Successful Convention

Do you know what happens when you're successful at doing what other guys are always trying to do? You get labelled a "player". I don't care what others think, to be honest, but sometimes someone will describe me that way to hinder my success.

They are often surprised when it doesn't work. Oh, sure, it makes some women wary, but others it attracts. If you're a player, and successful, then there has to be a reason. Right?

Claire was different. She was neither. She was jealous. It wasn't that she didn't get attention. She got a lot of attention. She just didn't like she didn't get any from me.

We work at the same advertising firm. She gets the customers. I do the creative work.

The office, as anyone knows, is a breeding ground for gossip and a good amount of it in mine includes me. One, not-so-secret, secret is that I fuck co-workers and clients. No complaints, though. All parties, past and present, are happy - even the company; I've brought in quite a few "reluctant" clients, so nothing gets pursued.

Occasionally, a co-worker will ask about someone I was rumored to have been with; the men ask out of hope, the women out of scorn. So, I deny, deny, deny.

I've always been careful around Claire. She's a shark, always looking for something to enhance her financial or social status.

I have no problem admitting to "dating" some of the single women I've been with but, other than that, I keep my private life private. Yet, success with single women does not discourage rumors about married ones. It's why I'm extremely careful and adamantly private; it confirms to the curious I can be trusted.

Getting back to Claire, she's one of the firm's top salespeople and biggest snobs. She's always "nice enough" until she's challenged, and then her arrogant competitiveness comes out and she becomes a real bitch.

Claire goes to the gym daily and is proud of her slim, taut body whose tits deserve a category all their own and whose perfection and authenticity has been well debated. She is a known bitch and cock-tease. Giving guys a case of blue balls has always been her idea of fun, and loves trumpeting her "wonderful" marriage and successful sons, in front of other women; especially divorced ones.

Her marriage, she says, is an equal partnership, but it's clear she wears the pants. Believe me, I've met her husband a few times before the convention and many times since. He still kisses the ground she walks on and she wouldn't have it any other way.

In the past, she'd always refer, indirectly, of course, to the rumors about me and married women, but it was always done in a way to draw attention to her -- "the unattainable beauty". Usually, it was a snide remark about a woman rumored to be with me who obviously did not compare to her in intellect or physicality -- the default item being her tits; which, as I've said, have been well commented on among men, not just in the locker room, but, in our office as well.

I always dismissed her innuendos out of hand, which only added to her frustration. It was another of my behaviors that challenged her opinion of herself. The other was, I never hit on her which, to her, was incredibly insulting since I apparently sleep with married women so why haven't I made a pass at her? - how dare I not!

Unfortunately for Claire, she needs me to design ads for her clients so I have no reason to kiss her ass. In fact, just the opposite. She hates that.

One time, she finally expressed her disapproval directly. It was after an in-office meeting with a prospective client. Part of their team included a hot divorcee who came on to me and asked to meet privately about the project. Claire was not happy.

"She just threw herself at you. I'm sure she does that with every guy she sees. No doubt it's why she's divorced. No respect for marriage."

I shrugged. She didn't like that.

"You don't care because you fuck married women."

I kept my cool but had to respond, and I did, firmly and somewhat rudely.

"I thought you had more class than to perpetuate rumors. But, since you don't, let me say this, I have fucked, and do fuck, a lot of women. I don't need to go after married women. There are more than enough single women for me to fuck and if they are divorced so be it. I don't care what the reason is for it. I don't know why it matters to you except for some insecurity on your part. You probably keep in shape because you're lousy in bed."

Claire was speechless.

I dug the knife in deeper, "I'd change that in one night. Too bad you're married. Maybe if you're nice I'll make an exception... but, actually, no, ... you're not worth ruining my reputation."

Needless to say, we didn't interact much after that unless we had to.

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As it so happened, Claire and I were teamed to go to a 4-day convention to expand our client base.

I had to give Claire respect. She was professional and did not allow personal feelings to interfere with our goals. Things went extremely well that first day but the ice didn't completely break until happy hour. It was a hectic day with a lot of pressure and competition, and in spite of our past, we bonded as comrades-in-arms. Claire was on her second drink when she opened up.

"I'm really sorry," she said with the beginnings of inebriation, "that our working relationship hasn't been more cordial. We both know why and I want to apologize for my rude comments. You were harsh but I deserved it. I was just too hurt and I'm just too... proud ... you probably have another word for it... to have said anything until now."

I smiled forgivingly, "It's ok, but you're right. I was too harsh. It's just tiring fighting rumors and innuendos." I fed her what she wanted and eyed her body appreciatively. "I'm sure you know all about that."

"I do," she said proudly, and straightened and stretched to reward me. Once again, my eyes were drawn to her beautiful mammary glands.

I lifted my glass in salute, "I'm sure you do."

She smiled again and got up from her barstool seductively. She liked being in control. I'd seen that before. Everything about her needs to be envied. She looked around to see if she was noticed. She was. She said, "Watch my drink, I need to use the ladies room."

On the way she acknowledged the stares from admirers with a polite smile and ten minutes later, with a more revealing and pronounced bounce to her tits, acknowledged them again. She waved to someone behind me and slowly navigated the tight space between us, swiveling her seat into position with her ass before sitting down slowly to face me. The third button on her blouse was undone and as she leaned forward to nestle in her seat, I was rewarded with an unobstructed view down her shirt that lasted longer than her simple repositioning required.

When I brought my eyes to hers', they glowed with prideful mischief. I nodded my approval before asking, without looking, so as not to intrude on her flirtation, "Who're you waving to?"

A true cock-tease, she enjoyed my gaze a little longer with a temptress's smile before answering.

"John from T & H Developers. He came by when you were getting us coffee. He hit on me. He's a pig..." Claire raised her glass and I turned to see his raised as well. She had a glint in her eye after the long-distance toast and finished her sentence, "... but a pig with money."

I raised mine, "To pigs with money."

She was more than halfway through her second martini and feeling good from the alcohol and attention. She took another sip keeping her eyes on mine to enhance our conspiratorial toast.

I nodded back at her tits, "So are they real?"

She loved it. She knew they were the talk of the office. "You are a pig."

She put her hand on my thigh as a reprimand -- which it wasn't. She left it there as she lowered her drink and was about to respond when she squeezed my thigh and pursed her lips, "Ooooo, what muscular legs you have."

"I work out. I played college football."

"I used to cheerlead." Claire put her hands up and shook a pair of imaginary pom-poms that jiggled her tits in cadence and flashed her shirt open. She was enjoying the tease.

She put her hand back on my leg and traced it admiringly, "Did you date cheerleaders?", she asked coyly.

"Absolutely, I worked my way through the squad."

"So, Mr. Macho," she said sarcastically with a slightly forced laugh, "did they fawn all over your muscles?" She wasn't as drunk as she pretended, but she was drunker than she thought.

Looking into her, mischievous, glassy eyes I leaned in and said, "They fawned over more than my muscles."

She soaked up my flirtatious attempt with fake indignation and slapped my thigh, "FRESH!", then lowered her voice to a whisper, as if to emphasize her knowledge of men, particularly of me, "Brenda and Melissa told me all about you, Macho Man, so don't be getting any ideas."

"Why would I be getting any ideas?"

She drained her martini. "All men get ideas."

"You're married."

Claire gave me a self-satisfied little smirk and pointed at my crotch, "And you're hard."

"I'm sure you're no stranger to that."

"No, but I am from you. If I hadn't heard of your exploits first hand, I would have thought you were gay."

I could see the glint in her eyes and my challenge came with a smart-ass smile, "Exploits, you couldn't handle."

She leaned unnecessarily forward to put her drink on the bar and slid her hand up my thigh to answer. "Oh, you think so, huh?"

"I know so."

Over confidence and alcohol are great for seductions. She dragged her hand down the inside of my thigh as she straightened. "I exhaust my husband in bed as I would you." The drink was fueling her arrogant self-pride, she signaled the bartender for another. "Do you know...", she went on with her self-importance, "... how many guys -- successful guys, rich guys -- told me they would die to be married to me?"

"I'm not dying to marry you."

"No. But,...", she cocked her head, raised an eyebrow, and went on in her self-assured way, "you're dying to fuck me."

"You're married."

"Especially since I'm married." Claire looked around. The coast was clear. Her tits dropped from the slight lift of her thumbs which signaled her hands to start their slow, press down her firm stomach and along her thighs, which peeked open suggestively. "Nothing like forbidden fruit, is there?

"I told you I don't fuck married women."

"Bullshit. I know you do."

I gave her a doubtful shrug.

Claire acknowledged the new drink and the bartender left to update our check. She got alcohol serious and sipped her drink and continued to convince me and herself. "Ok,... wait...," Claire looked skyward and searched her memory and let a slow finger brush her cheek, "... Brenda was married..." she looked at me accusingly, "didn't you...?," then again skyward to pursue the memory quietly to herself, "... nah, that's right... she was divorced before she got hired...,"

"I told you..."

Claire interrupted my disclaimer and grabbed my arm, "Wait, Melissa... nooo, she was divorced way before we even merged with your firm..."

"I told you..."

"Wait, Carlita, that hot, little Hispanic girl from the Aster Drugs account. You were definitely fucking her - she was married!"

That situation was dicey. Carlita let a few things slip before her husband agreed to swing. She wasn't close with anyone from our firm so it was still all rumor. Still, deny, deny, deny. "I never fucked her. Where did you get that from?"

"Ivette."

"Ivette? Ivette never told you because it wasn't true. She didn't even know Carlita."

"It was somebody else then." Claire pointed at me with one finger over the rim of her martini, "But you fucked her!" She said it with a flash of envious anger. "I know it." She pointed at me again over the rim of her glass, "I don't care what you say."

I put my beer down and swiped my lips, "It's not true and you shouldn't be starting rumors."

"I'm just saying, you'd fuck me in a minute."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I said sarcastically.

Claire raised her eyes and shook her head frantically to deny one truth with another, "No, but you would."

"You're not as hot as you think."

She pointed at my hard-on. "Talk to your dick." She leaned over, exposing her tits to me again, and whispered in my ear, "You want to fuck me so bad it's obvious."

I looked around to see if anyone could hear and lowered my voice to add fuel to the fire, "Since you like rumors, rumors have it you're lousy in bed -- and I don't like fake tits."

She looked around to see that no one was looking while she covered with one hand and undid with the other, one button, then another, before bending at the waist so her tits were below the bar.

"Pssst."

When I looked down Claire opened her blouse wide and shook them, "These are real, baby!..."

She gave me quite a gander, swiveling her head at bar level, as look out, before re-buttoning and sitting up straight and proud, "... and I'm great in bed."

"Maybe, but your tits look too good to be real."

"They're real."

"I'd have to feel them."

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" She gave me a smirky, knowing, sloppy smile before taking a sip. "You'd like to fuck me too."

"Not if you're no good." I gave a doubtful smirk with a tilt of my head, "You're probably mediocre at best. Tits like those make women lazy."

She finished her drink in rebuttal and the competitive, arrogant, and now inebriated, side of Claire came out. "I can fuck you under the table any day."

She meant to whisper but said it a little too loud and the approaching bartender heard before tentatively asking if we wanted another round... or, jokingly, just the bill?

I said, "Just the bill."

The bartender smiled and left to get it.

"What if I want another drink?"

"You can stay."

She followed me to the elevator. Didn't say a word. Got into the elevator. It was empty. Claire had her arms crossed, they were pushing her tits up and her blouse open. She confronted me,

"You think Brenda's better looking than me?"

"She's got her qualities. Beauty is subjective."

"So, you think she's more beautiful than me?"

"I didn't say that."

She enunciated her words with the clipped demand of an affronted drunk, "What about Melissa?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Say she's not. And neither is Brenda."

"Okaaay, they're not."

"Exactly. So, how come you never made a pass at me?

"You're married."

"You fucked Carlita."

"That's just a rumor."

The elevator dinged at our floor. She followed me out...

"Carlita's a little slut."

"You don't even know her."

... and down the hall...

"You like sluts?"

"That's a very subjective term."

... to our rooms. She followed me past hers. I pointed it out at my door.

"You missed your room. Do you need help opening it?"

She dismissed my supposedly insulting question with a few, hard, frustrating shakes of her head to emphasize her own, "Did she go to the gym every day?"

"I don't know." I said as I got my room card out.

"I bet you liked her tight, Puerto Rican ass."

I shrugged as I nodded affirmatively to confirm the obvious.

"You think you know everything."

She waited for a response to her indictment while I opened the door to my room. I loved the way she smoldered. I knew she was going to prove me wrong but I wasn't going to initiate it. Ah, yes, alcohol, indignity, and pride.

"Mine's better. Feel it." She grabbed my hand and made me feel it. It was nice and firm, better than Carlita's. She grabbed my other hand and put it on her other cheek and pushed back while I rubbed it. "Right?"

Before I got too carried away, I looked around, "Claire, we're in the hallway."

She walked past me. I followed her in. She spun around, "You don't know shit."

I watched her unbutton her blouse. She whipped it off and threw it in my face and reached back to undo the clasp of her bra. By the time I turned from draping her blouse over the one chair in the room she had her bra hanging from one hand. They were magnificent.

"... And these are real. Go ahead, feel them." she said defiantly.

They were firm and her proud, pink nipples were already hard and waiting. I teased and rolled them between thumb and forefinger and Claire breathed out a soft, "T-T-ell me now... T-Te-ellmeee..."

I ignored the request and let my tongue finish with a swirl before my lips sucked it into my gently clenching teeth that nipped her swollen nipple.

"Yessss..." Claire grabbed the back of my head and pressed the new victim harder into my mouth.

We made short shrift of our clothes, tearing and clawing in a joint effort, and fucked like competitive athletes. We wrestled for position and Claire was more tired and happy after every defeat and climax... only to rally... until she was dominated again. Each time coming sooner and happily with ready submission and orgasmic indulgence. I could do anything I wanted with her and I took pleasure in the delay and teasings that caused her to beg with shuddering breaths, babbling nonsense, and open-mouthed silence that broke with screams.

At the end, she was face-down and useless and I fucked her brutally hard and fast, indulging her protests of pleasure, until I emptied my balls into her battered cunt and watched her curl up and shudder between waves of synaptic firings that triggered the last of copious fluids that darkened the few dry spots beneath her.

Shortly, without a word, she fell into a dead sleep - or maybe she just passed out.

I woke to feel her cheek on my chest, and warm, soft jets of breath. One of her hands was cupped around my neck, the other around my cock. She squeezed it gently half asleep as it filled with blood. She raised her head slightly to see if I was awake before lowering it back to my chest. She stroked my cock languidly as it filled and spread her fingers apart. She spoke with bittersweet resignation, "We did it didn't we?"

I grunted softly, "Mmmm..."

Claire was a realist and too full of herself for drawn out displays of regret.

She rolled to her back and covered her eyes with the back of her forearm, "Jesus! ..." She raised herself up on one elbow to face me, "I trust you won't say anything."

She said it like an order that would ensure no objection and used "trust" to ensure its honorable adherence.

"Of course not."

She collapsed back down. "I'm feeling really weird, and it's not because I'm hung over." She peeked from under her forearm, "Believe it or not, I've never done this before. I flirt. I don't fuck. My husband knows that. I can't believe I let this happen. I was waaaayy too drunk." She made an attempt to share the blame, "I guess I shouldn't have expected you to stop it, huh?"

I shrugged, "I was drunk."

Claire rolled her head back under her forearm, "I guess." She was quiet for a minute before she rolled her face from under her forearm again, "I should feel worse than I do."

I nodded understandably and didn't say anything.

She raised herself again and looked me in the eyes to make herself clear, "I mean I do, but..." She put her hand on my chest and rubbed it tenderly, "... I've never...," she stopped caressing me and seemed to search for a less coarse way of saying it, "... made lo-... had se..." before giving in to honesty, "... been fucked like that."

I raised my eyes disingenuously, "Like what?"

"Oh, fuck off Mr. Macho Man."

"You mean like Brenda or Melissa? 'Cause I fucked them into oblivion. Isn't that what they said?"

She smiled reluctantly at getting caught, "Okay, Macho Man," she smacked my face a little harder than playfully. "You fucked me into oblivion, ok?"

She got seriously sincere and looked away and whispered almost to herself, "I think that's why I don't feel so bad...," before turning to me, "Isn't that terrible? I'm a terrible wife."

"No, you're not. You're a good wife. Your long and successful marriage is proof. Sexually you just needed more. Everybody has personal needs that a spouse may not have the ability to satiate, or the desire to share in, be it football, romance novels, or, whatever. Obviously, you're a woman who enjoys, and requires, a lot of sex. This time you enjoyed it with someone else, that's all. I'm grateful it was me."

With an appreciative tone, she said, "Grateful?"

"Yes, grateful. I have to admit when I'm wrong. Your tits are real and you're a great fuck."

She nodded brightly and said, "Thank you," then softened her voice and said, "and just between us, that means a lot."

"I appreciate your honesty."

She continued with a soft, serious plea that was presented with traces of a conciliatory smile, "I need to know that last night stays just between us," which then tightened with concern, "Ok?"

"Of course. Have you ever known me to spread gossip or break a trust?"

"So, you really did fuck Carlita!"

I let out an amused snort - 'always the bitch', I thought. "No," I said with a straight face, "I never fucked Carlita."

Claire nodded slowly with pressed lips and narrowed eyes before responding, "Thanks."

Then she kissed me, pulling back slightly, to say, "I believe you," before finalizing her kiss with passion and tongue, before straddling me, and easing down my cock, with eyes closing, and a back-arching "ahhhh".

We had a quick savage fuck before Claire snuck back to her room. I hustled to shower and greeted the day's first interested party before Claire came down. She brought me a coffee and a roll.

Claire always looked hot. That day she looked hotter. She had a sexual glow that day that had men circling more than usual. We got a number of important contacts and a new account.

Claire was used to getting what she wanted, so, with no more misgivings, came to my bed once our work day was over to fuck and get fucked until it was time to check-out.

When we returned to the office people noticed Claire was a lot less bitchy - A LOT less bitchy - especially around me.

Gossip ensued.

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