Lysistrata Redux

I wasn't sure what message was being passed, but every couple has their own private codes. In any case, it apparently was enough, for a moment later Tom handed her both her costume bottom and his fob. I could see the redhaired girl fumble with the control and gradually relax as she was able to turn off the fiendish stimulation.

Two down!

Carla recovered enough to join us in a grin.

From up top, I could hear Tom join Hank in arguing with Eduardo. Beyond them, another woman wailed in... well, I hope it was joy. Then another.

Petra and I looked at each other, grinned and returned to tormenting our men. Just a bit more incentive needed, right?

I was actually pretty impressed with Petra's technique. It was, outside of the odd porn video Hank had talked me into watching, the only time I'd been actually able to watch a woman do that.

Her cheeks hollow with suction, Petra's head bobbed up and down over her man's crotch. I was sure Tom was about to blow his load when the girl suddenly backed away entirely, leaving his throbbing and unsatisfied willie waving back and forth.

Tom's voice suddenly increased in volume above us, pressuring Eddie to give in.

Eventually, the third fob dropped on the floor by Eddie's feet. When Carla held it up for us to see, the three of us all whooped in triumph.

OK, bargain made, bargain to be fulfilled.

I began to work Hank properly, pumping his shaft with one hand and fondling his balls with the other while putting a lot of tongue action on his purple mushroom.

It didn't take long, not with him having been kept so close to the edge for that long.

Having won this little battle in the war between the sexes, but not entirely having forgiven him, I didn't try to catch it, merely continued pumping his pole. I'd never seen Hank cum that way before -- gouts  of it rather than spurts - far more than normal. One even hit the underside of the table.

Fortunately, there was a discarded napkin on the floor beside us.

When I looked around, Petra was cleaning up Tom's tool with the trailing edge of the tablecloth. She had a large drop of Tom on one cheek. I pointed to my cheek; she nodded and wiped that, too.

Carla's curly hair was all I could see of her attentions to Eduardo. Her head was still moving up and down in Eddie's lap and the dark man's thighs were literally quivering.

She stopped, Eddie sagged in his chair.

I looked at Petra -- her eyes were wide as saucers, but there was a grin on her face.

A few moments later, Carla leaned back, wiped her lips on the tablecloth. Eddie's thing was shiny, already sagging.

"Well, ladies," I said. "I think we won that on points. Ready to rejoin the men?"

The other two giggled.

The three of us wormed our ways back out from under the table, sat down. The boys were looking sheepish -- as well they should -- and heading into that post-orgasmic stupor.

Well, that wasn't going to happen.

I caught the eyes of Carla and Petra, slapped my hand on the table to get the men's attention.

"Boys," I announced. "We are going to the Ladies'. When we get back, there will be..." I looked at the girls for guidance.

"Champagne, I think." Petra said.

"Definitely champagne." I said.

"Good champagne, Eddie," Carla added.

"Then dancing," I commanded.

We rose as one and, Carla leading, we headed to the Ladies'. The ballroom looked much as I'd imagined.

The staff, no doubt shocked as hell by the bacchanalia this event had unaccountably slid into, had fled, leaving only the band and a couple of bartenders. OK, no bartender worth his or her salt could be put off by a mere orgy; the drinks would flow. Musicians were hedonists to the core, I knew; we would have music. It was all good.

I didn't see any signs of open copulation as we walked through the crowd, but more than one woman was lying on her husband's lap, exhausted and more than a few were now topless.

One woman whose costume I'd initially thought was a skilled paint-job -- well, yes, it was. Or, rather, it had been. The paint was now thoroughly smeared.

The line to the Ladies' was longer than normal. Much longer. Many of the women looked as if they'd just been mugged -- stunned might be a good word. A lot of mascara had run. Some girls were clearly still being remotely teased by their husbands or boyfriends; trying to hold off the inevitable until they could reach a stall.

Rottsa ruck, girls.

We three reached the end of the inevitable line (so unfair!),  leaned against the wall, soft smiles of victory on our faces. I idly watched some geek from another department walk into the Men's and emerge a minute later. There obviously wasn't much traffic there.

Fine -- it was time to right at least one more wrong.

"C'mon, ladies," I commanded, pushing myself off the wall. I stomped to the Men's door, past the eyes of a lot of surprised women and straight-armed it open without pausing.

There were only two men in there, both laughing by the sinks. There was only one thing for them to have been laughing about.

Their faces snapped over to us.

"Hey, this isn't the Ladies'!" one said loudly.

I held up Hank's fob so that they could see it.

"Out," I said.

After about two microseconds of pondering the implications of the fob, it hit them and they scurried out.

Petra and Carla headed over to the stalls. Each of them darted inside. I went back to the door, threw it open and shouted out, "C'mon in, ladies! It's a new game!"

"What about the men?" somebody asked.

"There are potted plants on the balcony," I said over my shoulder as I headed back inside.

A crowd of aroused and flustered -- some very flustered -- women poured into the room. I made sure to be the first into the third stall.

Having cleaned up and touched up our makeup -- Petra in particular was a mess -- we made our way back to the table.

On the way, we watched old Eric Hollopher, the CEO, carrying Maggie out in his arms; the lady pirate was for some reason not walking too well. He tried to grin at our husbands, but their red faces were turned down to the table and he didn't catch their attention.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the entire HR department slinking out. The usual carrot-up-the-ass HR stiffness had been replaced by a look of communal horror at the sight of such a massive and to-them-inexplicable breakdown of both corporate and societal behaviour.

I followed the lot out, caught up to Eric by his car.

"Hi, Mr Hollopher. I'm Marny Stedman."

"Of course, of course, Marny. How are you? Look, this really isn't the best time..."

"I know, Mr Hollopher," I said with what I hoped was my brightest smile. "Which is why I'll be in your office next Monday at 10 to discuss the compensation package for some of your engineers."

I held up the fob, waved it in front of his eyes. He turned just a little pale. He turned paler when I put my business card in his hand - very pale once he noticed the word 'attorney'.

"Whazzat?" Maggie asked, groggily.

"Nothing. Nothing, honey," he stammered.

"10 o'clock, Mr Hollopher," I smiled before heading back to the elevator.

Hank wasn't going to see much of his raise himself, of course, but I was pretty sure he'd be able to enjoy the additional vacation time...

In the elevator on the way up, I pondered how to 'regift' the vibrators in our costumes. I knew a seamstress or two myself.

The boys would never see it cumming.

The champagne had arrived by the time I got back.

I smiled at Carla and Petra - the party had just started.

I hope you enjoyed yourself.

Please remember to vote, if not for this story, then for one you think is better.