Listening to the managing director's speech about the new contract, I felt his wife press herself up against me to my right. The company had rented the bar for the night to celebrate, and we'd already been drinking for a couple of hours. As her husband talked about the deal, with his glasses reflecting the neon lights behind the bar, his wife squeezed my thigh under the table.
"It's cold in here," she whispered in my ear. I agreed it was, and her hand didn't move. She crossed her legs, her blue cotton dress riding up her thigh, showing me her nylons and smooth legs. She was probably in her late 50s or early 60s, but those thighs looked good.
"Do you know," she whispered in my ear again, "that my husband doesn't like me to go down on him?" She must have been drunk. I glanced over at her, seeing that she had partly unbuttoned her dress, revealing the tops of her full soft breasts.
"He won't tell me why," she continued, her fingers beginning to make slow circles on the inside of my leg.
"Something must be wrong with him," I said.
"I think so, too," she replied, as her hand slid up my leg under the table to grip my hardening cock through my pants. "But you don't mind, do you? Does your girlfriend do that for you?" My cock was now throbbing against her hand.
"She does do it," I said, looking into her eyes, then down at her half-open mouth.
"And does she swallow, or let you spray it all over her face?" she whispered, her mouth very close to my ear.
