Lawyer Debbie Does Dessert Ch. 01

"You could teach my Millie a lesson or two." Duffy eyed me over his fork. He knew what his boss was doing! (Of that I have no doubt.) "About a lot of things," he added, his watery eyes attempting to dance with mine. I let them, for a step of two, then averted my eyes as fingers brushed the tight bulge of my clitoris imprisoned in silk. My pelvis produced an involuntary kick, then thrust, as the fingers brushed it a second time. Duffy asked Jim what he would do now, now that he had the finance. I took this as a good sign, a sign that we were on the cusp of getting our agreement after all. My pelvis kicked and thrust, again, into Dunkerly's irritating fingers doing their manipulative worst. I was becoming ever moister as they spoke.

I simply cannot withstand a lengthy exploration of the inside of my thighs without becoming damp. Especially if the hand doing the exploring every so often, and ever so gently, brushes my clitoris. And he had, again, JUST THEN! I almost dropped my knife and fork onto my plate so intense was the kick this time. So difficult too, to conceal. I hurriedly finished my coq au vin, placed my knife and fork together on my plate. Looked up. I was the last to finish. My eyes surveyed the table, and the plates, but my focus was pelvis and hips. Willing the damn things not to move, or jump, or kick, or suddenly leap off the chair. The conversation had died. Three pairs of eyes were on mine. I looked at my husband.

I gave him a look which said something along the lines of, 'Either you get up and see about desert or I am going to have to be rude to the boss of the firm you hope will invest in your future, for although we have finished our food he hasn't quite finished with me.' Or, put another way, 'I have the Intermax boss's fingers stroking my pussy, and my legs are spread to let him, if I have to get up now he might be offended, deprived as he would be of his toy, and this might annoy him sufficiently for him to decide not to give you the financing.'

"Why don't I help you with that," said Duffy, coming to his feet and reaching for the plates ... and proving that watery eyes alone do not necessarily mean the absence of a mind adept at quickly summing up situations, and acting appropriately. Or maybe he thought that if he played his cards right his boss would let him stroke me next?

"Oh," said Jim, clearly not as adept at summing up situations as Duffy, looking from Duffy to me as if for help. "Should you ... is it ... do you ..." he stammered, either at Duffy, or me, or possibly both, then he too came to his feet.

"Should I?" I looked at the boss man -- his hunched-over figure, the absence of arms on the table, the presence of fingertips in and around my private parts, starting to fizzle and hum, "Help them ... do you think?"

"They're big boys," was all he said, finding my clitoris, making me jump, letting me know that he was (in all probablility) a 'big boy' too.

"Why don't you ..." I started, once my pelvis had settled, to Jim, or maybe Duffy, or possibly both, "Get the desert. It's on the tray in the kitchen. Cheese board next to it."

The boss and I were left alone at our end of the table.

He playing with me between my legs beneath the table.

Me letting him.

What would he do now, I wondered, now that we were alone. Might he want to slip below the table and put his face between my legs? And if he did, what would I do?

To be honest, I didn't know.

I heard the kitchen tap turn on, water running in the sink, Duffy saying something to Jim -- I couldn't catch what -- the chink of plates on plates, the tinkle and clatter of cutlery being dropped in the sink, water on water as if the plug had been applied.

Were they going to wash the dishes?

"Come, luscious pet," whispered my elephant seal, coarsely and gruffly, as, to my astonishment, he started to pull me onto his lap.

'I can't do that!' I thought, momentarily outraged at the presumption of the man, pulling back from him. But he already had me half out my seat and half way towards his lap. "I can't," I started to say, surely just stating the obvious. "My husband," I said next, trying to explain what surely had no need of explaining. "What would he think?" I added, lamely, out of my seat altogether.

"What would he think?" he turned the question back on me. "A thank-you kiss from a grateful guest to a delightful hostess. Where's the harm in that?" He said it calmly, reasonably, increasing the pressure on my elbow and wrist as he did. He had one hand around my wrist, the other on my elbow, and was proving much stronger than he looked. I found myself leaving my seat and moving, still resisting, round the corner of the table to his lap.

"Well I suppose ..." I said, as he started to turn me, and the tap in the kitchen turned off. "But just ..." I decided to negotiate, (I was the lawyer after all,) "... the one."

I tried to make it sound light, airy, professional, me-the-one-in-charge, as he drew me onto his lap. And as he did, and casually flipped the table-cloth over my mostly bared legs, the door to the kitchen opened and Duffy and Jim came back in. The former with the cheese board, the latter with desert. I froze like a rabbit in the headlights of some thundering truck, not at all sure that I knew how to handle this, when Dunkerly announced, apparently to all, "For being such a delightful hostess, and providing such a succulent meal, she deserves a kiss, don't you think?"