The Gala

Info GWinterbourne
24 Aug. '18

I wasn’t looking forward to the next several hours. My husband, Rich, had volunteered us to be “seat fillers” at his firm’s table at the Arts Gala, a fundraiser for one of the numerous charities they supported. Ahead of me lay a night of watching his partners’ wives get plastered and engage in office gossip while my toes ached in stiletto heels. I would also have to remember whose ass to kiss, and whose career was on the wane. Worst of all, I would have to pretend to be a doting wife when, in reality, I hadn’t been in love with him—nor he me—for years.

I suppose I had held on to the hope that we could rekindle something long after Rich had given up. I knew his job would be stressful when we married shortly after he finished law school, but I never anticipated he would self-medicate by eating and drinking himself into poor health, rather than coming to me for advice and assistance. As his health problems increased, his interest in sex decreased to the point where it was rare he even tried any more, although I knew he would probably want to tonight.

It was a feather in his cap that I had remained slim and fit, appearing to be at least five years younger than my real age, while his colleagues’ wives had either become flabby and wrinkled or had been botoxed into grotesque caricatures of their former selves. Having the hottest wife in the room—aside from the actual trophy wives, of course—raised Rich’s stature in the eyes of his partners, and had the unfortunate side effect of making him want sex with me as well. The thought of him trying to screw me with his flaccid cock while he wheezed from the exertion made me a little ill. My only hope was that he would drink enough to fall asleep immediately once we returned home.

Truthfully, he hadn’t been much of a lover even before we married. I hadn’t had a lot of experience, so I didn’t know any better when he would pump a few times in me, achieve his climax, then roll over and go to sleep. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was honestly a miracle that he was even able to get me pregnant thirteen years ago. Our beautiful daughter was the only part of our marriage I hadn’t come to regret.

It was only when I got older and became bold enough to start pleasuring myself that I realized how much I was missing. After many frustrating years, I was desperate to be fucked by a man whose equipment worked—and who knew how to use it to satisfy a woman.

My need grew so strong that a few weeks ago I even used some of the money I had saved from my freelance writing to purchase a “companion” for the afternoon. At least that’s what his agency called him. I suppose it did sound classier than prostitute, although that was indeed what he was. I paid him, and he had sex with me.

I doubt I made much of an impression on him, but I often found myself daydreaming of Sean, particularly when I touched myself. Sean had been handsome and athletic, sweet and gentle, and, most importantly for my purposes, hung like a racehorse. I had never had an orgasm with a man, and in the course of one afternoon, Sean had given me three. I remembered that intense pleasure fondly, of course, but the best part was the knowledge that there was nothing wrong with me. Even as I grew more and more frustrated with Rich, I couldn’t shake the feeling that his failure to please me might somehow be my fault. But Sean had definitively destroyed that notion. When I was with a man who knew what he was doing, I climaxed easily and often. And now I wanted to do it again.

I had thought about calling Sean’s agency back and asking for him to “come again,” so to speak. But I felt like that could easily become a habit, and an expensive one at that. Besides, my afternoon with Sean had given me the confidence—perhaps misplaced—that I could attract another man to my bed, although I didn’t know exactly how. It wasn’t like I could easily slip out to a bar, and the last date I’d had was nearly 20 years ago, long before hook-up apps became commonplace. It looked like it would be quite some time before I got laid properly again.

I sighed as we pulled up to the valet stand at the hotel where the gala was being held. I had dressed carefully for the evening, not for the sake of my husband’s career, but for my own gratification. I confess that I wanted to see if I could turn any heads, although I wasn’t sure my ego could take it if I didn’t.

I had on a body-hugging, full-length dress in a shade of blue that complemented my fair skin and light brown hair. The neckline plunged to reveal the cleavage I had created between my small breasts with a push-up bra that matched my barely-existent thong. A slit ran up the left side of the dress, stopping just shy of my hip.

First test:  the valet. I let the slit in my dress ride up my thigh as high as I dared while I pivoted to exit the car through the door he held open for me. Although he looked to be a college kid, I heard him swallow hard, and caught him staring at the string on my thong that I had “accidentally-on purpose” revealed with my maneuver.

“Evening, ma’am,” he managed to stammer, his eyes now fixed on my breasts as my skirt fell back into place. “Good evening,” I replied, giving him a wink that let him know I knew he’d been looking. So far, so good. The “ma’am” had stung a bit, as it always did, but there was no denying the valet had enjoyed my show despite being young enough to be my son. I had passed my first test and was feeling more confident.

Once inside the event, my husband made a beeline for the bar along with most of his partners, leaving me to make small talk with their wives. I’d never had much in common with them, so I found myself staring off into space while they gossiped about everyone who wasn’t there that night—whose husband was screwing whose paralegal, who was getting a divorce, and who had had “work” done. I was snapped back to earth by a voice asking, “Aren’t you cold, Meghann? The air is on full-blast, and your dress doesn’t look very...substantial.”

Of course, it was that catty bitch Mindy. Her husband, Scott, had started at the firm the same time Rich had, and she had hated me ever since. You would think she could relax in her superiority since Scott had built a bigger book of business than my husband, but no. She still needed to put me down.

I made up my mind that I wasn’t going to let her get to me that night. I resisted the urge to tell her that Scott had himself recently been caught at a conference with a paralegal—a male paralegal, no less—and simply said, “No, I’m quite comfortable, but thanks for your concern,” as I wandered away from the group.

I hadn’t gotten far when I felt a hand touch my arm. I was about to say, “Excuse me,” when I looked up and saw who had made the contact. “Oh! Hi, Brian. How long have you and Sherry been here?”

“I’m actually flying solo tonight. I was hoping you’d find a way to separate yourself from the jackals.” He glanced over his shoulder at Mindy and her minions and shuddered. Then he turned and smiled at me.

Of all the people my husband worked with, Brian was by far my favorite. He and I had always gotten along, sharing an absurd sense of humor and dislike of people who took themselves too seriously, which was effectively everyone else in the firm. He had been made a partner the year before Rich, but he remained the genial, upstate farm boy he had always been before going to the University of Michigan on a track scholarship and then Columbia Law. His affability helped him gain clients, and lulled opposing counsel into complacency, giving Brian an impressive winning percentage in the courtroom.

“So where’s Sherry tonight?”

Brian’s face clouded. “Who knows?”

“Ooh. Sorry I hit a sensitive topic. Forget I asked.”

“Nah. It’s okay. You know these things aren’t really up Sherry’s alley to start with. But, between you and me, Meg, I don’t think Sherry and I are long for this world.”

“Wow.” I was stunned. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to leave Brian, especially Sherry, who had definitely married up. In addition to being smart and successful, funny and kind, he was also one of those men who got better looking with age. But then people probably thought Rich and I were happily married as well. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. I mean, she hasn’t been happy for a while. She hates the hours I keep, and we don’t really have anything in common anymore. Now that the kids are grown, there’s nothing to keep us together, really. We only talk when we’re fighting, and we haven’t...you know.” He shook his head and sighed. “Geez. I guess I did want to talk about it.”

A voice in the back of my head told me not to do it, but I overruled it and reached out to stroke Brian’s arm anyway. He was one of the good ones, and I couldn’t imagine him cheating on his wife, no matter the state of their marriage. Still, I leaned closer, brushing my breasts against him, and whispered, “I’m sorry. Marriage is hard. Things aren’t that great with me and Rich either.” I let my hand fall away from his arm, making sure it grazed the front of his pants on the way down.

I leaned back and looked at Brian. His eyes widened a bit, then almost imperceptibly seemed to flash me a look saying, “Are you really offering what I think you’re offering?”

I gave a brief nod and a hint of a smile, before I saw Rich beckoning to me from across the room. The dinner portion of the evening was about to begin, and he wanted me on his arm as he entered the ballroom. “I have to go,” I told Brian, “but make sure you sit next to me during dinner.”

“Jesus,” I thought as I walked away. “I just brazenly propositioned one of the most important men at the firm.” At least it felt brazen to me. I was pretty rusty with the whole flirtation thing. It was possible I had simply confused him.

As Rich and I made our way into the ballroom, I could tell he was relishing both the furtive looks and outright stares I was getting. Admittedly, I was as well. Second test:  random strangers. I had passed that one, too.

When we sat down at the firm’s table, I made sure to put my evening bag on the seat next to me to save a place for Brian. I was chatting idly across the table with an associate who had been unwillingly dragged to the gala when I heard Brian’s voice behind me. “Oh, Mindy. I had been hoping to sit there. You don’t mind, do you?”

I turned to find that Mindy was in the process of pulling out the chair next to mine, having unceremoniously dumped my bag on the floor beside me. She looked at Brian suspiciously.

“It’s just that I like to keep the ‘boy-girl, boy-girl’ seating arrangement whenever possible,” Brian explained.

“But it’s going to be off anyway because Sherry isn’t here...” Mindy started to protest.

“Well, that’ll have to be the other side of the table’s problem,” Brian said quickly, holding out a chair for Mindy on the other side of the seat he had claimed. “Please allow me, Madame,” he said with the flourish of a maître d’.

Mindy looked miffed, although she had no choice but to take the seat he was offering if she didn’t want to cause a scene. “My hero,” I mouthed, as Brian finally sat down next to me.

After we were all situated, our waiter began pouring the wine. He came dangerously close to overfilling my glass because his eyes were on my chest rather than the task at hand. Third test:  waitstaff. I had passed with flying colors. I knew the other wives would be talking about my choice of attire the next time they got together, but I didn’t care.

Dinner was the typical rubber chicken affair. Everyone engaged in the standard small talk about kids and vacation plans while I plotted my seduction strategy. Brian certainly seemed to have picked up on my signals, but now that he was here, I wasn’t sure what to do with him.

Luckily for me, Brian made the next move. “Whoops, dropped my napkin!” he said as he bent beneath the table and slid his hand up my leg through the slit in my dress. I gasped involuntarily and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone at the table seemed engaged in their own conversations. Rich, of course, was busy getting drunk.

Brian leaned over and said under his breath, “That’s the most action I’ve gotten in a long time. Give me your hand.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Give me your hand,” he repeated.

I surreptitiously reached across and laid my left hand on his knee. He picked it up with his right and carefully moved it to his lap, under his napkin, setting it directly overt the top of his stiffening prick.

I gently moved my fingers up and down his shaft as much as I dared, slowly caressing him into an ever firmer erection. I was becoming hotter by the minute, feeling him grow harder under my hand, knowing he wanted me. I cursed my decision to wear such a flimsy thong, which was surely getting soaked with my arousal. I began to wonder how Brian thought we were going to get ourselves out of the predicament we had gotten ourselves into.

Something clattered to the floor next to me, giving me a start. “Darn it! There goes my fork,” Brian said loudly.

As he bent down to pick it up, he whispered, “Spill your water.”

“What?”

“Knock over your water glass. I have to have a way to get out of here without them seeing my hard-on, and I don’t have anything left in my glass.”

Before I could think to act, Brian did it for me. Water cascaded over the table and onto my dress and Brian’s tuxedo pants.

“Good golly, we’re having all kinds if problems over here!” he exclaimed. “I’m sorry, Meghann. We’d better go dry ourselves off.” He stood up, dabbing his napkin at his crotch and almost disguising the swelling in his trousers.

I didn’t know what else to do but get up from the table myself and make a hasty exit from the ballroom. I stopped in the hallway outside, unsure of what to do next.

Brian was right behind me. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into an alcove, then kissed me hard, pressing his throbbing groin against me.

“Christ, you little minx. Don’t promise a man pussy, and then not follow up.” His voice was gruff and husky with need.

This was a different side of Brian than I had ever seen, demanding and vulgar. I don’t think I’d ever even heard him swear before. Apparently he got dirty when he was horny. I decided I liked it.

“Where do you have in mind? We can’t just do it in the middle of the gala,” I said.

“Well, where does this door go?” he asked, fumbling at a handle.

To my surprise, it actually turned, and we practically fell into a janitor’s closet.

“Not exactly the most romantic setting,” I quipped.

“This isn’t exactly romance,” he countered. “I need to fuck you.”

He kissed me hard again, his tongue practically down my throat, before he pushed up my dress and pushed aside my thong. He slid his fingers into my pussy. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

He stroked his fingers in and out of me. “You are the hottest piece of ass this firm has ever seen. What the hell are you doing with a schlub like Rich?”

Instead of answering, I fiddled with his fly, desperate to free his surging cock. “You just had to wear a cummerbund, didn’t you?”

Once I got him unwrapped, I could finally see what I was working with. He was big. Not as big as Sean, of course, although I supposed few men had been blessed with such a monster prick as my “companion” had possessed.

Brian was rock hard, however. And I wanted him in me.

I took his shaft in my hand, ready to guide him to where we both wanted him to be, when he stopped me suddenly.

“Can you get pregnant?”

“Just how old do you think I am?” I asked, slightly offended.

“No. I mean, are you on the pill or anything?”

“No. We don’t do it often enough for me to be on birth control anymore. You mean you don’t carry a condom in your wallet?”

“How often do you think I do this?”

I glanced around the dim room. “There are rubber gloves over there.”

“Har. Do you want me to try and pull out?”

The thought of trying to clean jizz off of my dress and then get back to the gala didn’t sound appealing. I was going to be enough of a mess as it was.

“Listen,” I said. “Just go for it. I think the odds are petty slim.”

“I’ll treat you to a ‘morning after’ pill when we’re through.”

“What a gentleman.”

He grabbed his dick and gave it a couple of preparatory strokes before dipping his hips and penetrating me. He lifted me off the floor, and I placed one foot against a shelving unit while wrapping my other leg around his waist.

Brian was strong. He was well-muscled from years of running, and his thrusts were powerful—maybe too powerful. As he fucked me, I couldn’t quite keep myself braced against the shelves, and things kept falling off.

“Shit,” he said after yet another thing came crashing down. “Someone’s going to find us if we don’t stop making so much noise.”

“Maybe one of us will get a concussion first.”

A moment later he said, “I have a better idea. Turn around.”

I did.

“Now bend over.”

I bent slightly at the waist as Brian hiked my dress up over my ass. I braced myself against the door, and shivered with anticipation as I waited for him to take me from behind.

A moment later, he did, moving my thong, and slamming his cock back into my pussy. At this angle, his thrusts were directed exquisitely, stimulating my g-spot and causing me to bite my lip to keep from screaming.

Brian continued to pump me hard while reaching around to massage my clit. I found his rhythm and moved my own hips to meet him, intensifying the pleasure for both of us. After a few more minutes, he murmured in my ear, “God, Meg, I’m coming.” I felt him tense, then fill me with jet after jet of his hot cum.

Feeling him climax pushed me over the edge into my own incredible orgasm. It burst from my pussy in a delicious wave, and it took several minutes for me to stop shaking after we were both finished, and Brian withdrew his cock.

As we stood there, Brian’s arms wrapped tightly around me, I could feel his semen draining out of me and working its way down my legs. I put a hand on my inner thigh, then turned around to show him my dripping fingers. “Just exactly how much did you have in there?” I asked, cupping his balls with my clean hand.

“I told you it had been a while.”

“A while, or decades?”

“I haven’t had a woman other than Sherry since college, and I’ve never had a woman like you. I guess I just got carried away.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I like it when you get carried away.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, kissing me tenderly. “I see some paper towels and a utility sink over in the corner.”

Brian wet a handful of paper towels and gently used them to clean off my thighs as well as he could. I knew his efforts were futile, though—the evidence of his climax would be draining from me for quite some time.

“Meg,” he said as he worked, “I don’t want this to be just tonight. I was a little too rough. I want to actually make love to you. I need to see you again, and not in a closet.”

The sweet country boy I knew was apparently back. “I’d like that,” I said, “but we’d better get back out there.”

“You go first.”

I moved to open the door. “Wait!” Brian sounded concerned. “I don’t think I can stand the thought of him touching you.”

“Brian, I’m his wife. But he’ll probably be so drunk he won’t be able to get it up tonight.”

“What about tomorrow night and the next?”

I laughed. “Brian, we only do it when he’s shown me off and knows other men are envious. It’s the only thing that turns him on anymore. His true loves are a bottle of Jack and a bag of Doritos.”

“You know, he brags about how good you are in bed.”

“Like he’d know. But that does explain the looks I get from other partners.”

“No, Meg, you get the looks you get because you’re gorgeous,” he said, smoothing my hair back into place. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to stand it until I have you in my arms again.”

I kissed him lightly, then turned and opened the door. I returned to the table only long enough to retrieve my evening bag, thankful that everyone else seemed to have either made an early exit or their way back to the bar. I didn’t need to guess where I would find my husband.

As predicted, Rich was slumped near the bar, three sheets to the wind, although the colleagues surrounding him didn’t seem to be in any better shape. “C’mon,” I said, tapping his shoulder, “let’s get you home and to bed.”

“D’ja hear that?” he slurred. “This lady is taking me to bed tonight.”

“God, what a cretin,” I thought to myself. Downstairs, I made sure the valet gave me the keys.

As I drove home, Rich groped at my breasts with one hand while trying to coax himself hard with the other. I wanted to tell him it was never going to work. Lord knows I had tried enough times.

Our daughter was sleeping over at a friend’s house, so I didn’t have to worry about Rich waking her up as he stumbled around. He barely made it up the stairs, but as Brian had feared, he was intent on trying to fuck me nonetheless. Thankfully, he was soon asleep after only a couple of failed attempts at getting his whisky dick inside of me, never noticing my thighs were still sticky with another man’s cum.

I managed to dislodge myself from beneath him, then walked to one of the guest bedrooms to lie down. I took off my dress, then my bra, and finally my poor battered thong. I pulled back the covers and climbed in, naked and relishing the cool sheets against my skin. I lay back against the pillows and began to finger myself. I was still swollen from my earlier encounter, and although I had already had one memorable orgasm that night, I craved another one. Instead of thinking about Sean as I usually did, however, I thought of Brian as I stroked my clit and pushed my fingers in and out of my pussy. I hoped it wouldn’t be too long before I saw him again. I didn’t bother to stifle my cry as I came again—hard—and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Brian’s body on mine.

Sometimes I feel like my writing is like life, as described by Shakespeare, through Macbeth--"...a tale. Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. Signifying nothing." On that cheery note, feel free to comment, if you'd care to. Happy writing and reading!

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