Dinner with Friends

“Are you going to spend the entire night in this corner pouting?” A slender, leggy woman walked to my corner of the room.  I sat in the corner having been stripped down to my underclothing, as all of the women had been upon entering the party.   

My husband failed to mention that bit of information when he informed me of our dinner plans for the evening. A dinner with “friends” didn’t usually begin with the lady being stripped and sent to a cushion on the floor, instead of being offered a drink and a comfortable seat.

“I’m not pouting.” I informed her, grimacing at the obvious pout in my voice. “I don’t mean to be anyway.” I clarified.  She was beautiful. Her breasts were full and round. I surprised myself with the sudden urge to touch her. She wore no bra or tank top, only a small pair of black lace panties.  I folded further into myself, as if I could hide the virginal white cotton tank top and undies that I had donned for the evening.

“Yes, you are. That’s OK. I did too at my first dinner.” She swirled the Merlot in her glass.  “They are going to start serving dinner. We should head into the dining room.  Your husband will be proud of you if you go in on your own. If he has to come for you, it will look poorly to the others.”  The woman’s tone held a gentle tutoring tone, like a school teacher instructing her kindergarten class on the rules of the playground.

Not wanting to make my husband look bad in front of his friends, I stood from my spot on the carpet. She gave me a warm smile and linked her arm with mine.  We walked to the dining-room where the men already sat.  A chair remained empty next to my husband, he smiled with pride when he noticed my arrival.

The woman walked me to the spot beside my husband and slid her arm back out of mine. Her hand brushed my breast with a purposeful gesture.  She picked up the chair and moved it the wall, leaving a space beside my husband. He gestured to the floor.  None of the women sat at the table; they all sat on the floor besides their husbands.

The woman came back and stood directly before me, locking her eyes with mine. I lost myself in her warm milk chocolate eyes and barely felt her lifting my arms until I stood with my hands over my head.  Her lips curled faintly as she pulled my tank top over my head, leaving my chest completely bare. She looked down at my breasts.

“Don’t worry, the real fun begins after dinner.” She brought my hands back to my side, ran her fingertips over my small bare breasts and moved away, motioning for me to sit beside my husband.  I nodded and knelt beside him.   He placed his hand on the back of my neck, a sign of his pride.  I watched the woman as she found her place, kneeling beside the hosts chair.

I was unsure of what the evening was to bring, but I knew that “dinner with friends” would never mean the same thing again.

I’m late. I’m over the word count. I am without regret.
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