Le Sexe Superieur Ch. 03

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Seafood footsie.
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Part 3 of the 14 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 01/12/2018
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ValoryG
ValoryG
285 Followers

I vacillate about taking the supervisor job, I really do. I've never cheated on my wife during our eight-year marriage, although once in a while I've suspected that during an overnight trip she had a dalliance with a co-worker. In fact, one time when she returned I found a couple rubbers in her suitcase. Of course, I never brought this up with her.

On my part, I'm thinking I'm experiencing that fabled seven-year itch, where husbands begin to feel the effects of overly routine sex and having kids around, and seek out a little variety. At any rate, after weighing all the pros and cons, my horniness (along with the promotion) overcomes my guilt and the dangers involved. I only hope that Peyton will be satisfied with sex in her office and not in some motel.

So, in a serious mood I give a yes to Peyton. She informs the rest of the staff of my new status (some seem pleased; some -- especially Bobbi -- seem resentful), and I have two weeks of training with Skyler before she departs. Two intensive weeks, if I may say so.

Looking forward to the day when I assume my new job, Peyton invites me to a celebratory dinner on my first day as supervisor, even suggesting I bring Hadley along. When I offer this to Hadley, she begs out, saying she'll take care of the kids. She is so accommodating and nice.

Meanwhile, life goes on. One morning before work, I'm watching the morning news on TV. The anchors, weather people and reporters are nearly all women, in their crisp business suits and ties, with just a little indication of breasts and hips. Their eyes have just a hint of makeup and they use no lipstick. The one male reporter -- on assignment (it's cold out) -- is attired in fitted trousers and pink jacket carrying a Channel 7 logo, and he has a pageboy hairdo, hoop earrings, nice lipstick and a smiley, bubbly personality (he's doing a fluff story about small dogs). His name is Erica, and I think his eyes are made up too darkly. I really think women control too much of the media these days.

On my way to the grocery to stock up for the week, I make can't help but make a quick stop at my favorite lingerie shop to buy some new goodies to impress Peyton. Ah yes. Maybe it will even add some spice to my sex with Hadley ....

First off, I peruse the panties. I haven't purchased any for months now, and it's nice to have a reason to buy. The black salesman, attired in leather skirt and tight top, and with an elaborately braided hairdo, leaves me alone for the time being. Other than an older woman who must be buying for her husband (or she's a crossdresser!), I'm the only customer in the store. I'm partial to silky panties -- either all lace or with nice lace trim -- and either quite white or of a dark but not black hue. I'm also partial to the Flame brand. That company's designers have an unerring eye for sexiness. Out of the six pair I buy, half have padding -- for when I need to accentuate my junk -- which certainly seemed to have worked with Peyton ..... Almost all are of the hip-hugger style except for one sinful thong, which still nicely contains my package.

Then, getting on a real buying junket, I buy some Lourde perfume (I rarely use perfume -- I will have to be very careful not to tip Hadley off by using it), patterned panty nylons, a pair of black-seamed, thigh-high nylons with elastic lace tops (to possibly go along with the garter belt I have at home) and a corset which will very tightly compress my waist and push up my practically non-existent titties.

I also find some light-pink, glowing lipstick, but stop after buying that. I really have to resist the tendency to turn myself into a cheap-looking whore.

As I'm getting ready to pay, the salesman asks if I have one of the new man-bras. "They are really fantastic," he says slyly, "-- they really make your nips stand out, believe me. I'm wearing one now."

Nips? I'd never heard that term before. But sure enough, under his thin cotton blouse, I spot some some impressive nipples. That mildly excites me.

"And not only that, but if you don't mind a little deception, Sunrise has some great bras with faux nips that attract even more attention."

We go over and look, and I'm tempted, but I don't want to run my bill too high -- or, for that matter, go to ridiculous lengths.

"Oh dear," I respond. I think I'll just continue to go natural with a little help from my lotion. Maybe later, OK?"

"Sure. Thanks so much, Andrea."

When you buy a lot, they start calling you by your first name.

At the grocery store I run into an old pal, Ricki. I'm known him since college. He's married without children and a software engineer in a field dominated by women. Three cheers for him!

He and I sit down for a deli sandwich before doing our shopping. He's on the short side and has such an interesting face -- perpetually smiling and full of fun. His hair's unusually short for a man -- he says because he wants to fit in more with the women in his office, so they don't come on to him too much. Now he's wearing a flowing hippie skirt with a loose, gauzy top and long Hawaiian-style necklace. No lipstick and a little mascara. Hippy-style earrings.

I'm just a little envious of his success; he's very highly paid, and to be surrounded by so many women! While I, who went to college to study languages, flunked out big time, went on to try to be a city planner, hated it, and then met Hadley while doing that.

I can't resist, though, telling Ricki about my promotion.

"I knew you'd go up in the world," he says.

"Thank you, dear."

Ricki directs my attention to one of the customers in the deli, a woman with the tightest trousers (around her ass anyway) one could imagine. One can even imagine seeing traces of her cunt through them -- the fabled camel's toe. Above, she's wearing a short and tight leather bomber jacket with all kinds of zippers and buckles and, of course, epaulets. Her features are strong and well-defined, and she's cocky.

She happens to see us looking at her; we quickly look away.

"Nice specimen of womanhood," says Ricki.

I tell him about Peyton. How Peyton looks. How Peyton acts. But I don't tell him about Peyton and my arrangement. Certain things between guys remain unspoken, although perhaps guessed at.

Ricki says his wife Arnie is happy in her managerial job in an electronics fabrication plant. He'd told me before that she liked to organize and run things, although she had to take classes on how to motivate people.

"Does she motivate you?" I asked him back then.

"Oh, she does very well with me."

"I know you do the grocery shopping; who does the cooking?"

"Usually me. I'm just a better cook, you know," he'd replied.

He asks me about Hadley and the kids.

I fill him in. "Doing fine; she's gone a lot in her job you know, so I'm really busy with the kids and the house. You know, it's sounds icky, but I like actually like doing these things well. I'm the best dishwasher loader in the world -- and don't look that way at me! I really do like making Hadley happy."

And oh, there's what I'm NOT telling Ricki -- that my sex life is taking a new direction. Soon, Ricki and I kiss and go our separate ways. Hadley and I really must have him and his wife over sometime. I'll make my favorite meatloaf.

That new direction begins to take off when finally, three weeks after accepting Peyton's offer, I take the reins on my new job, and she lives up to her promise of taking me out to dinner. Before Skyler leaves to go to Engineering, she tells me Peyton did the exact same thing for her, and they ended up at Peyton's place. I make a joke about the salacious book of the same name.

I make sure not to dress up provocatively at home, so as not to tip off Hadley. Still, I don a pair of my new padded panties (in my favorite dark maroon color), patterned nylons and a nice, fitted velour dress. I had my hair done a few days before and I wear just a little more makeup than usual, including a muted lipstick. In my large purse I carry the new perfume and the corset.

I'm glad to see my nipples standing out under the dress.

My heart beats rapidly as I park, dab a little perfume on my neck and walk delicately up to The Riverfront, an upscale fish and seafood restaurant next to a marina full of expensive yachts. I love the feeling of being dressed up, wearing nice heels, feeling my hair being teased by a breeze, and having a rare night out. I know that women's eyes will be on me. There already waiting (and most certainly checking me out) is Peyton, resplendent in light brown, wide-wale corduroy trousers and a thick, black turtleneck sweater which barely indicates breasts underneath. Her dark-brown oxford shoes have nice detailing and look spit-polished.

She's smiling and holds out her hand, grasping mine briefly. I feel suddenly subdued and awkward. I admit I just want to bask in her presence and let her take the lead with everything; and I mean everything.

"You look so nice, Andrea," she says quietly as we're guided to a corner next to windows (the restaurant is half full, it's after dark, and candles illuminate the tables). "I've never seen that dress before."

"Not something I'd wear at work," I manage. I still find it a little hard to look her directly in the eyes -- which are so penetrating and dominating.

We order. Since I've never been here before, I follow her recommendations. That makes things so much easier; it's usually hard for me to make up my mind. We enjoy two glasses of Riesling each. I'm quickly becoming tipsy.

Peyton's talking me up, politely asking about my family, about Hadley, about my upbringing, and so on. I'm thinking: she really had no interest in me before Skyler left .... But still, I have to admire her deliberateness. We talk about office politics and personalities. I don't mention Bobbie or Skyler.

As we are served and eat -- me trying to exhibit my very best table manners -- I feel Peyton's foot begin to slyly probe my legs and thighs. How the hell had she been able to remove her shoe? Will anyone be able to see this? -- but then I'm wearing a long dress. So while we carry on a most normal conversation, her unseen wayward foot grazes my sensitive thighs and then -- after I open my legs a little (the wine has done its work) -- her inquisitive toes reach my cock and ever so gently play with it through my pantie. I'm a little embarrassed and almost nervously laugh. But .... I quickly get moist down there and I can't suppress little telltale signs of excitement. Soon, she abruptly moves her foot away, leaving me wanting more. What a tease.

As we head into dessert, I begin to wonder just what her further plans are. We head out the front door with her following. As we reach my car, I thank her a little too profusely. She merely hands me a business card with a handwritten address on it: 1620 Golden Hind Circle, Apt. 4.

"Yes?" she asks with a humorous tilt of her head.

"Do you promise to treat me well?" I respond.

"Of course. Haven't I treated you well to this point?"

"Yes."

"Well, then."

"Guess it's time to fly," I say.

"Oh yes, baby." She gives my hand a brief squeeze.

We drive off in our separate cars (a Prius and a Land Rover).

If Hadley saw me now, with my flushed and distracted face, she would probably guess where I was headed.

(to be continued ... )

ValoryG
ValoryG
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