Getting Ahead in Business

Brittany Braxton was a trophy wife, if an atypical one. She was, at the time of the charity ball, thirty two years old (I was twenty six). She was only slightly atypical because of her looks, because she wasn't flashy; she was understated (except for her dress and behavior that night). She had a beautiful face but wore little makeup; she normally wore her brown hair with auburn highlights loose and shoulder length, although that night it was half-up and half-down. She had a nice body, the highlight of which - at least according to my tastes - was a pair of world class thighs, which were almost completely on display depending upon how she moved in her slinky black and red dress with multiple slits.

After John gave up trying to placate his wife, and she was sitting at her table drinking while everyone else from her table was either on the dance floor or avoiding her, I decided to "go for it!"

I put a scowl on my face as I approached her from the front - so that she could see me coming from ten meters away. When I was right next to her I chimed "You look like you're the second most miserable person here tonight."

"Who's first?" she snarled after sipping her drink and then giving me the evil eye.

"Me; and I'll bet that I have more reason to be that you do," I replied with an enhanced scowl.

"Bullshit!" she bellowed.

"If you're so confident let's wager. If you admit that my reason for having a fucking miserable time is better than yours, you dance a slow dance with me. If you honestly don't think that it is I do anything that you want me to do tonight - as long as it's legal - including spilling a drink on your husband, fetching drinks for you from the bar all night, whatever!" I responded with my arms cross and staring intensely into her eyes.

"Why is dancing a slow dance with me a prize?" she asked with a scowl.

"Because even though you're miserable, you're the best looking person here," I matter-of-factly replied.

She got this really evil grin. "OK, sit down; I'll give you three minutes to tell me your tale of woe."

"Deal then?" I asked, holding out my hand.

"Deal," she replied, giving me a perfunctory hand shake while she remained seated.

The story that I laid on her was a complete fabrication. It included me catching my drunk date being finger-fucked by some random big guy at the event, having the person sitting next to me at dinner puke on my place setting at the table, losing my ticket for the raffle and having the person who found it win, and a bunch of other shit. As I piled it on I'm sure that Brittany figured out that it was a lie but she didn't call me on it. After I had been going on for about five minutes, and the band started playing a slow song, she held up her hand in a stop motion and said "You win," and stood up.

I led her to the dance floor. She glommed onto me and whispered "I hope that your story doesn't end with me stepping on your feet dancing." Then after a few more seconds she continued with "Or me kicking you in the balls - which is what will occur if you don't get your hand off my ass."

"How long do I have to get it off?" I asked as I moved my chest away from her and looked her in the eye.

She laughed, and then said "Six seconds."

I counted aloud "One Mississippi, Two Mississippi,..." then removed it when I hit "Six Mississippi."

She laughed again.

After the dance we went back to her table, had a normal conversation considering that she was apparently near-drunk (although I was beginning to believe that her intoxication was an act), and by the time that John came to collect her to take her home she was in a good mood. She introduced me to John as "This is Brian Simpson - the formerly most despondent guy at the party."

John looked confused, gruffly shook my hand, and escorted Brittany away. As she walked past me she pinched my ass.

I smiled broadly. She didn't look back, but did provocatively wiggle her ass as she walked away.

That was the first episode in my plan "The Seduction of Brittany Braxton for Fun & Profit." From the research I had done I came to the conclusion that I could obtain information about ZY's specialty products through Brittany since she had worked in ZY's research department before marrying John Braxton and was intimately familiar with procedures.

I had a different plan to obtain information about AB's specialty products through someone I had identified there, by the name of Kyu Kim, who could be blackmailed. That would not be nearly as much fun as seducing Brittany Braxton, however, and would have to be timed properly to coincide with information from ZY.

I had identified all of the places where I could "just happen" to run into Brittany Braxton. They included a charity that she worked for two days a week (the same charity that had hosted the fund-raiser that I met her at), the health club that she belonged to, and the piéce de résistance, a country club that I was already a member of (paid for by CT, of course) that I knew that she and John had recently submitted an application to join. The latter was the best since she would be running into me rather than me running into her.

I started volunteering at the charity on one of the same days that she did, but not both since that might make it too suspicious. The Executive Director was happy to have me as a volunteer who expressed interest in the same area that Brittany worked in. When the Director took me around my first day and introduced me to the volunteers I got a wry smile from Brittany. "We've met," she brusquely told the Director as she gave me a fist bump rather than a handshake.

Once I started work, I interacted with Brittany every fifteen minutes or so. At lunchtime she invited me to a nearby cafeteria. As soon as we sat down after getting our food she stared directly into my eyes and asked "So did you start volunteering here because you knew that I did?"

"Why would you ask that?" I inquired, "Pretty presumptuous of you, isn't it?"

"Not really," she replied between mouthfuls, "you seemed to really like my ass and thighs."

"And you didn't pinch my ass?" I laughed.

"Yeah, but I didn't stare at your thighs like you'd never seen female legs before," she responded with a glint in her eyes.

"If you don't like men staring at your thighs I suggest two courses of action," I snickered between bites of my BLT. "First, don't wear dresses with

multiple slits that expose your thighs, and second, get so fat that you no longer have world class thighs."

"You think that my thighs are world class?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"Like you don't already know," I chuckled. "You wouldn't wear a dress like you did at the fundraiser, or the shorts that you have on today, if you didn't know that you have world class thighs," I nonchalantly continued. Then I quickly changed the subject.

"So how often do you volunteer here?" I asked.

"Why do you ask - so that you can adjust your schedule to ogle my thighs some more?" she playfully responded.

"No - I can only volunteer on Tuesday; I was just trying to change the subject away from your thighs so that I could try to minimize my embarrassment at being caught ogling them," I retorted.

"I work Tuesday and Thursday. However, I might have to change my Thursday schedule once I get accepted to Brentwood Country Club."

"That's my club," I snickered. "Are you following me there?"

"Touché," she chuckled.

"Want to play a round of golf on Friday?" I asked.

"I always play with my former co-worker Angela," she replied.

"Well I usually play with my friend Bill. We can have a foursome."

"What time on Friday?"

"Bill and I have a ten o'clock tee time."

"Don't you work?" she asked.

"I have an easy, well-paying, flexible job. I'll pay the green fees but if you lose, you and Angela buy lunch and drinks," I responded.

"I'll talk to Angela. What's your cell phone number?"

"Want me to program it into your phone?" I asked, holding out my hand.

"Presumptuous bastard, aren't you? What makes you think that I'll ever call you except for this one golf outing?" Brittany queried, with that twinkle in her eye again.

"You enjoy having someone around who unabashedly worships your thighs and ass so you'll keep me around to boost your ego," I responded, holding out my hand for her phone.

With a smile I took her phone, punched the necessary buttons, and returned it to her. "My number is under 'TAW' in your directory."

She got a puzzled look on her face.

"That means 'Thigh and Ass Worshipper,' clueless," I chortled.

"You're so fucking bad I should just cancel it out," she responded as she got up from her seat, in a tone that indicated that that was the last thing that she would do. We deposited our refuse in either the trash or recycle containers in the cafeteria, and went back to work. All of our afternoon interactions were pleasant.

Wednesday late morning I got a call from Brittany. It didn't start out with "Hi," or any other greeting. "I checked you out and shockingly you are a member at Brentwood. That makes me think that their standards are so low that John and I should withdraw our application for membership," she started out, with a lilt in her voice.

"Nice to talk to you too, Brittany," I responded with a chuckle.

"Yeah; whatever. So Angela says that even though you are kind of creepy since you're paying the greens fees we'll play you and your buddy Friday at ten; and she thinks that you'll be buying us lunch too," she snickered.

"Well I'm glad that you have a positive attitude, even if it's totally unrealistic. See you at the pro shop at 9:45 - unless you have some more insulting things to say to me before then," I chuckled.

"No - I think I've properly humbled you," she snorted. "See you at 9:45, Friday."

Brittany's single friend Angela is almost as much of a fox as Brittany is, although not with the same consummate ass and thighs. My single friend Bill was very pleased with the foursome. I would have been too except that Brittany ripped off her skirt at the first tee, revealing the shortest shorts that I'd ever seen outside of a whorehouse (actually I've only seen documentaries about whores - never saw the need to use one).

After the four of us teed off on #1 I pulled her aside. "You play dirty, don't you?" I rhetorically asked.

"Whatever do you mean, Brian-dear?" she replied while batting her eyes in an exaggerated manner.

"Your short-shorts," I said pointing at her exposed thighs.

"Oh, you noticed," she snickered, and then turned to go to her cart.

In addition to her shorts she played dirty by wiggling her ass just before every tee shot and putt; either that or she had the most unusual body language of any golfer that I had ever seen.

Since Bill and Angela were getting along so well, as were Brittany and I, after four holes Bill asked "since Angela and I seem to be always slicing and Brian and Brittany are hooking why don't we switch carts so that Angela and I are in one cart and Brian and Brittany in the other?"

"Just because Brittany has the shortest shorts in the history of mankind on doesn't mean that you can call her a hooker," I deadpanned, getting me a poke in the ribs from Brittany's putter.

After some crude comments were exchanged, we did switch carts allowing me to scrutinize Brittany's thighs at all times.

Brittany turned out to be very competitive. In fact her competitiveness was rivaled only by her sleek thighs. We were scoring match play (taking into account handicaps), and on the 17th they were one up. I had about a 6 foot putt to tie the hole so that we had a chance to tie the match on the 18th. Brittany stood on the opposite side of the hole from where I was lining up my putt. Just as I was about to strike the ball she pulled down her shorts, mooning me. Obviously I missed the putt but I did get to view the nicest ass that I had ever seen.

After Brittany put her skirt back on, Bill and I paid for lunch and drinks and the four of us spent the entire afternoon thoroughly enjoying each other's company. I found Brittany to be the most stimulating woman that I had ever met in my life. During our conversation the subject of what health club Brittany belonged to came up. "You're going to think that I'm stalking you, Brittany, but I just signed up for that health club last week. Tell me what your schedule is so that I can avoid running into you there," I chuckled.

"If I'm not around how are your eyes going to get exercise?" She snickered.

"What do you mean?" I inquired.

"If you don't have my thighs and ass to stare at, how are your eyes going to get any exercise?" She asked with a diabolical smile.

Bill and Angela broke out laughing. Brittany just continued to smile. I simply mumbled "busted," as I turned red, then got as bold as I usually get. "Okay, what are your normal workout hours then?"

"Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday, 8 AM to 10 AM. Do you get up that early?"

"I can get it up - I mean I can get up," I snickered, "for you!"

_______________________

And so my pursuit of Brittany Braxton began in earnest. After the second time we worked out together at the health club I made out with her in her car. After our second round of golf with her, Bill, and Angela, I massaged her tits. We were proceeding almost like we were a couple of seniors in high school.

Throughout my pursuit of Brittany, I subtly pumped her for information. She actually seemed to be quite forthcoming, but to my surprise she also asked me lots of questions about my company's procedures, having identified through her research of me - at least that's what she said - that I worked for CT. I knew that I would not be able to get all the information that I needed, however, until I started fucking her; plus I was hotter for this woman than any other woman I've ever met in my life. However that turned out to be a real problem. While she eventually had no issue with mutual oral sex, and loved for me to finger fuck her almost any time, and anywhere, my penis was not getting close to her vagina.

It was clear during my interactions with Brittany that there really was no love lost between her and her husband John. She gave various reasons for why she married him, none of which made much sense to me. She also gave various reasons for why she didn't want to fuck, the most common of which was that John was shooting blanks, she hated birth-control pills, she was allergic to latex, and she didn't want to get pregnant.

As time wore on, despite the lack of penile penetration, I started having feelings for her like I had had for no other woman in my life, and unless she was a great actress it appeared that she felt the same way about me. She certainly lit up whenever she saw me; maybe it was because I tented my pants every time that I saw her.

A change occurred when one Monday, as we worked out at the health club, it was apparent that she was in a nasty mood. I asked her what was wrong. "Let's get rip-roaring drunk, then maybe I'll tell you," was her surprising response to my question, especially since I'd gotten to know her over the last five months she was drinking less and less alcohol.

"Okay," I replied. "How do we go about doing that?"

"John is out of town, and the servants have the day off," she quickly replied. "Plus, John stocks just about every type of booze that there is in his bar. Let's go to my house."

That was the first time that she ever invited me to her house. I followed her there, parked on the street about a block away from her mini mansion, then walked around to the back door, where she let me in. I had no intention of getting drunk myself, but I thought that if she got wasted enough I could get some very worthwhile information from her.

It took about an hour of hard drinking for her to tell me why she was in such a nasty mood. I won't attempt to mimic her slurring or misuse of words, in relating what she said; nor will I attempt to repeat my fake slurring and misuse.

"We're now rip-roaring drunk, Brittany; so tell me why you were in such a nasty mood at the health club."

"My bastard husband has been pushing me to get confidential information from you about your company CT's products so that he can either steal the information or reproduce it. He's pestered me that I haven't gotten more information so far, and this weekend he told me I should go ahead and fuck you to get the information. I always thought that his business was much more important to him than any personal relationships, but to now be starkly confronted with the information that that is true is a little hard to take. That's why I am in a shitty mood."

I was floored. I was glad that I was sober. Finally I mumbled "don't you have any feelings for me?"

"I'm in love with you dipshit, can't you tell?"

"I'm in love with you too Brittany, but your marriage is a substantial impediment to a long-term relationship."

"Ha; my marriage is a sham. I've always been just a trophy wife to John, and his total lack of respect for me by telling me to fuck you for business purposes makes that crystal clear."

After that statement, she started to slowly undress while giving me a look that left no doubt what she had in mind.

"I don't want our first fuck to be because you're drunk, or because John told you to fuck me."

"I assure you that drunk or not I wanted to do this since the first day that I met you, and I also assure you that I do not take orders from John. This is what I want and it is clear that it is what your little friend wants too," she snickered as she stared at my crotch.

Brittany was a sex dynamo. The way that she wrapped those sculptured thighs around me while pulsating her pussy, wrapping her arms around my neck, and alternating deep kissing me and swearing a blue streak, had me more excited than at any other time in my life. She let out a banshee scream as we came simultaneously. When we recovered we moved from the couch in the bar area to the guest bedroom. Between fucks I massaged and kissed her thighs and ass, which she really loved. "It's nice to be worshipped," she giggled.

When we woke up the next morning in each other's arms, and I looked at her in the morning light streaming through the window, I knew without a doubt that I was in love with her. There was no way that she could fake her feelings for me either, so I resolved to come clean.

"Brittany, do you remember what you told me when you were drunk last night?"

"I was hoping that when I woke up this morning that I hadn't told you what I think I did. I want you to know, however, Brian, that even though my first meeting with you was a set up that my husband orchestrated to get confidential information about your company CT's proprietary products, that I fell in love with you. You have to know that last night was real," she timidly concluded, with a small tear forming in her right eye as she stared into mine.

I got a big smile on my face.

"What's so funny?" She asked.

"What you just said makes what I have to tell you so, so much easier," I chuckled. "I initially started out trying to seduce you for the same reason; I wanted information about ZY's products. It was a great assignment since you have the best thighs and ass in the world; what I did not expect, however, was that I fell in love with you also. To repeat what you just said you have to know that last night was real!"

At first there was a funny look in her eye, then she got a smile as broad as mine. "So what are we going to do you little seducer and trade secrets thief?"

"Well, the first thing that we are going to do is to make love; then try to figure out how we can make enough money to run off together. How does that sound?" I rhetorically asked as I started fingering her clit and placing kisses on her neck and cheeks. While the three times that we fucked the previous night were beyond great, making love in the morning was even better. It was the most emotionally and physically satisfied that I'd ever been in my life up to that point.