Anil and Marketing, Usha

The silk knit dress dropped off a shoulder. Her shoulder gleamed, beguilingly, in the reflected light from the screen where a model, dressed in one of Anil's creations against a backdrop of the Taj Mahal, was elegantly posed. Anil waxed (lyrical) about both, while one of his wife's slender hands abandoned, briefly, the projector control, and returned the dress to its perilous hold on her shoulder. She pressed the control for the next wanted slide. She adjusted her glasses on her neat little nose ... then her eyes snapped suddenly shut. Her lips gaped open, as if she was about to say something important, but had forgotten what it was, so was holding her mouth at the ready in case she remembered.

Her dress departed her shoulder again. The other shoulder, this time. She replaced it again. Changed the slide again. Closed her eyes again. This time with an audible groan. She arched her back. The Chairman's lips were on her skin. The skin at the side of the neck. His mouth was wide, tasting and kissing and licking her there, which caused her eyes to stay tight closed. Her back slowly curled and her pelvis flared and her body eased out of the folds of her dress, curled in her nakedness into his groin. Then the curl reversed, and her back slowly arched, and her head drifted back, next to his.

I noted, in the brief period when her cover was gone, that she had a large and greedily active hand between her legs. As the curl reversed, the hand still there -- still greedy, still active -- she groaned a second time. More loudly than the first.

I shot a glance at Anil. His head seemed to flick to the side, as if seeking peripheral vision, then just as quickly flicked back to the front. Had he seen? Had he seen that his wife was unusually close to another man? That the other man was unusually close to his wife? That the dress she had modelled so accommodatingly was draped in copious folds more round her front, than her back? That the man's hands were (clearly) up to no good in the folds of said dress? Her dress left her shoulder again, but this time she didn't do anything. She left it as it was. (Perhaps she hadn't noticed?)

The sound of the Chairman's breathing had risen to something close to a steam train climbing an unusually demanding incline. Like up the side of a mountain. One in five. One in four. One in three. As he lifted his face from the young wife of the young man in the chair to his front, who was trying to sell him his wares, (though not, I think, his wife,) he ran his huge hands up her back to her shoulders, then over them, then lovingly around them, then returned them down each side to the upthrust buttocks spread around his single upthrust thigh. He opened his mouth and loudly gasped and his eyes caught mine. The focus wasn't there any more. The only focus was her. That and mounting emotions (I suppose).

I had to leave.

I did. I left.

I left and walked around Anil, saying, as I passed in front of him, 'Please carry on, Anil.' His expression was curious, with perhaps a dash of concern. It seemed to ask, Is something wrong? So I added, momentarily blocking the slide show, 'You're doing just fine, Anil.'

Then I moved into the lounge room of the suite, found the music control, and turned it on. The hard base thump of a rock group filled the room. I returned to the alcove where the bar was, deciding I would sit on the arm of Anil's chair and see if I could help from there. (Help, by stopping him looking behind him. Help, by preventing him seeing what was being done to his lovely young wife.) When perched on the arm of his overstuffed chair, I whispered to Anil, 'The Chairman likes music backing. Just speak more loudly.' He glanced at me mid-spiel, then nodded, then raised his voice. 'And the stitching ...' he rambled on.

Then I heard, 'Dunn!'

I jumped. That's me. The speaker was my Chairman.

'I'll have that other whiskey now,' he said in a gravely voice in which emotion was heavily present, and I knew what emotion it was.

Bull elephant emotion!

I got off the arm of the chair, leaning towards Anil as I did and patting his arm, and whispering, 'Just keep going. You're doing great.' Then I rose and went to the bar. I had to stretch for the bottle of bourbon. It was back on the shelf behind the bar. Behind the Chairman. Behind Usha. (Who was in front of the Chairman, if you are the sort of reader to whom geography is important). I had to stretch behind the Chairman to get the whiskey bottle. The Chairman's mouth was on Usha's ear at the time. Whispering sweet nothings, I imagine -- certainly whispering something -- as his large and eager hands continued their assault on the girl.

Woman.

Wife.

I had the bottle in my hand. I knelt on the floor just round the back of the bar to open the fridge to get the ice for the Chairman's drink, and as I did a slim and tentative female hand dropped below the surface of the bar, crept nervously behind her, and snaked into a space which suddenly appeared between them.

Off on an errand, clearly.

I got the ice and closed the fridge and rose. Her hand was trapped in the warmth between her buttocks, and the Chairman's ample groin. Neither were still any more. Then her other hand, in response, it seemed, to more whispered 'nothings' in her ear, left the projector controls, and snuck around her other shapely side. It also went into the warmth between her shapely buttocks, and the Chairman's ample groin. Which is when I understood what was going on. She was servicing his member. He'd told her to let the thing out. The 'nothings' were instructions. 'Get my ample cock out of my breeches, you tempting young Indian filly.' And she was doing as she was told.

'Next ...' snapped Anil.

Pregnant pause. His projectionist was otherwise engaged. Her hands were engaged with the Chairman. The honoured guest. And (clearly) hadn't yet completed their task. I rose from the fridge, deposited the appropriately iced and watered Bourbon on the bar by the grappling couple, picked up the controls from the bar, where she'd left it, and pressed the appropriate button.

The slide changed.

'This next dress is one of the most dramatic in our Summer collection,' said Anil, by way of explanation, as his wife's tender hands, (I had straightened at the end of the bar and could see what they were up to,) drew an extremely fat and long, and what looked to be painfully erect, penis -- and I'm talking elephantine proportions here -- from the Chairman's pin striped trousers, and froze. Her facial expression said it all. Shit a brick! This is HUGE! Then she started to stroke it.

'Next ...' came the instruction from the front, after she'd stoked it pretty much every way you could. I was about to press the button myself when one of the pretty projectionist's hands came back atop the bar, gently took the control from my grasp, and pressed the button. The slide changed. The hand stayed where it was, on the bar, lightly holding the control, while the other, still busily active, stayed where it was, round the back, with the Chairman's ... thing.

Now it was the Chairman's eyes that had closed.

I studied Usha's face. She might have been sitting at a lecture in college, raptly paying attention to the lecturer, finding the subject fascinating. A little ridge on her brow. Eyes open, deeply attentive. Lips held lightly together. Face unconcerned. Yet here she was, expertly stroking the Chairman's prick. A stranger's penis. A penis she clearly regarded, judging from her initial reaction on taking it into her hands, as far too big. Far too big, at any rate, for anyone other that -- I am guessing here -- the Chairman of the Board.

Or an elephant.

The elephant opened his eyes. He turned to me and raised an eyebrow as if to say, Fuck me, this little cutie is hot as hell! Then his hands came out from wherever they'd been, doing whatever they'd been doing, and went, as if on a mission, to Usha's pretty hips. I had to watch. I had to watch as his broad fingers burrowed into the tight cleft of her buttocks, coming out with a strip of red, and drew the thong off her hips. It lay on the pinstripe of his upthrust thigh like a fragile strip of seaweed. Colourful seaweed. The upthrust thigh disappeared. Thrust down. Strong hands grabbed her shapely hips and pulled them back, which arched her back. She thrust her buttock towards him as he covered her back and whispered, urgently, into her ear. I watched as her delicate hand moved the bulbous tip of his rampant prick to the soft-lipped opening between her legs.

The tip disappeared. Her eyes snapped shut. Her fingers flopped on the bar, dropping the control as her hips thrust back. At him. The thick mammoth shaft started to slither inside her. She gasped. The music next door was hard driving rock, the lyrics demanding, Wanting and Needing and 'Feeling her body encase him'.

Usha, by now, had encased a pretty fair part of the Chairman. Far from all, but a pretty fair bit. Back it came, slick with the juice of the projectionist. Then, with a movement that seemed to be just as much her thrusting back, as him driving forward, the huge ramrod prick disappeared again, this time further in. Much further in. But still lots to go! It took eight careful thrusts of this sort, in the end more from her than from him, to seat the great monster to the hilt.

I was now in charge of changing slides, as Usha was into something else, (or something else was into Usha). Her eyes tight shut and her mouth wide open, her breath was like gasps of a gale. Usha was transported. She was in another country, most of it now between her legs! Big and fat and hard and moving in and out of her in a manner that was clearly arousing if the copious juices on the skin of the prick were a guide, if the gasps and moans that escaped from her lips were a guide, if the way she clenched her hands in fists and arched her back and flared her thighs and ground her buttocks hard and hot and fast against his thrusts, was any guide. She cried out loudly, once, then twice, a pause, and then,

'Next slide ...'

How could he not have heard?

I changed the slide. Usha was giving out small tight cries like a fast express train tripping over points. Tight cries that came from within her with an edge of passion so sharp it cut into the room and announced: animals at war. Serious war. (Seriously animals.) Usha cried again, face arched grandly to the ceiling, shuddering in time with her hips that thrust and writhed and seemed to bite out stridently behind her. As if her rear-ward bucking buttocks were the head of a hungry animal, tearing into its prey. Ripping out the innards. Mouthing the bugger to death. Another cry.

Usha's face was disfigured in a mask of lust. Eyes, partly open, with pupils gone. Innocence let out to play. Wifely decorum out for the count. This was a show of emotion whose roots were deep in her genitals. Genitals hard at work.

'Ngraaah ...' she groaned, and groaned again in the clear firm clutch of a wave of orgasmic peaks that shook every inch of her body. Her legs were rippling with effort, thrust hard back and apart as her hips rode hard on him -- and he as hard in her -- and the sound of the rutting pair threatened to bring down the roof, and probably not help her marriage! Like the clash of the finale of a particularly lively Mahler Symphony, nature and power and the glory of all, the huge bull elephant, with a sudden electrifying jolt and thrust, then hold, as deeply inside her as it was possible to get, his eyes and face tight closed, transported to a world elsewhere, and then, with the slightest rolling and tightening of thighs, and the calm contented visage of his great bear-like face, one could feel, as much as sense, that from the end of his rampant cock great streams of sperm where hungrily streaming into the very centre of the writhing Usha's soul.

A still came over the pair. Eyes closed. Lips apart. Drained and sated expressions on both their shining faces. Shining from the sprinkled perspirations. Shining from the effort both had made. Shining from completion of the deed.

I clicked the next slide.

'The bodice here ...' said Anil, but his voice sounded far away.

As if he had lost interest in the collection.

I wondered what he knew? From the corner of my eye I saw the Chairman's flaccid member, the slippery sheen of her arousal all over the crinkly surface of the thing, slip out of her.

'Another whiskey would be nice,' he said to me, turning her around and with a broad hand on the crown of her head pushing her onto her knees. I reached for the bottle, and his glass, and crouched to the fridge beneath the bar for the ice, in time to see her take his softening penis into her mouth, and start to clean it with her lips and tongue. Her eyes, now open on mine, and only two inches away, seemed to say: 'Don't stare at me. He wants a whiskey. Give him one.'

So I did. I rose. Put some whiskey and ice in his glass and, as she rose too, I handed the glass to him. He nodded his thanks. Or nodded, at least. Though perhaps he was nodding to her, to say that she'd done all right. Maybe he was nodding to both of us, to say we'd both done all right. He stepped past me. Usha repossessed the projector control and when the next request of, 'Next slide please,' came, she changed the slide, then turned her back to me. (Pointedly, I thought.)

Her back was bare within the open curtain of her dress. It was smooth and glistened with sweat. It was blotched deep red here and there where he'd gripped her too hard. The loose strap of her bra trailed down one side. Her scarlet thong was round an ankle. There was a trickle of semen, and juices, leaking from her private parts. They looked swollen, pronounced; crimson inside lips of reddish-brown. She seemed to flick her shoulders at me. As if she knew I was looking at her. Lusting after her as all men might, at what was left after the Chairman had had his way. Showing she didn't care. That I was no threat. I was not a Chairman.

Nor as large, perhaps?

'And the stitching ...' Anil was chuntering on.

The Chairman, one hand zipping himself up as the other took his drink to his mouth, was out in the open now, perched on a bar stool, eyes on the screen.

Usha flicked her shoulders at me again, and I suddenly realised what she wanted. She could not button up the back of her dress and wanted me to help her. So I did. Dabbing parts of her, here and there -- she didn't object -- with a tissue from a box beneath the bar. Feeling a dangerous frisson of excitement slither along my arm as my fingers eased her front-fastening bra over hot plump breasts that had recently been aroused. (Were they still?) My fingers brushed a rock-hard nipple, and before I could contain myself I had a heavy mound of Usha overflowing in my hand. I squeezed it. Once. Then I fastened the bra and brought my hands away. She didn't react.

As well for me.

I reached to her ankle, opened the vacant leg of her thong and watched her neat foot come off the floor and into the vacant loop. I eased the thong up her leg. I put my hand over her naked pudenda before the thong, gently felt its length. She didn't object. She didn't move, at least. I tentatively joined two fingers together in the shape of an interesting shaft, and slipped them into her. She didn't move, or shift, or say a word. Inside her it was sticky and hot and intimately soft. I moved my fingers inside her, gentle as stroking a cat. She changed the slide and arched her back, slightly, as her pelvis dropped onto my hand . Enough of this, I though, reluctantly slipping my fingers out of her, replacing her thong, then drawing the curtains of her dress across her back and starting to button her up.

'Interesting,' said the Chairman moving to the chair that held Anil. Anil looked up. I closed button number five of his wife's silk dress, then number six. 'But I don't think it's for me,' he said, then turned to me. I was on button number eight, but trying to pay attention to the Chairman as well. 'We'll see some others tomorrow, Dunn?' he said. Meaning, as I closed button number ten of the projectionist's dress, that we would meet some other producers, and see what they had to offer. 'Of course,' I said, fastening the last button of Usha's dress, as the Chairman bid us good-night, and Anil rose, and Usha bit her lip.