tagExhibitionist & VoyeurChristmas Party

Christmas Party


A few years ago, I was a senior manager for a company with retail branches in major North American cities. Since Christmas was a very slow time for us, and we wanted to build a sense of comradery among the far-flung employees--most of whom had never met each other in person--I proposed to my boss, the CEO, that we bring everyone into our headquarters city Dallas for a big Christmas party.

He thought it was a great idea, and allocated me quite a hefty budget to plan and implement the party.

"Spare no expense. Let's do this thing right," he said.

Having had our most profitable year by far, it was really a celebration of success with a Christmas theme.

Well, the party date arrived, and what a party it was. At a fine restaurant near the Galleria, I arranged for a kick-ass live band, 6-course steak and lobster dinner, and an open bar.

For legal liability reasons, I had warned my boss against an open bar, but he was insistent, thinking that employees would perceive us as cheap if we limited them to two drink tickets and then leaving them on their own to drink or not, as I had recommended. I finally backed down when he agreed to furnish a shuttle bus to take anyone home.

OK, so we've got a bunch of people from out of town at Christmas time celebrating our biggest year ever, and they can drink all they want. Do you think people got pooty-faced? Ahhh, yeah.

The evening started with the sales department making a presentation and giving out all kinds of awards. They took triple the time allotted, so we did not eat dinner until after 9:00 PM. With everyone seated ten to a table during the marathon presentation, what do you think we did? Drink. Alcohol. A lot.

I intentionally assigned seating and mixed people together from different functional areas and from different parts of the country, as the whole intent was to build teamwork.

At my table was the newly promoted Denver Branch Manager I had talked to on the phone several times before, but was just meeting in person for the first time that evening. Sylvia was in her late 20s, medium height, with light brown shoulder-length hair framing a very smiley, cheeky face with a few freckles. Very cute.

She had a really sexy body, too. The short black leather dress she wore was skin-tight and certainly displayed the lovely contours of her ass effectively. I knew she was a runner, and her smooth, muscular legs, accentuated by the black high heels, left no doubt that she had killer gams.

She was wearing a bright yellow satin blouse, unbuttoned one more button than professional, revealing the cleavage of freckled D-cup bosoms supported by a matching yellow bra. Every time she would move, those boobs would jiggle. While satin material certainly accentuates the jiggle on any woman, her tits had the maximum jiggle factor. Jiggle is good!

Her whole demeanor that evening telegraphed, "I am available," though the large diamond ring on her left ring finger clearly indicated that she was married.

One of my employees, who had been with the company for many years, told me that evening, "Better keep an eye on that Sylvia."

My eyes were already on her.

Though we were all having a large time, Sylvia appeared to be having the best time of anyone there. Dancing, talking, laughing, drinking, flirting.

Another blouse button became undone, and I could then easily see that the bra was a lacy, semi-transparent one that cut diagonally across her boobs, exposing just the edge of her areola. When she was in the right position, I could see her scrumptious nipples. Tasty!

I noticed that she would be dancing with someone, then disappear for a while. She seemed to be a bit more disheveled each time she'd return, you know, hair mussed, make-up not quite perfect, a few more wrinkles in the blouse that began the evening immaculately pressed. Just what was Sylvia up to, anyway?

I was drinking quite a bit myself, gulping Jack Daniels and soda. Knowing that I was the guy who would sign the voucher for his tip check, our personal bartender I think was making sure my drinks were extra strong.

I needed some fresh air, so I stepped out front with the CEO where we smoked cigars. We, of course, carried our drinks with us. Even he commented that Sylvia looked particularly good that night.

When we came back up the elevator together back into the restaurant, he went one way and I the other. I needed to piss like a muthah, but there was a long line to the men's room, mostly our employees, so I began to hunt around for another. I couldn't find one, couldn't wait, and considered but quickly dismissed the notion of using the lady's. So, I wandered back through the kitchen, grabbed a tall iced tea glass, and decided to duck into somewhere private and pee in it. A bunch of whiskey will do such things to one's usual inhibitions.

I exited the kitchen from another door on the far side and found myself in a hallway, quiet and empty. I tried a utility closet door, but it was locked, so, with the coast clear, I just whipped it out, filled up the glass to the very top, and carefully set it down on the floor. Some employee would surely pick it up and take it back to the kitchen and hopefully think it was just diluted tea and not strong pee.

Though relieved, I suddenly felt bad--that I've-had-too-much-to-drink-and-just-smoked-a-Cohiba-too-fast feeling. I realized that I did not want to go back to the party, that I didn't want to see anyone else that evening, that I was done partying for the night. I just wanted to get out of there in a hurry.

I sat down right on the hall floor in my suit and collected my wits. It was a long way to where I parked my car, but if I went back the way I came in, I would run into many employees, and it would be forever before I got out of there. There must be a way outside from where I was.

I took a deep breath, gathered myself, and stood up. "Exit" with an arrow pointing left read an overhead sign down at the far end of the hall. I walked down that way and made the turn--another long hallway. There was an "exit" sign at the end of it, and a crash door below the sign. The fire exit. Good, my escape route. I'm outta here.

I quickly made my way to the door. When I got there, I very slowly pushed it open, afraid it might sound an alarm, and ready to sprint out if it did. But what I heard was no alarm. I was in a stairwell, and it sounded like some people were below. I carefully let the spring-loaded door ease back shut with only a little click. I listened intently. Hmmmm.

"Suck that cock. Suck it real good, now," I heard a male voice say, followed by noisy slurping sounds.

"The better I suck, the better you fuck, right?" I heard from a female voice.

These voices were coming from the landing just below me. I had to get a look, so I tip-toed down a few more steps, squatted down, and craned my neck around under the hand rail for the visual ID.

Well, well, well. It was none other than Sylvia and our West Coast Sales Director! I had a nearly perfect view, only ten or so feet away. With her blouse down around her waist and her front-snap bra still on but open, I could see those perfect, nippley freckled boobs just a jiggling. Good!

The lower part of her face was wet with saliva, and she was staring right up at him as she cupped his balls in one hand, choked his chicken with the other, and made deep thrusts up and down his cock with her mouth. Suction sounds and concave cheeks left no doubt she was sucking for all she was worth. Very good!

From the moment I met him, I always thought Ross, the sales guy getting the BJ, kind of looked like a male porn star. He had hair long in the back and short in the front and sides, an obvious fake-bake tan, artificially whitened teeth, and wore cutting-edge clothes more appropriate for the music industry than our business. I chalked his look up to the fact that he was West Coast.

But what completed the porn star image was the guy's cock. That sombitch musta been 10 inches long and thick as a kielbasa, accentuated by the fact that he was a small guy, only about 5'6" and maybe 140 pounds. Sylvia was having no trouble sucking it all the way in and out of her mouth, though.

"Finally found the man at the party with the big dick," she said.

I realized then that she had probably been taking her dance partners to this spot throughout the evening in her quest for The Big One. That's why she'd looked increasingly, well, fucked!

Ross' pants and shorts were already down around his ankles, and Sylvia proceeded to unbutton his shirt, twist his tie around to the back (funny!), and kiss his very hairy chest. His massive member nestled between her considerable mounds of jello, and she drooled saliva down on his cock as he vigorously titty-fucked her. Very, very good!

After a few minutes of that action, she stood up and turned around. Afraid I'd be spotted, I quickly ducked back, grazing the top handrail with the back of my head. "Bong" went the metal rail.

"What the fuck was that?" asked Ross, concern apparent in his voice.

"Oh, nothing, probably pipes warming up," explained Sylvia, obviously not the least bit worried and anxious to get fucked.

She was correct; my pipe was definitely warming up!

I heard a zipper and some rustling. I pictured that zipper on the side of her leather dress, so I gingerly eased back where I could see. Holy moly! She was bent over the rail, back arched, tits hanging down, and was reaching between her legs with two fingers to part her pussy lips. Her skirt, blouse, bra, and panties lay on the landing beside her, so she was nude but for the high heels. Very, very, very good!

Looking over her shoulder at Ross, Sylvia begged, "Shove that big cock in me and fuck the shit out of me."

And so he did, plunging that slab of meat all the way in on the first stroke. He gradually picked up the pace until he was pistoning her like a 455 V-8 at redline, her luscious runner's buns rippling with every stroke.

"Fuck...me...hard...with...that...big...dick!" she veritably shouted in time to his thrusts.

And so he did.

In a while, her face flushed, and she came, "I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I'm cumming."

She may have broken some kind of record for orgasm duration. Very, very, very, very good!

I could tell by the look on Ross' face he was close.

I guess Sylvia could tell, too, for she announced, "I want you to cum in my mouth. I want to drink that cum down."

She spun around, grabbed his cock and steered it towards her mouth, but was a second too late.

His first spurt, with ballistic force hit her on the cheek and ricocheted into her hair. She had his big cock in her mouth the next second and started swallowing for all she was worth, but cum drained in quantity from the corners of her mouth anyway. Ross was just full of cum; I'd always thought he was full of shit! Sylvia continued to milk him over and over with mouth and both hands until he couldn't take any more and actually pushed her away. Very, very, very, very, very good!

She stood up, hiked her boobs up, slurped off the sperm overflow, and turned completely around, naked but for her high heels. That was the best view yet I'd had of her--360 degrees of big firm tits, shaved pussy, perfect ass, and runner's legs. Flawless! What a piece of ass!!!

"That was the best fuck I've had all night," she declared.

"You're the best fuck I've had all night, too," he lamely replied.

"Ross," Sylvia clarified, "Thanks, but the difference is I'm the ONLY person you've fucked tonight, whereas I've fucked most of the senior sales department, and I'm not done yet, so somebody just might knock you out of first place before the night is over."

They began to put on their clothes, and I went from pleasure to panic. Oh shit! How could I get out of there without being found out? I, the paragon of corporate virtue? I decided to pretend that I had just come through the crash door as they ascended the stairs towards me to go back in.

"Oh, hey, y'all. I got a bit turned around. Can you get out of the building this way?" I said in my most sincere tone.

"How long you been in this stairwell?" asked Ross.

Before I could say a word, Sylvia answered for me, "About half an hour," squeezing my comparatively small, though rock hard penis as she passed.

I handed her my handkerchief. "Here, you may need this. Gotta little somethin' on your cheek and in your hair there."

She had known I was watching them the whole time.

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