was another reason that Sonia held him partly responsible for that night. The other was that he had chosen her dress. Chosen to make her an object of lust for lecherous men. He had betrayed her.

It was a few minutes into her husband's story, that events went out of her control. She felt a hand on her knee beneath the table. As she looked back on it, perhaps she could have stopped things. She should have stopped things. But she hadn't. She had decided to leave the man's hand were it was. Was it shock? The hand belonged to the Minister of Trade. A man who had risen in the ranks of the government. He would be Prime Minister one day according to the newspapers. And, he was old enough to be her father, if not her grandfather. He was a man to be respected - for his age and for what he had accomplished. And, in this world, didn't status have its privileges? Was she his privilege? Then there was the fact that they were in public. She was not someone to make a scene. What was a good wife at a business meeting with virtual strangers supposed to do? Embarrass herself and Adnan. Instead, she had convinced herself of the innocuousness of the act. This was an elderly statesman. There was nothing really inappropriate about him kindly placing a hand on her knee. It was foolish of her let her imagination run wild. This was an old man who hadn't even glanced at her the entire time preceding the placement of the hand. That is what she had told herself then.

Adnan's stories tended to be long-winded and often referenced obscure village truisms. Born in Delhi, he had rarely visited a village, he told the story as if he was folk storyteller. Sonia only half listened to her husband and looking around, it seemed most of the others were only half-listening as well. It was a few minutes into his story that she felt the Minister's leg press against her's. Again, and largely for the same sort of reasons as before, she did nothing. She left his hand on her knee. Kept her leg against his. Another opportunity she had missed.

Sonia took a sip of her wine glass and took the opportunity to dart a glance at the Minister. He was smiling and looking at her husband, as if in rapt attention to the story. It was her second glass and perhaps had added to her confusion and acquiescence. The Minister's left hand was on the table. His right was beneath the table, on her knee. It seemed to her that they were both pretending nothing was happening, but only he knew what would happen next. He was in control. She took another sip of the wine, staring straight ahead. Her heart was pounding, and she struggled to draw a breath. Then, her shawl had slipped off a shoulder, showing more than she had wanted. And, she even lost the wherewithal to adjust that.

"So there's this lorry - "

Adnan's eyes swept brightly around the table, making sure everyone was engrossed. Stopping to rest on his wife only briefly, the smile turned to a flashed grin. The chill of the room had slowly had its effect - her nipples were hard and clearly visible against the silk of the dress. Even that, though was a fleeting thought as she focused instead on the Minister's hand which had started to slowly travel up her left leg with the fingertips caressing the inside of her thigh. She didn't drop her hand to arrest his progress. She convinced herself, as she had done throughout the night, that it would wander up her leg a bit, get the idea of how soft her skin was, and then he would release her. Exploration done. Instead, of course, she felt his fingers on the sensitive skin near the inside of her upper thigh. She realized that to get there, he had eased the hem of her skirt up another few inches. An overly revealing hem covering even less. It was another opportunity that she did not take. But, she realized that at that point, it was probably too late. How could she have stopped him then when she had already let him go so far?

The fingers dipped further between her legs as if they wanted to confirm that the lower curve of this new territory was as round and smooth as the curve at the top. Who knows what goes through men's minds when they find the upper regions of a complicit woman's leg beneath their fingertips? She took another drink of the wine. A gulp more than a sip. And then a quick second before putting the empty glass down.

The right hand lingered. The left hand kindly refilled the glass.

Adnan, encouraged by a chuckle from the CEO at a supposedly humorous part of the story, continued. Others joined in the laughter. His young wife, firmly in the middle, felt the Minister's fingers make a light pass over her cunt, to find the soft little button draped in silk. Adnan had chosen a pair of pink thongs to go with her dress. He had suggested that she not wear anything under the dress (again to make things easier for the Minister?), so the panties had been a compromise when Sonia had been adamant about leaving the house without them. That's why they had been late.. And, it was lingerie - not underwear. Supposed to make her feel sexy (Make her more willing to accept the man's ministrations?) The finger made another pass, exploring geography, finding the forest of trimmed hair.

As she looked back on that night. Playing it in her mind, she wondered if that was another missed opportunity to stop the man. Stopped him on the basis that, as he was the Minister of Trade, she had given him certain leeway that would not normally be given to another man. Other, less important men. Perhaps she could have convinced him that he had his enjoyment and it had gone far enough. She could have drawn upon his honor and need for decorum. The only thing she drew, however, was a muted, ragged breath. At this point, thought, there really hadn't been an unobtrusive way to bring the matter to an end. Could she have stood and left? Needing to use the bathroom as an excuse? Probably not. She would have disrupted Adnan's story. Drawn attention to what was happening. No, at that point, she had been well and conquered. Doing anything would have been an embarrassment to the company. To Adnan.

Another consideration, of course, was the fact that most men had always considered her attractive. And, she was. She had fair skin with the long face and full lips that gave her the look of a Bollywood starlet. Someone had one said she looked like Kriti Sanon. She had been flattered. She was tall for an Indian woman. Not overly large breasts, but firm and full. A long, flat abdomen. Toned legs. So, most of the men - maybe even Adnan - would not have sympathized with her. They would probably have wanted to be in the Minister's place! Adnan's hot wife, so easily available with her legs barely covered. Her body on display. They would have seen his actions as natural. Expected even! So, she had left the fingers where they were, between her legs, starting to toy with the silk and the softness beneath.

Her husband continued with his story, leaning into tropes about Punjabi Jhats.

Then, things changed. The Minister's fingers were making her body a collaborator in her invasion. Sonia more than merely acquiesced. She opened her legs. Instinctively. Naturally. Her body responding to the man's ministrations. He took the signal and placed his hand between her legs and began to fondle her in earnest. Not just exploration. But, conquest.

His fingers shifted her panties aside and started to work on the skin, and the warm flesh between, that had started to moisten alarmingly. She continued to look at her husband, feigning rapt attention. But she was hardly calm, inside. She took one corner of her lip between her teeth, and unobtrusively started to chew it. It helped stifle the unwanted moan. She tried to control her breathing. She took another gingerly sip.

By the time Adnan had got to the part about the meeting at the crossroads, the Minister had eased Sonia's leg over his own to open her to him. His fingers had found her hardened traitorous clit, travelled the length and breadth of her folds, and played around some at the entrance to her slippery wet cunt. A moan that couldn't be stifled escaped. No one glanced her way as the Minister's aide on her other side laughed out loud at a part of the story that had no joke.

It all become too much, and Sonia had a rather obvious orgasm just as Adnan was coming to the end of his story. That was the only saving grace as the shudder that swept through her was masked by the polite laughter and changing of positions that usually goes with the end of a long boring story. Sonia shifted in the chair but only to ease down further in the seat. She was now completely under his domination. The Minister's hand still remained between her legs, slathering the space with her juices. Then, to Sonia's horror, the Minister begun his own story.

She sat rigid in her seat staring at nothing and no one in particular as everyone turned to look at the heavily mustachioed man. The Minister was a man of iron will. He gave away nothing. It was not wonder he had risen to such heights. Even as he spoke in his languid tones, under the table, not that far away from his expressive face, his broad, calloused fingers toyed with one hot and bothered pussy. He seemed to have the measure of Sonia as he brought her to a second climax - fortunately more languid than the first. He masterfully timed it with the ending of his story so that the soft moan that he elicited was drowned out by polite shuffling and some complimentary comments. From what she had heard it was only a slightly less boring story than her husband's, but she had to admit, she was not really in a position to judge, being distracted by the two fingers that that he was easing in and out of her drenched pussy. Her eyes were heavy lidded and her lips slightly apart but that seemed to be the state of many of men at that point. Them from alcohol. Her from sexual intoxication.

The Minister's deputy - the sleazy one sitting across from her - had been studying her lustfully throughout the evening. When she eventually caught his look, she realized that he probably knew exactly where the Minister's hand was under the table. Of course, he did. Men who worked for powerful men always knew. He probably wished it was his hand. He was next to dominate the after-dinner conversation. She couldn't imagine the conversation could have gotten any more boring, but he managed it. He did so with an exposition on the new regulations they were planning to introduce in the state. Was it a threat against the company? Sonia didn't really care at that point. She had been given another task to attend to. As most of the attention shifted to the other side of the table, the Minister had managed to draw her hand quite casually down into his lap. Sonia now had her fingers around an erection that was an awful lot bigger than Adnan's had ever been. It was obscene in its girth. When did he unzip his pants? When did he pull it out? She had never imagined a man's cock could be so thick. So heavy in her hand. Who imagined that a man of his age and stature could have such a gift. She took in a shallow breath.

Sonia fulfilled her task. He had just brought her to two orgasms and, well, his cock was beautiful. She had to reciprocate. She began to stroke him. Up and down the pulsating shaft. Just as he continued to on her. And the pair of them listened to the boring nerd. The Minister's expression gave nothing away even as his cock pulsated in her grip.

Then she felt the Minister lean across behind her. Sonia leant forward to allow him without missing an up or a down on his throbbing cock, taking the opportunity to glance down at the bulbous head sliding out of the dark foreskin. It glistened purple. The head was appropriately massive. How could such a man have such a beautiful cock? Grey receding hair. A heavy paunch and soft flesh. And, yet, that massive member. It was a little surreal. He said something to his aide on her right that caused them both to chuckle, as if at some private joke. This was followed, fairly quickly, by another hand. On her other leg. The Minister had invited him to play.

Now, two of them had her as their little plaything and Sonia's arousal was becoming nearly overwhelming. Any thoughts of resistance or even distaste were long forgotten. That cock was wonderful. So, when her other leg was taken up to the other side and hooked over the knee of yet another strange male, she more than accepted it. She wanted to make the man who had such a cock happy. The two men played with the overheated space between her legs. Never in conflict over the territory they were conquering. There was not a lot of fighting over the slick cunt. Fingers inside. On the thick pink lips. Tugging at the hair. One rotated gently while the other eased in deep. She shifted slightly lower, opened her pelvis for them little more. For both of them. For a moment, she wandered about the other mans' cock. But, one hand had to stay on the table.

The deputy finally finished his lecture. Then, it was the turn of another of the Minister's functionaries. The priest - well, yogi - who had nobly guided the minister to his illustrious service to the state and country. A yogi who would guide him to Chief Minister. A man to be heeded. He rose from his chair and began to intone in Sanskrit. He drew a small censor from somewhere, burning sage and jasmine incense.

He instructed everyone to close their eyes. To breath in his gift as he began to pace back and forth on the other side of the table. Sonia watched as everyone solemnly did as they were told. After a moment of hesitation, she followed suit.

It didn't take long for Sonia to realize it was all a ploy to keep the others from seeing what was happening and what was going to happen. All were advised to breathe deeply and hard. She was doing that already. Then, - which is when she confirmed her suspicion that they'd done this before - everyone was advised to keep their eyes closed and stand. His intonations grew louder, at times, breaking into hollered chants. Chairs were shuffled back and bodies rose. Sonia took a quick peek. Everyone was following the holy man's instructions. She closed her eyes again and rose. At that moment, the Minister placed his hands on her waist and scrunched up her dress so that she was essentially bare from the hips down. And he drew her down into his lap.

Which is when she felt it. The Minister of Trade's cock probing at the entrance to her pussy.

Then, he slowly lowered her down, the engorged head pressed against her wet opening, stretched it and slipped in. She moaned, a little too loud. The yogi muttered about someone truly feeling the spirit providing her cover.

Sonia eased down willingly on it. She wanted this. She stifled another moan as the mass slowly filled her up. It seemed to go on for an age. As soon as she thought he had filled her, he found another inch to be filled, and he filled that too. It didn't seem to end. Stretching. Filling. Her sighs and uncontrolled moan hidden in the deep breathing exercises the yogi was leading.

God, how that cock filled her.

Sonia arched her back as the Minister found the right spot. He ground into her as she pressed down. His cock throbbed inside her, discovered a deeper place than Adnan had ever reached and turned her arousal into a sharp, thick electric charge. He was inside her to the hilt, staying inside her. Barely moving. Then, slowly, writhing his pulsating mass inside her to their mutual satisfaction. Sonia was lost in the building pleasure. He started to move her. Gently up and down. One hand on her bare abdomen, the dress long pulled up just below her breasts. The other on her breast over the silk material. His heavy hand kneaded the supply flesh, calloused palm scouring her hard nipple even through the cloth. The dress was suddenly a painful barrier that she wished she could be rid off. Even through the cloth, he masterfully tweaked a needy nipple with thumb and forefinger. Eventually, the pleasure began to build toward her release. Soft shudders turning to quivering. His strokes slowed, letting his fullness and her body do the work. The quivering became spine snapping spasms as she reached the peak of her orgasm.