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Adjusting my tie the bathroom was a challenge with foggy glasses and a dress shirt sticking to my underarms. Diana had just finished a most luxurious bath, and left the room warm and moist. Traces of her jasmine perfume teased me, and I could’ve bent her over her vanity and rocked her until all of the little bottles fell to the floor, but instead I peeked around the corner and asked much too meekly, “Hey honey, before you get too far…”
“No, hun, I’m dry now,” she said, steadily while applying eye liner.
My wife sat cross-legged in black pantyhose and a matching, scalloped bra. Her dress, lying at the edge of the bed, was going to look sharp on her, black contrasted well with her fair complexion and Italian features. Noticing I hadn’t retreated from the corner, Diana added, “I don’t want your little marble rubbing against me at the party either. Nobody likes a rock in their shoe do they? Avoid embarrassing yourself, hun, and jerk-off before we go.”
Tempting, always tempting, but after having pressed my pants and ironed my shirt, I didn’t want to soil them accidentally, nor undress, and delay our evening any further. There’ll be plenty of her younger co-workers going to check her out, the older ones will ogle, and I didn’t want to miss a thing. I was satisfied palpating my crotch in the mirror, just like grabbing a sac of three marbles and jostling them between my fingers. This was going to be a decent evening, at a minimum I could enjoy anything going on while having a hard-on and nobody would be able to tell. One of the few advantages of having a tiny cock.
Just one last look at Diana, was she dressed yet? I was ready to go. It’s a little early still, and maybe a bit too bright outside, but my excitement made me impatient. She stood holding out her dress looking in the full length mirror. It didn’t matter what for, she should have continued doing it. I didn’t miss the chance to confirm she was wearing conservative hip hugger briefs, think v-string with a wide waistband.
“Alright, Honey, let’s go,” she said grabbing her clutch.
Diana and I held hands up to the hotel door, where she then broke free and strutted through the glass doors with open arms. I marked the three men with champagne who turned toward her to return the hug and kiss her on the cheek. One of them, a portly fellow who was bald as a fire hydrant and turning just as red from the wine, placed his thick palm on my wife’s lower back and pulled her in to hear her properly. She whispered something into his ear and he released her with the most extravagant laugh.
“Hi, I’m Jim, Diana’s husband,” I said, approaching them with an extended hand.
The portly fellow gripped, and almost crushed my hand as we shook. He boomed, “Derek!”
As I turned to his colleagues, my wife said, “And that’s Mark and Colin… Two of our finest nurses.”
They just acknowledged me with a thin smile and a nod.
Derek asked, “So what do you do, Jimmy?”
“I work in advertising,” I said warmly. “We specialise in pharmaceutical stuff. We just finished an ad for ‘Victory’ in a golf magazine. It’s a male intimacy pill… ‘For those putting it in the hole all day’.”
I concluded with a wicked wink at Derek and he and the other’s chuckled politely at my joke. Diana rolled her eyes and Derek gulped the bubbly. He blurted, “But Jimmy, the putter’s the smallest club in the set. Is shrinkage a side effect?”
They all laughed louder this time because Derek is, after all, the boss. Ass kissing is a prerequisite at any work function. My wife patted Derek on the shoulder before we headed off. I waved, but they didn’t notice or care.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” she said to me, scanning each huddle. “Ah, there he is.”
Standing at the edge of the bar was a tall, Viking of a man with short, silver hair. He still had a stethoscope around his neck, perhaps instead of a tie. Everything about him was crisp and clean-cut, yet almost too informal, given his polished paisley shoes, pleated trousers, and tucked in office-casual plaid shirt. A thick, platinum diver’s watch dangled from his wrist as he sipped a Martini.
Anticipating her approach, he asked, “Diana, how are you?”
“Pierce! I’m fine, how’s our newest star?” Diana grasped his hand and kissed his cheek.
His sharp, icy blue eyes studied me in turn. “Still settling in. Could be better, I suppose,” he said.
“This is my husband, Jim,” Diana said gesturing toward me.
We shook hands. None of the clumsy soft limp or overly firm handshakes I got from the others, but a perfectly timed professional one. It somehow filled me with confidence in the man. “Pierce is our newest heart surgeon. We snatched Canada’s best,” Diana gushed.
His smiling eyes acknowledged the compliment. Focusing on me, he said with a wink, “With a woman like Diana, you’ll only have the healthy kind of chest pain.”
Diana laughed hitting his arm gently in a flirty manner. Accepting Champagne from the waiter, I gave Diana a flute and left the two of them with, “Nice to meet you, Pierce. I’m going to greet the menu now. Can I get you anything?”
Diana and Pierce exchanged glances. “No, thanks, everything I need is here,” Pierce said.
At that, my wife yanked at his ear, but was smirking. I joined a long line of rather tall, leggy women who were all sporting shiny tube dresses and corsages. They weren’t as thin as Diana, but they certainly had cleavage, and were certainly going to notice me if I didn’t keep my eyes on the shrimp rings.
When I returned with a handful of appetisers, my wife and Pierce were sitting on the swivel stools at the same bar. His arm rested on the back of her seat. They must’ve been talking about something serious, given that she was talking mostly with her hands and he was attending to her with an unwavering glance, periodic nods, and a furrowed brow. Their moods lightened once I sat beside them and offered some shrimp. Pierce shook his head and then retracted his arm from her chair.
“No, go ahead,” I said, “It’s fine.”
Diana plucked a couple of shrimp, sucked them out of their tails, saying, “Mmm, tasty, but too small to bother with.” The two of them almost had a knowing look. Dropping the shells in my palm she continued, “Pierce and I are going catch up on some work matters, but we’ll be in that conference lounge if you need us.”
She pointed to a red door across the room. “Sure,” I said, and as they stood up to excuse themselves I stole a glance at Pierce’s package. He was probably soft, buy my goodness it looked like he had stuffed a small baseball glove in there.
I, of course, didn’t know anyone at the party except for Derek maybe, but that group looked long gone. My watch showed that an hour had passed. Perhaps there were other xmas parties happening down the conference halls, so I headed in the direction of the lounges, passing slowly by the one occupied by my wife and the doctor. The doors were ajar, I had to peek a little. They were alone.
The next lounge was empty as a funeral parlour, but it did have a no-door washroom at the far end. So I thought, why not? As it happened, the washroom connected to all lounges on this side of the building via a long, winding service hallway. I opened what would have been the ‘EXIT’ door to their room just a little. Just to be able to hear what they were doing. The small fire-resistant window allowed me to spy on them.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Pierce, slapped his knee.
Diana was nodding and sipping. He set his drink on the end table and stuck out his middle finger for my wife to study the length. She shook her head.
“No?” he asked, and then placed his forefinger at the tip of his middle finger and slid it slowly towards his knuckle, pausing at each joint.
My wife kept shaking her head, saying, “Nope! Shorter! Shorter!”
Pierce was grinding his teeth, if she didn’t say ‘Stop’ before he reached his knuckle, he was going to burst out laughing.
Finally she said, “Hold it!” Indicating whatever they were measuring was maybe an inch or so long. “Could you recommend a plastic surgeon for him?” she asked, a little sarcastically.
“This is definitely a conversation you have to have with your husband first. Most men find that to be an incredibly invasive discussion, even with a health professional,” Pierce said.
“I’m not worried about the invasive part. Like I said, he’s awfully comfortable with Jerry, you know, the Proctologist.”
They both chuckled and checked to see no one was listening at the main door. A heavy silence filled the room, she put her hand on his thigh and they kissed. A quick, wet smack.
“Diana, let’s see if you’re feeling alright.” He took the stethoscope pressed it between her breasts, pulling her dress down a little. “I should have a closer look… You’re way off the charts.”
Now what were the chances of me and them, being caught? Looking from side-to-side, I concluded that this service hallway was so quiet that I’d know if someone was coming, even if right in the middle of a little wank. I unzipped and started lightly rubbing my crotch. Diana was blushing like I’d ever seen before. She playfully waved her hands to ward off the doctor’s hands; one sliding up her dress; the other massaged the back of her neck. He kissed her again.
“Pierce, I’m married!” she said in a hushed voice.
But she wasn’t telling him to stop. I’d be most furious at whoever barged in and spoiled the sight. Go on, dear, I thought.
“I want you, here,” whispered Pierce.
My wife closed her eyes and lay back into his massage, accepting that he was pulling her pantyhose to her knees. Her legs were strikingly smooth, almost shiny under the lights. That thick hand disappeared back under her dress, this time riding it up to her waist and giving me a clear sight those black panties.
“I can’t… I can’t, Pierce,” she moaned toward the ceiling.
I muttered to myself, “You can play, let me text you that you can play!”
I had Little Jimmy in my fingers jerking-off madly, but I needed her to go just a little further. Massaging her thighs, almost her crotch, Pierce asked, “When can I see you?”
She chuckled. “Well, we host legendary conferences in the Bahamas.”
Pierce grinned. Suddenly Diana quickly searched her clutch, her phone vibrating. It’s blue light lit up her face. “It’s time to go,” she said, then stood and pulled up her pantyhose, and fixed her hair.
Pierce yelled, “Wait.” He kissed her. Diana headed out, and both left their drinks.
I shot my load on the ground, in the long hallway at the memory of those two. A few pitiful spurts like usual. Then I zipped up, and headed off to find my wife. Diana was receiving a few kisses on the cheek from other wives and husbands who I forgot to meet. Someone tapped my arm.
“Hey, Shimmy!” It was Derek, beet-red from a night of bubbly. Drunk as a sailor. “I shust wanna say Diana is faaantasic… You’re damn lucky to have her!”
I chuckled at how wasted he looked. “Thanks, she only brings me joy,” I said, smiling with him.
He lifted his glass. “Sheers, and good luck to ya, man!”
Diana grabbed my arm and suddenly we were leaving. She dragged me to the foot of the stairs to the hotel by the arm, and smirked at her as she did.
Eventually, I asked, “Did you make sure to kiss everyone twice for good luck? Derek? The wives? Pierce?”
She ignored me.
Holding my arm firmly, we walked briskly to the car. The night was only getting colder. I wondered if her inner thighs are still warm and tingly. She gave me the answer just before we buckled in. “Hun, can you go down on me before we leave,” she said pulling up her dress.