We Saw Fireworks

"Jim," he said, his breath strong with the odor of scotch, "I notice you've been dancing with my wife quite a bit."

"It's Jeff, sir," I said slowly.

"Whatever," he said dismissively. He looked around, seeing if anyone was in earshot and then leaned in conspiratorially. "I really appreciate what you're doing."

I wondered for a moment if I'd heard him correctly. "You do?"

He nodded. "Of course," he nearly whispered. "I see where you're coming from, and let me be the first to tell you that I appreciate it."

"You do?" I repeated, trying to keep my mouth from dropping open.

"Hell yes," he said. "There's a cornucopia of young poon at this place tonight, just ripe for the picking. It's very decent of you to keep the old ball and chain occupied for me while I go... you know... fishing." He winked at me. "Keep up the good work, son. You keep taking care of the boss man like this and you'll be up for partner in no time. No time I tell you." With that he clapped me on the shoulder as a father would a son and then headed back for the crowd.

I stared after him, flabbergasted. He actually thought I was dancing with his wife so that he could hit on the other accountant's wives and girlfriends. He had actually thanked me for doing it. Fucking amazing.

The band struck up Burning For You. I walked over to Suzanne and asked her to dance again. She smiled knowingly at me and a moment later we were back on the dance floor.

"Okay, I'm going to be psychic again," she said as we held hands and moved to the music. "He told you to keep me entertained so he could try his luck with the younger ladies in the crowd, right?"

"My, you seem to have a shallow opinion of your husband," I replied, refusing to answer her.

She scoffed a little. "You reap what you sow in this life," she said. "I stole him away from his first wife when I was twenty-four. She was thirty-three at the time. I have no illusions about my fate as Mrs. Remington. Stevie doesn't like them any older than mid-thirties. In fact, the older that he gets, the younger he seems to like them."

"Doesn't that bother you?" I asked her.

She shrugged, managing to make it to the time of the music. "Why should it? Do you think I married him because I was in love with him? I married him because he's rich. When he tosses me aside I'll be well taken care of. My lawyer insisted upon it in the pre-nup. Of course his lawyer tried to balk at it but we insisted and eventually wore them down."

I looked at her pointedly. "You had a lawyer conference just to get married to him?" I asked.

She shrugged again. "That's life in the upper crust for you. Romantic, isn't it?"

"It makes my heart melt," I told her, causing both of us to laugh.

We danced and danced, working our way through two or three more songs. As we moved our way across the dance area, our hands together, our legs and hips occasionally making brief, exciting contact, I happened to glance towards the duck pond a few times. I saw the four Ukrainians that made up the pyrotechnic team loading boxes into a rowboat that was resting on the shore. Even from a hundred yards away I could see the high explosive label on the side of the boxes. The Ukrainians themselves seemed a bit unsteady on their feet as they made first one then two then three trips across the water to the island, dropping off the boxes each time. They carried the boxes to the middle of the island, where the palm trees and the hedges were the thickest.

"Has Mr. Remington ever contracted with these people for a fireworks show before?" I asked Suzanne, my voice a little breathless from the exertion.

"No," she said, breathing a little hard herself. "He's never arranged for a fireworks show before. He thought it would impress everyone, give them something they've never seen at a party before. Why do you ask?"

"Oh... no reason," I said dismissively, casting another glance at the Ukrainians, noting that one of them had actually tripped over his own feet and fallen down while carrying one of the boxes. "No reason at all."

The sun gradually dipped below the horizon, imparting first an inky twilight upon the landscape and then a humid darkness. Mosquitoes, which were particularly heavy this season thanks to a wet winter without many frosts, made their appearance as well, feasting on the legs and arms of the guests. The temperature dropped from the low nineties to the low eighties and then even further when a pleasant breeze kicked up from the south. The guests of Mr. Remington actually seemed to loosen up a bit with the coming of the night, making more frequent trips to the bar and coming out to the dance floor in ever increasing numbers.

The band played on as the evening progressed and I continued to dance almost exclusively with Suzanne Remington, when we weren't hitting up the bar for more drinks that was. Finally a slow song was played—Waiting For A Girl Like You—and she and I found ourselves facing each other as the other couples held onto each other in intimate embraces. I took a glance over at Mr. Remington, seeing that he was still holding on to Aaron Rivers' girlfriend, who didn't, I might add, seem to be upset by his advances. I looked back at Suzanne and she held her arms out to me.

"I love the slow dances," she said. "Would you?"

"I'd be honored," I assured her.

I put my hands on her lower back and she put hers around my neck. We pulled together, our thighs touching lightly, her breasts pressing against my chest. I could feel the heat coming off of her skin from our exertions and could smell the pleasant, exciting odor of her perspiration filling my nose. My penis, which had pretty much behaved itself for most of the night, suddenly awakened and began to fill with blood.

"This is nice," Suzanne said dreamily, her chin resting on my shoulder as we swayed to the gentle beat. "Nobody's danced with me like this in years."

I pulled her a little tighter to me, unable to help myself, feeling the firmness of her skin beneath her dress, feeling her legs push a little harder into me. "It is," I agreed.

We didn't talk much more during the dance but we shared a certain sort of communication nonetheless, a communication that was dangerous on a primal level. She snuggled her head up against my neck, her chin resting on my shoulder. I could feel the moist warmth of her breath against my skin, a sensation that was far from unpleasant. Her arms tightened up around my neck, her soft fingertips softly caressing me in a manner that could only be described as sensuous. She pulled in tighter, allowing me to feel the full press of her breasts against me. I could feel the weight of them, the softness of them, the feminine intimacy of them as they rubbed in gentle circles on my upper stomach. I could also feel the push of her soft thighs against mine, the whisper of her thin dress gliding up and down, back and forth. More blood rushed to my penis, turning it into a full-fledged hard-on that pushed insistently into her stomach.

"Mmmmm," I heard her whisper in my ear, her voice with a tremor of excitement in it, "it feels like you're enjoying the dance as much as I am."

"I'm sorry," I said, a little bit of sobriety coming back to me, and with it, nervous embarrassment. This was my boss's wife, I had to remind myself. This was madness. I tried to pull away a little bit but she wouldn't let me.

"No, no," she whispered, her lips just touching my ear lobe, just enough to leave a kiss of saliva on it. "Don't pull back. It's been so long since I've felt a man react like that to me, and I'm just drunk enough that it feels really good."

"But I don't think Mr. Remington would appreciate it very much," I whispered back.

"Then don't rub it against him and he'll never know," she told me, snuggling in even closer and giving a deliberate grind against my groin.

I almost groaned at the sensation. I stopped trying to pull away from her. It just felt too damn good to hold her in my arms, to feel her softness pressing into me. As the song played on the caresses on the back of my neck grew softer, more sensuous, and her slow grind against my erection continued until I was almost panting with desire for her. Had she been anyone else, I would have kissed her, just angled my jaw downward and put my lips to hers, but I restrained myself from this despite the fact that I suspected that was exactly what she wanted me to do.

Finally, to both my relief and my consternation, the song ended, forcing us to break apart. We did so with a certain reluctance. I looked around in the darkness at the other couples on the floor, who were also breaking apart from their own dances. I could sense the disapproval and the disbelief radiating from most of them at my blatant flirtation with Suzanne. Apparently our indiscretion had not gone unnoticed. But Mr. Remington, in whose name the disapproval was being registered, remained oblivious and uncaring. He was escorting Rivers' girlfriend over to the bar, his hand resting on her lower back, just above the swell of her shapely ass. No one seemed to be projecting hostile feelings at him for his indiscretion. Not even Aaron Rivers himself, who was standing over by the food table talking to one of the other accountants. An interesting bit of hypocrisy on my colleague's part I thought bitterly.

The dancing went on for another forty-five minutes or so, during which time I enjoyed four or five fast dances and one more slow dance with Suzanne. During the slow one we once again pushed our bodies together, breasts to chest, groin to stomach, and she once again gave me a tremendous erection that almost throbbed with intensity. Just as the song was coming to a close, she reached between us for a moment, her fingertips seeking out and finding the bulge in my shorts. She gave it a gentle squeeze, palpating it up and down in a way that made me groan in her ear.

"This is so nice," she whispered to me, her tongue reaching out to lick at my earlobe again. "The things I could do with this."

I pushed my pelvis into her hand, trying to increase the contact. She obliged me by squeezing a little tighter.

"Sit with me when it's fireworks time," she said softly, her tongue actually probing inside my ear for the briefest second. "Sometimes all of those explosions scare me."

At last the band finished up the tune and cranked up one last fast dance—R.O.C.K. in the USA—for their grand finale. By the time the last instrument jangled to a stop my erection had subsided to about half-staff. It would go down no further than that.

Mr. Remington, still oblivious to the activities between his wife and his junior accountant, broke himself away from Rivers' girlfriend long enough to take the stage and grab one of the microphones. In a drunken, slurred voice he announced the beginning of the glorious and final stage of the party: the fireworks show that he had arranged for at great expense and trouble.

"This will be a professional quality show," he said proudly, having to hold onto an amplifier to keep from falling over, "different only in scale from that you see on New Year's Eve in Heritage. I have the same pyro-tic... uh, pyro-tok... uh... fireworks guys that do that show with the very same fireworks for your enjoyment. So let's turn off all the lights, find a place to sit that faces the pond, and let the action begin."

"Let the action begin," Suzanne said with a giggle.

Someone inside the winery clicked off all of the exterior lights, instantly plunging the night into a near perfect blackness. There were no streetlights or anything else in the vicinity and the only illumination was from a quarter moon that hung in the sky behind us. Everyone found seats on the lawn near the barbeque and the picnic tables. I started towards the main group but Suzanne grabbed my arm and pulled me in a different direction.

"Let's sit over here," she told me, guiding me to a spot at the very back of the crowd, more than fifteen feet from any other person and well out of their view unless they happened to turn all the way around.

I sat down on the grass, my legs sprawled out before me. I felt a little nervous about just what she had in mind. The fact that she was the boss's wife came back to me again, making me wish I hadn't started hanging out with her in the first place. This nervousness was increased when she did not sit down next to me as I'd figured she would. Instead, she plopped down in front of me and slid backwards, compelling me to open my legs. She slid back until her firm bottom was pushing softly against my crotch, her hands resting on my knees.

"This is cozy," she said with a sigh, leaning back so her back was against my chest.

"Yes," I said nervously, knowing that Mr. Remington would seriously disapprove if he saw us seated in this manner. But at the same time the feel of her body against mine, coupled with the alcohol in my system, clouded my better judgment. Blood began to fill my manhood once more, making it bulge outward again and press against her butt. My hands, seemingly of their own accord, dropped down onto her lower thighs, just above her knees. The skin there was deliciously soft, deliciously feminine. She made no protest at their being there.

We sat like that for the next two or three minutes, not moving, not talking, me enjoying the feel of her firm legs beneath my fingers, her presumably enjoying the feel of my hard-on pushing into her ass. And then the first of the fireworks arced up into the sky from the center of the island. It shot out from just behind the stand of trees and bushes, a purple flare that went up five or six hundred feet and then exploded in a brilliant star of lights. The flash momentarily lit up the night, just long enough to catch the briefest of glimpses around us. The concussion followed a second later, a loud boom that rattled the chest. The crowd all gave an "oooh" at the sight of it.

Two more shells quickly followed, and then two more right behind it. The flashes and booms continued, as did the "oohs" and "aahs".

Suzanne didn't ooh or aah. Instead she slid back against me a little more, increasing the pressure on my turgid cock. She began to shift back and forth slightly, just enough to impart an unbearable friction upon me. I didn't ooh or aah either. As more shells went up my drunken horniness got the better of me. I began to move my right hand up her leg.

I did it slowly at first, as it was only accidental, my fingertips gliding gently over the front of her thigh until they encountered the hem of her dress. She made no move to stop me; in fact she opened her legs a little, allowing me a corridor between them. I was quick to take advantage of this. I slid my probing hand inward, onto the baby-soft skin of her inner thigh.

"That feels nice," she whispered to me between concussions. "You have gentle hands."

"I give a great massage," I replied to her, giving a little harder squeeze on her thigh.

"How interesting," she said. "I have something that could use a nice massage about now."

Able to take a hint, I slid my hand higher up her leg, beneath the hem of her dress and onto her upper thigh. She forced her legs open a little more at my intrusion, so that her knees were now nearly as far apart as mine.

It was here where the team of Ukrainian pyrotechnicians made their first error of the evening. They lit off one of their shells but instead of flying straight up it flew ninety degrees to the right, going up at a shallow angle. It streaked out over the vineyards and then exploded about sixty feet off the ground.

"What the hell was that about?" I heard Mr. Remington—a stickler for every last detail—demand in his gruff, manager voice while the other members of the party chuckled.

A drunken Ukrainian apology came drifting over from the center of the island. A moment later another shell went up, this one more or less as it was supposed to.

I ignored the brief departure from the plan, instead concentrating my attention on the sensation beneath my fingers. I had reached the edge of her panties and I let my hand roll inward, so that the back of my knuckles were pressing against the crotch of them. I could feel dampness on the cotton material. Suzanne sighed at the contact and pushed her pelvis forward a bit, urging me on. I rubbed up and down a few times, gathering her wetness on my skin, feeling the damp heat of her, making her moan lightly.

Slowly I turned my hand back to the neutral position and probed under the elastic at her crotch with my index and middle fingers. I felt more wetness, and crinkly hair. I probed further, at last coming to her saturated slit, which I rubbed up and down a few times, relishing the feel of the slippery, swollen lips. Still receiving nothing in the way of protest from her, and confidant that I was unobserved by the others, I put my index finger between those lips, searching out the source of the wetness. Millimeter by millimeter, I inserted my digit into my boss's wife's pussy, feeling the muscles clench at me, hearing her breathing kick into higher gear.

"You have no idea how good that feels," she panted to me. "Keep doing it."

"My pleasure," I assured her, probing in a little deeper.

I began to move my finger in and out, imparting a little twisting motion to my hand as I did so. She really seemed to like this. Her wetness increased, soaking my hand in her juices and her hand began to squeeze tighter on my knees.

Just then another one of the fireworks went awry. This one apparently was launched too close to one of the trees. It hit the trunk and bounced to the right where it hit another tree and then headed directly towards the winery building itself. There was a high-pitched whine as it passed less than fifty feet over our heads. It missed the roof of the winery by less than ten feet and exploded over the road, showering a row of palm trees with flaming debris.

"Goddammit!" screamed Remington in outrage. "What the hell are you people doing over there? Are you trying to kill us?"

"Sorry," drifted the Ukrainian voice. "Won't happen again."

"It goddamn well better not!" Remington threatened. "I paid you assholes two grand!"

I couldn't help but chuckle at the display but Suzanne hardly seemed to notice it.

"Put another finger in," she told me. "Do it harder."

I slid my middle finger into her alongside its neighbor. I began to push and pull with more force. A distinct squishing noise was now audible with each stroke.

"Yes," she moaned, pushing her crotch to meet each of my strokes. "I love it. I fucking love it."

The fireworks started back up again. Two of the shells went up just as they were supposed to but a third was launched at an improper angle. It shot off to the left this time, streaking out over the adjoining property and actually striking the ground before it exploded. This prompted another scream of outrage from Remington and another drunken apology from the island.

Meanwhile, Suzanne reached back with her hand and had put it on the bulge of my cock once more. She was now squeezing and stroking me through my shorts, driving me into a frenzy of lust. Unable to help myself I lowered my lips to the back of her neck and began to kiss her there, nipping and biting and licking right at her hairline. She began to pant faster.

Suddenly, as another barrage of fireworks went up into the sky, she pulled my hand free of her. It was dripping with her juices. She took her other hand off my cock and then reached up under her dress. She shifted and shuffled for a moment and suddenly her white panties were in her hand. She set them down on the grass next to us and then turned to look at me in the dimness.

"Take out your cock," she told me.

"What?" I asked, looking around at the others in the strobe effect of the fireworks. "We can't... you know..."

"Do it," she said pleadingly. "I have to have you. Take it out! Please?"