A Boring Business Dinner

Another boring day at work and another boring dinner party. That's all it ever seemed to be these days, monotony. I was so tired of the endless routine that seemed to be my life these days.

Being a single 30 year old woman and a corporate accountant wasn't exactly the high profile exciting life I envisaged when I was at Uni. Pompous senior accountants and executives seemed to have a way of ruining that theory.

Mr Buntine, the CEO, has particularly requested that I attend tonight's dinner, asking that I take particular care to entertain Mr Robuck, who he was trying to entice over to our company. God, another stuffy old drone was all I needed!!

I headed out of the office about 6.00pm so that I had enough time to get home and shower and change before the taxi arrived at 7.00pm to pick me up.

I quickly bustled in the door to my apartment. Stella my cat was waiting to greet me. Leaning down and picking her up I said 'Stella, I'd rather spend my evening with you'. I knew though that life wouldn't be worth living tomorrow, if I couldn't tell Mr Buntine that all went well.

Knowing I was on a tight scheduled I quickly feed Stella and made my way to the shower. Standing under the steaming water was rather refreshing and had my skin tingling and awake in seconds.

I lathered my skin and as my fingers glossed over my breasts a yearning settled upon me. I rolled my nipples between my fingers and felt the sensation flow through my body, as my nipples became rather erect. It had been a while between drinks, if you know what I mean!

I knew that I didn't have time to stand there and satisfy myself, not that I would call masturbation total satisfaction anyway. It would just have to wait until later. I quickly stepped out of the shower, toweled myself down and padded naked into my bedroom.

Leaning on the wardrobe door, not at all enthusiastic about the evening, I scanned my vast array of clothes and wondered what I should wear? Glancing about the room, I spied myself in the full-length mirror and began to analytically appraise myself.

I was only 30 years old and kept myself in very good shape. I was physically fit and enjoyed sport, such as tennis and squash. I had shoulder length dark blonde hair, milky white skin and deep green almost oval shaped eyes. My breasts were rounded, but not too large, 12 C. I had a rather curvaceous figure, definitely not model material, but I guessed I looked passable in most clothes I chose to wear, from the smart office suits to my casual weekend jeans and t-shirts. I was 5'11' tall and I know some men found that a little intimidating.

Standing there assessing myself I started to think 'I'm only 30, I should be able to dress like I am only 30 and I am tired of dressing to please all the tired old bored men, who think you should be demure and basically seen, but not heard'

With a moment of abandonment I withdrew a little black dress from my wardrobe. It wasn't exactly totally inappropriate, but at least it was sexy, if not a little revealing. It had narrow straps, which met the bodice just above the swell of my breasts. Although it wasn't really low cut, with my pushup bra it certainly gave me a nice cleavage. It tapered into my waist and molded my hips comfortably and fell to about three inches above my knee.

What the hell, I'll give the old boys something to ogle, as long as one of them doesn't go and have a heart attack Mr Buntine will never know. I'm sure stuffy old Mr Robuck would think it totally inappropriate to mention my dress sense to Mr Buntine and after tonight I'm never likely to see the old guy again.

After my moments of teasing in the shower I was feeling a little brazen and decided to wear some sexy lingerie. I opened the drawer and tossed a few items around, wondering which I should wear. What's it matter really, who's going to see it, I said to myself. That's right I thought, 'WHO IS GOING TO SEE IT?' What the hell, I grabbed my wondabra and a little black 'G' string. I slipped into my dress, stepped into my strappy black sandals, dashed on some make-up and lip-gloss and was ready for my BIG night out, with my boss's old school boys.

Arriving out the front of the 5 star restaurant I once again groaned about the evening ahead. I steeled myself against the smell of cigars, musty old suits and intoxicated old men and their toffy nosed wives and made my way inside.

I stood in the foyer scanning the crowd inside for familiar faces. I spotted old Mr Augustus, but he'd hardly recognize me, as he can't see passed the end of his nose. There was Mr