Awards Night

In October, last year, I was invited, by my company to attend an awards ceremony in Manchester. I travelled with Martin, one of our salesmen, who was going to receive a long service award.

As we were checking into the hotel, a voice boomed out, “Marty! Long time, no see!” A young man, dressed in shorts and vest, shouted. Martin’s face lit up, “Ian, how are you?” He instantly recognised the young man, as a fellow salesman, from an office in the South -West. They shook hands, and Martin introduced me, “This is Victoria, from our London office”, “Aha, the Ice-maiden!” The young man laughed, as he took my outstretched hand, and gently kissed it. “I’m sorry?” I quizzed him. “That is what they call you, isn’t it?” He laughed again.

At work, I had a reputation for not mixing with the other staff. I like to keep my personnel life private.

“A drink beckons,” Ian ushered us into the bar. As we sat down, I offered my cigarettes around, with no takers. I lit my mine, sucked in and exhaled a plume of smoke. “You look like you needed that”; Ian quipped, as he made himself comfortable, stretching his muscular legs along the sofa. “I did, Martin wouldn’t let me smoke in his car,” I pretended to whine, inhaling even more nicotine.

I watched Ian, intently, as he chatted to Martin. He had just been in the hotel gym, and his well toned- body was still glowing with sweat. He oozed confidence; in the way he sat, talked and surveyed the room.

As I finished my drink, we arranged to meet in the bar at 7.15.

I had a long soak in the bath, slowly got dressed and put my make-up on. These functions were, normally, as boring as Hell, so I didn’t make too much effort. My dress was quite fitted, and showed a little bit of cleavage, but could hardly be described as sexy.

When I arrived in the bar, Martin and Ian were already there. Martin looked very smart, in his Tuxedo, but Ian looked very suave, and incredibly sexy.
Ian bought the drinks, and guided us into Ballroom. At our table, Ian manoeuvred himself into the seat, next to mine.

During the evening, he kept everyone entertained, with some very dirty jokes and stories. I hadn’t laughed so much, for a long time. He kept my glass topped up and every time I picked up a cigarette he lit it, for me. At one stage his lips brushed against my ear. He whispered, “I love watching women smoke, it almost looks like they’re preparing for oral sex.” I didn’t know how to reply, and was very self-conscious, as I continued puffing away.

Not only, did Martin receive his award, but he was also promoted to Regional Manager. 

At 11.30, the lights came on, and the evening appeared to be coming to an end. Ian picked up two bottles of wine from our table, telling Martin to grab our glasses, “Let’s help Martin celebrate his new found success,” he announced as he made his way to the lift, as everyone else drifted into the bar.
“Let’s go to my room,” he said, as he pressed the button for the 8th floor. Inside, Ian ran his finger along my thigh, “You can even settle a couple of bets that we’ve had.” 

“ I’m sorry?” I replied. Ian laughed, but Martin hid his eyes and blushed.
Inside the room, Ian opened a bottle and poured it into the three glasses. I sat against the edge of the dressing table, Martin sank into an armchair and Martin lay on the bed.

“So what was this bet?” I asked.

“Well it’s three bets, actually,” he chuckled. I sipped my wine, and lit another cigarette, blowing smoke in Ian’s direction. 
“Number one,” he looked at Martin, who was grinning like a five-year-old, “stockings or tights? Now I knew what they were upto. “How much is at stake?” I asked, “£10”

“£10, that’s all you think I’m worth”, “Come on, stockings or tights?”

I love the effect that stockings have on men, so I slowly raised the hem of my dress, stopping at the top of the nylon, then whipped it up and down again. “Stockings! I win,” shouted Martin. 

“I don’t know, I didn’t get a good look”, Ian said, shaking his head with disappointment. Again I raised the hem, this time above the lace, and held it there, showing them my stocking clad legs. 

“Hold ups, that’s not fair,” Ian laughed, as he threw a £10 note to Martin. 
So that was why he had stroked my thigh, in the lift.

“ Number two, G-string or knickers?” Ian grinned, as he looked me in the eyes.
I was now getting turned on, and decided to join in the fun.

I finished my cigarette, sipped my wine, turned around, and slightly bent forward. With my large breasts pressing against the dressing table, I spread my legs and lifted the dress up and over my bottom. I wiggled my arse, as I left it on my hips. “I win again, I knew it would be a G-string! I just knew.” Martin dived across the room to grab Ian’s £10 note. I remained in this position, for a few more seconds, watching them, in the mirror, staring at my arse. 

“What’s the third bet?” I asked as I straightened my dress. I was really enjoying myself now, and could feel that tingle between my legs. 
“Double or quits?” Ian asked Martin, who was sitting next to him. “I suppose so,” he replied, gleefully rubbing his hands. I wasn’t prepared for what came next.
“ Okay then, do you spit? Or do you swallow?” 
I was shocked, “That’s a bit personal,” I stuttered. 

“Marty’s fascinated, he’s 52 years old, married for 27, and he’s never had a blow job.” Ian told me in a matter of fact manner, “He’s fancied you for years, and wants to know, do you spit or do you swallow?” He then got a fit of the giggles, at his own audacity.
“How would you know if I was telling the truth?” I asked, trying to take control of the situation.

Ian regained his composure, “There is only one way to find out,” he said as he started to unbutton his trousers. “I don't think so,” I stopped him, “you!” I pointed at Martin. I had known him for 6 or 7 years, and he had always been a perfect gentleman, but he probably thought that I was a lady!
As he pulled his trousers off, I unzipped my dress, and let it fall to the floor; I quickly unclipped my bra, releasing my 38DD tits for them to view. 
Both Men raised their eyebrows and grinned at each other. "Shit, Victoria!" Martin gasped, "I didn't know that they were that big."
"Mighty fine, mighty fine!" Ian laughed as I stroked my stiffening, brown nipples. 

I lay in front of Martin, who was hiding his cock, with his hands. I removed his fingers. It was rock hard, as it stood out from his greying pubic hair. I ran my nails up and down, gently scratching it. At first I knelt over him, slapping his throbbing dick with my big tits.

After a minute or two, I squeezed the shaft, then popped the head into my mouth, pushing the fore skin back with my tongue. I kept sucking his knob, as I speeded up with my hand. Martin ran his fingers through my auburn hair, and moaned like a baby. Within a minute, his hips jerked and his spunk shot into my mouth. His cock went soft very quickly; leaving me a little bit frustrated. He started to apologise, but I put my finger to his lips and stopped him.
I turned my head, to see Ian sitting upright, stroking his huge cock with his hand. 

Ian’s cock wasn’t as hard as Martin’s, large one’s never are, but it looked like the, proverbial, ‘baby’s arm’.
I did my favourite trick, of opening my mouth as wide as possible, showing Ian the white ‘man juice’ on my tongue. I then closed my lips, tipped my head back and dramatically swallowed every last drop.

“ I win, she always looked like a spunk junkie,” he told Martin, as he arrogantly, pulled my head towards his cock. I did as he wanted, grabbing his weapon with both hands, forcing his cock into my, lipstick covered, mouth. As I sucked, I felt Martin’s hands stroking my legs and bum. He seemed as fascinated with the material of my nylons and G-string, as he was with my flesh.

“Fuck me,” Ian told me as he pulled my head off his cock. I smiled as I slid my G-string down my legs. Ian ‘wolf whistled’ as he saw my freshly trimmed ginger pubes.

He lay flat on his back, with his cock pointing proudly in the air. I straddled his legs, and rubbed his cock and balls. I lifted my legs, positioning myself, over the knob, gently rubbing my crack over it, preparing for action. With one quick thrust, he rammed himself inside. I screamed, as he knocked the breath out of me. When I had recovered, I slapped his arm, “Bastard! I’m in charge, you just lie there, this is my reward for your cheeky bet.” I hissed.

My fanny had not felt this full for a long time, I slid up and down the shaft, changing my speed every couple of minutes, making my 38DD's bounce like beachballs. When I sat on his cock, it felt like it was going up into my belly. Falling forward, onto him, I rubbed my heaving tits against his hairy chest, making my nipples very hard. Only using my hips, I managed to rub my clit against his groin, gradually; this became frenzy, as I neared my orgasm. When I came, I wanted to scream like a banshee, but resisted. I held onto him, feeling like I’d been through a hurricane. 

As I relaxed, gasping for breath, he pushed his face between my breasts and speeded up his banging into my pussy. His cock was ramming into me so hard, I thought I might fly off. He dug his fingers into my soft arse cheeks as he filled my fanny and belly with his red- hot spunk.

We lay, together for a few minutes, with Martin kissing my neck and back, as Ian stroked my sweaty tits.
I looked at the clock, it was 2.30 a.m. “I must go,” I whispered, “No, stay here, with me.” Ian whispered back. Martin got dressed and left; satisfied that he had finally had a blowjob. Ian and I fell asleep in each- others arms. 

At day -break I felt Ian’s cock nudging at my bum, I turned onto my back, arched my leg, and he slid in, from the side, for a ‘lazy fuck’. We kissed, and he played with my clit, as he slowly fucked me with his lovely big cock. As he came, I had a slow burning orgasm.

Over breakfast, I made them both promise never to tell anyone about what we had done. Of course they promised, but within a week, I was the subject of all the office gossips. The guys, in our showroom, started flirting with me, and even the young girls, looked at me in a new light. 

I met up with Ian once more, but it wasn’t as exciting as that night in Manchester.