Michael hardly slept a wink.
He'd just been the slave, the complete, eager and willing sexual slave to Beth, a very sexy 60-year-old woman he'd met in the bar at the hotel where he was staying on business. She'd seduced him with flashes of her sexy old legs, visible as her black pant legs rode up while she sat at the bar, showing her muscular calves bubbling above her low black trouser socks.
The horny 21-year-old had fallen for her fetishistic ways, slavishly worshipping those calves, those socks, those smelly feet, at the bar. She'd even gotten him off using her muscular calves, as friends of hers stopped by to chat. And later, when she came by Michael's room, dominating him with her entire, rather sinewy and lean body, controlling him body, mind and soul.
And before she left, wearing those black socks gone squishy from his cum, which she'd "made" him suck clean, he was privy to some disturbing news: At his business meeting tomorrow, he'd be giving a speech. Before a crowd that would include the company president. Which, it turned out to Michael's chagrin and Beth's delight, was the sexy older woman he was slave to.
Before she left his room for the night, Beth promised to sit in the front row of the meeting the next morning. Flashing her legs and those filthy socks at him. Hence, his inability to sleep much after she'd left his room - as she flashed those legs and socks at him on the way out.
He got to the meeting early, sizing up the crowd, making small talk with associates, trying to remember what he was going to say. He was a young hire at the company, and his speech would center around that, being new blood in an old business, this one being the insurance trade.
He wanted her to show up. He wanted to impress this incredible, sexual older woman who was his boss. He wanted to please her. And at the same time, he didn't want her there, knowing the effect it would have on him. She would unravel him, he feared.
He mingled, nibbled aimlessly at the mediocre buffet spread out in back, eyeing the crowd, seeking her out, a mix of relief and regret consuming him at her absence. The meeting started precisely at 9 a.m. His speech, which was to be fairly short and part of the day's proceedings, was preceded by other blathering sorts accompanied by boring charts and he heard none of it.
His time came, his name called. Beth was nowhere to be seen. He relaxed a bit as he made his way to the podium before a few hundred disinterested sorts who offered a polite smattering of applause as he walked up. He turned, shuffling his scant notes, tapping them on the podium. Smiling, he looked up.
The door in back opened, quietly but forcefully. In walked Beth, and all eyes turned toward her. She wore a smart dark business suit, navy-blue blazer, dark blouse with print scarf beneath, and matching slacks and the same shoes she wore last night. Michael gulped watching her walk confidently to the front of the room, acknowledging underlings along the way who sycophantically greeted her. He looked at her shoes, knowing the crusty secret the soles contained. She caught his eye as she strode down the center aisle. She smiled. He wanly smiled back.
She sat down, crossing her legs, gently tugging her pants up. A scant inch or so of pure white flesh of calf and shin shone above those socks that Michael imagined still reeked of his cum. He was rendered speechless as she casually bounced the top leg, the meat of her sexy calf flexing around her shin in freckled folds of silky skin.
"Uh...Michael?" the company vice president, an unremarkable little bald fat man, said, leaning over from his chair near Beth's. "Are you OK?"
"Maybe I make him nervous," Beth giggled softly behind her hand to the fat man, but loud enough for Michael to hear.
"Nonsense, and please, please forgive me for not introducing you, Ms. Sands," the fat man stammered, standing and facing the crowd. "We have the distinct pleasure today of having our company president, and CEO, wife of our founder, Ms. Elizabeth Sands!"
The crowd, which had offered Michael the scantiest applause, exploded as she stood to face them, her pant legs falling down over her supple legs, that exquisite ass pressed tight against her dark slacks. Michael recalled immediately the funky, sweaty aroma of it; he'd been licking only hours earlier, imprisoned in the depths of her meaty bum, devouring it. His cock went stiff. He was thankful to be behind the podium.
"I'm pleased to be here, and my late husband would be proud of you all for the job you are all doing," she said to more applause before turning to sit down, again with those pant legs riding up to flash a tease of her alluring legs at the nervous young man at the podium. "Michael? Is that it, that your name ... Michael?"
He nodded and felt his mouth go bone dry.
"Then Michael, my dear boy, please continue," she said. "Please, don't let me make you nervous!"
The crowd tittered, thankful for not being in Michael's place, the young man's brow beading with sweat as he rifled his notes, trying not to see her. He couldn't help but look, her slight teasing leg shots drawing his attention like a beacon. He took a sip of water.
"Uh...well, I'd like to say first of all...I'm very happy to be asked to...uh, speak to you today...," he stammered. "And of course, to have our leader, Mrs. Sands here with us."
She looked at him, silently mouthing "Mother," what she'd forced him to call her the night before as she so deftly controlled every fiber of his sexual being. His cock stiffened all the more.
As he talked, her leg bounced, crossed over the other, forcing that pant leg to rise higher, revealing more of her muscular old calf. She dangled a shoe playfully. Michael couldn't help but notice the residue coating the dark inner sole, streaked white from the night before.
He blathered on, trying to be sensible, layering in his talk how fortunate he was to be working for this company, to which the audience, otherwise bored senseless, saw fit to applaud, hoping to curry favor with the boss. He continued about being new blood in an old business, looking at the back wall, the side, the floor, his notes, anywhere but at that endlessly bouncing middle-aged calf flexing before him.
He finished with "and thank you once again, Mrs. Sands, for the opportunity to serve y...to serve this great company," to which Mrs. Sands rose to applaud him, those pant legs slipping back down over her shins, the crowd following her lead to rise as well.
"Kiss ass motherfuckers," Michael thought, forcing a smile on his face and acknowledging the audience, none of whom could give a rat's ass about what he had to say, as they tried only to please the beautiful older woman who signed their checks.
"Nicely done, young man," Beth cooed as he stepped off the podium, and the fat man took the podium to announce a half-hour break. "Get me a coffee. Cream. Just. Cream."
She smiled. He groaned. He walked to the back of the room to get her coffee, pouring the cream with a shaky hand, and walked back to her as she stood mingling with people lining up to kiss her ass. He handed it to her and she walked away from the others with him.
"Join me for lunch, Michael," she said, sipping her coffee, he watching the sexy pucker of her lips fold as she did. "At the head table."
"Certainly Mrs...," he started, then correcting very quietly to a whispered "Mother."
"Very nice," she smiled, walking away. "Now. Follow me."
He blindly obeyed, walking a few steps behind her, eyes fixed on that delicious ass packing her tight black slacks. She walked down a hallway to the restrooms. She stopped at the ladies room door, turning to see if anyone else were around. No one was.
