“I have a bad request,” I whispered into his ear, letting my breasts press against his chest. The tangy, masculine smell of his cologne filled my nostrils and sent a low throb into my groin. I love a man’s smell, especially when he’s dressed up to the nines and in suave and sophisticated mode, as was my quarry that evening.
He cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly. I could tell he was feeling conflicted. He needed to be on his best, most civilised behaviour tonight, with his work colleagues and some of his most illustrious clients gathered there in the Savoy’s Lancaster Room. But when I leaned into him, a wicked glint in my eyes and a warm purr in my voice, his composure started to sink as quickly as his cock started to rise.
“Uhhh,” he replied, throatily, fidgeting with his bow-tie and glancing nervously around the room. I saw him raise an eyebrow in non-verbal greeting to someone on the other side of the room, but I knew that despite his measured professionalism and bonhomie, his brain and his body were entirely distracted by the aroma of my perfume, the warmth of my flesh, and my lips against his ear.
“I need you to do something that might be a little bit naughty,” I murmured, and surreptitiously poked my pink, wet tongue out to flick against his earlobe. “Right. Now.”
“Is that a fact?” he breathed, letting his hand rest on the small of my back; a subtle move, not appearing overtly sexual to others in the room. But in this pregnant moment between us, it was laden with meaning.
“Uh-huh. Do you want to know what my bad request is?” I asked, bringing my left hand up to rest gently on his right arm and squeezing his bicep ever so gently.
“I think I can probably guess,” he answered, practically panting as he felt my right hand slide into the pocket of his expensively tailored black trousers.
“I’d like you to hold onto these for me. When I saw you standing over here by the bar looking so damn fine, I just had to slip into the ladies room and take these off. But they won’t quite fit in my purse, and this dress doesn’t have any pockets….”
I watched him swallow hard as I deposited the silk and lace cloth into his trousers.
“Take good care of them, won’t you?” I grinned, fluttering my eyelashes playfully. “They’re my best pair. Well, they were. They’re a bit wet and dirty now, of course.”
I could practically feel the surging rush of blood fill his prick, as I slowly removed my hand from his pocket. I then raised the hand to my nose and inhaled deeply, feeling my pussy clench at the sight of his lustful eyes as he watched me enjoy the smell of his warm groin combined with my own cunt-slicked panties.
“Mmmm,” I moaned appreciatively and, with a demure smile, I removed my other hand from his arm, reached for another glass of champagne, and glided back into the crowded room to mingle. When I caught him casually slipping his hand into his pocket to finger my lacy underwear and adjust himself, then subtly bringing his fingers up under his nostrils to savour my aroma, I felt a trickle of liquid dripping slowly down the inside of my thigh, and smiled to myself.