It was Christmas Eve, and the company had let us out at noon, so a bunch of us headed for a local restaurant/bar to have an 'unofficial' Christmas get- together. The politically correct 'Holiday Party' would be after the New Year -- probably because it would be cheaper then -- but we were more interested in lifting a few with friends than checking the corporate block.
There were only a half-dozen of us, so we sat at the corner of the horseshoe bar and argued and complained and gossiped and sucked beer. By two o'clock, everybody had a buzz on -- and Jeff Baxter was well-lit.
"I've got the next one," Rachel Weisman announced, and hopped down from her stool and bent over it to get her purse -- and got the oddest look on her face. I was sitting around the corner, on the other side of Mort Sampson, and Rachel had the other half of the corner; I leaned up to see what was going on. "What's up, Rache?"
"N--nothing..." But she still had that look on her face. I stood up on my stool so I could peer over the bar...
Jeff was rubbing Rachel's ass! There he sat, next to her, painting her butt with his palm, giving it good coverage, right there at the bar! I looked back at Rachel; she was pink with embarrassment and humiliation -- but she WASN'T rushing to get up! Very slowly and deliberately, she reached down and dug in her purse, poking around in her wallet, extracting a couple of twenties, making sure everything was neat and organized, then playing with the bills for a moment before slowly standing back up. As she climbed back onto her barstool, Jeff turned to me and resumed pontificating about how the Lakers were going to pull it out and the Celtics weren't gonna do it again this year -- just like nothing had ever happened.
Now, Rachel is a big girl, brunette, five foot seven or so, and most of her is to scale -- but plus size. She wasn't thin -- probably weighed two hundred or so. She wasn't blubbery, but if you peeled her down you would find that she was well-insulated, for sure. The face wasn't remarkable, but wasn't ugly, either -- just plain. She had nice hands -- smooth looking. She had at least a size 'C' rack -- probably 'D' -- and it was real and her bras tended to look like they were having a tough time keeping it up close to where it was supposed to be. She either lived with her mother or visited her every day, from conversations I'd had with her or overheard; 'Mom' seemed to be the center of her life outside work. Given the fact that Rachel was in her late twenties or early thirties, that was sad, in a way.
Mort and I decided independently to paper over the episode and we resumed our various discussions as if nothing had ever occurred -- but it wasn't over. Rachel consumed her next beer in record time -- Mort, who was a two- fisted drinker, had barely consumed half of his, and I wasn't even close -- and announced brightly, "I'm ready for another -- anyone else?" Then she got down off the stool again and went for her purse, bending over the stool as before.
Mort and I were watching; Jeff took his cue from us, looking to see what we were looking at. Discovering Rachel's ass once more conveniently positioned, he started mauling handfuls of it.
Betty Sellars, a forty-something bleached blonde who worked in the warehouse, let go with a snorting giggle, having detected the situation for the first time; she'd been talking up Bob Braddock during the first round and never noticed. Now, she and Bob looked on as Jeff thoroughly tested the consistency of Rachel's buttocks, laughing and pointing.
Rachel locked eyes with me and turned fire-engine red -- but she STILL took FOREVER to pull a twenty from her purse. When she finally got back up and sat down, Jeff resumed more or less ignoring her, pointing out flawed plays in the basketball highlights on the TV screen.
Mort looked over at Rachel and asked mildly, "Rachel, you ain't numb anywhere, are you, Honey?"
Betty erupted in another cackle while Rachel blushed and whispered, "No."
Mort nodded. "Jeff ain't botherin' you none, is he?"
"Oh, that?" Rachel pretended to pass it off. "No. He's a little drunk, that's all."
Mort nodded again. "Yeah. Mark, (that's me, by the way), Rachel's right. Some of us shouldn't be drivin'."
"Yeah," I agreed. "Let's get a case of something next door at the liquor store and go over to my place. We can watch ESPN on my TV." I have a 42" HDTV. "That way nobody gets arrested."
It took thirty minutes for everyone to get organized and all of the bottles emptied; Mort and I hit the liquor store and hauled Jeff, in particular, out of there. Betty apparently had Bob on the run so they took off for parts unknown, but I took Rachel in my car and Mort managed to pour Jeff into his pickup. Rachel was definitely tipsy, and with good reason -- she'd more or less doubled up on everyone after Jeff felt her up the first time. As for me, I'd begun to have evil thoughts...
My apartment had an island bar between the kitchen and the living/dining room, so we ended up there, me on the service side and mort, Rachel, and Jeff seated left to right in front of me. After some thought and conniving, I fished out beers and opened them way over on the end of the bar to Mort's right, and then handed Jeff his beer before pretending to get wrapped up in the TV which was on the wall ten feet to Mort's right.
This left Rachel without her beer, which sat, already open, off Mort's right elbow. I then ignored her quiet attempts to get my attention for the next couple of minutes. Mort looked up at me and I shook my head fractionally and he turned away, also, even to the point of ignoring Rachel's hand on his arm. Finally, Rachel lurched up to reach across in front of Mort...
Her ass came up off the stool, right in Jeff's face -- and Jeff blinked and put his beer down and dropped both hands on her ass.
Rachel looked at me and said in a strangled voice, "Can I have my beer?"
"Oh, I don't know," I replied, knowing the conversation would extend things as well as she did, "are you sure you haven't had enough?"
"I'll slow down," she promised, her eyes telling me that she knew that I knew.
"That might be a good idea," Mort opined. "Wouldn't want you to miss Santa Claus." He leaned in and laid his lips on her neck, which was right in front of him.
Rachel looked like she'd been electrocuted! "M--M..." She never did finish saying 'Mort' -- she just looked back and forth from him to me, bug-eyed, while I grinned at her. I handed her bottle to her and she murmured, Thank you," faintly before slowly settling back onto her stool. Jeff, released from his trance, looked up and slurred, "Is the Pistons game on?"
I chuckled and handed him the remote. "I'm gonna put out some snacks." While I collected chips and peanuts and popcorn and stuff, I watched Rachel out of the corner of my eye. She couldn't even LOOK at Mort; did I mention that Mort is black? A nicer guy you've never met, but Rachel was thoroughly scandalized -- and aroused, I was willing to bet...
The brainstorms kept right on coming; I took the snacks over to the coffee table -- which was in front of the TV. A couch faced the TV from behind it and I had a recliner off to the right. This setup worked better than I even hoped...
I got back to the bar and Jeff whined, "What the fuck did you put shit over there for? We're over here!"
I pretended to be nonplussed. "I thought..." I shrugged. "Rachel, would you go get the peanuts off the coffee table?"
"Sure..." She got up and headed over to the couch, hips swaying.
Jeff gave out a grunt and got up behind her, beer in hand, and followed her to the couch. Rachel bent over the back to see if she could reach the peanuts, throwing her right leg out behind her for balance -- and Jeff grabbed her ass again! I got up and headed around the bar, arriving just as Jeff mused, "Rachel has the sweetest ass, don't you think? I follow that ass up and down the hallways at work all the time, watching it do that little figure-eight move and jiggling in them thin pants she wears..." He handed me his beer bottle and collected a handful of her other ass cheek.
Rachel gave me this 'deer in the headlights' look and I grinned and went, "Oops!"
"Mark..." she croaked.
"Rache, if you didn't like it, you'd have slapped the shit out of Jeff two hours ago," I chided her.
"If this gets out..."
"It won't be me and it won't be Mort -- right, Mort?"
"Right!" Mort nodded from his new position looking over my left shoulder.
"Jeff, on the other hand, you might have to negotiate with," I allowed, "but you seem to have something he wants." Jeff was sliding his hands under the elastic waistband of Rachel's pants.
"Jeff, Honey..." Rachel pled.
"I just wanna feel it some -- you tease me with it all the time..." Jeff whined.
"I ... didn't know..." Rachel muttered.
"Well, it's WORK, you know? Sexual harassment, and all that shit. I couldn't exactly say 'Oh, Baby, show me that big white ass!' now, could I?" Jeff muttered.
"I guess not..." Rachel bit her lip.
"It's just us -- and you KNOW you want it!" Jeff wedged his hands under her waistband and pushed her pants -- and her panties -- to her knees. "Ahhh, Jeezus!" he whispered, "will you LOOK at that!" His palms returned to the white moons of Rachel's now bare ass.
I turned to Mort. "Put these on the bar, willya?"
Mort grunted, "Oh!" and put his beer on the bar so he could take mine and Jeff's. I knelt beside Rachel and tugged her pants down the rest of the way.
.... There is more of this story ...